'Is it wise to rely on the separatists, seneschal? Their ships make no move to counter the Death Guard approach.'
'I am not relying on the Free Army, Belath, I am depending upon the tactical instincts of our foe. Only a madman would dare engage an enemy under the cover of orbital defences. The Death Guard commander is trying to force us into a direct clash, which would bring us out of range of the batteries.'
'Is that a gamble we can risk? What assurance have you had that the rebels are not at this very moment in communication with the enemy commander?'
'Superior wisdom will prevail, Chapter Master. Do not forget the lessons of the spiral, though the teaching may have fallen out of favour of late. One must bring the enemy close, into one's own ground, to ensure victory.'
'I fail to see the relevance of the lesson in this situation, seneschal. Surely it would be wiser to meet force with equal force? If we cannot, then- Damn, incoming torpedoes!'
The vox went dead, and a moment later the warning sirens wailed, alerting the crew to brace for impact. Corswain overrode the alarm inside his chambers and restored the link to Remercus.
'I am not sure I have your full attention, Seneschal Corswain,' said the President-General.
'You do not, Remercus.' The situation lent haste to his words and Corswain's patience was worn thin by the man's insolence. 'My fleet is under attack from a traitor force. A force you are aiding by your continued inaction. Emperor damn you, will you sit there and watch us be destroyed?'
'I have no choice,' said Remercus, his regret seemingly genuine. He dolefully shook his head. 'What am I to do? If I aid the Dark Angels now, we make ourselves enemies of the Death Guard. If we come to the assistance of Mortarion's Legion, then your battle-brothers will not be slow in seeking vengeance. The galaxy burns, seneschal, and we are all caught up in the flames. But if we are patient we can pass through this conflagration, if not unscathed, then at least alive.'
Corswain sought a retort to Remercus's honest assessment of the situation, but one did not spring to mind. The galaxy had ever been divided into two camps for him: those to fight against, and those to fight alongside. He thought of the Night Lords - of how he had spent time studying them, and had considered them allies even though their methods had seemed alien and barbarous. Though he had been as shocked as any by Horus's treachery, he had not been surprised by Curze's faithlessness.
Ally had so easily become enemy.
Now he was confronted with the possibility that there was a third view, a grey area that contained neither friend nor foe. When the Lion had told him that matters were more complex than Corswain could imagine, perhaps it had been a situation such as this that the primarch had foreseen.
'We are living in complex times, Cor, and there is no easy division between those who fight on our side and those who fight against us. Antagonism towards Horus and his Legions no longer guarantees fealty to the Emperor. There are other powers exercising their right to dominion.'
'I don't understand, my liege,' confessed Corswain. 'Who else would one swear loyalty to, other than Horus or the Emperor?'
'Tell me, whom do you serve?' the Lion asked in reply to the question.
Corswain replied immediately, drawing himself up straight as if accused. 'Terra, my liege, and the cause of the Emperor.'
'And what of your oaths to me, little brother?' The Lion's voice was quiet, contemplative. 'Are you not loyal to the Dark Angels?'
'Of course, my liege!' Corswain was taken aback by the suggestion that he might think otherwise.
'And so there are other forces whose foremost concern is their primarch and Legion, and for some perhaps not even that,' the Lion explained. 'If I told you we were to abandon any pretence of defending Terra, what would you say?'
'Please do not joke about such things,' Corswain muttered, shaking his head. 'We cannot allow Horus to prevail in this war.'
'Who said I was talking about Horus... ?'
The primarch closed his eyes, and rubbed his brow for a few moments. Then he looked at Corswain, gauging his mettle. 'It is not for you to concern yourself, little brother. Prepare the task force, and let greater burdens sit upon my shoulders alone.'
THAT BURDEN NOW rested firmly upon Corswain's shoulders, too. It been hard to watch the Lion leave, but the seneschal had understood, as best he could, the reasons for the primarch's departure. Events unfolding on the Eastern Fringe could not be ignored, and maybe presented as much of a threat to the Emperor as Horus's own treachery. Or so the Lion had implied.
