Horus Rising

by Dan Abnett

  ‘Captain Loken, I had no idea I had persuasive friends. In point of fact, I had little notion I had friends at all. Mersadie is kind, as I’m sure you’ve realised. Euphrati… I heard there was some trouble she was caught up in.’

  ‘There was.’

  ‘Is she well? Was she hurt?’

  ‘She’s fine,’ Loken replied, although he had no idea what state Keeler was in. He hadn’t seen her. She’d sent him a note, requesting his intervention in Karkasy’s case. Loken suspected Mersadie Oliton’s influence.

  Ignace Karkasy was a big man, but he had suffered a severe assault. His face was still puffy and swollen, and the bruises had discoloured his skin yellow like jaundice. Blood vessels had burst in his hang-dog eyes. Every movement he made seemed to give him pain.

  ‘I understand you’re outspoken,’ Loken said. ‘Something of an iconoclast?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Karkasy said, shaking his head, ‘but I’ll grow out of it, I promise you.’

  ‘They want rid of you. They want to send you home,’ said Loken. ‘The senior remembrancers believe you’re giving the order a bad name.’

  ‘Captain, I could give someone a bad name just by standing next to them.’

  That made Loken smile. He was beginning to like the man.

  ‘I’ve spoken with the Warmaster’s equerry about you, Karkasy,’ Loken said. ‘There is a potential for probation here. If a senior Astartes, such as myself, vouches for you, then you could stay with the expedition.’

  ‘There’d be conditions?’ Karkasy asked.

  ‘Of course there would, but first of all I have to hear you tell me that you want to stay.’

  ‘I want to stay. Great Terra, captain, I made a mistake, but I want to stay… I want to be part of this.’

  Loken nodded. ‘Mersadie says you should. The equerry, too, has a soft spot for you. I think Maloghurst likes an underdog.’

  ‘Sir, never has a dog been so much under.’

  ‘Here are the conditions,’ Loken said. ‘Stick to them, or I will withdraw my sponsorship of you entirely, and you’ll be spending a cold forty months lugging your arse back to Terra. First, you reform your habits.’

  ‘I will, sir. Absolutely.’

  ‘Second, you report to me every three days, my duties permitting, and copy me with everything you write. Everything, do you understand? Work intended for publication and idle scribbles. Nothing goes past me. You will show me your soul on a regular basis.’

  ‘I promise, captain, though I warn you it’s an ugly, cross-eyed, crook-backed, club-footed soul.’

  ‘I’ve seen ugly,’ Loken assured him. ‘The third condition. A question, really. Do you lie?’

  ‘No, sir, I don’t.’

  ‘This is what I’ve heard. You tell the truth, unvarnished and unretouched. You are judged a scoundrel for this. You say things others dare not.’

  Karkasy shrugged – with a groan brought about by sore shoulders. ‘I’m confused, captain. Is saying yes to that going to spoil my chances?’

  ‘Answer anyway.’

  ‘Captain Loken, I always, always tell the truth as I see it, though it gets me beaten to a pulp in army bars. And, with my heart, I denounce those who lie or deliberately blur the whole truth.’

  Loken nodded. ‘What did you say, remembrancer? What did you say that provoked honest troopers so far they took their fists to you?’

  Karkasy cleared his throat and winced. ‘I said… I said the Imperium would not endure. I said that nothing lasts forever, no matter how surely it has been built. I said that we will be fighting forever, just to keep ourselves alive.’

  Loken did not reply.

  Karkasy rose to his feet. ‘Was that the right answer, sir?’

  ‘Are there any right answers, sir?’ Loken replied. ‘I know this… a warrior-officer of the Imperial Fists said much the same thing to me not long ago. He didn’t use the same words, but the meaning was identical. He was not sent home.’ Loken laughed to himself. ‘Actually, as I think of it now, he was, but not for that reason.’

  Loken looked across the cell at Karkasy.

  ‘The third condition, then. I will vouch for you, and stand in recognisance for you. In return, you must continue to tell the truth.’

  ‘Really? Are you sure about that?’

  ‘Truth is all we have, Karkasy. Truth is what separates us from the xenos-breeds and the traitors. How will history judge us fairly if it doesn’t have the truth to read? I was told that was what the remembrancer order was for. You keep telling the truth, ugly and unpalatable as it might be, and I’ll keep sponsoring you.’

