The Horus Heresy: Horus Rising

by Dan Abnett

  'Nine weeks to spinward, thank you.’ Maloghurst replied. 'We have barely begun to scout this district, but

  there are early indications that some significant culture or cultures, of interstellar capability, exist within its bounds.'

  'Currently functioning?' Abaddon asked. Too often, Imperial expeditions came upon the dry traces of long perished societies in the desert of stars.

  Too early to tell, first captain.’ Maloghurst said. Though the scouts report some discovered relics bear similarities to those we found on seven ninety-three one-five half a decade ago.'

  'So, not human?' Adept Regulus asked.

  Too early to tell, sir.’ Maloghurst repeated. The region has an itemisation code, but I believe you'll all be interested to hear that it bears an Old Terran name. Sagittarius.’

  The Dreadful Sagittary.’ Horus whispered, with a delighted grin.

  'Quite so, my lord. The region certainly requires further examination.’ The crippled equerry moved the wand again, and brought up a third coil of suns. 'Our third option, further to spinward.’

  'Eighteen weeks, standard.’ Boas Comnenus supplied before he had to be asked.

  Thank you, Master. Our scouts have yet to examine it, but we have received word from the 140th Expedition, commanded by Khitas Frame of the Blood Angels, that opposition to Imperial advance has been encountered there. Reports are patchy, but war has broken out.’

  'Human resistance?' Varvaras asked. Are we talking about lost colonies?'

  'Xenos, sir.’ Maloghurst said, succincdy. Alien foes, of some capacity. I have sent a missive to the One Hundred and Fortieth asking if they require our support at this time. It is signifkandy smaller than ours. No reply has yet been received. We may consider it a priority to venture forward to this region to reinforce the Imperial presence there.’

  For the first time since the briefing began, the smile had left the Warmaster's face. 'I will speak with my brother Sanguinius on this matter.’ he said. 'I would not see his men perish, unsupported.’ He looked at Maloghurst. Thank you for this, equerry. We appreciate your efforts, and the brevity of your summation.’

  There was a ripple of applause.

  'One last thing, my lord.’ Maloghurst said. A personal matter I wish to clear up. I have become known, so I understand, as Maloghurst the Twisted, for reasons of... character mat I know are not lost on any present. I have always rejoiced in the title, though some of you might think that odd. I relish the arts politic, and make no effort to hide that. Some of my aides, as I have learned, have made efforts to have the soubriquet quashed, believing it offends my altered state. They worry that I might find it cruel. A slur. I want all here assembled to know that I do not. My body is broken, but my mind is not. I would take offence if the name was to be dropped out of politeness. I don't value sympathy much, and I don't want pity. I am twisted in body now, but I am still complex in mind. Don't think you are somehow sparing my feelings. I wish to be known as I always was.’

  Well said.’ Abaddon cried, and smacked his palms together. The assembly rose in a tumult as brisk as the one that had ushered Maloghurst on to the stage.

  The equerry picked up his staff from the dais and, leaning upon it, turned to the Warmaster. Horus raised both hands to restore quiet.

  'Our thanks to Maloghurst for presenting these options to us. There is much to consider. I dissolve this briefing now, but I request policy suggestions and remarks to my attention in the next day, ship-time. I urge you to study all possibilities and present your assessments. We will reconvene the day after tomorrow at this time. That is all.’

  The meeting broke up. As the upper galleries emptied, buzzing with chatter, the parties on the strategium deck gathered in informal conference. The Warmaster stood in quiet conversation with Maloghurst and the Mechan-icum Adept.

  'Nicely done.’ Torgaddon whispered to Loken.

  Loken breathed out. He hadn't realised what a weight of tension had built up in him since his summons to the briefing had arrived.

  Yes, finely put.’ said Aximand. 'I approve your commentary, Garviel.’

  'I just said what I felt. I made it up as I went along,' Loken admitted.

  Aximand frowned at him as if not sure whether he was joking or not.

  'Are you not cowed by these circumstances, Horns?' Loken asked.

  At first, I suppose I must have been.’ Aximand replied in an off-hand way. "You get used to it, once you've been through one or two. I found it was helpful to look at his feet.’

  'His feet?'

  The Warmaster's feet. Catch his eye and you'll quite forget what you were going to say.’ Aximand smiled slightly. It was the first hint of any softening towards Loken that Little Horns had shown.

