Horus Rising

by Dan Abnett

  Loken dropped Erebus’s sword onto the mat. ‘I think I made my point. That’s how a Luna Wolf fights. Understand your foe and do whatever is necessary to bring him down. Sorry, Lucius.’

  Spitting blood, Lucius’s response was incoherent.

  ‘I SAID WE should consider the interex, sir,’ Erebus pressed.

  ‘We should,’ Horus replied, ‘and my mind is made up. All these voices calling for my attention, pulling me this way and that. They can’t disguise the fact that the interex is a significant new culture, occupying a significant region of space. They’re human. We can’t ignore them. We can’t deny their existence. We must deal with them directly. Either they are friends, potential allies, or they are enemies. We cannot turn our attention elsewhere and expect them to stay put. If they are enemies, if they are against us, then they could pose a threat as great as the greenskins. I will go to the summit and meet their leaders.’

  XENOBIA WAS A provincial capital on the marches of interex territory. The envoys had been guarded in revelations of the precise size and extent of the interex, but their cultural holdings evidently occupied in excess of thirty systems, with the heartworlds some forty weeks from the advancing edge of Imperial influence. Xenobia, a gateway world and a sentinel station on the edge of interex space, was chosen as the site for the summit.

  It was a place of considerable wonder. Escorted from mass anchorage points in the orbit of the principal satellite, the Warmaster and his representatives were conducted to Xenobia Principis, a wealthy, regal city on the shores of a wide, ammonia sea. The city was set into the slopes of a wide bay, so that it shelved down the ramparts of the hills to sea-level. The continental region behind it was sheathed in verdant rainforest, and this lush growth spilled down through the city too, so that the city structures – towers of pale grey stone and turrets of brass and silver – rose up out of the thick canopy like hilltop peaks. The vegetation was predominately dark green, indeed so dark in colour it seemed almost black in the frail, yellow daylight. The city was structured in descending tiers under the trees, where arched stone viaducts and curved street galleries stepped down to the shoreline in the quiet, mottled shadow of the greenery. Where the grey towers and ornate campaniles rose above the forest, they were often capped in polished metal, and adorned with high masts from which flags and standards hung in the warm air.

  It was not a fortress city. There was little evidence of defences either on the ground or in local orbit. Horus was in no doubt that the place could protect itself if necessary. The interex did not wear its martial power as obviously as the Imperium, but its technology was not to be underestimated.

  The Imperial party was over five hundred strong and included Astartes officers, escort troops and iterators, as well as a selection of remembrancers. Horus had authorised the latter’s inclusion. This was a fact-finding mission, and the Warmaster thought the eager, inquisitive remembrancers might gather a great deal of supplementary material that would prove valuable. Loken believed that the Warmaster was also making an effort to establish a rather different impression than before. The envoys of the interex had seemed so disdainful of the expedition’s military bias. Horus came to them now, surrounded as much by teachers, poets and artists as he was warriors.

  They were provided with excellent accommodation in the western part of the city, in a quarter known as the Extranus, where, they were politely informed, all ‘strangers and visitors’ were reserved and hosted. Xenobia Principis was a place designed for trade delegations and diplomatic meetings, with the Extranus set aside to keep guests reserved in one place. They were handsomely provided with meturge players, household servants, and court officers to see to their every need and answer any questions.

  Under the guided escort of abbrocarii, the Imperials were allowed beyond the shaded compound of the Extranus to visit the city. In small groups, they were shown the wonders of the place: halls of trade and industry, museums of art and music, archives and libraries. In the green twilight of the galleried streets, under the hissing canopy of the trees, they were guided along fine avenues, through splendid squares, and up and down endless flights of steps. The city was home to buildings of exquisite design, and it was clear the interex possessed great skill in both the old crafts of stonemasonry and metalwork, and the newer crafts of technology. Pavements abounded with gorgeous statuary and tranquil water fountains, but also with modernist public sculpture of light and sonics. Ancient lancet window slits were equipped with glass panels reactive to light and heat. Doors opened and closed via automatic body sensors. Interior light levels could be adjusted by a wave of the hand. Everywhere, the soft melody of the aria played.

