“Look where we are, Learchus,” said Pasanius. “Do any of us need a reason to be here?”
“I suppose not,” replied Learchus, the ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
“I was in my arming chamber, attending to my battle gear,” said Uriel, unsure how much he wanted to tell his sergeants of how he had come to this place, “but then I had a powerful sensation that I had to come here.”
“That’s a good omen, see?” said Pasanius. “A black aircraft arrives in the dead of night without so much as an alert bulletin passed down the chain, and then we find our captain in the Shrine of the Primarch? I’m telling you it’s a sign. We’ll be getting a tasking order soon.”
“You do not know that for certain,” said Learchus. “You are jumping at shadows.”
“Am I? We’ll be readying the 4th for war within the day, you mark my words,” Pasanius promised, turning to Uriel. “Have you heard any news? Do you know who has come to Macragge?”
“Not yet,” said Uriel. “I am in the dark as much as you.”
At the loneliest hour of night, a midnight-black Thunderhawk had flown down to the Fortress of Hera, shrouded in mystery and without the fanfare that usually accompanied the arrival of fellow Adeptus Astartes. Normally any traffic to the surface of the Ultramarines home world would merit a bulletin, but the vox-channels were silent, as though this craft had never arrived. Warriors of the 4th Company on sentry duty had logged the arrival of the gunship, but no word had filtered down from above. It reeked of mystery, but one that had no official answer as yet.
“Not for much longer, I suspect,” said Learchus, as though anticipating Uriel’s thought. “You have been summoned to the top of the mountain. That is why we were looking for you.”
“The top of the mountain,” said Uriel, heading towards the temple’s western gateway. “The Chapter Master’s chambers?”
“Aye,” said Pasanius, following at his right shoulder. “We’ve been summoned.”
“The captain has been summoned,” corrected Learchus at his left.
“And his senior sergeants, I’d warrant. Stands to reason they’d want us there too.”
Uriel smiled. “Nothing irks you like a mystery, eh, Pasanius?”
“Just looking forward to getting back into action,” said Pasanius brightly. “It’s been too long since I’ve taken the field with the 4th.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” said Learchus, and Uriel shivered as a cold breeze blew through the Temple of Correction.
A THOUSAND STEPS led from the last plateau to the top of the mountain, a thousand steps worn smooth by the passage of countless supplicants to the Chapter Master of the Ultramarines. Winding up the rugged height of the Valley of Laponis, the stepped flanks of the great canyon were shawled in highland fir and glistened with sprinklings of quartz. Intertwined rainbows arced across the valley as glacial water thundered from the top of the mountain and fell in misty sheets to the rocks below.
Uriel, Pasanius and Learchus ascended the last stair and stared out over Macragge from the roof of the world. White mountains stretched as far as the eye could see in all directions, though the western horizon glittered with the distant hint of ocean.
The vast body of the structure of the Ultramarines fortress-monastery was built around the mightiest peaks of Macragge, a gigantic, columned masterpiece of grace, strength and artful wonder. Its eternal surfaces were white and pristine, yet within its spacious chambers and mighty androns it was colourful and vibrant, each wall decorated with mosaics and murals so lifelike it felt like they were windows into wondrous realms of light and marvel.
Golden geodesic domes topped miniature fortresses crusted with graceful balconies, and slender glass walkways stepped down towards the low foothills of Macragge, while slender silver-steel buttresses gave the impression of great strength and light, airy weightlessness. Yet for all its apparent lightness of form, there was no stronger fortification or more solid structure in all the Imperium. Every building within its high walls was a citadel in its own right, capable of being held by only a small number of defenders against a far larger force.
“It never gets any less beautiful,” said Learchus with feeling. “I could stay here all day.”
“Aye, it’s a grand view right enough,” agreed Pasanius. Uriel had to agree with his sergeants, for the view was one of stunning magnificence, a continent-sized fastness so massive that only one other manmade structure in the galaxy could compare to its grandeur—the Imperial Palace.
“I have never been to Terra,” said Uriel, running with the thought, “but from what I hear of its forgotten, benighted streets, abandoned wings, collapsed structures and pilgrim shanty towns I suspect the Fortress of Hera to be the more impressive.”
