by Guy Haley
‘Warsmith Dantioch, I presume?’ said Corvo. He shut his book softly and came out from behind the lectern to better regard the room that should not be there. He passed his hand over the boundary between ship and mountain. That the air did not change temperature or consistency told him what he saw was simply an image, but every other sense denied its illusory nature. ‘This must be the marvel of the Pharos,’ he added, once he had examined the phenomenon to his satisfaction. ‘I am impressed.’
‘I am Barabas Dantioch,’ said the warsmith. He spoke raspingly, the words catching in his throat. ‘And this is the Pharos.’
‘To what do I owe this honour? We have not spoken before.’
‘Until now, your orders have not needed to be updated, Captain Corvo. Now they do. Listen to me well, for I have news of the gravest import and a new command from your primarch. Sotha is under attack by an overwhelming force of the Night Lords. Roboute Guilliman orders you to our aid.’
Corvo remained as expressionless as a stone. ‘Your reputation precedes you, warsmith, and I am aware of the importance of the beacon. But this is no routine change. How will you verify these orders?’
‘Guilliman himself gave them. He said that if you were to question them, I was to remind you of a promise you made him.’
A rare smile crossed Corvo’s face, gone so quickly that its existence was debatable.
‘Not only him. A promise I made to my birth-father first, and that I will forever stand by – to always remember who I am, and who I have been.’ Corvo nodded. ‘I also remember who it is that I serve. Very well. We shall come to you, Warsmith Dantioch. Allow me a few moments to confer with my staff officers and the fleet, then you must tell me all you can.’
‘There is no time. We are under siege. We must talk now.’
Corvo nodded again. He waved down a hovering vox-horn in the form of a singing naiad from her pedestal in the room’s decorations.
‘Fleet wide vox-cast. Authority eight-four, nine-seven.’
‘Actuated,’ said the immobile lips of the naiad.
‘Attention all hands. This is Captain Corvo. Prepare for immediate departure. All crew are to be recalled from dock. Suspend resupply.’ The captain’s voice echoed throughout the ship a fraction of a second after he spoke. ‘My shipmasters and officers will take care of the rest, warsmith.’
He looked expectantly at Dantioch. Corvo was not easily given to amazement, but the clarity of the image fascinated him.
The warsmith spoke rapidly, his breathless voice struggling to impart the information he must. Corvo listened without interruption.
By the time Dantioch had finished, Corvo’s fleet was casting off from high anchor at Beremin, and making all haste to Sotha.
Captain Alexis Polux, from Dantioch’s sketchbook
EIGHTEEN
A primarch enraged
Lord Protector
The Emperor of Man
The favoured sons of Sanguinius, Chapter Master Raldoron and Azkaellon of the Sanguinary Guard, were in deep consultation with their primarch when the doors to the throne room burst open, causing their hands to fly to their weapons.
Roboute Guilliman stormed into the chamber.
‘Brother?’ said Sanguinius.
Guilliman’s famous poise had deserted him entirely. His noble features were contorted, his skin flushed, his lips pressed so tightly they had turned white.
Guilliman marched right up to the Primarch of the Blood Angels. All his usual manners had gone. He spoke so forcefully he spat.
‘Where is he? Where has our brother gone?’ Guilliman roared.
‘My lord–’ began Azkaellon.
Guilliman rounded on Sanguinius’ sons, seeing them for the first time. ‘You two, leave us!’
Azkaellon and Raldoron looked to each other.
‘Now! Out!’
Sanguinius nodded his head a fraction.
‘My lord primarchs,’ said Azkaellon and bowed.
Raldoron opened his mouth to speak, but the look Sanguinius fixed him with froze the words in his mouth. ‘My lords,’ he managed. They took their leave in silence.
Azkaellon shut the gilded doors to Sanguinius’ audience chamber behind him.
