by Dan Abnett
‘Forgive me, Mathanual… may I call you Mathanual? Master is so stiff. Forgive me for not informing you that I was coming in person. I detest pomp and ceremony, and if you’d known I was coming, you’d have gone to unnecessary lengths. Soldiers in dress regs, ceremonial bands, bunting. I particularly despise bunting.’
Mathanual August laughed. Horus rose to his feet and looked around at the prone figures covering the wide deck. ‘Rise, please. Please. Get to your feet. A cheer or a round of applause will do me, not this futile grovelling.’
The fleet officers rose, cheering and applauding. He’d won them over. Just like that, thought Loken, he’d won them over. They were his now, forever.
Horus moved forwards to greet the officers and commanders individually. Loken noticed Eshkerrus, in his purple and gold robes and half-armour, taking his greeting with a bow. There was something sour about the equerry, Loken thought. Something definitely put out.
‘Helms!’ Abaddon ordered, and the company commanders removed their helmets. They moved forwards, more casually now, to escort their commander through the press of applauding figures.
Horus whispered an aside to Abaddon as he took greeting kisses and bows from the assembly. Abaddon nodded. He touched his link, activating the privy channel, and spoke, in Cthonic, to the other three members of the Mournival. ‘War council in thirty minutes. Be ready to play your parts.’
The other three knew what that meant. They followed Abaddon into the greeting crowd.
THEY ASSEMBLED FOR council in the strategium of the Misericord, a massive rotunda situated behind the barge’s main bridge. The Warmaster took the seat at the head of the long table, and the Mournival sat down with him, along with August, Eshkerrus and nine senior ship commanders and army officers. The other Luna Wolf captains sat amongst the crowds of lesser fleet officers filling the tiered seating in the panelled galleries above them.
Master August called up hololithic displays to illuminate his succinct recap of the situation. Horus regarded each one in turn, twice asking August to go back so he could study details again.
‘So you poured everything you had into this death trap?’ Torgaddon began bluntly, once August had finished.
August recoiled, as if slapped. ‘Sir, I did as—’
The Warmaster raised his hand. ‘Tarik, too much, too stern. Master August was simply doing as Captain Frome told him.’
‘My apologies, lord,’ Torgaddon said. ‘I withdraw the comment.’
‘I don’t believe Tarik should have to,’ Abaddon cut in. ‘This was a monumental misuse of manpower. Three companies? Not to mention the army units…’
‘It wouldn’t have happened under my watch,’ murmured Torgaddon. August blinked his eyes very fast. He looked like he was attempting not to tear up.
‘It’s unforgivable,’ said Aximand. ‘Simply unforgivable.’
‘We will forgive him, even so,’ Horus said.
‘Should we, lord?’ asked Loken.
‘I’ve shot men for less,’ said Abaddon.
‘Please,’ August said, pale, rising to his feet. ‘I deserve punishment. I implore you to—’
‘He’s not worth the bolt,’ muttered Aximand.
‘Enough,’ Horus smoothed. ‘Mathanual made a mistake, a command mistake. Didn’t you, Mathanual?’
‘I believe I did, sir.’
‘He drip-fed his expedition’s forces into a danger zone until they were all gone,’ said Horus. ‘It’s tragic. It happens sometimes. We’re here now, that’s all that matters. Here to rectify the problem.’
‘What of the Emperor’s Children?’ Loken put in. ‘Did they not even consider waiting?’
‘For what, exactly?’ asked Eshkerrus.
‘For us,’ smiled Aximand.
‘An entire expedition was in jeopardy,’ replied Eshkerrus, his eyes narrowing. ‘We were first on scene. A critical response. We owed it to our Blood Angels brothers to—’
‘To what? Die too?’ Torgaddon asked.
‘Three companies of Blood Angels were—’ Eshkerrus exclaimed.
‘Probably dead already,’ Aximand interrupted. ‘They’d showed you the trap was there. Did you just think you’d walk into it too?’
‘We—’ Eshkerrus began.
‘Or was Lord Eidolon simply hungry for glory?’ asked Torgaddon.
Eshkerrus rose to his feet. He glared across the table at Torgaddon. ‘Captain, you offend the honour of the Emperor’s Children.’