Learchus gave him a sidelong glance, and Uriel smiled. “I know,” said Uriel. “To suggest that Macragge outshines Terra is mildly heretical.”
“It is not that,” said Learchus. “I am just surprised you would not immediately think Macragge superior. Roboute Guilliman himself designed and built the Fortress of Hera.”
Pasanius laughed. “Just like he built every other incredible structure in Ultramar.”
“You don’t see the hand of the primarch in this place?” asked Learchus.
“Of course I do, but for him to have designed and constructed everything folk claim he did, he’d need to have spent the Great Crusade building instead of fighting.”
Uriel left his sergeants to their amiable banter and cast his gaze out over the Valley of Laponis. It had been little more than a narrow cleft in the mountain when Roboute Guilliman had first come to Macragge, but within a decade it had been transformed into a soaringly deep canyon of stepped galleries. The great slabs of marble that made up the bulk of the fortress’ structure had been hewn from its sides, and though time and water had softened its quarried edges, it was still a thousand-kilometre-long gouge in the planet’s surface.
“Come,” said Uriel, turning from the view. “I have kept Lord Calgar waiting long enough.”
Uriel marched towards the highest structure on Macragge, the Chapter Master’s Chambers—the top of the mountain. Though it was the inner sanctum of a warrior who commanded no less than eight systems, it was a simple, open-toped structure, modestly appointed and clad in white marble veined with gold. Two warriors in Terminator armour guarded the bronze gate at its entrance, armed with long-bladed polearms and storm bolters.
Uriel nodded respectfully as they entered the shadowed portico and passed into a terrazzo-floored vestibule where blue-robed helots waited with platters bearing goblets of aromatic wine. Uriel took one as he recognised the distinctively ripe aroma of Calthian wine, and Pasanius and Learchus did likewise.
Emerging into the sunken inner courtyard, Uriel felt an unfamiliar swell of wariness as he saw the assembly awaiting his arrival. Not since he had stood before the Chapter Master accused of heresy had he been part of so august a gathering of heroes.
Mightiest of them all was the giant warrior who stood in discourse with a figure robed in white who had his back to Uriel. He towered over the robed man, his armour the brightest blue imaginable, and every plate gleaming with a fresh application of lapping powder and sacred unguents. The polished quartz of his inverted omega captured the sunlight and the trims of his shoulder guards shone like molten gold. This warrior’s skill at arms had broken entire armies and enemy worlds had surrendered at the mere mention of his name, for it was a name that stood for courage and honour, strength of character and nobility of purpose.
Marneus Augustus Calgar, Chapter Master of the Ultramarines.
Adamant rings hung from his right ear and his left eye was a crimson, gem-like bionic with the finest copper wire linking its mechanics to the back of his skull. Marneus Calgar’s granite-carved face had lost none of its cunning or insight in the centuries he had led the Ultramarines to victory after victory, and the vitality of his enormous presence was palpable.
Attending this mo
rtal god were his captains of battle, the mightiest warriors of Ultramar and each one a hero in his own right.
There, lounging next to the great statue of the first Battle King of Macragge at the heart of the courtyard was Captain Sicarius. The 2nd Company captain shared a joke with his sergeants, the ribald hero of Black Reach who some called reckless. Beside him, yet subtly apart, was the immense presence of First Captain Agemman of the Veteran Company. The title of First Captain was an old one, yet it was a perfect fit for the Regent of Ultramar, his brooding countenance and hoary wisdom known only too well to Uriel.
Galenus of the 5th paced at the edge of the courtyard, his face etched with anger and his fists tightly clenched. Across from Galenus were Epathus of the 6th and Sinon of the 9th. Both looked anxious at this summons, for they were captains of the reserve companies, not front-line battle leaders. Though both were as brave and capable as any Ultramarines warrior, only in times of great need were the reserve companies called to war.
Lastly, Captain Antilochus and Torias Telion of the 10th stood in the shadows of the cloister, as though unwilling to expose themselves to the light of Macragge’s sun.
