by Guy Haley
‘As per Captain Adallus’ rota, half were in the castellum, half aboard the orbital.’
An Ultramarines provost stepped forwards to Dantioch’s side. ‘The castellum was taken this morning, my lord.’
‘Sergeant Achamenides,’ said Guilliman, displaying the keen faculties of his memory. It was said that he knew every one of his sons by sight and name. Polux could believe it was true.
‘Yes, my lord. We gave as good account as we could, my lord, but there were some six thousand arrayed against us. We had too few to repel their attack, and they landed siege tanks as soon as they had overwhelmed our air defence. I… I am sorry, my lord.’
‘It is I who should apologise to you, my son,’ said Guilliman grimly. ‘You killed many of theirs?’
‘Kill ratio statistics suggest five of theirs died for every one of ours.’
‘You did well.’
Achamenides bowed his head hesitantly, made to speak, thought better of it, and stepped back.
‘When the castellum fell, some of the Hundred and Ninety-Ninth’s number made their way into the mountain,’ said Dantioch.
‘How many?’ said Guilliman.
Dantioch paused. ‘There are fifty-six here with Achamenides. Thirty, perhaps forty more entered lower down and took refuge in the catacombs. I do not have precise numbers. The Night Lords are beginning to foray into the lower caves, and we can hear fighting. But we cannot contact our own forces by vox, not from here.’
‘Less than a hundred men from a thousand.’ The grief in Guilliman’s eyes brimmed over, swamping his impassive expression.
‘They were sorely outnumbered, Lord Guilliman. There are at least ten thousand of the enemy here, probably more,’ said Polux.
‘You asked for more men, captain.’
‘I did.’
Polux’s face was as stony as Guilliman’s. He did not care to hide his opinions from his superiors.
‘But the Lion vetoed the request.’
‘Yes, he did, my lord,’ said Polux. ‘You agreed with him.’
‘Would that I had not! Secrecy, he said, is better than an iron defence!’ Guilliman spoke through gritted teeth, his fists clenched. ‘I followed his counsel, and we are close to disaster! And where is he now?’
‘My lord, anything less than a fifth of a Legion would not have aided us, the enemy came in such great numbers,’ said Polux.
‘And yet you are there and he is not. Do not defend my brother, Alexis Polux. He shall answer to me himself.’
‘The picket ships did not detect the enemy, lord,’ said Polux.
‘Do you have any indication where they came from?’ asked Verus Caspean, master of the Ultramarines First Chapter. ‘My lord Guilliman, we must be alert to further attacks on our territory.’
‘They must have been nearby for some time,’ said the primarch before Dantioch or Polux could answer. ‘Perhaps even before we ignited the Pharos, certainly long enough to gather information as to our weaknesses.’ Guilliman’s powerful intellect overrode his emotions, and he paced back and forth across the broken floor of the chapel, brows knotted in concentration.
Through the empathic capabilities of the Pharos, both Polux and Dantioch felt his fury ebb as his titanic intelligence came into play.
‘It’s the most plausible explanation. Curze! I sense Curze’s hand behind this. He was here, right in this chapel, and now his Legion is there…’ He tapped at his chest, armoured fingers stirring the many decorations hanging there. ‘Or is it coincidence? Both are possible. I need more information.’
‘This attack is either an anomaly or the beginning of something bigger,’ said Dantioch.
‘How much can Curze know of the beacon’s importance or capability?’ Guilliman murmured. ‘What is his purpose? These are the questions we must ask ourselves. Theoretical, he knows nothing. We know precious little ourselves. Curze comes here by chance aboard my brother’s ship – another damnable secret!’ His composure slipped a little, but was quickly reimposed. ‘His Legion, fleeing the Thramas Crusade, arrives at Sotha some time ago, by chance. It is on the fringes of my territory, and poorly mapped. They hide somewhere outside the system boundaries, they see the Pharos and are drawn in. It is our ill fortune that their numbers are so much larger than ours. Or…’
He slapped his fist into the other huge palm.
‘Theoretical – Curze arrives here. The Pharos’ importance is obvious, even to his twisted mind. He communicates with his Legion, perhaps through the Pharos itself. He was within the chapel for minutes. He possesses some of our father’s mental ability, after all. Could he have been in communication with his fleet astropaths even while you fought him, Polux?’
