by Gav Thorpe
‘I’ve not spoken to him. He’s kept to himself since you left.’
‘It has been years since I’ve spent any amount of time in the company of the primarch but that cannot bode well.’
Branne said nothing for several minutes, until they reached their destination. It was Corax’s personal chamber, not far from the strategium. The door was closed. Branne held out a hand to stop Marcus as he reached for the alert rune.
‘Not yet, we’ll wait for the others.’ The commander’s expression softened. ‘There’s something we have to talk about. I know why you had to tell him, but you should have spoken to me first.’
‘I had not understood the implications, not until I heard about Yarant Three. Then it became clear and I could not hold my tongue.’
‘Even so, you were stupid to bring it up like that. We could have approached Corax together, prepared him a little better.’
‘But we have nothing to be ashamed of, why are you talking like this? We saved the Legion!’
‘He has a lot on his mind lately.’ Branne leaned closer, conspiratorial. ‘Trouble with some of my Raptors. He is... sensitive to certain things at the moment.’
‘With you, you mean?’ Marcus looked at Branne and realised that his mood was not angry, it was pensive. He was even more worried by what Corax might say than the vice-Caesari. ‘I am sorry. I did not mean to bring you into further disfavour.’
‘Disfavour I can live with,’ said Branne. ‘I’ve talked to the other commanders – not mentioning you, of course – and we’re worried he might do something ill-considered.’
‘Lord Corax has the keenest mind of any in this fleet, an intellect to rival the greatest. I do not think he could ever be accused of stupidity.’
‘You’d be surprised,’ Branne murmured. ‘Sometimes his spirit overrules his brain. I knew him before he was a primarch. Before he knew he was a primarch, back on Deliverance. He seems cold and calculating at times, ruthless maybe. But he feels it, I know. Think! He can remember every person he has killed, every wound inflicted, every injury suffered. Every planet crushed, rebellion destroyed, regime overthrown. He remembers it all, in precise detail.’
Marcus considered this, or tried to. It was too much to comprehend. Branne bent so that he was level with Marcus, eye-to-eye, his stare intense.
‘The only thing that keeps him from breaking is knowing he has done the right thing, that the cause was just and the end result a benefit to mankind.’ The commander glanced away and swallowed hard, unnerved by what he was about to say. ‘If he doubts that... If he were to doubt himself for too long, ask too many of the wrong questions, what would happen?’
It did not bear thinking about. Marcus had heard too many stories of the likes of the Night Haunter, Angron and Fulgrim to feel comfortable with the notion of Corax turning his back on the Emperor. He shuddered and evidently Branne noticed his reaction.
‘You see. He is walking a precipice at the moment. The war turns upon small margins, a wrong decision now... All will be lost.’
‘Perhaps he wants to lose...’ Marcus could barely believe he had said the words, but the reaction from Branne, or lack of, proved that he had not been alone in thinking them.
‘We need to give him something to fight for, to restore his faith in the truth.’
Valerius’s hand moved to the pocket of his coat where he always kept a small copy of the Lectitio Divinitatus. No. That was not the solution. Corax was not of a mind to accept the Emperor’s divinity yet, and any assertion of such would earn his greater displeasure.
‘What about freedom?’ suggested the vice-Caesari. ‘The dream he aspired to from the start.’
Branne did not have time to reply. The sound of boots down the hallway announced the arrival of Agapito and Arendi. Marcus saluted the two commanders and received raised fists in response.
They waited in silence, all sharing similar disquiet. Agapito could feel the tension around Branne and Marcus, but he did not bother to ask its nature – his brother was almost a stranger of late and Marcus literally one by long absence.
Soukhounou arrived a few minutes later. Their council complete, none but the highest commanders present, Agapito stepped past his brother and pressed the rune to activate the door chime.
Ten seconds passed. Ten seconds that stretched into eternity, longer even than the first agonising salvo of the traitors’ bombardment at Isstvan. That had been ten seconds of incomprehension, of mayhem and death. That had been ten seconds of activity, of scurrying for cover, of barking orders and trying to make sense of a universe that had imploded.
