They were quick - quicker than Cyrius had expected, but not so quick as to surprise a blooded warrior of the Emperor's Children. Speed was their stock in trade. He deflected the first blow with an iota of the force he would normally use, and sent his opponent stumbling. He avoided the second and countered the third, spinning the sword from the hands of its unlucky wielder.
The duel progressed quickly from there. Moments later, he'd disarmed the last of them without drawing blood. As they had so many times before, the shamefaced noblemen retreated in disarray to lick their wounds. He watched them go, wondering if they'd try it with a dozen next time. That might almost prove a challenge. 'A spirited duel.'
Cyrius turned. 'My thanks, lord commander.'
'I shall have to commend Akurduana on his training regimen, as well as the quality of his protégés,' Abdemon said. He was frowning slightly, and Cyrius suspected he'd been watching. He felt a flare of irritation. Abdemon must know that he'd been acting on the primarch's orders. Fulgrim had encouraged him to mingle with the younger members of the gentry, to learn where their loyalties lay. To test them and see if they would mesh well with the culture of the Third.
'He will be most pleased to hear it, I'm certain.'
'He is one of the Two Hundred, you know. The first of our brotherhood to cross blades with the Phoenician. And the only one to last more than a few minutes against him. A record I suspect he will hold for some time.'
Cyrius peered at him, wondering if that statement were some form of warning. Abdemon was fond of lessons wrapped in anecdotes. It was one of his more infuriating qualities. Cyrius preferred his commanding officers to be plain speakers, and open in their chastisement. 'I was not aware,' he said carefully.
Abdemon nodded. 'Consider yourself enlightened. You were being observed, by the way.' He flicked a finger towards the high gantries that ran along the inside curve of the great dome above. 'And each time before that.' He smiled. They were testing you. Studying you.' He tapped the side of his head. 'Smart.'
Cyrius frowned, annoyed that he hadn't noticed. 'Not so smart. I won every duel.'
'There are duels, and then there are duels, Cyrius. Learn to tell the difference' Abdemon clapped him on the shoulder. 'We're surrounded by enemies, and enemies of enemies. And all of them want to know what we are capable of, before they decide on a course of action. These people are neither simple nor stupid, Frazer's assumptions to the contrary. They're feeling us out, even as we do the same. Feint and counter-feint.'
Cyrius shook his head. 'Maybe Frazer is right. Perhaps we should just take this world, the way we have always done.'
'And waste how many of our brothers' lives in the doing so? Oh, not many, maybe, but enough to put us back in Horus' shadow. Enough to show that we're not ready to play our part in the Great Crusade.' Abdemon sighed. 'Duels within duels.'
Cyrius digested this. 'So how do we win?'
Abdemon looked back towards Fulgrim. 'Only the primarch knows. Come.'
They joined the others, who sat nearby. Fulgrim reclined on a bench while Pyke and Frazer sat across from him, a table between them. The three were deep in conversation. On the table, a large pictographic map had been unrolled. It was a crude thing, more representative than a hololith. Even so, there was something strangely pleasing about the lack of precision. Quin and the other Legionaries stood around the table, studying it intently. Telmar looked up as Cyrius approached.
'Finished playing with your little friends?' he murmured.
Cyrius ignored him. The primarch was speaking.
'We have a thousand enemies,' Fulgrim said, tapping the map with a long finger. 'Each with their own bastions of influence.'
'A thousand enemies who are not allied against us,' Pyke said. 'We are an excuse, not a reason. Not yet.'
Fulgrim nodded. 'An apt description. So how does one prosecute a war on a thousand fronts?' He looked up. 'Cyrius - how would you go about achieving victory?'
Cyrius hesitated. 'Isolate them. Manoeuvre warfare - we disrupt travel and communications across the planet. Localised electromagnetic pulses to shut down the electrical grids, and grind everyone's decision-making capabilities to a halt.'
Fulgrim smiled. 'Does that include our hosts?'
'Protective custody,' Telmar interjected. Cyrius shot him an annoyed glance, but said nothing. These discussions were tests. Duels of words and ideas, rather than blades. It was up to the participants to seize the advantage, and guide the discourse. 'We remove the governor and his heirs from the board. Chancellor Corynth will act as regent, until such time as we deem the situation under control.'