‘Is that possible, do we know?’ asked Maglios, lieutenant of the primarch’s Invictus bodyguard. ‘What do you say, Lord Prayto? Have the Librarius any further insight to offer in the matter?’
Titus Prayto stepped forwards. He was the master of the presiding centuria, in the continued absence of their Chief Librarian, Lord Promus. ‘We have investigated the possibility of furthering the range of psychic communication via the Pharos beam,’ he said. ‘It was not… amenable to the operation.’
‘But we cannot know for certain that it is impossible,’ said Sergio, one of his attendant Epistolaries. ‘I have been to Sotha and spoken with those who were touched by the device’s influence. My time in the vicinity of the mountain revealed nothing conclusive to me. We might yet succeed.’
‘And Curze is a primarch,’ agreed Prayto. ‘His psychic ability is raw and aggressive, but potentially great. Nonetheless, is it not simply more likely that his commanders have engaged opportunistically, hoping to draw us out?’
‘Striking at Macragge, at the capital?’ said Tetrarch Valentus Dolor, the primarch’s champion. ‘Lorgar’s zealots tried that already, and they failed. Curze’s Legion is weaker both in numbers and discipline. He is mad, but he is not a fool – he would not order that.’
‘Maybe,’ said Guilliman. ‘And how can he communicate this through the storm, if he did not exploit the Pharos beam?’
‘I do not think it likely he used the Pharos, my lord,’ said Dantioch. ‘He was only within the point of illumination. He could not have been able to use it, even if he were aware of its capabilities. The whole time he was there while the Pharos was active, he was engaged in combat.’
‘Even so, we have to view this from the position of worst case theoretical,’ said Guilliman. ‘An organised attack with some strategic aim. The end result is the same, whether this is blind coincidence, the deliberate work of Curze, or fate arranged by some diabolical entity of the warp.’ His head twitched at the mention of such things, a tiny shake of denial. He was still coming to terms with the truths hidden from him by his father. ‘Or most likely, some combination of all of these possibilities. The causes are somewhat irrelevant. We must ask ourselves, what do the Night Lords hope to achieve?’
Dantioch began to speak, but the scream of a flight of gunships chancing an approach to the mountain drowned him out. The flat note of anti-aircaft fire from the Emperor’s Watch thudded around Primary Location Alpha. The Pharos’ image shivered at the interruption.
‘They do not want to destroy the beacon, or we would already be dead,’ Dantioch eventually managed.
‘We can be clear on that,’ said Polux. ‘They besiege the mountain when they could reduce it to rubble from orbit.’
Guilliman grinned, an almost feral expression that Polux had never seen in his face before. ‘Fortunate for me I have two experts in that field of war to hand! We shall stand shoulder to shoulder in glorious battle! I shall lead as many men through the Pharos field as we can, sally forth from the mountain and smash this attack before it goes any further.’
Mutters of concern went around Guilliman’s assembled aides.
‘My lord, you cannot!’ said Polux.
> ‘Your concern is noted, but do not presume to tell me what I can and cannot do, Polux.’
A babble of conflicting voices filled the shell of the Chapel of Memorial. Dantioch shouted.
‘Peace!’ He had to do so twice before the arguments subsided. ‘Peace, brothers! We cannot bicker among ourselves while the traitors are at the gate! Polux is correct, Lord Guilliman. To bring you here alone or with a handful of your men, what will that achieve? We have a slender chance of breaking out traded for the near certainty of your loss. The loyalist war effort would be dealt a terrible blow, from which it will never recover. We cannot afford the risk.’
‘I am a primarch,’ said Guilliman.
‘You are one primarch, against thousands of legionaries. You say the lord Lion is not present, and you, my lord, would not countenance risking the emperor in this venture.’
Guilliman breathed in heavily. ‘No. You are correct. I would not.’
‘How many men can we bring across before we are fully invested, or the Night Lords find a way into the mountain? A company? Two? For the moment the Night Lords show all signs of taking the Pharos, but they may grow tired of dying and obliterate us. They are capricious, it is in their nature to act unpredictably,’ said Polux.