But ten seconds waiting for Lord Corax to bid them enter, when Agapito knew that so much was amiss, was a torture.
Eventually the door hummed open, to reveal the primarch sitting behind the plateau of his desk, hands resting one atop the other on the dark surface. He seemed placid, gaze moving from one arrival to the next as they passed into the chamber.
There were no chairs on their side of the desk and so they stood in a line, like errant scholam children summoned before their stern lesson master. Agapito had to wonder if the sense of humiliation was intentional and wondered again what transgressions Branne had committed beyond his knowledge.
‘I have reached a decision,’ said Corax. His eyes rested on Marcus. ‘The army of the Therion Cohort will go to Beta-Garmon and lend the weight of their guns to the fight there.’
Valerius nodded hesitantly, stunned by the announcement. By all accounts coming out of the war-torn system, Beta-Garmon had become a whirlpool of destruction, dragging in more and more armies and fleets, crushing them against each other in a ceaseless crucible of battle that left only corpses and wreckage. Marcus’ eyes were wet and he blinked rapidly, trying to clear them, understanding immediately that such a command was a one-way trip. Deliberately so.
‘The army, my lord?’ Valerius said, picking up on the specifics of Corax’s command.
‘Yes, and only such transports needed to move your men.’ Corax pushed a data-slate across the desk. ‘Your credentials, and my testimonial, to be presented to whomever is in command of the Imperial forces in that region.’
‘My lord, is it wise to split our forces?’ asked Branne.
‘The command has been issued,’ Corax replied bluntly, his eyes not wavering from the vice-Caesari.
‘And it is understood, my lord,’ Valerius replied with a deep bow. ‘We shall endeavour to bring victory in the name of the Emperor.’
Corax said nothing to this, but moved his gaze to Branne.
‘The recall of the Raptors to the Avenger is complete?’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘The company will be rededicated to a specialist assault role. Given the dire nature of our supplies at present, all ranged weaponry will be given to the other companies and close assault drill will be adopted.’
‘You’re taking our guns away, my lord?’ Branne was as distraught by this pronouncement as Valerius had been by his orders. ‘Is this a punishment?’
Corax frowned, the first sign of emotion he had displayed since they had entered.
‘A somewhat petty act in the circumstance, if it was. No, I have calculated the best effectiveness of the forces I have to hand. The Raptors are too few in number to provide tactical or strategic support, and their ammunition and weapons would be better used by the other companies, who can be more flexible in deployment. The Raptors’ losses, both in battle and through continued degradation of ability, make them suited to this function.’
‘Like the breacher teams from the uprising?’ said Arendi. ‘Go in hard, turn the enemy’s eyes, allow others to manoeuvre into place.’
‘We called them the bait draft for a reason,’ growled Branne. ‘And they were volunteers. Hotheads, discontents. Terminal cases…’ His indignation became dismay. ‘Terminal cases. Is that how you see the Raptors then, my lord?�
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Corax met the accusation with a placid stare. ‘You will assemble the Raptors into a shock force and drill them in decisive strike tactics. They will be the claw that punches through the enemy’s armour and the Talons, Black Guard and Hawks will be the weight of the fist behind them.’ The primarch leaned forward. ‘My planning will depend upon the Raptors, Branne. I expect you to lead them as you have done so already. As an example. From the front.’
The implications of the primarch’s words were not lost on any of them. Agapito shared a glanced with Soukhounou and the latter cleared his throat.
‘You have chosen a destination, my lord?’ the commander asked. ‘If only the Therions are heading to Beta-Garmon, are we returning to Terra?’
‘No, commander, we will not be returning to the Throneworld.’
Agapito wondered if he was the only one to think this sounded like a decree, the word ‘ever’ left silent but implied.
‘So, Yarant then,’ suggested Arendi. ‘To rescue Russ and his Wolves.’
‘Yarant,’ said Corax.