'And where will we remove them to?' Quin demanded. He rounded on Telmar, face like a thundercloud. The entire world is enemy territory.'
'The answer should be obvious, even to you,' Telmar said blandly. At Quin's glare, he pointed upwards. 'The Byzans have an antiquated fleet. The Pride of the Emperor alone would be enough to conquer this system.'
'If we go that far, why not simply use the Stormbirds to strafe some sense into them?' Alkenex interrupted. They have nothing to match our gunships. Or the Legion itself. Following Cyrius' example, we move outwards, disrupting their ability to organise and communicate in an ever-widening circle, until the whole world is dark. They won't know what's happened until we're knocking at their gates.'
'That's part of the problem,' Cyrius said, seizing the opening. 'They truly have no understanding of our capabilities. The planet goes dark, they won't understand that we caused it - just that it's happened, and they have to adapt.'
Fulgrim looked at Quin. 'What are the current military capabilities of our host?'
Quin shrugged. 'Adequate. The continental army is divided into several hundred rough battalions - a third of them are under strength, but drawing pay that says otherwise. Ostensibly led by whoever paid the best bribe.'
'But in reality, led by whichever subordinate has the initiative to pick up the slack,' Alkenex cut in. 'An unhealthy state of affairs. Discipline is maintained unevenly, at best. Several garrisons have effectively - and quietly - conquered their city of residence.' He indicated half a dozen provinces on the pictograph to emphasise his point. 'The battalions are disorganised. The worst of them are run by consensus.'
Fulgrim glanced at Frazer. The commander of the Archite Palatines was studying the map intently. 'You have something to add, Herodotus?'
Frazer twitched, startled to be addressed by his first name. He preened slightly, taking it as a sign of respect. Cyrius hid a smile. Fulgrim knew how to play on his subordinates' vanity, when necessary. Another lesson. Abdemon and the others made much of working with unaugmented humans, but only Fulgrim seemed able to accomplish it without effort.
'The army will stay out of it, unless they're attacked first,' Frazer said. Their loyalties are divided. Most of the garrisons outside of Nova-Basilos will just fort up, until they see which way the wind is blowing. We can't count on them.' He grinned. 'But neither can anyone else. The patricians will have to rely on those whose loyalties they've paid for, rather than trying to co-opt regular army units.'
'And they'll fight all the harder for it.' Abdemon laid his hand flat on the map. 'Frazer's right. The entire command structure of the continental army is compromised. Even if they're not actively disloyal, they won't react quickly - or at all - to any threat to the governor's authority.' He glanced at Frazer. 'They'll only move when there's a winning side to back.'
Frazer nodded. 'That's my estimation.'
'And a fine one it is, if a trifle depressing.' Fulgrim leaned forward. He looked up at Cyrius. 'Your answer was adequate. Textbook. If we had the time and the resources, it would be the correct one. In this instance, we must adapt. Not isolation, but consolidation.'
Cyrius frowned, stung by his primarch's dismissal. 'What do you mean?'
'It is time to turn our many enemies into one,' Fulgrim said. 'Right now, they are divided. Each seeking their own advantage. We are an unknown, and so they hesitate, uncertain of how be
st to proceed. Thus, we must illuminate the correct path for them, and encourage them to take it.'
Frazer gave a bark of laughter. You want them to ally against us.' He seemed pleased. 'A show of force should do it. I can-'
'No,' Cyrius said. Fulgrim looked at him expectantly. 'No,' he continued. 'A show of force would only disperse them further. We need to draw them in. A feint.' He glanced at Telmar. We take the governor and his family into protective custody...' He paused.
'Go on,' Fulgrim encouraged.
'We take control of Nova-Basilos, and the continental army, on the authority of the Hereditary Governor. Lock it down. No access to the governor, save through us. Call the battalions back from the western provinces and the hinterlands - leave the patricians to clean up their own messes. That will annoy them, and the army will be happy to be leaving.'
Fulgrim nodded, smiling. 'Very good. And then?'
Cyrius hesitated. 'We disband the patricians. Dissolve the government.'
Pyke applauded. 'Very good. That will stir them up nicely.' Cyrius smiled, pleased. 'It'll be a symbolic gesture, of course. Nothing more.'
