'Not currently,' Pyke said. 'Once, the slack could have been picked up by the other members of the Gubernatorial Triumvirate. Four generations ago, there were three continental governors and a united planetary government. Now there's just the one - Hereditary Governor Pandion IV. And a sorry specimen he is, as far as autocrats go.' Pyke smiled. 'Which is to our benefit, I suppose.'
Fulgrim nodded. The Gubernatorial Triumvirate had been bloodily dissolved in the last set of planetary civil wars. The end result had been full-scale atomic immolation of the southern continent, and the capitulation of the westernmost. There was only one continent now - Chalkedon - where before there had been three. Was it the result of necessity, or negligence? Perhaps it didn't matter.
'And he's just welcoming us with open arms, is he?' Frazer sounded doubtful. 'I've never yet met one of these backwater tyrants who wasn't looking for a fight.'
'Well, then this will be an education for you,' Pyke said. Frazer flushed, but held his tongue. Rumours about the Primary Iterator abounded. Some claimed she had the ear of the Emperor himself. Fulgrim knew better. She was one of the Sigillite's creatures, in all but name. Malcador was keeping tabs on him, as he did all of the primarchs. Watching them. Judging them. As if seeking out the means by which they might be humbled. An uncharitable thought perhaps, but true, so far as Fulgrim could see.
How his father could trust such a creature was a mystery to Fulgrim. Then, trying to understand his father's reasons for anything was like grasping sand. The harder you tried, the more it slipped through your fingers. In the end, you knew less than you did before you began. The Emperor was at once remote and ever present. An enigma, unable to fully shrink himself to fit the preconceptions of his sons.
And why should he have to? The Emperor was perfection itself - the ideal made flesh. If Fulgrim was the phoenix, then the Emperor was the fire that bestowed renewal. The Emperor did not lower himself to meet the expectations of lesser beings. So why should his sons? Why must the phoenix prove himself to those who might otherwise be prey to his beak and talons? Why must the Illuminator explain himself to the ignorant?
Some among his brothers maintained that it was a necessary humbling. They waged war, not for their own sake, but in the name of all mankind. But mankind had shown itself time and again to be a frail thing, prone to bending with the wind. Chemos had been a fruit rotting on the vine until he had taken it in hand. Byzas was the same. And like Chemos, Byzas would never truly belong to him. Was he destined to be a gardener who never enjoyed the fruits of his own labour?
This morose line of contemplation was broken by an announcement from the flight deck. 'Final approach in ten,’ the pilot said, his voice crackling through the compartment's vox system. Fulgrim deactivated the hololith. They were passing through the debris field. He could hear the Firebird's engines whining in protest as the pilots navigated the belt.
Fulgrim sighed and tapped the restraint of his grav-harness. The deck rolled beneath his feet as he stood. At his gesture, Abdemon and the others did the same. 'So, we come to it, my sons,' he said, his voice carrying easily over the dim roar of the engines. 'The beginning of our anabasis. But a word or two of warning before we begin... These people have never seen your like. Do not allow their awe to lull you into a false sense of your own invulnerability.'
He looked around. 'You are demigods, but even demigods can die. By the same token, do not expect them to fully comprehend your capabilities.' He fixed Cyrius with a stem gaze and raised a finger in warning. 'No duels.'
Cyrius' face was unreadable beneath his helmet, but the slight twitch of his head showed that he'd heard, at least. Abdemon had informed Fulgrim of Cyrius' encounter with Pyke's pet killers. An error in judgement, whatever his reasons. He nodded, satisfied. 'We are as the Fire-Bringers of legend, my sons. We come to raise up the masses and cast aside the shadows of their ignorance. Act accordingly.'
He turned back to Pyke. 'Will you allow me to act as your escort, Primary Iterator?'
Pyke looked up at him. 'Of course, my lord. It would be my pleasure.'
The compartment rocked slightly. He could hear the change in the engines, signalling atmospheric entry. His hearts sped up in anticipation. Despite himself, he was excited. This was the last great test, and he was determined to pass it.
Touching down in five... four... three... two...'
