'Our brother has sent his son, to invite us to take part in a great endeavour... One that is as much our birthright as the stones of the Anabas Mountains,' Pandion continued. The noise from the benches swelled, softly at first, and then more loudly. Pandion raised his voice accordingly, fighting to be heard. We shall rejoin the great empire of humanity, and reclaim the stars. We shall...'
His voice dissolved into crackling static as the voxcaster succumbed to age. Pandion slumped back into his throne, wiping his face A wave of static flowed down from the benches, as men raced to the voxcasters mounted along the rails dividing each section. They shouted over one another, each one fighting to be the first to condemn their sovereign lord's words.
Corynth gestured to the Gubernatorial Guard, and the men struck the dais with the stocks of their rifles. Once, twice. The noise didn't lessen. Fulgrim raised a finger. Abdemon drew his sword and turned it about. He caught the blade and drove the pommel down against the floor, cracking the tiles and the stone beneath. The sound echoed through the chamber, and the contentious squabbling from the gallery stuttered into silence. Corynth winced. 'That's going to be expensive to replace.'
Pandion took advantage of the lull. 'My brothers, do not despair. This is our destiny. We were not meant to grub in the soil, but to sail the stars. And our newfound kin have come to show us the way.' He gestured to Fulgrim.
'And why should we believe this... creature?' one of the noblemen asked, his voice echoing creakily through his voxcaster. 'He clearly isn't even human. For all we know, he's some dreg from the Glass Waste, clad in finery, set up to trick us.'
Fulgrim restrained a laugh as a rumble of agreement echoed from the benches. Pyke made to reply, but Fulgrim waved her back. He looked up at his accuser. 'To what end?'
The man blinked, startled by the sonorous resonance of Fulgrim's voice. Even without the voxcaster, his voice reached every ear in the chamber. Fulgrim continued before the man could recover. 'I have no need of tricks, my friend. I am a son of the Emperor of Mankind, and I could snuff out your world like - that - if I wished.' He snapped his fingers for emphasis. He heard a sudden intake of breath from Corynth.
A roar of protest swelled up. Fulgrim raised his hands, as if in welcome. He cast his smile into the teeth of their anger, revelling in their impotence. They had all seen the Stormbirds descend from on high, bristling with weaponry. Abdemon and Cyrius stood before them, flanking their primarch, resplendent in their baroque war-plate, their hands resting on their weapons. The proof of his statement was there, and even the dullest among them could not deny it.
'I would prefer peace,' Fulgrim called out, hands clasped before him. He held one out and made a fist. 'But I am fully articulate in the language of war.' He smiled beatifically. 'I can draw down fire from heaven and scorch your cities to glass, if I wish. But I do not wish. I do not wish to set my sons upon you. I do not wish to unleash Lord Commander Frazer's war-dogs upon your population.' He held up a finger, as if in warning. 'But I can. And I will. If necessary.'
He spread his hands. 'I beg you, gentles all, do not make it necessary. My brothers believe that it all comes down to fire and blood. They are world-breakers and shatterers of civilisations. Luckily for you, I am of a more diplomatic inclination. I would rather work with you. I would see you join the Imperium of Man as full citizens of our galactic brotherhood, not as broken menials.'
Fulgrim dropped his hands. 'But rest assured, you shall join us. You will be made compliant, one way or another.' He kept his voice even. Calm. It was not a threat, merely a statement of fact.
A rumble rose up. Men were on their feet, shouting to be heard through malfunctioning voxcasters. Messengers ran back and forth between the benches. Pandion hunched back in his throne as if the uproar pained him. And perhaps it did. The governor was well aware of how this must look to his guests. Fulgrim glanced at him, noting the grimace of ill-ease. 'He's worried,' he said.
'Good,' Pyke said. 'Let him worry. Let them all worry. It will make things easier. Fear is the strongest lever we have.' She spoke confidently. The noise levels dipped. Someone new had the floor.
Fulgrim studied the man. Whoever he was, he commanded the respect of the others.
'Patrician Bucepholos,' Pyke murmured. 'One of the leading lights of the vocal opposition. Old family. Old money.'
Fulgrim nodded. Bucepholos wore dark robes, which did little to obscure his bulk. A stylised hippocampus was picked out in white thread on the uppermost fold, and a smaller version was tattooed on one round cheek.