  The Imperium possessed many cities that were larger and grander and more cyclopean. The super-hives of Terra and the silver spires of Prospero both were stupendous monuments to cultural advancement that quite diminished Xenobia Principis. But the interex city was every bit as refined and sophisticated as any conurbation in Imperial space, and it was merely a border settlement.

  On the day of their arrival, the Imperials were welcomed by a great parade, which culminated in their presentation to the senior royal officer of Xenobia, a ‘general commander’ named Jephta Naud. There were high-ranking civil officers in the interex party too, but they had decided to allow a military leader to oversee the summit. Just as Horus had diluted the martial composition of his embassy to impress the interex, so it had brought its military powers to the fore.

  The parade was complex and colourful. Meturge players marched in great numbers, dressed in rich formal robes, and performed skirling anthems that were as much non-verbal messages of welcome as they were mood-setting music. Gleves and sagittars strode in long, uniform columns, their armour polished brightly and dressed with garlands of ribbons and leaves. Behind the human soldiery came the kinebrach auxiliaries, armoured and lumbering, and glittering formations of robotic cavalry. The cavalry was made up of hundreds of the headless artificial horses that had featured in the envoys’ honour guard. They were headless no longer. Sagittars and gleves had mounted the quadruped frames, seating themselves where the base of the neck would have been. Warrior armour and robot technology had fused smoothly, locking the ‘riders’ in place, their legs folded into the breastbones of the steeds. They were centaurs now, man and device linked as one, myths given technological reality.

  The citizenry of Xenobia Principis came out in force for the parade, and cheered and sang, and strewed the route of the procession with petals and strips of ribbon.

  The parade’s destination was a building called the Hall of Devices, a place which apparently had some military significance to the interex. Old, and of considerable size, the hall resembled a museum. Built into a steep section of the bay slopes, the hall enclosed many chambers that were more than two or three storeys high. Plunging display vaults, some of great size, showed off assemblies of weapons, from forests of ancient swords and halberds to modern motorised cannons, all suffused in the pale blue glow of the energy fields that secured them.

  ‘The hall is both a museum of weapons and war devices, and an armoury,’ Jephta Naud explained as he greeted them. Naud was a tall, noble creature with complicated dermatoglyphics on the right side of his face. His eyes were the colour of soft gold, and he wore silver armour and a cloak of scalloped red metal links that made a sound like distant chimes when he moved. An armoured officer walked at his side, carrying Naud’s crested warhelm.

  Though the Astartes had come armoured, the Warmaster had chosen to wear robes and furs rather than his battle-plate. He showed great and courteous interest as Naud led them through the deep vaults, commenting on certain devices, remarking with delight when archaic weapons revealed a shared ancestry.

  ‘They’re trying to impress us,’ Aximand murmured to his brothers. ‘A museum of weapons? They’re as good as telling us they are so advanced… so beyond war… they’ve been able to retire it as a curiosity. They’re mocking us.’

  ‘No one mocks me,’ Abaddon granted
.

  They were entering a chamber where, in the chilly blue field light, the artefacts were a great deal stranger than before.

  ‘We hold the weapons of the kinebrach here,’ Naud said, to meturge accompaniment. ‘Indeed, we preserve here, in careful stasis, examples of the weapons used by many of the alien species we have encountered. The kinebrach have, as a sign of service to us, foresworn the bearing of arms, unless under such circumstances as we grant them said use in time of war. Kinebrach technology is highly advanced, and many of their weapons are deemed too lethal to be left beyond securement.’

  Naud introduced a hulking, robed kinebrach called Asherot, who held the rank of Keeper of Devices, and was the trusted curator of the hall. Asherot spoke the human tongue in a lisping manner, and for the first time, the Imperials were grateful for the meturge accompaniment. The baffling cadences of Asherot’s speech were rendered crystal clear by the aria.

  Most of the kinebrach weapons on display didn’t resemble weapons at all. Boxes, odd trinkets, rings, hoops. Naud clearly expected the Imperials to ask questions about the devices, and betray their warmongering appetites, but Horus and his officers affected disinterest. In truth, they were uneasy in the society of the indentured alien.

  Only Sindermann expressed curiosity. A very few of the kinebrach weapons looked like weapons: long daggers and swords of exotic design.