‘That may indeed be what I’m doing, yes,’ Torgaddon replied.
‘Then, sir, you are a base and low-born—’
‘Equerry Eshkerrus,’ Loken said. ‘None of us like Torgaddon much, except when he is speaking the truth. Right now, I like him a great deal.’
‘That’s enough, Garviel,’ Horus said quietly. ‘Enough, all of you. Sit down, equerry. My Luna Wolves speak harshly because they are dismayed at this situation. An Imperial defeat. Companies lost. An implacable foe. This saddens me, and it will sadden the Emperor too, when he hears of it.’
Horus rose. ‘My report to him will say this. Captain Frome was right to assault this world, for it is clearly a nest of xenos filth. We applaud his courage. Master August was right to support the captain, even though it meant he spent the bulk of his military formation. Lord Commander Eidolon was right to engage, without support, for to do otherwise would have been cowardly when lives were at stake. I would also like to thank all those commanders who rerouted here to offer assistance. From this point on, we will handle it.’
‘How will you handle it, lord?’ Eshkerrus asked boldly.
‘Will you attack?’ asked August.
‘We will consider our options and inform you presently. That’s all.’
The officers filed out of the strategium, along with Sedirae, Marr, Moy, Goshen, Targost and Qruze, leaving the Warmaster alone with the Mournival.
Once they were alone, Horus looked at the four of them. ‘Thank you, friends. Well played.’
Loken was fast learning both how the Warmaster liked to employ the Mournival as a political weapon, and what a masterful political animal the Warmaster was. Aximand had quietly briefed Loken on what would be required of him just before they boarded the shuttle on the Vengeful Spirit. The situation here is a mess, and the commander believes that mess has in part been caused by incompetence and mistakes at command level. He wants all the officers reprimanded, rebuked so hard they smart with shame, but… if he’s going to pull the 140th Expedition back together again and make it viable, he needs their admiration, their respect and their unswerving loyalty. None of which he will have if he marches in and starts throwing his weight around.’
‘So the Mournival does the rebuking for him?’
‘Just so,’ Aximand had smiled. ‘The Luna Wolves are feared anyway, so let them fear us. Let them hate us. We’ll be the mouthpiece of discontent and rancour. All accusations must come from us. Play the part, speak as bluntly and critically as you like. Make them squirm in discomfort. They’ll get the message, but at the same time, the Warmaster will be seen as a benign conciliator.’
‘We’re his war dogs?’
‘So he doesn’t have to growl himself. Exactly. He wants us to give them hell, a dressing down they’ll remember and learn from. That allows him to seem the peacemaker. To remain beloved, adored, a voice of reason and calm. By the end, if we do things properly, they’ll all feel suitably admonished, and simultaneously they’ll all love the Warmaster for showing mercy and calling us off. Everyone thinks the Warmaster’s keenest talent is as a warrior. No one expects him to be a consummate politician. Watch him and learn, Garvi. Learn why the Emperor chose him as his proxy.’
‘Well played indeed,’ Horus said to the Mournival with a smile. ‘Garviel, that last comment was deliriously barbed. Eshkerrus was quite incandescent.’
Loken nodded. ‘From the moment I laid eyes on him, he struck me as man eager to cover his arse. He knew mistakes had been made.’
‘Yes, he did
,’ Horus said. ‘Just don’t expect to find many friends amongst the Emperor’s Children for a while. They are a proud bunch.’
Loken shrugged. ‘I have all the friends I need, sir,’ he said.
‘August, Eshkerrus and a dozen others may, of course, be formally cautioned and charged with incompetence once this is done,’ Horus said lightly, ‘but only once this is done. Now, morale is crucial. Now we have a war to design.’
IT WAS ABOUT half an hour later when August summoned them to the bridge. A sudden and unexpected hole had appeared in the shield-storms of One Forty Twenty, an abrupt break in the fury, and quite close to the supposed landing vectors of the Emperor’s Children.
‘At last,’ said August, ‘a gap in that storm.’
‘Would that I had Astartes to drop into it,’ Eshkerrus muttered to himself.
‘But you don’t, do you?’ Aximand remarked snidely. Eshkerrus glowered at Little Horus.