The first time he had assembled the command council, the seneschal had asked himself what the Lion would do in the same situation. It had been a fruitless exercise. Corswain believed that he knew his primarch better than most, but the Lion's thoughts and strategies were as far beyond the seneschal's understanding as a human's to an insect. The primarchs saw the universe in ways he never could, and to second-guess their motivations was to invite endless frustration.
'No swift reply, Seneschal Corswain? No trite argument to persuade me of the merit of sacrificing my soldiers?'
Remercus snapped Corswain back from his thoughts, to the pressing matter. He could feel and hear the battle-barge trembling as cannons and missile banks opened fire to intercept the incoming torpedoes. The deck shuddered constantly beneath him as the gunnery decks unleashed their broadsides. The reality of it added urgency to his message.
'No, I see that you have not broken your oaths to the Imperium easily, President-General. It must be hard, feeling the pressure of so many lives weighing on every decision you make. The people of Terra Nullius are fortunate to have such a strong leader.'
'Sarcasm, seneschal?'
'No, I speak plainly. It is hard, is it not? To sit by and watch those who brought the Imperial Truth to the stars savage themselves for the ambitions and egos of a few. I envy you the luxury of inaction.'
'I do not understand,' said Remercus. 'It was your Warmaster that unleashed this terror.'
'The Warmaster, aye. Great Horus, raised up by the hand of the Emperor himself. How much safer you must feel to hide here from his war, trusting the fate of the galaxy to the efforts of others.' Remercus's reply was lost in static as the void shields flared. The Wrath's Descent shook under a series of impacts, forcing Corswain to steady himself with a hand upon the communications monitor. Klaxons blared again, signalling emergency crews to their stations.
'Chapter Master Belath, make your report.'
'Light damage only, seneschal. The Crusader has not fared so well - the strike cruiser took the full brunt of the salvo. Her shields are down, and she's suffered several hull breaches.'
'Have the Crusader lay into closer orbit, and reform the line.'
'Let us turn and respond with our own torpedoes! We will redirect their attack.'
'I have no intention of redirecting the attack, Chapter Master. If we turn, we will move out from the cover of the batteries, as I told you.'
'The protection of silent batteries is worthless!'
'Have faith, Belath.'
'Faith? In what?'
'If not in my skills of persuasion, which I understand might be lacking, have faith in common humanity.'
'It is common humanity that is sitting by while we come under attack. Even before they turned from the Emperor, these Free Army cowards were more burden than boon.'
Corswain shook his head. 'If you truly believe that, Chapter Master, then they would be right to leave us to settle our own conflict.'
'Apologies, I spoke out of turn.' Belath did not speak for several seconds though the link remained open. Then the Chapter Master growled with consternation. 'Their flagship is adjusting course to come alongside, seneschal. Signal identifiers confirm - it's the damnable Terminus Est.'
This pronouncement, though expected, gave Corswain pause to doubt his choice of strategy. Not only was Typhon fully capable of daring the orbital defences if he sensed weakness, his battle-barge was one of the largest ever built, outgunning the Wrath's Descent
by many decks.
'For good or ill, I have chosen our course and now we must see it through to the end. There is nothing to be gained by questioning ourselves. Recall attack craft to the landing bays, and have all repair crews standing by. I expect we will be suffering the full might of the enemy broadside shortly, as a precursor to boarding.'
'You sound very calm at the prospect, seneschal.'
It was true. Corswain felt no apprehension or excitement. His mind had been whirling, but now, faced with such grim inevitability, his thoughts had assumed a laser-like focus. He wondered if this was how the Lion's brain worked all of the time.
'I will not allow this ship to be boarded, Belath. If the enemy attempt to close, we will manoeuvre to counter-board. You and I will lead the attack.'
'As you command, seneschal,' replied Belath with, perhaps for the first time since the Death Guard had been sighted, something approaching conviction. 'I will spearhead the fore party, unless you wish that honour.'
'Aft assault will suit me fine, Chapter Master.'