  ‘Surely, general commander, a blade is just a blade?’ Sindermann asked politely. ‘These daggers here, for instance. How are these weapons “too lethal to be left beyond securement”?’

  ‘They are tailored weapons,’ Naud replied. ‘Blades of sentient metal, crafted by the kinebrach metallurgists, a technique now utterly forbidden. We call them anathames. When such a blade is selected for use against a specific target, it becomes that target’s nemesis, utterly inimical to the person or being chosen.’

  ‘How?’ Sindermann pressed.

  Naud smiled. ‘The kinebrach have never been able to explain it to us. It is a factor of the forging process that defies technical evaluation.’

  ‘Like a curse?’ prompted Sindermann. ‘An enchantment?’

  The aria generated by the meturge players around them hiccupped slightly over those words. To Sindermann’s surprise, Naud replied, ‘I suppose that is how you could describe it, iterator.’

  The tour moved on. Sindermann drew close to Loken, and whispered, ‘I was joking, Garviel, about the curse, I mean, but he took me seriously. They are enjoying treating us as unsophisticated cousins, but I wonder if their superiority is misplaced. Do we detect a hint of pagan superstition?’

  THREE

  Impasse

  Illumination

  The wolf and the moon

  THEY ALL ROSE as the Warmaster entered the room. It was a large chamber in the Extranus compound where the Imperials met for their regular briefings. Large shield-glass windows overlooked the tumbling terraces of the forested city and the glittering ocean beyond.

  Horus waited silently while six officers and servitors from the Master of Vox’s company finished their routine sweep for spyware, and only spoke once they had activated the portable obscurement device in the corner of the room. The distant melodies of the aria were immediately blanked out.

  ‘Two weeks without solid agreement,’ Horus said, ‘nor even a mutually acceptable scheme of how to continue. They regard us with a mixture of curiosity and caution, and hold us at arm’s length. Any commentary?’

  ‘We’ve exhausted all possibilities, lord,’ Maloghurst said, ‘to the extent that I fear we are wasting our time. They will admit to nothing but a willingness to open and pursue ambassadorial links, with a view to trade and some cultural exchange. They will not be led on the subject of alliance.’

  ‘Or compliance,’ Abaddon remarked quietly.

  ‘An attempt to enforce our will here,’ said Horus, ‘would only confirm their worst opinions of us. We cannot force them into compliance.’

  ‘We can,’ Abaddon said.

  ‘Then I’m saying we shouldn’t,’ Horus replied.

  ‘Since when have we worried about hurting people’s feelings, lord?’ Abaddon asked. ‘Whatever our differences, these are humans. It is their duty and their destiny to join with us and stand with us, for the primary glory of Terra. If they will not…’

  He let the words hang. Horus frowned. ‘Someone else?’

  ‘It seems certain that the interex has no wish to join us in our work,’ said Raldoron. ‘They will not commit to a war, nor do they share our goals and ideals. They are content with pursuing their own destiny.’

  Sanguinius said nothing. He allowed his Chapter Master to weigh in with the opinion of the Blood Angels, but kept his own considerable influence for Horus’s ears alone.

  ‘Maybe they fear we will try to conquer them,’ Loken said.

  ‘Maybe they’re right,’ said Abaddon. ‘They are deviant in their ways. Too deviant for us to embrace them without forcing change.’

  ‘We will not have war here,’ Horus said. ‘We cannot afford it. We cannot afford to open up a conflict on this front. Not at this time. Not on the vast scale subduing the interex would demand. If they even need subduing.’

  ‘Ezekyle has a valid point,’ said Erebus quietly. ‘The interex, for good reasons, I’m sure, have built a society that is too greatly at variance to the model of human culture that the Emperor has proclaimed. Unless they show a willingness to adapt, they must by necessity be regarded as enemies to our cause.’

  ‘Perhaps the Emperor’s model is too stringent,’ the Warmaster said flatly.

  There was a pause. Several of those present glanced at each other in quiet unease.

  ‘Oh, come on!’ Sanguinius exclaimed, breaking the silence. ‘I see those looks. Are you honestly nursing concerns that our Warmaster is contemplating defiance of the Emperor? His father?’ He laughed aloud at the very notion, and forced a few smiles to surface.