‘Let’s go in,’ Torgaddon urged the Warmaster. ‘Another hole might be a long time coming.’
‘The storm might close in again,’ Horus said, pointing to the radiating cyclonics on the lith.
‘You want this world, don’t you?’ said Torgaddon. ‘Let me take the speartip down.’ The lots had already been drawn. The speartip was to be Torgaddon’s company, along with the companies of Sedirae, Moy and Targost.
‘Orbital bombardment,’ Horus said, repeating what had already been decided as the best course of action.
‘Men might yet live,’ Torgaddon said.
The Warmaster stepped aside, and spoke quietly, in Cthonic, to the Mournival.
‘If I authorise this, I echo August and Eidolon, and I’ve just had you take them to task for that very brand of rash mistake.’
‘This is different,’ Torgaddon replied. ‘They went in blind, wave after wave. I’d not advocate duplicating that stupidity, but that break in the weather… it’s the first they’ve detected in months.’
‘If there are brothers still alive down there,’ Little Horus said, ‘they deserve one last chance to be found.’
‘I’ll go in,’ said Torgaddon. ‘See what I can find. Any sign that the weather is changing, I’ll pull the speartip straight back out and we can open up the fleet batteries.’
‘I still wonder about the music,’ the Warmaster said. ‘Anything on that?’
‘The translators are still working,’ Abaddon replied.
Horus looked at Torgaddon. ‘I admire your compassion, Tarik, but the answer is a firm no. I’m not going to repeat the errors that have already been made and pour men into—’
‘Lord?’ August had come over to them again, and held out a data-slate.
Horus took it and read it.
‘Is this confirmed?’
‘Yes, Warmaster.’
Horus regarded the Mournival.. ‘The Master of Vox has detected trace vox traffic on the surface, in the area of the storm break. It does not respond or recognise our signals, but it is active. Imperial. It looks like squad to squad, or brother to brother transmissions.’
‘There are men still alive,’ said Abaddon. He seemed genuinely relieved. ‘Great Terra and the Emperor! There are men still alive down there.’
Torgaddon stared at the Warmaster steadily and said nothing. He’d already said it.
‘Very well,’ said Horus to Torgaddon. ‘Go.’
THE DROP-PODS WERE arranged down the length of the Vengeful Spirit’s fifth embarkation deck in their launch racks, and the warriors of the speartip were locking themselves into place. Lid doors, like armoured petals, were closing around them, so the drop-pods resembled toughened, black seed cases ready for autumn. Klaxons sounded, and the firing coils of the launchers were beginning to charge. They made a harsh, rising whine and a stink of ozone smouldered like incense in the deck air.
The Warmaster stood at the side of the vast deck space, watching the hurried preparations, his arms folded across his chest.
‘Climate update?’ he snapped.
‘No change in the weather break, my lord,’ Maloghurst replied, consulting his slate.
‘How long’s it been now?’ Horus asked.
‘Eighty-nine minutes.’
‘They’ve done a good job pulling this together in such a short time,’ Horus said. ‘Ezekyle, commend the unit officers, please. Make it known I’m proud of them.’
Abaddon nodded. He held the papers of four oaths of moment in his armoured hands. ‘Aximand?’ he suggested.
Little Horus stepped forwards.
‘Ezekyle?’ Loken said. ‘Could I?’
‘You want to?’
‘Luc and Serghar heard and witnessed mine before the Whisperheads. And Tarik is my friend.’
Abaddon looked sidelong at the Warmaster, who gave an almost imperceptible nod. Abaddon handed the parchments to Loken.
Loken strode out across the deck, Aximand at his side, and heard the four captains take their oaths. Little Horus held out the bolter on which the oaths were sworn.
When it was done, Loken handed the oath papers to each of them.
‘Be well,’ he said to them, ‘and commend your unit commanders. The Warmaster personally admired their work today.’
Verulam Moy made the sign of the aquila. ‘My thanks, Captain Loken,’ he said, and walked away towards his pod, shouting for his unit seconds.
Serghar Targost smiled at Loken, and clasped his fist, thumb around thumb. By his side, Luc Sedirae grinned with his ever half-open mouth, his eyes a murderous blue, eager for war.