The roar of the thrusters became muted, and finally fell silent. Pyke and the other senior members of the delegation freed themselves from their grav-harnesses. Fulgrim pulled his golden, eagle-winged helmet on. It latched into place with a hiss, and sensor readouts blinked into view before his eyes. 'Open the hatch,' he said.
The Firebird's crew compartment was filled with a watery light as the hatch cycled open. A roar of noise accompanied the light. Cheering voices mingled with the blare of triumphal music. Fulgrim smiled and held out his hand to Pyke. 'We shall disembark last, I think. If you've no objections?'
Pyke laughed. 'A bit of theatre never hurts in these situations, I've learned.'
Abdemon and the warriors of the Third were the first to disembark. The Space Marines, led by Abdemon, tromped down the ramp, bolters held across their chests, moving in perfect synchronisation. All save Fabius, who followed them, the limbs of his medicae harness unfurling like the petals of some abominable flower as he cleared the bulkhead.
Fulgrim activated his armour's sensor-link and connected to the pict-feed of Abdemon's helmet, allowing him to see what the lord commander saw. The trio of Stormbirds had landed on a massive, flat stone dais, many hundreds of metres across. Broken support structures lined its edges, their irregular, rusting shapes strung with thick garlands of some pale, plump blossom. A jubilant sea of faces surrounded the dais, filling the immense plaza it occupied. Structures crowded the plaza on all sides, but the dais was taller than any of them. Fulgrim realised that it was actually the foundation of an ancient landing platform, and that the buildings around it had been built much later.
Through the pict-feed of their helmets, Fulgrim watched as his sons automatically spread out in a loose stikhos formation, placing themselves between the Firebird and those waiting to greet its passengers. 'Cyrius - pan left,' Fulgrim murmured, as he cycled through the various feeds.
Cyrius obliged and Fulgrim got his first look at the rulers of Byzas. A small crowd of dignitaries waited a safe distance from the Firebird. They wore thick robes of state beneath gaudy encrustations of jewellery he suspected were used to denote function and rank.
A line of continental government troops, in blue uniforms and segmented lobster-shell breastplates, stood at parade rest behind the dignitaries. The soldiers appeared to be armed with a variety of low-velocity, bolt-action rifle.
The cheers of the crowd had ebbed as they got their first look at the towering forms of the Space Marines. It swelled once more as Frazer led his junior officers down the ramp. The Archite Palatines were human at least, if a trifle exotic. The crowd of dignitaries jerked into motion and Fulgrim chuckled. Pyke glanced up at him. 'What is it?'
'They think Frazer is me.'
She snorted. 'They're in for a shock.'
'Best to get it over with then, I suppose.' Fulgrim escorted her to the hatchway and they paused there. The Byzan dignitaries froze halfway to the Firebird, and then milled about like startled birds as Fulgrim and Pyke descended. Silence fell across the plaza, and Fulgrim felt a small thrill of pleasure. The awe of humans was a heady thing. He and Pyke descended in stately fashion. She looked like a child next to him.
The silence stretched for long moments, until at last a slim figure stepped forward. A younger man, wearing a seal of state around his neck and dressed in more sombre hues than the rest.
He hesitated only a moment before prostrating himself before Fulgrim. 'My Lord-Phoenician, it is my honour to welcome you to Nova-Basilos. I am Chancellor Corynth of the Continental Government of Chalkedon-et-Byzas, and I extend to you the hospitality of the Gubernatorial Throne, and all the protecti
ons and rights thereof.' He straightened, a weak grin on his face. 'Though, having now seen you up close, we might well dispense with the protections bit.'
Fulgrim smiled, and the chancellor blanched. He stumbled and Fulgrim steadied him easily. 'I happily welcome your protection, most honourable chancellor, and your hospitality both. I am Fulgrim, and I come bearing tidings of peace and prosperity.' His voice echoed across the platform like the rumble of soft thunder. He looked up, scanning the ranks of assembled dignitaries, fixing their faces in his mind.
'I come in the name of the Emperor of All Mankind, Lord of Terra and All Known Space, to welcome Byzas and all its peoples at last into the Imperium of Man. Long have we dreamed of this reunion. And much happiness may it bring us both.' He folded his hands over his chest and bowed slightly to the Hereditary Governor and his family.