Marneus Calgar looked up and Uriel saw his expression was serious, bereft of the great warmth Uriel had last seen upon his return from the war against the tau on Pavonis. Calgar’s eyes were cold flint, and he nodded curtly as Uriel and his sergeants entered.
“Captain Ventris,” said Calgar, beckoning them into the courtyard. “Our council is almost assembled.”
“My lord,” said Uriel with a crisp bow of acknowledgement.
“Every captain on Macragge,” whispered Pasanius as they stepped down into the courtyard, “Must be serious.”
Before Uriel could answer, three warriors in shadow-black armour stepped from the rear cloisters of the courtyard. They had been standing in plain sight, but Uriel had not seen them, as though the darkness cloaked them more thoroughly than any camouflage. Torias Telion’s hand flashed to his sidearm, and Uriel realised with a start that even the legendary Scout-sergeant had been completely unaware of these warriors’ presence.
Their shoulder guards bore the image of a pale white bird and Uriel remembered fighting alongside a warrior who bore identical heraldry once before. The lead warrior wore a cloak of iridescent black feathers, and his helmet was an older Mark VI variant with dark wings sweeping back from the faceplate. The fluidity of his movements was incredible, as though his feet barely touched the ground.
The warrior gave Uriel an almost imperceptible nod.
“Raven Guard,” said Learchus.
“I told you this was serious,” added Pasanius.
Uriel nodded. “I think you might be right,” he said.
THREE
LORD CALGAR BEGAN by introducing the non-Ultramarines that joined their council upon Macragge, but Uriel already recognised one of the guests. The white-robed priest of Mars was already known to the warriors of the 4th Company, for they had fought alongside his master on the battlefields of Tarsis Ultra.
“This is Vianco Locard of the Adeptus Mechanicus,” said Calgar as the robed priest gave a precisely modulated bow. The magos wore a cog-toothed medallion of gold and, save for the whirring augmetic that covered his right eye, his hairless features were bereft of anything obviously artificial. Hinged lenses of varying size were attached to a whirring device perched on his shoulder, each capable of sliding forward to drop before his glowing red bionic eye.
As Locard stepped down into the courtyard, Uriel was reminded of his first meeting with the magos; in the chamber of the Tarsis fresco, as they planned how to fight the incoming tyranid splinter fleet. Locard moved on metallic caliper-like legs that protruded from the bottom of his robes.
He clasped metallic hands that clicked with tiny internal movements, and a thin smile creased his pallid features.
“Captain Ventris, it is good to see you again,” he said, his voice a rich baritone and surprising everyone with its richness.
“I would say the same, but I fear you come with ill-tidings,” said Uriel.
“Regrettably so, but I shall leave such tidings for your master to deliver.”
Uriel nodded as the Raven Guard warrior in the winged helmet joined Locard in the courtyard and unsnapped the airtight seals at his gorget. Puffs of old air gusted out softly, like that from a locked tomb, and Uriel tasted dust and darkness in the vapours.
His gaunt face was that of a dead man, his skin pale as alabaster, his lips cyanotic blue like a drowning victim’s. His eyes were yellow and cat-like, but his dark hair was glossy and pulled in a tight scalp lock bound with a silver circlet at his temple.
Marneus Calgar placed his hand upon the warrior’s shoulder, and Uriel caught the slightest flash of irritation on those pale features.
“Not a man used to the company of others, methinks,” whispered Pasanius.
“No,” agreed Uriel quietly as Lord Calgar addressed his warriors.
“Captain Aethon Shaan of the Raven Guard, commander of that illustrious Chapter’s 4th Company,” said Lord Calgar. “He and one of their finest squads have come to Ultramar to seek our aid in a most delicate matter, so I expect your full cooperation.”
The Ultramarines captains nodded in respect, and the synchronicity of Shaan’s company affiliation was not lost on Uriel. He began to suspect there was more to his summons that simply his rank of captain.
A door opened behind Uriel and he turned to see Varro Tigurius, Chief Librarian of the Ultramarines, lead a slender woman with caramel-coloured skin and flowing hair of purest white. She was clad in an ankle-length stormcoat, beneath which Uriel saw an armoured corslet of bronze and a form-fitting bodyglove.