‘If I don’t see you next on this deck…’ Sedirae began.
‘…let it be at the Emperor’s side,’ Loken finished.
Sedirae laughed and ran, whooping, towards his pod. Targost locked on his helm and strode away in the opposite direction.
‘Luc’s blood is up,’ Loken said to Torgaddon. ‘How’s yours?’
‘My humours are all where they should be,’ Torgaddon replied. He hugged Loken, with a clatter of plate, and then did the same to Aximand.
‘Lupercal!’ he bellowed, punching the air with his fist, and turned away, running to his waiting drop-pod.
‘Lupercal!’ Loken and Aximand shouted after him.
The pair turned and walked back to join Abaddon, Maloghurst and the Warmaster.
‘I’m always a little jealous,’ Little Horus muttered to Loken as they crossed the deck.
‘Me too.’
‘I always want it to be me.’
‘I know.’
‘Going into something like that.’
‘I know. And I’m always just a little afraid.’
‘Of what, Garviel?’
‘That we won’t see them again.’
‘We will.’
‘How can you be so sure, Horus?’ Loken wondered.
‘I can’t say,’ replied Aximand, with a deliberate irony that made Loken laugh.
The observing party withdrew behind the blast shields. A sudden, volatile pressure change announced the opening of the deck’s void fields. The firing coils accelerated to maximum charge, shrieking with pent up energy.
‘The word is given,’ Abaddon instructed above the uproar.
One by one, each with a concussive bang, the drop-pods fired down through the deck slots like bullets. It was like the ripple of a full broadside firing. The embarkation deck shuddered as the drop-pods ejected free.
Then they were all gone, and the deck was suddenly quiet, and tiny armoured pellets, cocooned in teardrops of blue fire, sank away towards the planet’s surface.
I CAN’T SAY.
The phrase had haunted Loken since the sixth week of the voyage to Murder. Since he had gone with Little Horus to the lodge meeting.
The meeting place had been one of the aft holds of the flagship, a lonely, forgotten pocket of the ship’s superstructure. Down in the dark, the way had been lit by tapers.
Loken had come in simple robes, as Aximand had instructed him. They’d met on the fourth midships deck, and taken the rail carriage ba
ck to the aft quarters before descending via dark service stairwells.
‘Relax,’ Aximand kept telling him.
Loken couldn’t. He’d never liked the idea of the lodges, and the discovery that Jubal had been a member had increased his disquiet.
‘This isn’t what you think it is,’ Aximand had said.
And what did he think it was? A forbidden conclave. A cult of the Lectio Divinitatus. Or worse. A terrible assembly. A worm in the bud. A cancer at the heart of the Legion.
As he walked down the dim, metal deckways, part of him hoped that what awaited him would be infernal. A coven. Proof that Jubal had already been tainted by some manufacture of the warp before the Whisperheads. Proof that would reveal a source of evil to Loken that he could finally strike back at in open retribution, but the greater part of him willed it to be otherwise. Little Horus Aximand was party to this meeting. If it was tainted, then Aximand’s presence meant that taint ran profoundly deep. Loken didn’t want to have to go head to head with Aximand. If what he feared was true, then in the next few minutes he might have to fight and kill his Mournival brother.
‘Who approaches?’ asked a voice from the darkness. Loken saw a figure, evidently an Astartes by his build, shrouded in a hooded cloak.
‘Two souls,’ Aximand replied.
‘What are your names?’ the figure asked.
‘I can’t say.’
‘Pass, friends.’
They entered the aft hold. Loken hesitated. The vast, scaffold-framed area was eerily lit by candles and a vigorous fire in a metal canister. Dozens of hooded figures stood around. The dancing light made weird shadows of the deep hold’s structural architecture.
‘A new friend comes,’ Aximand announced.
The hooded figures turned. ‘Let him show the sign,’ said one of them in a voice that seemed familiar.
‘Show it,’ Aximand whispered to Loken.
Loken slowly held out the medal Aximand had given him. It glinted in the fire light. Inside his robe, his other hand clasped the grip of the combat knife he had concealed.
‘Let him be revealed,’ a voice said.
Aximand reached over and drew Loken’s hood down.