He did not address the second part of Arendi’s assertion, another unspoken but telling admission. Agapito’s growing sense of unease was fast becoming a more solid fear but he could not voice it.
The primarch was no more forthcoming and perfunctorily dismissed them back to their duties with an order to prepare for the warp jump to Yarant III as quickly as possible. As they left, the Custodian Arcatus was waiting outside, Captain Noriz with him.
‘Speak softly and accept whatever the primarch tells you,’ Agapito warned them as he passed. ‘Lord Corax is not in a forgiving temper today.’
The commanders assembled a little further down the passageway as the chamber doors closed. None of them spoke for a few seconds, unwilling to give voice to potentially rebellious thoughts and doubts. Soukhounou, the Terran, who had been part of the Legion before the arrival of the primarch, broke the silence. It surprised Agapito a little that he spoke in support of Corax.
‘Our fate is revealed,’ Soukhounou said quietly, meeting the gaze of each in turn. ‘We have our orders. Let us now do our duty as best we can, as loyal warriors. It is not our place to judge, only to fight.’
‘Victorus aut Mortis, by the old tongue,’ Branne murmured. ‘Victory or Death.’
A call stopped Marcus before he set foot on the steps of the shuttle that would take him back to the Glory of Therion. He recognised Branne’s voice and turned, surprised. For a heartbeat hope flared, the hope that Corax had relented in his decision and despatched Branne with fresh orders. Seeing the grim face of the commander quashed that hope moments after it had blossomed.
Branne caught up with the vice-Caesari. Marcus waited for him to speak, but the Space Marine was at a loss; his expression betrayed conflicted emotions. He was wrestling with feelings and thoughts that perhaps had not risen since he had become a legionary of the Emperor.
‘What will be, will be,’ Valerius said. He fidgeted with the sash across his breastplate – the Red a symbol of Therion bleeding for the Emperor. The cloth between his fingers gave him a little comfort. But only a little. The ragged copy of the Lectitio Divinitus in his pocket was his source of strength now. ‘We cannot change the course of the past.’
‘It is... not right,’ Branne managed to say, as though these four words were a grand declaration of defiance.
‘I understand,’ Valerius assured him. The Therion general smiled. ‘These are not the first complex questions I have had to face in recent years.’
‘I’m sure,’ said Branne. He exhaled, hard and long. ‘It’s a warzone, it’s dangerous, but it’s not a death sentence.’
‘We both know the primarch’s intent.’
‘Do we?’ snapped Branne. ‘Why doubt what he says? Maybe he does hope the Therions can swing the battle at Beta-Garmon.’
‘Then why keep our warships?’ Valerius asked, holding up the data-slate the primarch had given him. ‘His orders are explicit. We are to take transports only. The lord primarch has taken my cruisers and battleships and the best of the crew and officers. He did not see fit to share his intent for them. We will be reliant on other forces to protect us in the void.’
Branne said nothing.
‘I know that you do not agree, but I believe that the Emperor shall watch over me,’ said Marcus, reading the doubt in Branne’s expression. ‘What passes is by His will and plan.’
He raised his fist to his chest as a salute. The Raven Guard commander shook his head and extended a hand in friendship. Valerius took it.
‘I’ll see you at the victory parade,’ said Branne, but the joke sounded forced, over-compensating.
Valerius could feel his knees weakening; the delay and Branne’s awkward farewell only served to bring home the finality of the moment. He could not bring himself to look his companion, his friend, in the eye and he turned back to the steps. He would not let the commander’s last sight of him be of a mortal man succumbing to his fears.
Back straight, strides measured, Valerius ascended to the shuttle.
He did not look back. The steps retracted and the door hissed closed.
Marcus Valerius never looked upon the face of Commander Branne Nev again.
Kurthuri sensed all was not well the moment he laid eyes on Corax. He did not need any psychic ability to see that the primarch was troubled. Corax stood with his back to the door, face hidden, but his shoulders were hunched, and his hands made fists. Only the light of a few screens lit the chamber; all else was in darkness.