  FOLLOWING HIS STRANGE and disconcerting conversation with Kyril Sindermann in the archives, Loken walked along to the gallery chamber in the flagship’s midships where the remembrancers had taken to gathering.

  As usual, Karkasy was waiting for him under the high arch of the chamber’s entrance. It was their regular, agreed meeting place. From the broad chamber beyond the arch floated sounds of laughter, conversation and music. Figures, mostly remembrancers, but also some crew personnel and military aides, bustled in and out through the archway, many in noisy, chattering groups.

  The gallery chamber, one of many aboard the massive flagship designed for large assembly meetings, addresses and military ceremonies, had been given over to the remembrancers’ use once it had been recognised that they could not be dissuaded from social gathering and conviviality. It was most undignified and undisciplined, as if a small carnival had been permitted to pitch in the austere halls of the grand warship. All across the Imperium, warships were making similar accommodations as they adjusted to the uncomfortable novelty of carrying large communities of artists and free-thinkers with them. By their very nature, the remembrancers could not be regimented or controlled the way the military complements of the ship could. They had an unquenchable desire to meet and debate and carouse. By giving them a space for their own use, the masters of the expedition could at least ring-fence their boisterous activities.

  The chamber had become known as the Retreat, and it had acquired a grubby reputation. Loken had no wish to go inside, and always arranged to meet Karkasy at the entrance. It felt so odd to hear unrestrained laughter and jaunty music in the solemn depths of the Vengeful Spirit.

  Karkasy nodded respectfully as the captain approached him. Seven weeks of voyage time had seen his injuries heal well, and the bruises on his flesh were all but gone. He presented Loken with a printed sheaf of his latest work. Other remembrancers, passing by in little social cliques, eyed the Astartes captain with curiosity and surprise.

  ‘My most recent work,’ Karkasy said. ‘As agreed.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll see you here in three days.’

  ‘There’s something else, captain,’ Karkasy said, and handed Loken a data-slate. He thumbed it to life. Picts appeared on the screen, beautifully composed picts of him and Tenth Company, assembling for embarkation. The banner. The files. Here he was swearing his oath of moment to Targost and Sedirae. The Mournival.

  ‘Euphrati asked me to give you this,’ Karkasy said.

  ‘Where is she?’ Loken asked.

  ‘I don’t know, captain,’ Karkasy said. ‘No one’s seen her about much. She has become reclusive since…’

  ‘Since?’

  ‘The Whisperheads.’

  ‘What has she told you about that?’

  ‘Nothing, sir. She says there’s nothing to tell. She says the first captain told her there was nothing to tell.’

  ‘She’s right about that. These are fine images. Thank you, Ignace. Thank Keeler for me. I will treasure these.’

  Karkasy bowed and began to walk back into the Retreat.

  ‘Karkasy?’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Look after Keeler, please. For me. You and Oliton. Make sure she’s not alone too often.’

  ‘Yes, captain. I will.’

  SIX WEEKS INTO the voyage, while Loken was drilling his new recruits, Aximand came to him.

  ‘The Chr
onicles of Ursh?’ he muttered, noticing the volume Loken had left open beside the training mat.

  ‘It pleases me,’ Loken replied.

  ‘I enjoyed it as a child,’ Aximand replied. ‘Vulgar, though.’

  ‘I think that’s why I like it,’ Loken replied. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘I wanted to speak to you,’ Aximand said, ‘on a private matter.’

  Loken frowned. Aximand opened his hand and revealed a silver lodge medal.

  ‘I WOULD LIKE you to give this a fair hearing,’ Aximand said, once they had withdrawn to the privacy of Loken’s arming chamber. ‘As a favour to me.’

  ‘You know how I feel about lodge activities?’

  ‘It’s been made known to me. I admire your purity, but there’s no hidden malice in the lodge. You have my word, and I hope, by now, that’s worth something.’

  ‘It is. Who told you of my interest?’

  ‘I can’t say. Garviel, there is a lodge meeting tonight, and I would like you to attend it as my guest. We would like to embrace you to our fraternity.’

  ‘I’m not sure I want to be embraced.’

