*I am ready,' said the artificial voice that tapped into his vox-unit. It was the voice of the Endeavour of Will a the machine-spirit, the intelligence that had inhabited this place since its forging in the days when the Emperor still walked the galaxy.

*You have one more battle to fight,' said Lysander. He knew that his battle-brothers could only hear his side of the conversation. *One blow to strike.'

*It must be done.'

*Forgive me, machine-spirit, that I command this of you.'

*Then redeem yourself, Imperial Fist, by avenging what I have lost.'

Lysander gave the order, a thought that triggered a sequence of commands in the machine-spirit. They in turn triggered more, the effect spreading out like ripples in a pond or the multiplication of an epidemic. Torrents of information were retrieved and released, centuries of battle-lore, millions of hours of battleground data, endless waterfalls of stellar cartography, earthquakes of raw mathematics coursing through every remaining stack of datamedium.

Some of the Iron Warriors might have understood what was happening. Shon'tu certainly did. As the green glow from the datamedium bathed the vault, he stepped back from the duel with Lysander. As power arced against the floor and ceiling, he ducked down, claw brought up to guard instead of attack.

*I want to look into your eyes,' said Lysander, *and see the moment you know defeat.'

*You dare?' yelled Shon'tu. *You think this is a victory?'

*What else is it?' Around Lysander, green-white bolts of power, like lightning, were earthing against the floor. The columns were glowing so bright now that the whole vault shone with them, and they were bulging, cracking as the volume of information multiplied beyond their capacity to store it.

*You will learn,' retorted Shon'tu. *When your soul goes dark! When this galaxy burns! You will learn!'

The columns shattered. Shards of crystal flew, spearing into the armour of Imperial Fist and Iron Warrior alike. They were not deadly enough to lay a s.p.a.ce Marine low, but they were not the true danger.

Every digit of information ever a.s.sembled or contemplated by the Endeavour of Will erupted into the vault, pure and raw.

Lysander's armour seized and shorted around him, suddenly heavy as the nerve-fibre bundles and servos were overloaded. Shots of pain punched through him as the many implants he possessed, interfaces drilled into his fused ribcage and cranial jacks that allowed input to his augmented eyes, sparked and died.

But the Iron Warriors suffered much worse. Shon'tu tried to continue with his retort, but his bra.s.s-cased form contorted and spurted jets of burning fuel. Components burst from the little flesh he had, panels of his armour falling open and bundles of bionics tumbling out. The other Iron Warriors were falling and spasming, losing control of their half-mechanical bodies.

The torrent of information released by the machine-spirit had flooded into them, and into the machinery with which they had replaced their weak, untrustworthy flesh. As one, every single bionic in the Iron Warriors of Shon'tu's warband overloaded and destroyed itself.

The retreat had been ragged. Almost half the warband were dead, shot down as they limped or crawled away from the datamedium vault. The Imperial Fists had been mauled, too, and some of the hated enemy had fallen. But it had been an appalling loss. Shon'tu felt what a human might call shame, if such a word could encompa.s.s the volcanic hate that it ignited; the emptiness within him, as vast and cold as the void, which could only be filled with thoughts of revenge.

Release me, came the voice again. It struck as Shon'tu was leading the retreat back towards the defence laser spur, dragging his heavy inert mechanical form along with the few motor systems that still functioned inside him. Around him the Iron Warriors were trying to maintain decent order, many unable to fight, their arms useless and their weapons seized up; some barely able to move.

Release me. It must be done.

*I cannot. You know that...'

In defeat all bonds break. In desperation, in the face of shame and catastrophe, the only rule is revenge. Release me. It is the only way. You know this to be true.

Shon'tu looked back along the route he had taken to the datamedium vault. It was burnt out and wrecked, scattered with the bodies of the star fort's crew who had fallen to the laser strike or the Iron Warriors' guns. Now he saw Forge-Chaplain Kourtos being carried by two of his Iron Warriors, his bullet-scarred body spasming as his spinal implants refused to obey the orders coming from his cortex.

Gunfire streaked from the Imperial Fists, who were pursuing in tight order, moving from cover to cover and taking only what shots could not be returned. One of the Iron Warriors fell and Kourtos clattered to the deck. Silhouetted against a bank of flames, one of the Imperial Fists Terminators stood out from cover and levelled his a.s.sault cannon. A volley of fire thudded into Kourtos's body and the Forge-Chaplain, unable to move, was torn apart. Chunks of his flesh spattered across the ceiling and walls, and over the Iron Warriors trying to drag themselves into cover.