‘The integrity of the field is delicate, and we cannot easily tune it. Although you yourself have used the device, my lord, Polux was able to step across only in time of great peril, when his life was in mortal danger,’ said Dantioch.
‘I’d suggest this is a time of great peril,’ said Dolor. ‘But I agree. You should not go, my lord. There is no retreat once the journey is undertaken. You cannot come back.’
‘Surely there is time to take hundreds of men through, thousands?’ said Caspean. ‘With Lord Guilliman and the Emperor Sanguinius to lead them, they could cast back the invaders.’
‘With respect, my lord Caspean, if the operation is so simple, step across,’ said Dantioch.
‘Very well.’ Caspean strode right towards Dantioch’s throne. It appeared he would step into Primary Location Alpha, but before he could reach the warsmith, his seemingly solid physical form faded. His footsteps continued and Dantioch had the ghostly feeling of something passing through him, as he had had many times before the device had been tuned.
Cursing came from behind them.
‘As you can see, the machine is unpredictable. The translocation principle is not an exact science. We may succeed in bringing only a handful of warriors across, if any. I am sure you might make the proving step once more, Lord Guilliman, and the Emperor Sanguinius too… but the others?’ Polux lifted his hand and dared point at the primarch. ‘You recognise this for what it is.’
‘Then give me a damn alternative, Polux! Do not build your walls in front of me!’
‘We shall concentrate the beam on Macragge, to allow our ships passage here. We shall hold out as long as we might. If we are to fall, so be it. You can obliterate the enemy when you arrive, and take it back. We must keep their attention focused on taking the Pharos, encourage them not to destroy it. If we all fall, so be it. They shall never unlock the secrets before you arrive.’
‘It will take a day, no more, to assemble a large enough retribution fleet from all three Legions, if need be,’ said Dolor.
‘This is a Thirteenth Legion problem,’ said Guilliman. ‘I will not involve my brothers.’
‘Then our own warriors should more than suffice, my lord,’ said Dolor. ‘How long will you be able to keep the beam focused? If it is cut off, we shall find ourselves with months of hard travel ahead, and nothing will be achieved.’
‘It would be better to handle this alone,’ said Maglios. ‘The entirety of the Blood Angels fleet will remain to defend Macragge, alongside elements of the First. It would be a poor practical to separate our forces without knowing the full extent of the challenge.’
Guilliman stood tall, and crossed his arms. ‘We need more time. Polux and Dantioch need help, so that they can keep the Pharos active for long enough so that we might reach them with overwhelming force. Preferably by surprise.’
‘A diversion?’
‘A distraction. A large enough fleet to draw some of the Night Lords away, keep their full attention off the Pharos. With luck, they may effect a landing and reinforce the troops within.’
‘The closer the better,’ said Dolor.
‘The larger the better,’ said Caspean.
‘Just so,’ said Dolor. ‘Are there any fleets that fulfil both criteria near enough to Sotha?’
‘Lucretius Corvo is currently at Beremin with six capital ships, two companies of the Thirteenth Legion and a demi-company of Dark Angels. With the light path of the Pharos, he could be there within–’
‘Eighteen hours, my lord,’ said Dantioch.
‘Indeed.’ Guilliman became decisive, the mood transmitted from the chapel ruins changing from dismay to resolution as his plan took shape in his mind. ‘There is no time to lose. Contact Corvo immediately. Fix the beam upon Beremin. By the time Corvo is at Sotha, we shall be ready. Tell him to engage in diversionary tactics, no direct confrontations. If he can, he will attempt a landing to reinforce Mount Pharos. Once he has arrived, re-establish contact with me, and focus the transit beam upon Macragge so that my fleet may set out in force.’
‘What if we should fail before he arrives, or before you arrive?’ said Dantioch. ‘We must prepare for all eventualities.’
‘Secondary orders – disable the Mechanicum machinery linked to the quantum engines to prevent the Night Lords utilising the Pharos. It will set us back months, but it is better than losing the beacon. In extremis, Corvo must destroy the Pharos itself,’ Guilliman concluded.
‘How will he take such an order from me, my lord? I am not known to him, and my kind are not trusted, with good reason.’