BEFORE HE LEFT his chamber, Corswain picked up the remote terminal for the communicator and plugged it in to his power armour's systems. He was four levels down, the corridors ringing with the thud of armoured boots as the Dark Angels mustered for the boarding action, when the link chimed to signal connection had been re-established with Argeus. Corswain spoke as he marched towards the portside sternwards mustering hall.
'I am surprised you have anything further to say, President-General. You have made your position and reasoning quite clear, and I'll warrant that no debate will change it.'
Corswain nodded in response to the salutes of his honour guard as they greeted him in the arming chamber. Several hundred legionaries were equipping themselves with specialised boarding gear: power halberds and combat shields for close-quarters fighting; breaching rounds and melta-charges for bulkhead destruction; gravity nets and chain-rasps for void actions.
'What did you mean, that others would decide the fate of the galaxy?' Remercus sounded more hesitant than before. 'Do you not believe that Horus's rebellion will be crushed?'
'I am not an optimist, President-General. The Arch-traitor has maintained the upper hand since the outset. I draw comfort from the fact that I will not likely live to see his victory, though I hope that my death may prevent it.'
'I would not expect such defeatism from a commander of the Legiones Astartes.' The President-General's voice seemed even more uncertain. 'Why speak of death?'
Corswain laughed, with genuine humour.
'I am preparing to board a vessel that doubtless is manned by a superior force, in the hope that I will at least slay its master, the traitor Typhon. Beyond that, I do not expect a single Dark Angels legionary to survive the coming encounter. It is my hope that the Death Guard, weakened by our attack, will be unable to press home the assault upon your world and the ships that orbit it.'
'You cannot know that that is their intent.'
Corswain drew his sword and twisted the blade left and right to inspect the keen edge for any burrs or nicks. There were none. He knew as much from painstaking maintenance, but the act was reassuring nonetheless.
'If you believe the Death Guard would respect your claims of neutrality, you are a bigger fool even than me. We conquered the galaxy for the Emperor and the Imperial Truth, President-General. Have no illusions - Horus plans to conquer it again in his own name. I hold no regrets over my part in the war. I hope you will have none either.' A dull rumble sounded along the battle-barge as it began a rolling broadside, prow to stem, growing louder and louder. It reverberated across the muster hall as the batteries in the deck below opened fire, masking Remercus's reply.
Moments later, the return bombardment from the Terminus Est smashed into the Wrath's Descent. Despite the aegis of the void shields, the battle-barge was rocked by the impact of shells, missiles and plasma. The sheer violence of it almost threw Corswain from his feet.
'Regretfully, I must end my transmission, President-General. Be sure not to let the Death Guard land on your world - I have seen firsthand the misery that will surely follow.'
'Wait!' snapped Remercus. 'Wait a moment. Let me think.'
'There is no more time to think, only time to act. I have already done so. When we first detected the Death Guard we had the opportunity to disengage from orbit, but that would have left your fleet vulnerable. I have moved your transports out of the path of the enemy and lured that foe into range of your orbital cannons. What you choose to do next is entirely on your own conscience.'
'This is a trick of some kind. You hope to force my hand with this blackmail?'
'No trick, no blackmail or coercion. I go now to battle in the name of the Emperor, the Lion and the First Legion. I count myself fortunate to do so, for if the Imperium prevails then our memory, and sacrifice will be honoured.'
The huge gateways connecting the muster chamber to the launch bays opened, grinding apart on heavy rollers to reveal Thunderhawks and Stormbirds ready for launch. Corswain lifted his fist in signal to the Space Marines around him, but his words were lost as another salvo of fire crashed into the battle-barge. Bulkheads and braces overhead screeched and groaned from the punishment, but held firm.
Corswain steadied himself. 'In two minutes my attack craft will be en route to the enemy, and your fire will hit us as likely as them.'
'Then what would you have me do.'
'President-General - fire your damn guns now!'
Corswain pulled the remote transmitter from its socket and tossed it to the deck. 'Belath, what is your status?' he asked over the internal vox.
'Preparing to embark in thirty seconds. Pilots have been briefed with attack patterns. The fleet is reforming for the counter-attack.'
