‘It was not mindless brutality,’ he said. ‘That was the lesson. The primarch knew that law and order – the twin foundations of civilisation – are only maintained through fear of punishment. Man is not a peaceful animal. It is a creature of war and strife. To force the beasts into civilisation, one must remind them that excruciation awaits those who harm the herd. For a time, we believed the Emperor wanted this of us. He wanted us to be the Angels of Death. And for a time, we were.’
She blinked for the first time in almost a minute. In their many long discussions and reflections, he’d never spoken of this in such detail. ‘Go on,’ she pushed.
‘Some say he betrayed us. Once our use was complete, he turned against us. Others claim that we’d merely taken our self-appointed role too far, and had to be put down like animals ourselves, for slipping our leashes.’ He saw a question in her eyes and waved it away. ‘None of that is important. What matters is how it began, and how it ended.’
‘How did it begin?’
‘The Legion had taken immense casualties in the Great Crusade, in service to the Emperor. Most of these were Terran. They came from Terra, from the Emperor’s wars across humanity’s birth planet. But all of our reinforcements came from our home world, Nostramo. Decades had passed since the primarch last walked upon the world’s surface, and his lessons of law had long since died. The population slid back into lawless anarchy, with no fear of punishment from a distant Imperium. Do you understand how we were poisoning ourselves? We were repopulating the Legion with rapists and murderers, with children who were the blackest sinners before they’d even tasted adulthood. The primarch’s lessons meant nothing to them, meant nothing to most of the Eighth Legion at the end. They were slayers, raised to become demigods, with the galaxy as their prize to plunder. In wrathful desperation, the primarch burned our home world. He destroyed it, breaking it apart from orbit with the firepower of the entire Legion fleet.’
Talos breathed, low and slow. ‘It took hours, Octavia. All the while, we remained aboard our ships, listening to vox-calls from the surface, sending their screams and pleas up to us in the heavens. We never answered. Not even once. We stayed in space and watched our own cities burn. At the very end, we watched the planet heaving, breaking apart beneath the fleet’s rage. Only then did we turn away. Nostramo disintegrated into the void. I have never seen anything like it again. I know, in my heart, I never will.’
A moment of foolishness almost made her reach a hand to touch his cheek. She knew better than to give in to that instinct. Still, the way he spoke, the look in his black eyes – he was a child, grown into a god’s body without a man’s comprehension of humanity. No wonder these creatures were so dangerous. Their stunted psyches worked on levels no human could quite comprehend: simplistic and passionate one moment, complex and inhuman the next.
‘It didn’t work,’ he continued. ‘The Legion was poisoned by then. You know that Xarl and I grew up together, murderers even as children. We joined the Legion late, when Nostramo’s venom was already rich in the Legion’s veins. And believe me when I say that where he and I grew up, among the street wars and the cheapness of human life, it was one of the more civilised regions of Nostramo’s inner cities. Much of the planet was in the throes of devolution, lost to urban wastelands and scavenger armies. As the strongest candidates, they were usually the ones chosen for implantation and ascension to the Eighth. They were the ones to become legionaries.’
Talos finished with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘By then, it was too late. Primarch Curze was in the throes of degeneration himself. He hated himself, he hated his life, and he hated his Legion. All he craved was one last chance to be right, to show that he’d not wasted his entire existence. The rebellion against the Emperor – that war of myth that you call the Horus Heresy – was over. We’d turned against the Imperium that sought to punish us, and we’d lost. So we ran. We ran to Tsagualsa, a world outside the Imperium’s borders, away from Terra’s Beacon of Light that he claimed still stung his eyes.’
He gestured at the grey world. ‘We ran here, and here is where it ended.’
Octavia’s breath left her lips as mist. ‘You fled a war you lost and constructed a castle of torture chambers. How noble of you, Talos. I still see no lesson in it.’
He nodded to that, conceding the point. ‘You have to understand that by the end, the primarch was riddled through by madness. He cared nothing for the Long War, wanting nothing beyond bleeding the Imperium and vindicating his life’s path. He knew he was going to die, Octavia. He wanted to be right when he died.’