'Hostages,' Quin grunted. He looked around. 'We imprison any members of the patricians, or their families, still in the city. That will make some of them think twice.'
Pyke frowned. 'Crude, but effective. As good as a formal declaration of war. They'll have no choice but to react, and swiftly, to such a provocation.'
'Once galvanised, they'll move to take the city, and Pandion,' Fulgrim said. 'After that, it's simply a matter of revealing the hidden blade.' He glanced at Cyrius. 'Very good, Cyrius. You'll make a fine officer one day.' He looked at the others. 'As will all of you. I am pleased, my sons. You are all worthy bearers of the palatine aquila, and my trust.' He stood.
'Now, let us prepare for what is to come.'
Eleven
sons of sabazius
'I'm pleased to see you in such good spirits, Hereditary Governor,' Pyke said as the guards showed her and Cyrius into the governor's presence. 'Not every man would be cheering the dissolution of his own government.'
'It's no more than they deserve, Lady Golconda.' Pandion clapped his skinny hands in pleasure. 'And truth be told, I've been dreaming of doing something similar for years now. Decades, even.' He turned. 'This calls for a drink! Will you join me?'
They had disbanded the patricians that morning. Pandion had absented himself from the assembly, leaving the matter to his new regent. Pyke smiled, remembering the explosion of noise that had greeted Fulgrim's proclamation. She'd thought the assembled noblemen were going to riot, until the primarch had drawn his sword and seated himself on Pandion's pneumatic throne, in a signal few could misinterpret.
After that, the Gubernatorial Guard had quickly ushered the stunned members of the assembly out. Discrete warnings had already been passed along the usual channels, ahead of the wave of arrest warrants Pandion had gleefully issued, at Fulgrim's request. Most, but not all, of the patricians and their families would slip the net. Enough of them would be caught to make the rest feel lucky.
Pandion poured her a glass, still chattering. 'A splendid strategy. They'll have no choice but to make common cause. And then you'll have them.'
'So Lord Fulgrim assures me'
'Yes. Where is he by the way? I expected him to bring me the news himself.' Pandion glanced sidelong at Cyrius. 'And why is he here?'
'Protection,' Cyrius said. His hand dropped to the hilt of his sword. Pandion paled.
'I see. What now?'
'Your family will be evacuated today,' Pyke said. Pandion nodded eagerly.
'Good, good. I'll let them know we're leaving.'
'They're leaving. You're not.'
Pandion froze. 'What?'
'You're staying. In order to provide some little inspiration to your soldiers. Like a governor ought. And to draw the enemy in. Your symbolic value goes both ways.'
Pandion swallowed. He was sweating now. 'Chancellor Corynth-' he began. Pyke cut him off with a gesture.
'Corynth is an admirable man. But he is not the Hereditary Governor. He is not Pandion IV, the heir to a legacy stretching back to this world's founding.' She smiled. 'If you leave, this whole house of cards comes crashing down. And we can't have that.'
'You can't be serious,' he protested.
'You'll be evacuated, but only after the trap has been sprung.'
'I'm bait, you mean,' Pandion snarled. They won't attack, unless they know I'm within reach. And my throne with me'
Pyke shrugged. 'If that's how you wish to see it.'
'And how else should I see it?'
'You are a necessary element in a plan to impose a working peace on a world which has been on the cusp of war for far too long.'
Pandion snorted in disgust. 'This is intolerable. I agreed to compliance in order to save my throne, not gamble it on a throw of the dice.'
'Life is a gamble. It's why I drink.' Pyke went to the table and refilled her glass. 'Care to join me?'
Pandion rubbed his face. 'Yes. Why not? I suppose you and Frazer are going as well?'
'No. Lord Commander Frazer, with your permission, will take over the continental army. He is eager to see if he can instil something approaching martial discipline in your troops. As for myself, I'll stay here and help you kill this bottle, if you like. As well as any others you might have lying about.'
Pandion gave her a crooked smile. 'Very well. And what of Lord Fulgrim and his warriors?'
Pyke gestured to Cyrius. 'Cyrius will remain here to entertain us, won't you, Cyrius?' The Space Marine nodded. Pandion eyed him for a moment, and then turned back to Pyke as she continued. 'Fulgrim has ordered Flavius Alkenex and Narvo Quin - both experienced line troops - to aid Frazer in seeing to the city’s defence. Abdemon and the others will be deployed as the situation warrants.'