'See you aboard the Terminus Est, brother. Death to the enemies of the Emperor.'
'Aye. Death to them!'
Corswain was the last up the ramp of the Stormbird, his honour guard already secure in their harnesses. He made his way past them and took a seat in the specially fitted command cupola beside the cockpit.
'All attack craft, prepare for launch on my command.'
The throb of the gunship's engines increased in pitch as the pilot disengaged the docking anchors. Corswain was about to issue the launch signal when his vox-link chimed with an urgent incoming message. It was Urizel.
'Seneschal, the defence platforms are opening fire!' The sensorium captain laughed. 'They're targeting the Death Guard ships!'
Corswain absorbed this news without reaction, not sure that it came in time. He sat still for a moment, eyes closed. 'And the enemy? What are they doing?'
'Moving away, seneschal. The Death Guard are breaking off their attack.'
Letting out a long breath, Corswain opened his eyes. He wanted to press the advantage while it was with him, but he knew that away from the orbital defences the Death Guard were more than the match of his ships. The Free Army vessels were too far away to intervene in any meaningful way.
'Signal the fleet. Withhold pursuit.' It pained him to say the words but he could not afford to sacrifice more of his brothers. Extended hostilities with the Night Lords had taken their toll, and with twenty thousand legionaries departed along with the Lion, the Dark Angels were a much lesser force than they had been three years earlier. 'Maintain stations. Stand down the launch.'
BELATH'S WHOLE DEMEANOUR was contrite as he entered the chamber at Corswain's call. The Chapter Master kept his gaze lowered, hands clasped at his waist.
'I offer my sincerest apologies for my dissent, seneschal. It was disrespectful and unworthy.'
'It was,' agreed Corswain, folding his arms. His chair creaked as he leaned back. 'I am not the Lion. l cannot be the leader he is. Yet I do demand that my command is respected. l am the Primarch's Seneschal - his will and his voice. Do I make myself clear?'
'Absolutely, seneschal,' Belath bowed and then finally met Corswain's gaze. The Chapter Master smiled. 'You proved yourself worthy of the L
ion's choice with the way you dealt with this encounter, l must confess, I thought for a time that your strategy of persuasion had failed.'
'l was convinced it had, too,' said Corswain.
Belath's expression was a picture of shock. 'You mean that you truly intended to board the Terminus Est? It was not just a ploy to force the dissidents into allying with us?'
'I sought to deceive nobody. My intent was as I commanded it.'
'I know that the primarch ordered that we engage the enemy at every turn, but were you really prepared to sacrifice us all for those damned separatists?' Belath became more incredulous. 'I admire your noble purpose, brother, but that stretches honour to breaking.'
'The Free Army can rot here alone, for all I care,' said Corswain. They are as bad as the traitors, and we cannot waste our resources on them. I didn't stay for the people of Argeus - I stayed for their transports and gunboats.'
The Chapter Master's expression conveyed his confusion better than any question.
'We need to regain our strength, Belath. We need more warrior.'
'Not the Free Army? Three hundred thousand soldiers is no small force.'
'Nothing compared to another twenty thousand legionaries.' Corswain enjoyed Belath's confused expression. 'You will commandeer the transports, under my authority, while I return to the Legion to continue the hunt for the Wolf.'
'And fill them how?' Belath unclasped his hands and spread them, showing empty palms. 'Where do you expect to find so many Space Marines armed and ready for war?'
Corswain smiled.
'Where they have been waiting for us for many years, Belath. On Caliban.'
THE DEVINE ADORATRICE
Graham McNeil
SLENDER TENDRILS OF flagrant smoke drifted from fang-mouthed oil burners, filling the bed-chamber with a delicious mix of cinnamon and honeysuckle. A fine sheen of oiled sweat and perfumed breath completed the indulgent atmosphere. Early morning sunlight shone in golden streaks through the slatted timber louvres over the windows, spilling languidly over the breathless couple that lay in the sumptuous bed, their eyes unfocused, their limbs entwined and their minds blissfully self-absorbed.
The Imperial Truth Page 6