‘Septimus told me of this,’ she said. ‘But raiding the Imperium’s edges for couple of centuries at the behest of a madman, and slaughtering entire worlds, is hardly a lesson of worthy ideals.’
Talos watched her with his soulless eyes unwavering. ‘In that light, perhaps not. But humanity has to know fear, Navigator. Nothing else ensures compliance. By the very end, when the Screaming Gallery was the Legion’s war room and council chamber alike, the primarch’s degeneration had devoured him from within. He was rendered hollow by it. I still remember how regal he looked to us, how majestic our father was to our adoring eyes. But looking at him was like growing used to a disgusting smell. You could forget the foulness, just as you can ignore the scent, but when something reminds you of it, you perceive it with renewed strength. His soul had rotted away by the end, and on some nights you could see it in the flash of his dying eyes, or the bleak shine of his teeth. Some of my brothers asked if he were tainted by some outer power, but most of us no longer cared. What did it matter? The end result was the same.’
The lights chose that moment to flicker and fail. The warrior and the mutant remained in darkness for several heartbeats, illuminated only by the eye lenses of his armour and the grey glare from the screens.
‘That’s happening more and more lately,’ she said. ‘The Covenant hated me. The Echo seems to hate all of us.’
‘An intriguing superstition,’ he replied. The lights, dim as they were, came back on. Talos still didn’t continue.
‘And the assassination?’ she prompted.
‘The assassination came soon after, when his mad clarity was at its height. I have never seen a creature so placidly delighted by the thought of its own destruction. In death, he would be vindicated. Those who break the law must be dealt with in the most violent, lethal way, as an example to all who would consider betrayal. So he set us butchering across the galaxy, breaking every law against reason and rhyme, knowing the Emperor would prove the point all too well. The assassin came to slay Curze, the great Breaker of Imperial Law, and she did just that. I saw him die, vindicated, pleased for perhaps the first time in centuries.’
‘That’s grotesque,’ she said. Her heart quickened at the thought he would take offence, but her fear was unfounded.
‘Maybe so,’ he nodded again. ‘The universe has never seen a living being that loathed being alive as much as my father. His life was broken in seeking to prove how humanity could be controlled, and his death was a sacrifice to prove that the species was ultimately wretched.’
Talos withdrew a hololithic orb from his belt pouch, and thumbed the activation rune. A life-sized image of flickering blue light manifested before them both. A figure rose from an unseen throne, its hunched, feral posture still not entirely stealing the beauty of its muscled physique, or the savage nobility in its movements. The distortion robbed the image of clarity, but the figure’s face – a wraith’s visage of black eyes, gaunt cheekbones and filed fangs – was set in a vicious grin of sincere amusement.
The image died as Talos deactivated the orb. For a long time, neither of them said another word.
‘Was there no one to lead you after his death?’
‘The Legion broke down into companies and warbands, following individual lords. The primarch’s presence was what inspired unity within us. Without him, the raiding parties sailed farther from Tsagualsa, staying away for longer periods. As the ye
ars passed, many stopped returning at all. Many captains and lords claimed they were the Night Haunter’s heir, but each claim was refuted by the others. No one soul can bind a Traitor Legion together now. It is simply the way of things. As much as I loathe him, Abaddon’s success is what sets him apart – and above – the rest of us. His is the name whispered across the Imperium. Abaddon. The Despoiler. The Chosen. Abaddon. Not Horus.’
Octavia shivered. She knew that name, she’d heard it whispered of in the halls of Terran power. Abaddon. The Great Enemy. The Death of the Imperium. Prophecies of his triumph in the final century of mankind were rampant among the psychically-gifted in thrall to the Emperor’s throne.
‘There was only one,’ Talos said, ‘who could have held the title without his brothers betraying him. At least, there was only one who would have survived his brothers’ betrayals, but even he would have struggled to hold the Legion together. Too many ideologies. Too many conflicting desires and drives.’
‘What was his name?’
‘Sevatar,’ the prophet said quietly. ‘We called him the Prince of Crows. He was killed in the Heresy, long before our father.’
She hesitated before speaking. ‘Mercutian has spoken of him.’