'If we are to believe you,' the heavy-set man began, 'then that implies that you come not in peace, but as conquerors. That if we do not submit to this farce, we will be crushed by these unseen armies at your command.' Muted laughter from the bolder of his fellows greeted these words. Not so much as there might once have been. Not now that the possibility was backed up by evidence.
'That I stand before you now is proof enough of my peaceful intentions. I have no interest in conquering your world, Patrician Bucepholos. Only in seeing that it takes its proper place in the wider galaxy.'
If Bucepholos was surprised that Fulgrim knew who he was, he did a good job of hiding it. He frowned. 'And yet, you can understand our confusion, when you toss about such grandiose threats at your whim.'
'Not a whim, I assure you. Instead, a statement of fact.' He gave Fireblade's sheath a light slap. 'Like this sword, or the bolt pistols my sons wear holstered on their belts. A show of strength, so that we might treat with one another as equals.'
'But isn't the whole point of this display to show us that we are, in fact, not equals? That our esteemed governor wishes to sell us into slavery to a power we have little hope of resisting? You seek to frighten us, sir. Nothing more, nothing less.' Bucepholos stepped back, as his fellows began to shout and stamp their feet.
Fulgrim inclined his head, acknowledging the point. He waited until the noise died down and said, 'You are right. I seek to scare you. But not as a soldier seeks to scare his foe. Rather, I seek to frighten you as a parent might frighten their child - fear is a lesson, a temper to action. If you fear, you will not act rashly, or inadvisably.' He shrugged elegantly. 'Perhaps it was a mistake to do so. I freely admit that I am not immune to such things, for you see... I know fear as well.'
Silence greeted this admission, as Fulgrim had hoped. He stepped forward, hand over his heart. 'I fear that you will surrender to misplaced pride.' He held up his hand. 'I fear that you will slap aside my hand, offered in friendship.' He indicated Fireblade. 'I fear that I will be forced to draw this blade in anger. I fear that I will be forced to destroy what I desire only to save.' He swung a hand back, indicating Abdemon and Cyrius. 'I fear to unleash my sons, for their wrath, once stoked, is a fire which would surely claim this entire world. I fear all of these things, honourable patricians.'
Fulgrim turned, sweeping his gaze across the long benches. Few of them dared attempt to meet his eyes. He sank to one knee, head bowed, arms spread. A murmur ran through the benches. 'I beg you, my friends, do not let my fears be realised.' He looked up and brought his hands together, as if in supplication. 'Let us cast aside fear together, noble sons of Byzas. Let us join our fates together, and journey as one into a glorious future.'
He rose gracefully and turned to the throne. He bowed deeply. 'With your permission, Hereditary Governor, I shall withdraw and await your decision.' Pandion nodded silently, his face a mask of conflicting emotion. Fulgrim turned towards the doors and took Pyke's hand once more.
'A touch melodramatic,' she said softly, as they proceeded away from the throne. 'But memorable. Stirring, even.'
Fulgrim smiled.
'Let us hope it does the trick.'
Seven
the phoenician unveiled
'A child?' Fulgrim asked.
He strode through the cramped and twisting streets of Nova-Basilos' inner district, accompanied by Chancellor Corynth and three of his sons. Kasperos Telmar and Grythan Thorn paced to
either side of him, alert for any threat. Fabius followed at some distance. It had taken some prodding to get the Apothecary out of his lair. Fulgrim thought the easiest way of acclimatising the populace to the Emperor's Children - and vice versa - was to let them see and be seen in public, as much as possible. It was early days yet, and he wanted the people of Byzas to see them as liberators, rather than conquerors.
'Several children,' Corynth said, looking up at him. He had less trouble keeping pace with Fulgrim's long stride than most. He moved with an easy grace that Fulgrim suspected came from some form of training. 'Four, that we're aware of. Possibly more.' He coughed, embarrassed. The governor's father was a man of - ah - strong passions.'
'But Pandion is the direct descendant?'
Corynth nodded. 'His parentage is a matter of public record, thankfully.' He stopped and spoke briefly with an old woman, sitting in front of a shop. The woman mumbled and kissed his hand. Fulgrim watched the interaction. Pandion was a remote presence in the lives of his people - semi-divine and spoken of in hushed whispers. Belleros Corynth, on the other hand, was a man of the people.