  Aximand nodded his head. ‘I understand. There would be no duress. Come, attend, see for yourself and decide for yourself. If you don’t like what you find, then you’re free to leave and disassociate yourself.’

  Loken made no response.

  ‘It is simply a band of brothers,’ Aximand said. ‘A fraternity of warriors, bi-partisan and without rank.’

  ‘So I’ve heard.’

  ‘Since the Whisperheads, we have had a vacancy. We’d like you to fill it.’

  ‘A vacancy?’ Loken said. You mean Jubal? I saw his medal.’

  ‘Will you come with me?’ asked Aximand.

  ‘I will. Because it’s you who’s asking me,’ said Loken.

  FOUR

  Felling the Murder trees

  Megarachnid industry

  Pleased to know you

  THEIR BROTHERS ON the tree were already dead, past saving, but Tarvitz could not leave them skewered and unavenged. The ruination of their proud, perfect forms insulted his eyes and the honour of his Legion.

  He gathered all the explosives carried by the remaining men, and moved forwards towards the trees with Bulle and Sakian.

  Lucius stayed with the others. ‘You’re a fool to do that,’ he told Tarvitz. ‘We might yet need those charges.’

  ‘What for?’ Tarvitz asked.

  Lucius shrugged. ‘We’ve a war to win here.’

  That almost made Saul Tarvitz laugh. He wanted to say that they were already dead. Murder had swallowed the companies of Blood Angels and now, thanks to Eidolon’s zeal for glory, it had swallowed them too. There was no way out. Tarvitz didn’t know how many of the company were still alive on the surface, but if the other groups had suffered losses commensurate to their own, the full number could be little higher than fifty.

  Fifty men, fifty Astartes even, against a world of numberless hostiles. This was not a war to win; this was just a last stand, wherein, by the Emperor’s grace, they might take as many of the foe with them as they could before they fell.

  He did not say this to Lucius, but only because others were in earshot. Lucius’s brand of courage admitted no reality, and if Tarvitz had been plain about their situation, it would have led to an argument. The last thing the men needed now was to see their officers quarrelling.

  ‘I’ll not suffer those trees to stand,’ Tarvitz said.

  With Bulle and Sakian, he approached the white stone trees, running low until they were in under the shadows of their grim, rigid canopies. The winged megarachnid up among the thorns ignored them. They could hear the cracking, clicking noises of the insects’ feeding, and occasional trickles of black blood spattered down around them.

  They divided the charges into three equal amounts, and secured them to the boles of the trees. Bulle set a forty-second timer.

  They began to run back towards the edge of the stalk forest where Lucius and the rest of the troop lay in cover.

  ‘Move it, Saul,’ Lucius’s voice crackled over the vox.

  Tarvitz didn’t reply.

  ‘Move it, Saul. Hurry. Don’t look back.’

  Still running, Tarvitz looked behind him. Two of the winged clades had disengaged themselves from the feeding group and had taken to the air. Their beating wings were glass-blurs in the yellow light, and the lightning flash glinted off their polished black bodies. They circled up away from the thorn trees and came on in the direction of the three figures, wings frocking the air like the buzz of a gnat slowed and amplified to gargantuan, bass volumes.

  ‘Run!’ said Tarvitz.

  Sakian glanced back. He lost his footing and fell. Tarvitz skidded to a halt and turned back, dragging Sakian to his feet. Bulle had run on. ‘Twelve seconds!’ he yelled, turning and drawing his bolter. He kept backing away, but trained his weapon at the oncoming forms.

  ‘Come on!’ he yelled. Then he started to fire and shouted ‘Drop! Drop!’

  Sakian pushed them both down, and he and Tarvitz sprawled onto the red dirt as the first winged clade went over them, so low the downdraft of its whirring wings raised dust.

  It rose past them and headed straight for Bulle, but veered away as he struck it twice with bolter rounds.

  Tarvitz looked up and saw the second megarachnid drop straight towards him in a near stall, the kind of pounce-dive that had snared so many of his comrades earlier.

  He tried to roll aside. The black thing filled the entire sky.

  A bolter roared. Sakian had cleared his weapon and was firing upwards, point blank. The shots tore through the winged clade’s thorax in a violent puff of smoke and chitin shards, and the thing fell, crushing them both beneath its weight.