*Then I release you!' yelled Shon'tu. *In the name of vengeance! To see the corpse of this star fort tumbling through the void, as dead as the Imperial Fists for whom it has become a tomb! I release you from your bonds of servitude, from imprisonment in the Ferrous Malice! Lord Velthinar, I release you!'

Seen from s.p.a.ce, the Endeavour of Will was clearly wounded, still bleeding wreckage from the crater left by the defence laser's strike. A halo of debris surrounded it and flashes of explosions sparked as the fires in its central spire continued to burn, and fuel and ammunition stores cooked off. Much of it was completely dark, lights extinguished by the loss of power. It was a stricken animal, lame and vulnerable.

The Ferrous Malice was the predator. Far smaller, but unwounded and swift, it bore down upon the Endeavour of Will. Its hull split open and it seemed for a moment that it would try to grapple the star fort as it had the Siege of Malebruk. But forward thrusters fired and the grand cruiser slowed, pointing its slit belly towards the Endeavour of Will.

Light bled out. Multicoloured fire bathed the ship as the first limbs unfolded from its interior, followed by the chitinous bulk of a creature that had spent an aeon confined.

The daemon Velthinar forced its way out of the ship. Its abdomen was a long, slithering white-fleshed ma.s.s that pulsed with veins, its thorax armoured in gilt and jewels. Hundreds of limbs opened up, tipped in golden claws. Finally its wings unfurled, a tremendous ma.s.s of iridescent sails uncoiling. With a single beat the dozen wings thrust Velthinar towards the Endeavour of Will.

Lightning crackled around it in every colour. The red giant star dulled as Velthinar drew off its light, surrounding itself in the star's fire so that every edge and tip of its armoured form glowed painfully bright. White-hot and trailing flame lightning like a comet, Velthinar accelerated, arrowing straight for the Endeavour of Will, shining with enough power to punch through the star fort and rip out its innards.

*Velthinar rises!' came the screaming voice of Shon'tu. *You think you have defeated us, Imperial Fist? You do not even know what defeat means! But fear not! Velthinar will show you!'

Lysander and his squad heard Shon'tu's words as they pursued the Iron Warriors through the arterial corridor leading towards the defence spur. The corridor was dense with smoke but even so the aim of his command squad had despatched half a dozen Iron Warriors during their retreat, and they had almost reached the foothold the Iron Warriors had established with their Dreadclaw a.s.sault-pods. Lysander peered through the smoke, unable to make out any detail among the darkness. Gunfire could be heard from elsewhere in the spur as Rigalto's squad moved swiftly to recapture the defence laser itself.

*Warsmith!' yelled Lysander in reply. *I hear only the words of one fleeing for his life! I hear the squeals of a coward! Stand forward and face me, as you were so eager to a few moments ago! Or do the Iron Warriors do all their fighting with words?'

The squad spread out around Lysander, covering every angle of fire. The shapes of giant capacitors loomed from the smoke, empty now of the energy they had stored for the defence laser. Lysander made out one of the Dreadclaw pods, its serrated jaws protruding through the hull into the s.p.a.ce between two capacitors.

Above Lysander, the transparent roof of the corridor cleared for a moment as the smoke coiled out of the way. The light breaking through shone from a vast insectoid daemon streaking through s.p.a.ce, aiming for the centre of the star fort. It was an abomination, half t.i.tanic maggot and half bejewelled predatory insect, and the power streaming off it burned brighter than the nearest star.

Lysander took a few steps forwards and saw Shon'tu. The warsmith had made it to one of the Dreadclaws and was in the process of hauling its jaws shut.

*See, Lysander!' yelled Shon'tu. *See the herald of your deaths! Every move you made, I had a counter! For every thrust, I had a feint! Our victory was decided before the first shot was fired, Imperial Fist!'

Lysander charged through the smoke. He slammed into the jaw of the Dreadclaw just as it was closing, reducing his view of Shon'tu to a sliver. The warsmith's face was lit red by the warning lights inside the a.s.sault-pod, just a few centimetres from Lysander's.

*My brothers on Malodrax were weak,' said Shon'tu. *They were the dregs of our Legion. You think you have stared into the soul of the Iron Warriors. You have no idea.' Shon'tu smiled as he saw Lysander trying to force the Dreadclaw's jaws open, and failing.

*I know what you left behind on Malodrax,' said Shon'tu, with a smirk on the remains of his half-mechanical face. *And I know what you took from there, too. What you still carry. It is what drives you to kill me, Lysander. It will be the death of every battle-brother who ever stands at your side And it will not let you go until you have killed everything you fight for!'

*I didn't fight you here to defeat you,' said Lysander as the jaw ground closed. *I fought you here to bring out Velthinar.'