  Thanks. I'll remember that.’

  Abaddon joined them under the shadow of the overhang. 'I knew we'd picked right.’ he said, clasping Loken's hand in his own. 'Cut to the quick, that's what the Warmaster wants of us. A clean appraisal. Good job, Garviel. Now just make sure it's a good job.’

  'I will.’

  'Need any help? I can lend you the Justaerin if you need them.’

  Thank you, but Tenth can do this.’

  Abaddon nodded. 'I'll tell Falkus his widowmakers are superfluous to requirements.’

  'Please don't do that.’ Loken snapped, alarmed at the prospect of insulting Falkus Kibre, Captain of First Company's Terminator elite. The other three quarters of the Mournival laughed out loud. Your face.’ said Torgaddon. 'Ezekyle goads you so easily.’ chuckled Aximand. 'Ezekyle knows he will develop a tough skin, soon enough.’ Abaddon remarked.

  'Captain Loken?' Lord Governor Elect Rakris was approaching them. Abaddon, Aximand and Torgaddon stood aside to let him through. 'Captain Loken.’ Rakris said, 'I just wanted to say, sir, I just wanted to say how grateful I was. To take this matter upon yourself and your company. To speak out so very directly. Lord Var-varas's soldiers are trying their best, but they are just men. The regime here is doomed unless firm action is taken.’

  Tenth Company will deal with the problem, lord governor.’ Loken said. You have my word as an Astartes.’

  'Because the army can't hack it?' They looked around and found that the tall, princely figure of Lord Commander Varvaras had joined them too. 'I-I didn't mean to suggest...' Rakris blithered. 'No offence was intended, lord commander.’ said Loken.

  'And none taken.’ Varvaras said, extending a hand towards Loken. 'An old custom of Terra, Captain Loken...'

  Loken took his hand and shook it. 'One I have been reminded of lately.’ he said.

  Varvaras smiled. 'I wanted to welcome you into our inner circle, captain. And to assure you that you did not speak out of turn today. In the south, my men are being slaughtered. Day in, day out. I have, I believe, the finest

  army in all of the expeditions, but I know full well it is composed of men, and just men. I understand when a fighting man is needed and when an Astartes is needed. This is the latter time. Come to my war cabinet, at your convenience, and I'll be happy to brief you fully.'

  Thank you, lord commander. I will attend you this afternoon.’

  Varvaras nodded.

  'Excuse me, lord commander.’ Torgaddon said. The Mournival is needed. The Warmaster is withdrawing and he has called for us.’

  THE MOURNIVAL FOLLOWED the Warmaster through the plated glass doors into his private sanctum, a wide, well-appointed chamber built below the well of the audience galleries on the port side of the flagship. One wall was glass, open to the stars. Maloghurst and the Warmaster bustled in ahead of them, and the Mournival drew back into the shadows, waiting to be called upon.

  Loken stiffened as three figures descended the ironwork screw stair into the room from the gallery above. The first two were Astartes of the Imperial Fists, almost glowing in their yellow plate. The third was much larger. Another god.

  Rogal Dorn, primarch of the Imperial Fists, brother to Horus.

  Dorn greeted the Warmaster warmly, and went to sit with him a
nd Maloghurst upon the black leather couches facing the glass wall. Servitors brought them refreshments.

  Rogal Dorn was a being as great in all measure as Horus. He, and his entourage of Imperial Fists, had been travelling with the expedition for some months, though they were expected to take their leave soon. Other duties and expeditions called. Loken had been

  told that Primarch Dorn had come to them at Horus's behest, so that the two of them might discuss in detail the obligations and remit of the role of Warmaster. Horus had solicited the opinions and advice of all his brother primarchs on the subject since the honour had been bestowed upon him. Being named Warmaster set him abruptly apart from them, and raised him up above his brothers, and there had been some stifled objections and discontent, especially from those primarchs who felt the title should have been theirs. The primarchs were as prone to sibling rivalry and petty competition as any group of brothers.