‘Mercutian comes to speak with you?’
The Navigator grinned. Her teeth were whiter than any of the crew’s, from so few years spent in the filth of slavery. ‘You are not the only one with tales to tell, you know.’
‘What does he speak of?’
‘He’s your brother. And one of the ones you don’t spend your time trying to kill. You should be able to guess what he speaks of.’
The prophet’s black eyes glinted with some repressed emotion. She couldn’t tell if it was amusement or annoyance.
‘I still do not know Mercutian well.’
‘He speaks of the Heresy, mostly. He tells me stories about brothers that died in the Siege of the Emperor’s Palace, or the Thramas Crusade against the Angels, and the centuries since. He likes to write about them, recording their deeds and deaths. Did you know that?’
Talos shook his head. He’d had no idea.
‘What did he say about the Prince of Crows?’ he asked.
‘That Sevatar wasn’t killed.’
The words brought the ghost of a smile to the prophet’s lips. ‘That is an entertaining fiction. Every Legion has its conspiracies and myths. The Eaters of Worlds claim that one of their captains is the chosen of a bloodthirsty god.’
Octavia didn’t smile. ‘When will you make planetfall?’
‘My brothers wished for me to see you first.’
She raised an eyebrow, smiling as she clutched her blanket tighter. ‘To give me a history lesson?’
‘No. I do not know what they wished. They mentioned some problem, some flaw.’
‘I don’t know what they could mean. I’m tired, but the flight here was hellish. I think I earned a little sleep.’
‘They said it concerned Septimus, as well.’
She shrugged again. ‘I still can’t guess. He hasn’t been lax in his duties, and neither have I.’
Talos thought for a moment. ‘Have you seen him often, recently?’
She looked away. Octavia might have been skilled at many things, but she was a poor deceiver. ‘I do not see him much, these nights. When are you making planetfall?’
‘Soon.’
‘I’ve been thinking about what comes next.’
He regarded her with a curious expression; one she’d never seen before that wasn’t quite puzzlement, nor was it exactly interest or suspicion. It seemed to be all three.
‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
‘I thought we would make a run for the Eye of Terror.’
He chuckled. ‘Do not call it that. Only mortal star-sailors, frightened of their own shadows, call it that. We simply call it the Eye, or the Wound, or… home. Are you so keen to drift into those polluted tides? Many Navigators lose their sanity, you know. It is one of the reasons so many of our vessels rely on sorcerers as guides in the Sea of Souls.’
‘It is the last place in the galaxy I would like to go.’ Octavia narrowed her eyes as she smiled. ‘You’re avoiding the question. Just like every other time I ask it.’
‘We cannot return to the Eye,’ Talos replied. ‘I am not avoiding the question. You know why I am reluctant to sail there.’
She did know. At least, she could make a decent guess. ‘The eldar dreams,’ she said, not quite a question.
‘Yes. The eldar dreams. Worse than before, now. I will not return there just to die.’
Octavia was quiet again for a time. ‘I’m glad you’re awake again.’
Talos didn’t answer her. He didn’t understand why he’d been sent here. For several seconds, he merely glanced around the chamber, listening to the ripple of the water, the thrumming pulse of the hull’s rumble, and…
…and the two heartbeats.
One was Octavia’s, a steady thump, thump, thump of wet thunder. The other was a muffled stutter, almost quick enough to be a buzz. Both came from within her body.
‘I am a fool,’ he said, rising to his feet in a snarl of armour joints.
‘Talos?’
He drew in a breath, seeking to quell a surge of anger. His fingers were trembling, the micro-servos in his knuckles whirred as his hands clenched into fists. Had he not been so weary and his senses so dulled, he’d have heard the two heartbeats immediately.
‘Talos?’ she asked again. ‘Talos?’
He walked from her chamber without a word.
III
HOMECOMING
As soon as the door opened, Septimus realised he was probably going to die.
He had half a second to draw breath before the hand was at his throat, and another half-second to croak out a denial. The gauntlet closed around his neck with enough strength to choke off any breath, let alone speech, and he struggled as he was lifted off the decking.