The faintest trace of confusion pa.s.sed over Shon'tu's face. Then the Dreadclaw was closed and in a hiss of steam the clamps holding it in place disengaged.

*Breach!' yelled Lysander. *Back! Fall back and seal us off!'

The Dreadclaw's thrusters roared and the a.s.sault-pod was ripped back out of the star fort's hull. Air whistled out behind it. Lysander pulled his helmet from the waist of his armour and jammed it over his head as warning runes flickered telling him the air pressure had suddenly dropped to little over nothing.

Smoke swirled out, the air suddenly clear. The area was strewn with the bodies of Iron Warriors, and Lysander's squad shot down a couple who were still moving even as the air dissipated and silence fell.

*Missed him,' voxed Brother-Scholar Demosthor. *d.a.m.nation and filth.'

Lysander did not answer. He looked back up through the ceiling of the arterial corridor, the view no longer obscured. But he was not looking at the burning ma.s.s of Velthinar. He was looking at the storm of purplish lightning that was swelling into real s.p.a.ce just behind the daemon, the sign of a s.p.a.cecraft ripping its way from the warp.

*Throne of Gold,' said Sergeant Laocos, standing just behind Lysander and following his gaze. *What is that?'

*A friend,' replied Lysander.

Velthinar knew that something was wrong. It paused in its path towards the Endeavour of Will and turned to see what was causing the disturbance in the warp behind it.

What it saw was reality splitting and the stuff of the warp pouring through. A billowing tide of sorcery crashed into the vacuum, carrying upon it a vast shape, like a ghost hulk carried on a stormy ocean. Its hull was pitted and scored with the punishment of the warp, and every surface was blistered with pustules and veins. Eyes opened everywhere there was s.p.a.ce for them, cl.u.s.tering like buboes, rolling madly and bloodshot. The shape trailed ragged tentacles and arteries that spilled blackish blood into the void.

It was deformed and horrible, all symmetry destroyed, but it still carried enough of its original form to be identified as a star fort, much the same shape and size as the Endeavour of Will. A few tattered banners still hung from it, carrying the colours of the Imperial Fists.

*I cannot be redeemed,' bellowed an artificial voice, transmitted through the substance of reality. It was heard by everyone for light years around, but it was directed at the daemon Velthinar. *I cannot be saved. I cannot know peace.'

Tentacles burst from beneath the corrupted ma.s.s of the star fort, snaking around Velthinar's primary limbs. Velthinar thrashed, but the star fort was bigger and stronger.

*But I can have revenge,' the voice continued.

Velthinar fought. The energy it had siphoned from the star Kholestus raked across the corrupted star fort, blasting off battlements and defence spurs, but it was no good. The grip was tight and not even Velthinar Silverspine could break free.

Velthinar was looking into the million eyes of the Bastion Inviolate.

*My G.o.d will shred your soul!' spat the daemon.

*I have no soul,' came the reply. *I was a machine. Now I am a disease. You did this to me.'

*Serve Him!' countered Velthinar. *Untold power will be yours!'

*I do not want power,' said the Bastion Inviolate, *save the power to break you upon the anvil of my hate.'

A tentacle wrapped around the head and mouthparts of Velthinar, silencing the daemon for the moment. The eyes of the Bastion Inviolate turned towards the Endeavour of Will, the star fort which had until recently been its brother.

*Lysander,' it said.

On the Endeavour of Will, Lysander heard the voice, and he knew that it could hear him too. He had watched the corrupted star fort and the daemon struggling, and it had been clear from the outset that the Bastion Inviolate would win. Velthinar Silverspine had not destroyed it, for a being with the tenacity and willpower of the Bastion Inviolate's machine-spirit would not simply be wiped out by corruption. It would become something else, something awful, and it would thrive.

*Your astropath called for me,' the machine-spirit said. *He told I could have revenge on the being that did this to me.'

*And you have it,' said Lysander. *Now depart. This reality has no place for you now.'

*I know what I am,' said the Bastion Inviolate. *And I know the oaths that you swear. I am an abomination. Your kind must hunt me down.'

*And we shall,' said Lysander. *When we meet again, it will be as enemies.'

*That will not be for a long time.' The Bastion Inviolate held up the squirming daemon like a hunter displaying the body of a kill. *For many thousands of years I feel my enthusiasm shall remain. I am a newcomer to the warp. I have much to learn of what pain a daemon can feel. It will be a long time in the learning.'

*We will find you,' said Lysander.

*And when you do, the sundered corpse of this creature will be impaled upon my battlements, and its flayed skin shall be my standard. Farewell, Captain Lysander of the Imperial Fists. What remains of me with the capacity to honour you will soon be lost to the warp, but for now, it salutes you.'