‘Your reputation is better than you think, warsmith.’ Guilliman’s face lifted a little at some pleasant recollection. ‘Remind him that he made a promise. He’ll understand. Can you hold the beacon until then?’
‘As far as we know, the enemy cannot conduct traditional teleportation through the light of the Pharos – their communications are disrupted by it. We have eighty of your Legion, the forty Lightkeepers of Captain Polux’s and the other Legions, a handful of auxilia, a single maniple of Legio Cybernetica Thallaxii, and a pair of war automata to hold a mountain full of holes against…’ Dantioch looked to Polux. ‘Ten to twenty thousand Night Lords?’
‘Your calculations are correct,’ said Polux. ‘Difficult odds, but not impossible.’
‘Then I will stand as I stood at the Schadenhold – alone in the face of treachery,’ said Dantioch. He pulled himself out of his chair and got down to one knee with obvious discomfort. ‘I swear to you, Lord of Ultramar, that I will prevail here, as I did there.’
‘You will not be alone,’ said Polux. ‘Not this time.’
‘I will make all haste to Sotha,’ said Guilliman. ‘Protect the Pharos, Warsmith Dantioch, if you can.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘I go to speak with my brother. Refocus the beam on Corvo. We shall speak again after his counter-attack is launched.’
Dantioch got up unsteadily and bowed. The image faded away. The warsmith and Captain Polux turned to face the assembled defenders of the Pharos. Men of Polux’s own Legion, a smattering of warriors from others, a battered remnant of the Aegida Company. A tattered wall to stop a tidal wave of violence.
‘We must prepare,’ said Polux. ‘All our efforts are needed, whether legionary, mortal or Mechanicum.’
From the back of the room where other warriors assembled, Datasmith Beta-Phi-97 chittered in binaric.
Beta-Phi’s young tech-adept assistant spoke for the datasmith. In contrast to Beta-Phi-97’s entirely metal visage, he was still mostly flesh. A single datacore tube bent out of his head through a gaping hole in his h
ood, its socket riveted to his bare scalp. ‘My master protests at the inclusion of Mechanicum constructs in the Pharos’ defensive assets. He insists his machines are not battle ready.’
‘Every hand is needed, be it of flesh or of steel,’ said Polux.
Magos Carantine spoke, ‘We are not Taghmata, captain. Warfare is not our prime function. We are of the Ordo Biologis. We are xenologists.’
The datasmith’s protest noises became emphatic. Carantine blurted something angry-sounding at him, and the two engaged in a ferocious, fast-paced symphony of data exchange.
‘The automata have long been used for peaceful purposes,’ translated the datasmith’s adept. ‘He is distressed at the thought of damage to such venerable machines. They are not blessed for combat.’
Polux gave the younger man such a look he shrank back apologetically. ‘Tell him to fit them with weapons and prime their data-wafers for belligerence, or everyone in this mountain will die. Is that choice binary enough for him?’
‘My master Beta-Phi-97 calculates twenty-seven per cent probability of death in the next hour.’
‘The odds will be worse without his machines. Time is short, and our enemies ready. We have plans to make.’
Lucretius Corvo, captain of the 90th ‘Nova’ Company of the Ultramarines, was deep in concentration. Upon the lectern he kept in his dayroom – he always stood to read – was a text of ancient Terran battle-sagas from the ship’s library. Despite their archaic and somewhat sanguinary nature, he was thoroughly engrossed. There were echoes of the present in the exploits of these long-gone tribes. Such savagery he had seen from the traitors, particularly the World Eaters, that he had become somewhat single-minded in seeking out historical examples of the same. What education he might gain from this activity he was not sure, but he had come to look forward to the brief times he had for reading. For all his cold manner, Corvo enjoyed stories.
A discreet cough made him raise his head. It was a mark of his nature that the only sign of the immense surprise he experienced was a slight raising of his eyebrows.
One side of his quarters had disappeared. In its place was an image of a large cavern of sinuous, glossy black stone, dimly lit and crammed with ugly cogitator banks. At first he thought he looked into a Mechanicum facility, for the Mechanicum rarely bothered applying fine aesthetics to devices made for their own uses. Then he saw the essayer of the cough, a masked figure in battered Mark III war-plate seated in a heavy wooden chair, and he realised what he saw.