As he straightened, the crowd began to cheer. The assembled nobility, on the other hand, looked anything but pleased. He noted the deepest frowns, filing them away for later consideration. The initial negotiations of any planetary compliance were the most important. In the next few days, the continental government would learn the new limits of its autonomy, as well as how much face it could expect to save during the necessary compliance ceremonies. This was often the time that revolts were conceived, as former power brokers found themselves suddenly bereft of influence and importance.
Fulgrim waved to the masses, never letting his smile slip. He was the face of the Imperium. Benevolent, welcoming, gentle.
On Chemos, treachery was just another weapon in the executive arsenal. Deals were made and broken as easily as breathing. The key, as with anything, was timing. From what he'd read, it was much the same here, though in a more ritualised form. Honour was a fluid concept here, as on Chemos. An oath to a fool was no oath at all. The only true consequences were those you couldn't adapt to.
He hoped the governor and his people proved themselves adaptable But if not, he would show them the iron fist that hid beneath the velvet glove He would break Byzas to his will, one way or another.
The 28th Expedition would succeed.
And a renewed Third Legion would rise from the ashes of the old.
Four
the great and the good
The banquet hall of the gubernatorial palace was magnificent, in its way. Marble and gilt covered every surface Statues posed dramatically in rounded nooks, gesturing skywards, fig leaves tastefully arranged. Grand floor-to-ceiling windows occupied the far wall, iron framed with coloured glass set in obtuse, pictorial patterns. The floor was tiled in some pale, pinkish stone which did little to absorb the noise caused by many feet, but which easily bore the weight of a fully armoured Space Marine.
Tables of dark wood lined the length of the hall, groaning beneath the bounty of a world. Great platters of sauroid meat and iridescent fish jostled for space with piles of spongy fruit and immense decanters of wine. Servants clad in fashionably plain tunics moved silently through the crowd, seeing to the needs of their betters. Men and women, the great and good of Byzas, clad in colourful robes or ceremonial uniforms, mingled in polite celebration, the murmur of their conversation a steady susurration that filled the hall.
The first families of Byzas were known collectively as the Patrikoi - the Thousand Patricians. The name was more symbolic than anything. He doubted there were a thousand of them these days. Too much war and political infighting had thinned the herd. Weaker families had been absorbed or destroyed by the stronger. But those who remained were strong indeed, and had dug themselves deeply into the workings of the continental government and Byzas.
The patricians controlled most, if not all, of the planet's infrastructure. The high-yield farms in the lowlands, the ore harvesting facilities in the mountains, even the roads that stretched from Nova-Basilos connecting it to the other, smaller cities. Every decision Hereditary Governor Pandion made likely required the agreement of one or more of the families. And even those efforts were probably stymied by other families, seeking their own advantage. It was a clumsy, creaking caricature of a functioning society, somehow still stumbling along. But not for much longer.
Pops of noise caught Fulgrim's attention. Through the window, he saw bursts of fiery colour staining the sky. Fireworks. In their glow, he saw bulbous shapes cutting slowly through the firmament. Airships were a common sight here, used mostly for haulage or military transport. He'd been told that some of them could reach sub-orbital altitudes, if their etheric engines held up.
The anti-gravity engines were old technology - ancient, even by the standards of the Imperium. The Byzans kept them running more through luck and determination than any true understanding of how they worked. It was impressive, given the planet's otherwise haphazard technological advancement and the somewhat erratic atmospheric conditions. A civilised method of travel.
'There is something stately about them, don't you agree?' asked Chancellor Corynth.
Fulgrim glanced down at him. 'They are not without their charms.'
'We could arrange an aerial tour of the western provinces, if you like. I'm told it's quite beautiful, from the right height.'
'And from the ground?'
Corynth looked away. 'Less so.'
Fulgrim nodded in understanding. The western provinces had once been the tertiary continental government. After the destruction of the southern state, the west had capitulated to a more conventional military conquest. It was, for all intents and purposes, a slave state, divided up into private fiefdoms by the patricians. Reduced to poverty, its entire infrastructure bent towards the purposes of its conquerors. An unpleasant situation, and one that would have to change, eventually.