Lysander could hear Velthinar screaming as the warp tore open again and the Bastion Inviolate sank out of real s.p.a.ce. The daemon struggled and thrashed but the star fort held it fast in its hundreds of spiny tentacles. The vacuum boomed shut behind it, and when the afterglow died down, Velthinar Silverspine and the Bastion Inviolate were gone.

The Dancer was a messenger, neutered of its deadliness and malice, a barely perceptible shadow within a shadow. The destruction of its kind had left only this shade, the ghost of a daemon. Only its eyes were obvious, flickering red-black orbs that darted in every direction as if watching for enemies.

Lysander knew it was there before he saw it. It had been nine days since the Ferrous Malice, shorn of the daemon that commanded it, had limped away from the Endeavour of Will with Shon'tu and the surviving Iron Warriors on board, and the star fort was still a wreck. More than half its crew were dead and large areas were ruined, amongst them the shattered expanse of map rooms and tactical libraries that Lysander was searching for dead crew or Iron Warriors.

Lysander froze, hand hovering over the shaft of the Fist of Dorn.

*I have not come to fight,' hissed the Dancer.

*The last time I met your kind, I tore you all to shreds. And the time before that. So for your sake, be speaking the truth.'

The Dancer slithered out of the darkness where it had been lurking, beneath the charred remains of a map table surrounded by scrolls and books. *I come to give thanks.'

Lysander spat on the floor. *Thanks from the warp are a curse. Begone or I will throw you back to your G.o.d in pieces.'

*But what else can the G.o.ds of the warp give to Captain Lysander of the Imperial Fists, when he has given to them a victory their servants could not win? The violation of Ionis's tomb. The death of Astropath Vaynce. The soul of Techmarine Hestion, upon which we still feast. The loss of a billion minds' worth of battle-lore. And the pact with the Bastion Inviolate, a pact to which no G.o.d could force a spirit such as yours and yet one of which you were the author! How could any servant of the warp win such victories from the Imperial Fists? Shon'tu sought only your deaths. He could never have won such triumph as we gained, but you have given it to us of your own will.'

Lysander hefted the Fist of Dorn and took a stride towards the Dancer. The daemon did not move, holding out its arms as if about to embrace the Imperial Fist.

*The warp thanks you, Lysander! The greatest champion of the G.o.ds could not have done more!'

Lysander swatted the daemon aside with the Fist of Dorn. The hammer's head tore right through the creature and its shadow dissipated into a thousand wisps that vanished like smoke into the air. There was no impact, no satisfying crunch of bone. The daemon was simply gone, for it had been sketched so lightly on reality its destruction had no meaning.

Lysander stood there for a long time. The words of a daemon would not sway him. They might worm into a lesser man's head, to discourage and corrupt, but not the mind of an Imperial Fist.

Nothing had changed. If anything, the events aboard the Endeavour of Will had proven to him what he already knew.

Everything could be sacrificed. It took a man of Lysander's will to know that. Everything was secondary to victory.

Everything.

FATEWEAVER.

*We know no fear. It was cut from our souls at birth. We can feel it only as an absence, as an empty shadow cast by the light of annihilation. In the face of a future of atrocity I stand mute, numb to the only feeling that would make me human. But I remember what fear was: its cold pulse in my veins; its echo in my ears. I remember fear, and remember that I was once human. I look towards what must come to pa.s.s and I wish that I could meet it as my ancestors did, with fear. The future deserves that, it deserves fear.'

Epistolary Cyrus Aurelius, unheard confession

I.

SUMMONED.

The vision unfolded into the present in a cascade of sensations.

The sword is hot in his hand, the fury at its core bright with his rage. He cuts, feeling his armour move with the surge of his muscles. The edge meets deformed flesh, the sword shuddering in his grip as power flows through it. A bloated creature with a face like a flayed skull dissolves into smoke. Threat runes spin across his vision, pulsing red, swarming. A taste like burnt sugar and ruined meat fills his mouth.

He is a figure in blue armour the shade of a clear sky, standing at the centre of a turning circle of countless twisted creatures. They close on him, pacing forwards, claws clicking on the stone floor. He can feel the creatures' raw power, feel them thirsting for his soul. A death light fills their eyes. He stands alone and knows that he has failed.

A shape with a wide mouth of glittering needle teeth comes at him, its limbs flowing into new shapes as it moves. The storm bolter roars in his fist, muscle fibres swallowing its kick. Detonations turn warp bloated flesh to red pulp. A threat rune blinks out. He turns, finger still squeezing the trigger, watching the ammunition count fall as the weapon trails a line of fire.

I have failed, he thinks, and there will be nothing after this moment.