‘I warned you,’ the intruder said. Septimus tried to swallow, and gagged instead. In response, the Night Lord hurled him across the chamber. He hit hard, crashing against the wall and sinking to the floor in a heap of slack, shivering limbs. Blood marked the black iron where his head had struck.
‘I warned you,’ the warrior said again, filling the room with the sound of armour joints and bootsteps. ‘Was I somehow not clear enough? Was my warning something to be ignored merely because I was unconscious for fifty-five nights?’
He hauled Septimus up by the hair, and threw him against the opposite wall. The slave went down again, this time without a sound. The warrior kept advancing, kept speaking, his voice twisted into machine-like impassivity by his helm’s vocaliser grille. ‘Did I perhaps fail to express my meaning in absolute terms? Is that it? Is that where this savage breakdown in communication has occurred?’
Septimus struggled to rise. For the first time in his life, he drew a weapon on his master. At least, he tried to. With a snort that might or might not have been a laugh, the towering warrior thudded a boot into his slave’s side – not a battlefield kick, but rather the scuffing of refuse from underfoot. Still, the modest, messy chamber echoed with the twig-snaps of breaking ribs. Septimus swore through clenched teeth, reaching for the pistol he’d dropped.
‘You son of a…’ he began, but his master cut him off.
‘Let us not compound disobedience with disrespect.’ The Night Lord took two steps forward. The first crushed the laspistol into pieces, grinding them along the deck in a mangled spray of abused metal components. The second rested on Septimus’s back, slamming him face-first onto the decking and knocking the wind from his lungs.
‘Give me one reason not to kill you,’ Talos snarled. ‘And make it incredibly good.’
Breath sawed in and out of the human’s lungs, through the heavy, jagged obstructions of broken ribs. He could taste blood at the back of his throat. Through all his years of captivity, all the years they’d forced him to serve and aid them in their heretical war, Septi
mus had never once begged for mercy.
He wasn’t about to start now.
‘Tshiva keln,’ he grunted through the pain. Pinkish spit painted his lips as he fought to breathe.
It was a night for first occurrences. Septimus had never before drawn a pistol on his master, and Talos had never before had one of his slaves tell him to ‘eat shit’.
The prophet hesitated. He felt his malign concentration suddenly broken by a short burst of bemused laughter. It echoed hollowly around the small chamber.
‘Ask yourself this, Septimus: does it seem wise to annoy me even further?’ He dragged the bleeding human up by the back of the neck, and threw him a third time against the sloping iron wall. When Septimus went down this time he didn’t curse, or resist, or do much of anything at all.
‘That’s better.’ Talos stalked closer, and knelt by his barely breathing slave. Septimus’s facial augmetics were damaged, the eye lens split by an ugly crack. Spasms quivered through him, and it was clear from the angle of his left arm that it’d been wrenched from its shoulder socket. Blood bubbled from the man’s swollen lips, but no words came forth. That last fact was probably for the best.
‘I warned you.’
Septimus turned his head slowly, facing the voice. He either couldn’t say anything, or intelligently chose not to. His master’s boot pressed down on his back, a veritable weight of absolute threat. It would take no effort at all to stamp down and reduce the human’s torso to a pulp of disordered meat and bone.
‘She is the most precious thing on this ship. We cannot sail the Mad Sea with her health compromised. I warned you. You are fortunate I do not skin you and hang your bones from New Blackmarket’s ceiling.’
Talos lifted his boot from the slave’s back. Septimus hissed in a slow breath, rolling onto his side.
‘Master…’
‘Spare me any false apologies.’ Talos shook his head, the skull-painted faceplate passionless in its red-lens gaze. ‘I have broken between fourteen and seventeen of your bones, and your cranial bionics need maintenance. The focusing retinal lens also has a longitudinal crack. Consider that punishment enough.’ He hesitated, looking down at the prone human on the deck. ‘You are also fortunate I do not order surgery to eunuch you. On my soul, I swear these words are true, Septimus: if you touch her again, the merest brush of skin against skin, I will let Variel flay you. Then, while you are still alive as a skinless, weeping husk, I will pull you apart with my bare hands, and let you watch your own limbs being fed to the Bleeding Eyes.’
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