“Our guest from Talasa Prime has arrived,” said Tigurius, indicating the woman and her entourage of savants, logi and soldiers clad in identical stormcoats. None of the soldiers were armed, and Uriel saw the awkwardness of fighting men forced to attend their master without weapons.
Tigurius swept past Uriel with only the briefest glance of acknowledgement, and Uriel was glad of its swiftness, for Varro Tigurius was a hard man to like. Deep-set eyes, gaunt cheeks and angular features already marked him out as different, but it was his prodigious psychic talent that set him apart from his battle-brothers. No matter that his loyalty and courage were beyond question or that he had saved the Chapter many times over with his gifts, his ability to wield the power of the warp would forever keep him aloof from those without such talents.
Uriel examined the woman as she made her way towards Lord Calgar. Like the Raven Guard, her movements were sinuous and graceful. A long, slender-bladed sword was slung at her back and the slit in her stormcoat revealed a pistol at her hip as she took her seat. Tigurius had deliberately mentioned Talasa Prime, which marked the woman as a member of the holy ordos and put everyone on their guard.
Uriel had worked with the Inquisition before and each instance left conflicting emotions. Though they were zealous servants of the Imperium who faced foes too terrible to contemplate, their methods were too absolute, too black and white for Uriel’s liking. Inquisitor Barzano had almost destroyed Pavonis to deny the Bringer of Darkness its ancient vessel, and Locard’s former master, Kryptman of the Ordo Xenos, had burned the world of Chordelis and all its people to prevent it from falling to the tyranid swarms.
“Inquisitor Namira Suzaku,” said Lord Calgar as the woman swept her gaze around the assembled warriors. To her credit, she seemed unfazed by the illustrious company she was keeping, an assembly that would have overwhelmed most mortals.
Uriel suspected Suzaku was not like most mortals, catching sight of a tiny hammer tattoo on the underside of her wrist.
She inclined her head, and Uriel caught the glint of artificial light within her eyes.
With the last of their company arrived, Lord Calgar strode to the centre of the courtyard, and the only sounds disturbing the silence were the water gurgling in the fountain and the rustle of the gold-stitched battle honours hanging from th
e courtyard’s upper balconies.
“I will keep this brief, as time is against us,” began Lord Calgar. “Our enemies have already struck the first blow against us, and there is no telling where they may strike next.”
“Enemies?” cut in Sicarius. “What enemies?”
“The forces of the Ruinous Powers,” answered Inquisitor Suzaku. “An arch prince of the empyrean has returned from his banishment and laid waste to Tarentus.”
Uriel felt the astonishment that swept the chamber, his heart thudding in his chest with the shock of it. The idea that a world of Ultramar could be attacked without the captains of the Ultramarines being aware of it was unheard of.
“Ridiculous,” snapped Agemman. “Praefectus Quintus would have sent word they were under attack. We have heard nothing of the sort. Your information is incorrect.”
“I’m afraid it isn’t, my friend,” said Calgar, turning to Suzaku. “Show them Tarentus.”
Suzaku nodded to one of her savants, an ascetic with a projection wand that plugged into an edit-engine strapped to his back like the ammo hopper of a Devastator. The savant swept the wand through the air, charging the particles and leaving a crackling haze in its wake. At a nod from his mistress, the image changed from one of grainy static to one of slaughter.
The quality was poor, the source of the recording clearly in orbit around Tarentus and working at maximum magnification. Yet despite the grainy nature of the scenes being played out before them, there was no mistaking their horror.
A city built along the clean lines of an Ultramarian plan was engulfed in battle. Uriel’s jaw dropped as he saw monsters swarming the streets: horned and clawed beasts of multitudinous forms too outlandish to have come about by any process of evolution. These were monsters of madness, and there was only one place such abominations could have spawned.
“Daemons,” hissed Uriel.
“Just so,” agreed Inquisitor Suzaku. “A daemon army that broke through the gates of the empyrean without any hint of a weakness in the dimensional matrix. Only a being of immense power could achieve such a thing.”
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