  Abaddon was not smiling. ‘The Emperor, beloved of all,’ he began, ‘enfranchised us to do his bidding and make known space safe for human habitation. His edicts are unequivocal. We must suffer not the alien, nor the uncontrolled psyker, safeguard against the darkness of the warp, and unify the dislocated pockets of mankind. That is our charge. Anything else is sacrilege against his wishes.’

  ‘And one of his wishes,’ said Horus, ‘was that I should be Warmaster, his sole regent, and strive to make his dreams reality. The crusade was born out of the Age of Strife, Ezekyle. Born out of war. Our ruthless approach of conquest and cleansing was formulated in a time when every alien form we met was hostile, every fragment of humanity that was not with us was profoundly opposed to us. War was the only answer. There was no room for subtlety, but two centuries have passed, and different problems face us. The bulk of war is over. That is why the Emperor returned to Terra and left us to finish the work. Ezekyle, the people of the interex are clearly not monsters, nor resolute foes. I believe that if the Emperor were with us today, he would immediately embrace the need for adaptation. He would not want us to wantonly destroy that which there is no good reason to destroy. It is precisely to make such choices that he has placed his trust in me.’

  He looked round at them all. ‘He trusts me to make the decisions he would make. He trusts me to make no mistakes. I must be allowed the freedom to interpret policy on his behalf. I will not be forced into violence simply to satisfy some slavish expectation.’

  A CHILL EVENING had covered the tiers of the city, and under layers of foliage stirred by the ocean’s breath, the walkways and pavements were lit with frosty white lamps.

  Loken’s duty for that part of the night was as perimeter bodyguard. The commander was dining with Jephta Naud and other worthies at the general commander’s palatial house. Horus had confided to the Mournival that he hoped to use the occasion to informally press Naud for some more substantial commitments, including the possibility that the interex might, at least in principle for now, recognise the Emperor as the true human authority
. Such a suggestion had not yet been risked in formal talks, for the iterators had predicted it would be rejected out of hand. The Warmaster wanted to test the general commander’s feelings on the subject in an atmosphere where any offence could be smoothed over as conjecture. Loken didn’t much like the idea, but trusted his commander to couch it delicately. It was an uneasy time, well into the third week of their increasingly fruitless visit. Two days earlier, Primarch Sanguinius had finally taken his leave and returned to Imperial territory with the Blood Angels contingents.

  Horus clearly hated to see him go, but it was a prudent move, and one Sanguinius had chosen to make simply to buy his brother more time with the interex. Sanguinius was returning to deal directly with some of the matters most urgently requiring the Warmaster’s attention, and thus mollify the many voices pleading for his immediate re-call.

  Naud’s house was a conspicuously vast structure near the centre of the city. Six stories high, it overhung one of the grander civic tiers and was formed from a great black-iron frame infilled with mosaics of varnished wood and coloured glass. The interex did not welcome armed foreigners abroad in their city, but a small detail of bodyguards was permitted for so august a personage as the Warmaster. Most of the substantial Imperial contingent was sequestered in the Extranus compound for the night. Torgaddon, and ten hand-picked men from his company, were inside the dining hall, acting as close guard, while Loken, with ten men of his own, roamed the environs of the house.

  Loken had chosen Tenth Company’s Sixth Squad, Walkyre Tactical Squad, to stand duty with him. Through its veteran leader, Brother-sergeant Kairus, he’d spread the men out around the entry areas of the hall, and formulated a simple period of patrol.

  The house was quiet, the city too. There was the sound of the soft ocean breeze, the hissing of the overgrowth, the splash and bell-tinkle of ornamental fountains, and the background murmur of the aria. Loken strolled from chamber to chamber, from shadow to light. Most of the house’s public spaces were lit from sources within the walls, so they played matrices of shade and colour across the interior, cast by the inset wall panels of rich wood and coloured gem-glass. Occasionally, he encountered one of Walkyre on a patrol loop, and exchanged a nod and a few quiet words. Less frequently, he saw scurrying servants running courses to and from the closed dining hall, or crossed the path of Naud’s own sentries, mostly armoured gleves, who said nothing, but saluted to acknowledge him.