‘My lord?’
‘You are to return to Terra,’ Corax said. He did not turn. ‘I am disbanding the Librarius again, as commanded by the Edict of Nikaea.’
‘Have I offended in some way, my lord? Have we done something wrong?’
‘It is I that has offended, Balsar. I defied the edict, even though Arcatus and others expressly warned me against such action.’
‘Circumstances have changed dramatically since the Emperor held council at Nikaea, my lord. Exigent circumstances.’ Kurthuri took a breath. ‘We have been most rigorous in our tests and checks, my lord. There is no taint here.’
‘No taint?’ Corax shifted but still did not look at the Librarian. ‘A bold statement, Balsar. Who are we to gainsay the Emperor’s judgement? It is not our place to determine the laws.’
‘On a practical level, the fleet is poorly served with astropaths, my lord. If you wish for me to depart, that is well enough, but my brothers can still provide valuable service.’
‘I did not ask for your opinion.’ Corax flexed his long, pale fingers, as though opening and closing talons. ‘Malcador and the Emperor will judge best what use you can be to the Imperium.’
‘I understand, my lord. But might I suggest that my brothers remain, returned to the battle companies once more, as before. Just in case. If Lord Malcador sees fit to exonerate me, I shall convey as much to my brothers to avoid the delay of physical return.’
After a few seconds, Corax nodded.
‘Very well. You will go to the Sigillite and receive his judgement in person. Your brothers are under ban of their powers again. Any use of them without specific order will be a capital offence. Am I clear?’
‘Absolutely, my lord.’ Kurthuri backed towards the door, fist held in a salute. ‘One other matter, if you would indulge me, my lord.’
‘What is it?’
‘It seems wasteful to send a ship with a single warrior for cargo.’
‘You will not be going alone, Balsar. The others will be waiting for you on the starboard flight deck in two hours.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
Kurthuri left, worried by this turn of events but aware that he had salvaged what good he could from the situation. Of even greater concern was the primarch’s demeanour. Not once had he looked at the Librarian during the exchange.
What
was it that the primarch did not want him to see?
The flight bay was crowded as Branne waited for the last arrivals. Arcatus and his Custodians were already at the ramp of the Stormbird, Kurthuri close to them. Two dozen legionaries and officers in different liveries stood next to another gunship – the strays of other Legions the Raven Guard had absorbed over the past years.
Two in particular stood out – the metallic war-plate of Annovuldi, former Warsmith of the Iron Warriors and the midnight blue of the Night Lord Kasati Nuon. These two alone were the surviving loyalists from Legions that had sided with Horus, gathered to fight beneath Corax’s banner in the years since.
Annovuldi attracted Branne’s attention with a look but, before the commander could respond, the inward bay doors opened to admit Captain Noriz and the remaining Imperial Fists of his command. They trooped onto the deck in neat ranks and files, taking up their lines next to the other non-Raven Guard.
‘You get your wish a little early,’ Branne said to Noriz. ‘Back to Terra already.’
‘Yes, it seems so,’ the Imperial Fist replied, ‘though it leaves me in two minds.’
Branne did not have to ask concerning the nature of such divided thoughts. Arcatus stepped forward and made his doubt more plainly known.
‘Lord Corax’s behaviour of these last few days has not been reassuring, Branne,’ the Custodian Guard said. ‘Erratic.’
Branne fought the instinct to defend his primarch, but could not leave the accusation unanswered.
‘He knows what he’s doing,’ he told them all. Branne paced over to Kurthuri and then back to Noriz, but he looked at Arcatus. ‘Not erratic, he’s entirely within his character. Just not the one you’ve ever seen. None of you know about the Long Shadows, the night before we launched the uprising on Deliverance. As you can imagine, there were always a few rebels we had doubts about. Not their loyalty, maybe, but their motives, their courage, their ability. They’d proven useful enough in the preceding months, getting everything ready, but were they fighters? Could we trust our backs to them?’