'This display is impressive,' he said, changing the subject.
'No expense has been spared, I assure you. Whole villages in the agri-circle are going hungry tonight to provide us with this repast.' Corynth seemed determined to count the cost of things. Fulgrim had judged the chancellor an idealist from the first, and was glad to see his suspicions confirmed. He'd always found idealists to be more useful than pragmatists.
'A sorry state of affairs.'
Corynth looked up at him. 'You almost sound as if you mean that, Lord-Phoenician.'
'Fulgrim. Phoenician is not a title, but a nickname, bestowed upon me by some unknown wit in my father's court - a remark on my panoply.’ He tapped his armour, indicating the purple coloration. 'You may continue to refer to me as "lord" if you insist on formality.' Fulgrim glanced at him. 'And I do mean it. From what I've been told, the majority of this planet's population lives in poverty such that even the most wretched slum-dweller on Chemos - when there were slums on Chemos - would pity them.'
'Harsh words.' Corynth stared up at him, as if re-evaluating him. The soft music that permeated the banquet hall changed tempo, becoming more rousing. Space was cleared at the centre of the hall, and dancers clad in silks and beaten gold spun into view. The crowd applauded in appreciation of the entertainment to come.
'But true. The potential of this world has been stunted by war, privation and ignorance. I recognise the signs well enough, for I saw much the same as a child.'
Corynth blinked. 'A child?'
Fulgrim chuckled, watching the dancers cavort. 'Yes, chancellor, I too was once a child. An exceedingly precocious child, I admit, but a child nonetheless.' He gestured. 'A bit taller than average, perhaps.'
Corynth laughed. 'Belleros,' he said. 'If I am to call you Fulgrim, you must call me Belleros, please.'
'Belleros, then. It is good. Too much formality can make cooperation difficult.'
Corynth nodded. 'I agree. But formality serves a purpose.' He gestured to where the governor sat, chatting gaily with Pyke. 'It shields him from those who might otherwise see this as an opportunity to strike'
'I take that to mean that not all of your people agree with the coming change.'
Corynth frowned. 'No. Not if it means Pandion stays on his throne'
Fulgrim studied him, noting the slight flush
to his cheeks, the faint heat behind his words and the sudden quickening of his pulse A mortal would not have been capable of detecting such things. 'Will that be an obstacle?'
Corynth peered at him. 'What do you mean?'
'Stability does not rest solely in the individual, but in the society. If stability can be maintained by removing an individual, then it is an option to be considered.'
'You'd kill him.'
Fulgrim shrugged. 'Or exile. A bloodless coup is achievable, even by my limited forces. He and his heirs could be easily removed from consideration.' He spotted Abdemon, looking uncomfortable near the windows. He and the others had come in their war-plate, as Fulgrim had. The better to reinforce the obvious point. They loomed over the other guests, even as they sought to put them at their ease. Well, except for Fabius, who lurked near the far wall. The Apothecary studied the crowd as if preparing to dissect them.
The others seemed to be handling things with more aplomb. Telmar had cornered some unlucky nobleman and was being politely menacing. Quin was studying the banquet table in obvious confusion, a tiny plate clutched gingerly in his massive hands. Alkenex and Thorn mingled silently, observing rather than participating. He heard the boom of Cyrius' laughter, and an appreciative titter from the small crowd he'd gathered about him.
After long moments of silence, Corynth swallowed thickly. 'I thought you came to help him.' The re-evaluation continued. Fulgrim could see the man's internal calculations becoming more complex. Fulgrim was neither the largest of his brothers, nor the most intimidating. He was beautiful and graceful, and those things put the human mind at ease. All but the most wary quickly forgot that he was a primarch, and not simply exceedingly tall.
'I came to bring Byzas into compliance I would prefer to do so as efficiently as possible.' Fulgrim watched the dancers glide gracefully across the floor. Part of him longed to join them. But not now. Not today. 'It does not matter to me who rules, only that they rule in the Emperor's name.'
Corynth looked away. 'Our people have no say, then?'
Fulgrim- The Palatine Phoenix - Josh Reynolds Page 5