He wondered again whether he was making the right decision in his support for the current occupant of the Gubernatorial Throne. Corynth would make a far better ruler than Pandion. But he wanted no part of it. And Pandion seemed determined to hold onto the throne, whatever the cost. He could make compliance difficult, if he decided to.
Fulgrim had considered simply imposing his will on them. Corynth was already running the government in all but name. It would take little effort to effect a reasonable transfer of power. Horus would have done it without hesitation. Then, Lupercal would have also unleashed his Wolves on the patricians at the first whiff of resistance, and erected a pyramid of skulls in the centre of Nova-Basilos.
'A thoughtful look, Fulgrim,' Corynth said.
'A thoughtful mood, Belleros.' Fulgrim gestured to the shop fronts and stacked dwellings. They seemed caught halfway between the primitive and the modem, and were all the more aesthetically pleasing because of it. 'This city is beautiful. On Chemos - indeed, on Terra - a place like this would've been grey and featureless. But here, there is colour... Vibrancy. I envy you.'
Corynth looked surprised. 'High praise, from one our governor refers to as a Prince of the Universe.' He raised his voice, fighting to be heard over the sudden clamour from the growing crowd. Somewhere, a bell was pealing. Fulgrim wondered if that was normal, or whether it was something special, just for them.
He smiled. 'Well deserved, I assure you.' He looked around, admiring the creeping curtains of ivy that clung to the simple brick buildings and the colourful high-domed roofs of the government buildings. He could detect the aroma of a nearby spice market, hanging thick over the street. Bundles of local herbs hung in shop windows, alongside the skinned carcasses of some native animal. Petrochem fumes clogged the narrow alleyways, rising from the crude generators that kept the city lit when the ancient electrical grid faltered. 'Nova-Basilos is beautiful. Are all your cities so attractive?'
Corynth's smile slipped. 'Some of them. Many are simply... functional.'
Fulgrim nodded. As he'd expected. 'There is no shame in functionality.'
Corynth looked away. 'They - we - were once greater.'
'And you shall be again. It will take time, but that is a resource in ready supply.'
'Perhaps.' The patrons of a cafe, sitting in the shade of a wide awning, sipping at cups of the local recaff variant, set up a yell at the sight of the chancellor. Corynth went to greet them, shaking hands and trading greetings. The acrid smell of the recaff caused Fulgrim's nostrils to twitch. They seemed to prefer bitter over sweet here, as a rule.
'What can you tell me about Patrician Bucepholos?' he asked, when Corynth had rejoined him. 'He appears to be the main source of opposition.'
Corynth blinked. 'A dangerous man. Influential - as you saw for yourself. And one who's grown fat on privilege. But he's wily. He's spearheaded most of the efforts to curtail the government's power of late. Some believe he's consolidating his position for a coup of one sort or another.' He smiled. 'Or he was.'
'Oh dear. No wonder he was so angry.' Fulgrim laughed. 'He's invited me to visit his estates on the coast. To... discuss our differences.'
'Be careful,' Corynth said, too quickly. Fulgrim glanced at him.
'I am always careful. But is there any particular reason why I should be, in this instance?' He smiled. 'Or is it general concern for my well-being, Belleros?'
'There have been things said. Nothing substantial.'
Fulgrim stopped. 'If there is a threat, I would like to know about it'
Corynth looked uncomfortable 'As I said, it's nothing substantial. Bucepholos may have been behind one or more of the recent attempts on Pandion's life. And yours as well, at the banquet.'
'The poison?' Fulgrim frowned. Bucepholos' name hadn't been one of those Fabius had gleaned from their prisoner, but that meant little. Pyke's own sources had placed the patrician at the heart of no fewer than three conspiracies, seemingly unrelated to the current unrest What was one more to a man like that?
'Possibly? Corynth shook his head. There's no proof, obviously. He's an old hand at these games? He shrugged. 'As I said, be careful?
'I will keep that in mind.' Fulgrim wondered how good Corynth's spy network really was. As far as Pyke was concerned, they were amateurs. The Gubernatorial Throne had once had access to an impressive intelligence network, but its reach and resources had been slowly whittled away by the patricians. Good agents worked for rich patrons, not a government that could barely pay its own troops.