Sanguinius’ wings shivered, his ire kindled at his brother’s behaviour. He stood tall, radiant beyond compare. His god-like form was clad in simple robes, but his wings and shoulders were draped in golden chains dripping with ruby blood-drops.
Sanguinius drew himself up and looked down upon his brother. ‘Do not speak to my sons so, Roboute. They are loyal beyond words, and should not suffer your wrath. Especially when that anger is born from your own failings.’
‘You… You have heard?’
‘Of what transpires on Sotha? Yes, even though you did not see fit to inform me before you spoke with your captains.’
Guilliman’s face was purple with rage. They were siblings. As Sanguinius was capable of great rage, so was his brother. Guilliman might hide it under a calculating exterior, but they were all demigods, and had emotions of an intensity in accord with their stature. A primarch’s humours were as complex and unpredictable as an ocean, but few ever saw this side of Roboute.
He paced back and forth across the room before the emperor’s throne three times, then strode to the wall and punched it with all his gene-forged might. The stone cracked, shards of it pattering to the floor, and powdered plaster sifted down after it. He leaned his head against the stone and let out a strangled noise. When he stood again, he had regained some of his composure.
‘I am sorry, my lord.’
Sanguinius’ own annoyance was quickly snuffed. ‘My lord? You come to me second and call me “my lord”?’
‘I–’
‘It is all right, Roboute. I understand. You are here now. I goad you a little. I understand why you did not come here first. My real point is, must we keep up this charade when we are on our own? I am no more Emperor than Azkaellon is.’
Guilliman blew out a long and measured breath. His voice was hoarse with emotion. ‘You are, Sanguinius. You are the emperor until we can confirm our father is truly gone.’
The Angel’s wings twitched, the bells and chains adorning them tinkled. ‘When we are alone, I am not. Do not set me over yourself, not truly in your hearts, not even for the sake of form. We have seen the poison that summons. Keep it the pretence that it is, at least between we two and the Lion.’
‘Very well. Yes, you are correct. Of course,’ said Guilliman.
‘I have never seen you so gripped by rage. You are normally so… calm.’
‘Oh, I have my moments,’ said Guilliman. He resumed his pacing, slower now, his emotions harnessed again. ‘With Sotha attacked, everything we have striven to build here is under threat. Without the Pharos, Ultramar will slip back into disorganisation. We will not be able to effectively coordinate our forces, nor hold the territory we have. Taking the war to Horus will be out of the question. So I ask you, where is he? Where is the Lion?’
‘The Lord Protector is not performing his role, it appears.’
‘You mean to tell me, Sanguinius, that he mentioned nothing of his purpose to you?’
‘I presume he told you nothing either, else you would not be asking.’ Sanguinius took up a goblet and flask of wine from a table at the side of the room and poured his brother a drink. ‘Here, I think you need this.’
Guilliman took the drink and drained it in one draught. ‘He told me…’
‘…that he was to patrol the outer marches,’ they said together.
‘Typically obtuse.’
‘But where is he? If he really is patrolling the outer marches, he should have caught this infiltration of Ultramar,’ said Guilliman. ‘I question how much farther he has been able to travel without our knowledge.’
‘You know what he will say should you confront h
im.’
Guilliman’s lips curled. ‘“Operational sensivity! Now is not the time! To be effective in war, one must be mysterious! Why should I keep your worlds for you, when you cannot keep them yourself?” Something like that.’ Guilliman looked like he would slam his goblet down into the table, shattering both, but he placed it upon the surface with exaggerated care. ‘The Lion keeps his own secrets close, pries those of others from them, and then mocks them for their lack of understanding. I know what he will say well enough, believe me.’ The primarch looked tired. ‘But another thing he will say, and I will have to accept it without bitterness or rancour, is that I did agree with him that maintaining a light watch on Sotha was the only viable practical. Any more than the Aegida would surely have drawn unwanted attention onto the system. That was my theoretical. Alexis Polux said otherwise, and Dantioch would not gainsay us but I believe he felt the same.’