  Guided, it was likely, by Maloghurst's shrewd hand, Horus had courted his brothers, stilling fears, calming doubts, reaffirming pacts and generally securing their cooperation. He wanted none to feel slighted, or overlooked. He wanted none to think they were no longer listened to. Some, like Sanguineus, Lorgar and Fulgrim, had acclaimed Horus's election from the outset. Others, like Angron and Perturabo, had raged biliously at the new order, and it had taken masterful diplomacy on the Warmaster's part to placate their choler and jealousy. A few, like Russ and the Lion, had been cynically resolved, unsurprised by the turn of events.

  But others, like Guilliman, Khan and Dorn had simply taken it in their stride, accepting the Emperor's decree as the right and obvious choice. Horus had ever been the brightest, the first and the favourite. They did not doubt his fitness for the role, for none of the primarchs had ever matched Horus's achievements, nor the intimacy of his bond with the Emperor. It was to these solid, resolved brothers that Horus turned in particular for counsel. Dorn and Guilliman both embodied the staunchest and most dedicated Imperial qualities, commanding their Legion expeditions with peerless devotion and military genius. Horus desired their approval as a young man

  might seek the quiescence of older, more accomplished brothers.

  Rogal Dorn possessed perhaps the finest military mind of all the primarchs. It was as ordered and disciplined as Roboute Guilliman's, as courageous as the Lion's, yet still supple enough to allow for the flex of inspiration, the flash of battle zeal that had won the likes of Leman Russ and the Khan so many victory wreaths. Dorn's record in the crusade was second only to Horus's, but he was resolute where Horns was flamboyant, reserved where Horus was charismatic, and that was why Horus had been the obvious choice for War-master. In keeping with his patient, stony character, Dorn's Legion had become renowned for siegecraft and defensive strategies. The Warmaster had once joked that where he could storm a fortress like no other, Rogal Dorn could hold it. 'If I ever laid assault to a bastion possessed by you.’ Horus had quipped at a recent banquet, 'then the war would last for all eternity, the best in attack matched by the best in defence.’ The Imperial Fists were an immovable object to the Luna Wolves' unstoppable force.

  Dorn had been a quiet, observing presence in his months with the 63rd Expedition. He had spent hours in close conference with the Warmaster, but Loken had seen him from time to time, watching drills and studying preparations for war. Loken had not yet spoken to him, or met him directly. This was the smallest place they had both been in at the same time.

  He regarded him now, in calm discussion widi the Warmaster; two mythical beings manifest in one room. Loken felt it an honour just to be in their presence, to see them talk, like men, in unguarded fashion. Mal-oghurst seemed a tiny form beside them.

  Primarch Dorn wore a case of armour that was burnished and ornate like a tomb chest, dark red and

  copper-gold compared to Horus's white dazzle. Unfurled eagle wings, fashioned in metal, haloed his head and decorated his chest and shoulder plate, and aquilas and graven laurels embossed the armour sections of his limbs. A mantle of red velvet hung around his broad shoulders, trimmed in golden weave. His lean face was stern and unsmiling, even when the Warmaster raised a joke, and his hair was a shock of white, bleached like dead bones.

  The two Astartes who had escorted him down from the gallery came over to wait with the Mournival. They were well known to Abaddon, Torgaddon and Axi-mand, but Loken had only yet seen them indirectly about the flagship. Abaddon introduced them as Sigis-mund, First Captain of the Imperial Fists, resplendent in black and white heraldry, and Efried, Captain of the Third Company. The Astartes made the sign of the aquila to one another in formal greeting.

  'I approve of your direction.’ Sigismund told Loken at once.

  'I'm gratified. You were watching from the galleries?'

  Sigismind nodded. 'Prosecute the foe. Get it over with. Get on. There is still so much to be done, we cannot afford delays or time wasting.’

  There are so many worlds still to be brought to compliance.’ Loken agreed. 'One day, we will rest at last.’

  'No.’ Sigismund replied bluntly. The crusade will never end. Don't you know that?'

  Loken shook his head, 'I wouldn't-'

  'Not ever.’ said Sigismund emphatically. The more we spread, the more we find. World after world. New worlds to conquer. Space is limidess, and so is our appetite to master it.’

  'I disagree.’ Loken said. 'War will end, one day. A rule of peace will be established. That is the very purpose of our efforts.’

  Sigismund grinned. 'Is it? Perhaps. I believe that we have set ourselves an unending task. The nature of mankind makes it so. There will always be another goal, another prospect.’