  It twitched and spasmed on top of them, and Tarvitz heard Sakian cry out in pain. Tarvitz scrabbled to heave it away, his hands sticky with its ichor.

  The charges went off.

  The shockwave of flame rushed out across the red dirt in all directions. It scorched and demolished the nearby edge of the stalk forest, and lifted Tarvitz, Sakian and the thing pinning them, into the air. It blew Bulle off his feet, throwing him backwards. It caught the flying thing, tore off its wings, and hurled it into the thickets.

  The blast levelled the three stone trees. They collapsed like buildings, like demolished towers, fracturing into brittle splinters and white dust as they fell into the fireball. Two or three of the winged clades feeding on the trees took off, but they were on fire, and the heat-suck of the explosion tumbled them back into the flames.

  Tarvitz got up. The trees had been reduced to a heap of white slag, burning furiously. A thick pall of ash-white dust and smoke rolled off the blast zone. Burning, smouldering scads, like volcanic out-throw, drizzled down over him.

  He hauled Sakian upright. The creature’s impact on them had broken Sakian’s right upper arm, and that break had been made worse when they had been thrown by the blast. Sakian was unsteady, but his genhanced metabolism was already compensating.

  Bulle, unhurt, was getting up by himself.

  The vox stirred. It was Lucius. ‘Happy now?’ he asked.

  BEYOND REVENGE AND honour, Tarvitz’s action had two unexpected consequences. The second did not become evident for some time, but the first was apparent in less than thirty minutes.

  Where the vox had failed to link the scattered forces on the surface, the blast succeeded. Two other troops, one commanded by Captain Anteus, the other by Lord Eidolon himself, detected the considerable detonation, and followed the smoke plume to its source. United, they had almost fifty Astartes between them.

  ‘Make report to me,’ Eidolon said. They had taken up position at the edge of the clearing, some half a kilometre from the destroyed trees, near the hem of the stalk forest. The open ground afforded them ample warning of the approach of the megarachnid scurrier-clades, and if the winged forms reappeared, they could retreat swiftly into the cover of the thickets and mount a de
fence.

  Tarvitz outlined all that had befallen his troop since landfall as quickly and clearly as possible. Lord Eidolon was one of the primarch’s most senior commanders, the first chosen to such a role, and brooked no familiarity, even from senior line officers like Tarvitz. Saul could tell from his manner that Eidolon was seething with anger. The undertaking had not gone at all to his liking. Tarvitz wondered if Eidolon might ever admit he was wrong to have ordered the drop. He doubted it. Eidolon, like all the elite hierarchy of the Emperor’s Children, somehow made pride a virtue.

  ‘Repeat what you said about the trees,’ Eidolon prompted.

  ‘The winged forms use them to secure prey for feeding, lord,’ Tarvitz said.

  ‘I understand that,’ Eidolon snapped. ‘I’ve lost men to the winged things, and I’ve seen the thorn trees, but you say there were other bodies?’

  ‘The corpses of Blood Angels, lord,’ Tarvitz nodded, ‘and men of the Imperial army force too.’

  ‘We’ve not seen that,’ Captain Anteus remarked.

  ‘It might explain what happened to them,’ Eidolon replied. Anteus was one of Eidolon’s chosen circle and enjoyed a far more cordial relationship with his lord than Tarvitz did.

  ‘Have you proof?’ Anteus asked Tarvitz.

  ‘I destroyed the trees, as you know, sir,’ Tarvitz said.

  ‘So you don’t have proof?’

  ‘My word is proof,’ said Tarvitz.

  ‘And good enough for me,’ Anteus nodded courteously. ‘I meant no offence, brother.’

  ‘And I took none, sir.’

  ‘You used all your charges?’ Eidolon asked.

  ‘Yes, lord.’

  ‘A waste.’

  Tarvitz began to reply, but stifled the words before he could say them. If it hadn’t been for his use of the explosives, they wouldn’t have reunited. If it hadn’t been for his use of the explosives, the ragged corpses of fine Emperor’s Children would have hung from stone gibbets in ignominious disarray.

  ‘I told him so, lord,’ Lucius remarked.

  ‘Told him what?’

  ‘That using all our charges was a waste.’

  ‘What’s that in your hand, captain?’ Eidolon asked.