‘And unwanted attention has been drawn, and they have insufficient forces to keep it at bay.’
‘Curse it all, Sanguinius, I should have anticipated this!’ said Guilliman. ‘Curze’s appearance here on Macragge has something to do with it. It has to. He was testing our defences. He saw the Pharos, what it can do. Somehow he has communicated with his rabble of murderers and brought them down on the system. This new attack cannot simply be chance. It is impossible.’
‘You exaggerate.’
‘Improbable, then. But I cannot see the truth of it. I chase my own tail endlessly. The Lion has some business in this too – blast him and his closed mouth! We should censure him when he returns, you and I. He has failed his emperor. Punish him.’
‘Absolutely not.’ Sanguinius’ mouth set resolutely. ‘I will not rebuke him, Roboute. I will not shame him. I will not make it appear that I value your words over his. We are in this together. I will not take on a mantle as weighty as Horus’. If he is to be taken to task we shall do it as brothers, not as overlord and servant. I refuse.’
Guilliman sat upon the steps of the throne dais. Sanguinius settled himself beside him.
‘How has it come to this?’ asked the Angel quietly. ‘Where did it all begin to go wrong? Why did Father lie to us?’
‘He had His reasons, I am sure,’ said Guilliman heavily. He looked to his brother. ‘Over the last few months I have come to think that…’ He held up his hands, searching for the right word. ‘I have come to see that the role of emperor sits ill with you, and that you are unhappy.’
‘Forever are others seeking to force me to their own end. Father, Horus, now you. I will not allow it, Guilliman. I agreed to this extremity, but do not push me hard. I am in a mind to begin pushing back.’
‘Then why did you agree?’
Sanguinius gave a sad smile. He reached up to rub the eagle head of his throne’s armrest. ‘What choice did I have? It was the only viable theoretical.’
Guilliman smiled, the expression sorrowful, tinged with regret. ‘I did not mean to force it upon you, my brother.’
‘Ah, but you did. Or circumstances did.’
‘If you truly feel that way, I owe you my apologies,’ said Guilliman.
‘I respect that very much. It is hard for one such as you to apologise, I know. Your plans are everything. If you must apologise, then your plans were insufficient.’
‘I do not like to be wrong,’ said Guilliman, and there was such chill sincerity to the words that Sanguinius was moved to touch his brother’s arm in sympathy.
‘Do not fret, Roboute. I took up your offer reluctantly but willingly. We are all prisoners of fate.’
‘Now you sound like Curze.’
‘Never. Fate tries to trap us, but for it to succeed then we must give in to it. Fate demands complicity from its victims, and I am no victim. Neither of us are.’
Guilliman and Sanguinius looked up to the throne behind them, gleaming in its pool of light, as if there would appear sat upon it their true father, smiling and powerful, and He would set everything to rights.
‘What happened to you, Sanguinius? There is a burden on you greater than that of Imperium Secundus.’
‘Is there a greater weight than that, truly?’
‘What happened at Signus Prime. That might be.’
‘Nothing of import happened, not relevant to our situation now.’ Sanguinius sighed. He was tired of his brothers fishing for details of Signus, tired of waiting for the moment that one of his many sons might let some detail slip in error. He was not ready to speak of it, and he did not know if he ever would be. ‘Be content with that answer. I will not discuss it further. The pertinent question is, what will you do about this setback?’
‘It is a setback. Yes. That is all,’ said Guilliman. Fresh resolve entered him. ‘What do you think I will do? My marshals are gathering my fleet as we speak. We will fall upon Sotha with such a fury that the Night Lords will never dare the borders of my realm again.’
‘Your realm? Are we to start speaking in such terms once more? Are things so hopeless?’
‘You misunderstand my meaning.’
‘Perhaps I understand better than you. This was always your realm, Roboute.’
‘No. It is not. I hold it in trust for humanity. You are the emperor, not I.’