  'Surely, brother, you can conceive of a time when all worlds have been brought into one unity of Imperial rule. Isn't that the dream we strive to realise?'

  Sigismund stared into Loken's face. 'Brother Loken, I have heard much about you, all of it good. I had not imagined I would discover such naivety in you. We will spend our lives fighting to secure this Imperium, and then I fear we will spend the rest of our days fighting to keep it intact. There is such involving darkness amongst the stars. Even when the Imperium is complete, there will be no peace. We will be obliged to fight on to preserve what we have fought to establish. Peace is a vain wish. Our crusade may one day adopt another name, but it will never truly end. In the far future, there will be only war.’

  'I think you're wrong.’ Loken said.

  'How innocent you are.’ Sigismund mocked, 'and I thought the Luna Wolves were supposed to be the most aggressive of us all. That's how you like the other Legions to think of you, isn't it? The most feared of mankind's warrior classes?'

  'Our reputation speaks for itself, sir.’ said Loken.

  'As does the reputation of the Imperial Fists.’ Sigismund replied. 'Are we going to scrap about it now? Argue which Legion is toughest?'

  'The answer, always, is the Wolves of Fenris.’ Torgad-don put in, 'because they are clinically insane.’ He grinned broadly, sensing the tension, and wishing to dispel it. 'If you're comparing sane Legions, of course, the question becomes more complex. Primarch Roboute's Ultramarines make a good show, but then there are so bloody many of them. The Word Bearers,

  the White Scars, the Imperial Fists, oh, all have fine records. But the Luna Wolves, ah me, the Luna Wolves. Sigismund, in a straight fight? Do you really think you'd have a hope? Honestly? Your yellow ragamuffins against the best of the best?'

  Sigismund laughed. 'Whatever helps you sleep, Tarik. Terra bless us all it is a paradigm that will never be tested.’

  'What brother Sigismund isn't telling you, Garviel.’ Torgaddon said, 'is that his Legion is going to miss all the glory. It's to be withdrawn. He's quite miffed about

  it.’

  Tarik is being selective with the truth.’ Sigismund snorted. 'The Imperial Fists have been commanded by the Emperor to return to Terra and establish a guard around him there. We are chosen as his Praetorians. Now who's miffed, Luna Wolf?'

  'N
ot I.’ said Torgaddon. 'I'll be winning laurels in war while you grow fat and lazy minding the home fires.’

  'You're quitting the crusade?' Loken asked. 'I had heard something of this.’

  The Emperor wishes us to fortify the Palace of Terra and guard its bulwarks. This was his word at the Ullanor Triumph. We have been the best part of two years tying up our business so we might comply with his desires. Yes, we're going home to Terra. Yes, we will sit out the rest of the crusade. Except that I believe there will be plenty of crusade left once we have been given leave to quit Earth, our duty done. You won't finish this, Luna Wolves. The stars will have long forgotten your name when the Imperial Fists war abroad again.’

  Torgaddon placed his hand on the hilt of his chainsword, playfully. 'Are you so keen to be slapped down by me for your insolence, Sigismund?'

  'I don't know. Is he?'

  Rogal Dorn suddenly towered behind them. 'Does Sigismund deserve a slap, Captain Torgaddon? Probably. In the spirit of comradeship, let him be. He bruises easily.’

  All of them laughed at the primarch's words. The barest hint of a smile flickered across Rogal Dorn's lips. 'Loken.’ he said, gesturing. Loken followed the massive primarch to the far corner of the chamber. Behind them, Sigismund and Efried continued to sport with the others of the Mournival, and elsewhere Horus sat in intense conference with Maloghurst.

  'We are charged to return to the homeworld.’ Dorn said, conversationally. His voice was low and astonishingly soft, like the lap of water on a distant beach, but there was a strength running through it, like the tension of a steel cable. The Emperor has asked us to fortify the Imperial stronghold, and who am I to question the Emperor's needs? I am glad he recognises the particular talents of the VII Legion.'

  Dorn looked down at Loken. "You're not used to the likes of me, are you, Loken?' 'No, lord.’

  'I like that about you. Ezekyle and Tank, men like them have been so long in the company of your lord, they think nothing of it. You, however, understand that a primarch is not like a man, or even an Astartes. I'm not talking about strength. I'm talking about the weight of responsibilty.’ Yes, lord.’