He pushed the thought aside. These were matters for another day. A crowd was gathering along their route. People craned to see him, and they cheered uproariously as he waved. Word had spread that the primarch was among them, and this part of the city was slowly taking on a carnival atmosphere. 'A pleasing sound.'
Corynth laughed. 'At first, when you resisted my offer of a protective detail, I thought you were trying to bait trouble'
'And now?'
'I think you've worked a crowd before?' Corynth waved to his people, smiling sheepishly. 'You are well aware of the impact you have in person. You are like some ancient god, come again to walk among the faithful.' As if to emphasise his point, cheers echoed from the stones.
'I am but as my father made me,' Fulgrim said, pleased by Corynth's insight. 'And I'm sure you had nothing to do with this sudden, spontaneous gathering of citizenry.'
Corynth shrugged. 'It's hard to keep secrets in the palace.'
'So Lady Golconda has informed me.'
'She is an... impressive woman,' Corynth said carefully.
Fulgrim chuckled. 'She is, yes.' Pyke had proven her effectiveness beyond a shadow of a doubt since their arrival. The primary iterator was slowly but surely winnowing through the ranks of the patricians, compiling dossiers on those who could be of use, as well as those who would need to be removed. At the moment, there seemed to be rather more of the latter than he'd hoped.
A startled yelp caught his attention, and he sighed. Someone had got too close to Kasperos and the legionary had knocked the mortal sprawling. The braver among the citizenry had the inadvisable habit of trying to touch the hulking giants in their ornate armour. To see if they were real, perhaps.
Telmar loomed over the stunned man - little more than a youth, really - and seemed poised to finish what he'd begun. 'Calm yourself, Kasperos, or I will do it for you,' Fabius hissed, as he grabbed the other legionary's shoulder. 'He meant no harm. They are only curious. As we would be, in their place.'
'They should keep their hands to themselves,' Telmar said, slapping the Apothecary's hand away. 'As should you, Spider.'
Fabius stepped back, hands raised. 'I meant no offence, brother.'
'What you mean, and what occurs, are often two entirely different things,' Telmar said. You should have stayed in your web, Spider. You speak softly of them, but look around. You frighten them mo
re than any of us.'
'Enough,' Fulgrim said, his voice like quiet thunder. The crowd fell silent. This is not seemly, my sons. Are you children, to brawl in front of strangers?'
'My lord, the Spider-' Telmar hesitated, seeing Fulgrim's expression. 'Apothecary Fabius has insulted my person. I would have satisfaction.' His hand fell to the hilt of his sword. Fulgrim sighed.
'And how has he insulted you?'
'By comparing me - comparing us - to these... primitives,' Telmar said, glancing at Thorn, who nodded. Fulgrim frowned.
'And why should he not?' Fulgrim looked around, noting the mood of the crowd. They were on the cusp of flight. Telmar's sudden burst of violence had frightened them, shaken them to their very cores. Stories would spread, flying through the city, and from there, the rest of the continent. Awe would turn to fear. Fear to resentment. And resentment to resistance. He had seen the same story, repeated ad nauseam, on a dozen worlds.
Fulgrim had always preferred love to fear. Love was stronger. Fear could be conquered, but love - never. It waned and swelled, but it never truly faded. He had made himself loved on Chemos. And he would do the same here.
The primarch sank to one knee and reached down to help Telmar's victim to his feet. The man stared at him with mingled fright and awe, his mouth working soundlessly. Fulgrim smiled and stood. 'I came from nothing,' he said, fixing his sons with a steady gaze. 'I scrabbled in the quarry pits, and down in the deepest mines, carrying buckets on my shoulders because the ascender blew a gasket,' he said. 'I broke my fingernails on raw ore, and grew blisters from heat and labour. You look down on them, blind to the beauty of their struggle. Blind to what they might become, if only someone would scrape the filth from their faces.' He reached down and lifted a child onto his shoulders. The girl laughed and clapped, unafraid of the giant, even as her mother wept. Fulgrim indicated the crowd. His voice had driven many of them to their knees.
'Look at them, my sons. You are the highest, and they, the lowest. It is your duty to raise them up, as high as they will go. Anything less is not worthy of you.'
Fulgrim- The Palatine Phoenix - Josh Reynolds Page 9