‘And what of the distance? Will you keep the Pharos’ beam focused upon you? We deny ourselves communications if so.’
‘The fleet will be ready by the morning. There is another fleet on its way, small, but they should buy some time. If not, then I trust Dantioch. He and Polux are well fitted for this task. Their presence, more than anything, gives me hope.’
‘Hope alone is a poor strategy. Hope forces us into the cruel hands of fate again.’
Guilliman shrugged. ‘Whatever happens, I will have vengeance.’
‘And so we fall a little further from the light.’
‘These are dark times. I depart tomorrow. You will be regent emperor and master of Ultramar both while I am gone.’
‘But I would fight by your side! It is too long since I immersed myself in battle.’
‘Sanguinius, you cannot.’
Sanguinius shook out his wings in irritation. ‘So I am to stay here and continue this pantomime – a pretender ruling a pale reminder of what once was?’
‘It is not that, brother.’ Guilliman held up his hands. ‘We cannot all risk ourselves, that is a fact. More than that, I need you here should Curze return, or the Night Lords launch an attack on Macragge. The assault on Sotha could be a diversion. Your Legion remains here. If he comes at us, it is better if one of us is here to greet him.’
‘Then let me go. Let me take my angels and bring judgement to the Nostramans. Your people need you.’
‘No. This is my fight, Sanguinius. Curze must be taught a lesson by me. It is my home he has invaded, my chapel he profaned, my… Euten. He threatened Euten.’ He became quiet a moment, thinking on Curze’s cruel rampage and how close he had come to losing the ageing chamberlain, the closest he had ever had to a mother figure. ‘He is evil. Sick. He would risk everything to hurt us. It is a mark of his insanity. I will not let another wreak my vengeance.’
‘Very well. But I am not so sure that he is insane,’ said Sanguinius. ‘Sometimes I think he sees more clearly than any of us.’
Guilliman’s eyes narrowed. ‘Now you are being morose and defeatist, placing the views of that maniac over our own. Explain yourself.’
‘Am I? Consider this then, Roboute. Our father kept the truth from us, the real truth. What else did He keep?’
‘Sanguinius!’
The Angel placed his hands in front of him, palm to palm, and shut his perfect eyes. He was the living image of all the extinct religions – an angel resplendent in physical form. ‘Please. I do not believe Father intended to sacrifice our entire species on the altar of His own apotheosis, I stand by His dreams still. But all this? Daemons? Gods? The things
that He told us were not real are real. He must have known! If He had warned us, if He had told the truth, we could have armed ourselves against it. His lack of trust in us was His undoing.’
‘We might have sought it out, like Horus did.’
‘Did Horus seek out the darkness, or did it find him? You knew our brother – he was proud, and ambitious, but he was noble, and in many respects the best of us. If he was tempted in ignorance, then how could he have protected himself? There is more to this than Horus’ lust for power.’
‘What are you saying?’ Guilliman became suspicious. For a moment, Sanguinius was sure his brother saw through him to his own temptation on Signus Prime, and the anguish it still brought him. He dropped his hands to his side.
‘I do not truly know. Thoughts, nothing more.’
‘The time for thinking is done. Action will save us now.’ Guilliman stood and turned his back to his brother in clear signal that the conversation was over. His boots were at the threshold before Sanguinius spoke and stopped him.
‘Brother,’ he said. ‘Be careful.’
Guilliman rested his weight against the doors. He half turned his head backwards.
‘Brother, when have you ever known me to be reckless?’
He hauled on the great handles and stepped out. The doors boomed shut behind him.
‘Too many times,’ said Sanguinius to the empty throne room.
NINETEEN
Automata
Soul of the machine
Blind alleys
Excepting Kellendvar and Kellenkir, Skraivok’s company had not been included in the festival of flesh in the city’s market square. Skraivok crouched in a hollow surrounded by stinking, charcoaled trees while a Mechanicum construct did its utmost to end his life.