'And that means what, exactly?' Pandion asked, before gulping a long swallow of wine. Pyke raised her glass and knocked back the contents in one swallow.
She smiled.
Abdemon moved, almost gently. His sword hummed out in a wide arc. Red sprayed across the wall of the North Barracks. A headless body toppled. The rest of the renegade officers opened up, pistols snarling a threnody of protest.
There were ten - well, nine, now - of them, meeting in secret.
All junior officers, all with strong family ties to various members of the patricians. All with their own men, loyal to them. Enough to cause a problem, in the event the city came under attack. Which it almost certainly would and which meant that they needed to be removed from the equation.
The meeting hall was a wide, square space, decorated with trophies of past glories. Tattered banners over a century old hung from the ceiling rafters, and bits of armour, pockmarked by bullet holes, were displayed on the walls. North Barracks was home to the 23rd Keelson Lancers - a storied regiment, with a history of dynamic cavalry charges and influential alumni. They'd fought raiders in the western provinces, and mutants in the Glass Waste. But they'd never fought anything like a warrior of the Third Legion.
His sword swept out, removing a hand at the wrist. The wounded man sagged back, screaming. The others scrambled back, trying to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the nightmare in amethyst and gold before them.
The fear on their faces was familiar. He'd seen it before, too many times. The slow, sick terror of one who realises that despite all of their skills, their courage, nothing they did would bring victory. When faced with the transhuman, the merely human could only flee, or die. He let the sword rise, following its weight. Another scream, cut short. Another weapon, silenced. Another life, subtracted. Battlefield mathematics.
Outside the barracks, Abdemon could hear the boom of bolter fire, as Alkenex and Quin saw to anyone attempting to interfere. There would be no mercy there. Alkenex would kill them too quickly, and Quin didn't understand the meaning of the word. The entire North Barracks would be purged, if necessary, though he hoped it wouldn't
come to that.
This was to be a lesson for those garrisoned in the city, and an example to those returning from abroad even now. One swift blow, to show the rest of the army what was expected of them, and what they could expect in turn, if they betrayed their oaths. Even now, Fulgrim was making a similar assault on South Barracks, with Telmar and Thorn. By nightfall, the continental army would be firmly under their control.
The lord commander turned, twitching blood from the blade of his sword. Impacts were registered by his armour's sensors, recorded and summarily dismissed. 'In the name of Hereditary Governor Pandion IV of the Continental Government of Chalkedon-el-Byzas, I request that you lower your weapons and stand down.'
They didn't. And a few moments later, they died. One by one, until the last could only back away from the blood-stained figure looming over him, emptying the pistol extended in a shaking hand. 'Sabazius lives,' he snarled, as he brought the smoking gun to his temple It clicked dolorously. His eyes widened.
'You should keep a better count,' Abdemon said, lifting his sword. Flattened bullets crunched beneath his tread. 'Fire discipline isn't just for rankers, you know.'
'What are you?' the officer whispered. “What are you?'
'The future,' Abdemon said, as he drove his sword home. He looked down at the body. A brave man, until the end. They were always brave.
How many brave men were going to die tonight? A hundred? Two hundred?
He trusted Fulgrim's judgement. The plan was sound. They had chewed over the details until Abdemon could recite every one of them by heart. A perfect stratagem, given the situation. A death of a dozen cuts, each one perfectly executed and flawlessly timed.
But perfection could only be judged in hindsight.
Abdemon sighed and turned towards the shattered doors. He needed to stop Alkenex and Quin before they depopulated the entire barracks. There were few enough soldiers in Nova-Basilos as it was, and they were going to need every one of them.
* * *
Night found Fulgrim in the chambers of the palace set aside for his use, pondering the course he'd laid out. To say Pandion had been displeased was an understatement. The Hereditary Governor hadn't pressed the issue, likely grateful that his family was safe. But he was frightened. It would be for the best if he were confined to his quarters, until it was time for him to leave. They couldn't afford to have Pandion issuing contradictory orders.
Fulgrim- The Palatine Phoenix - Josh Reynolds Page 13