Ahriman nodded and lifted the iron pendant from the book. The moon glittered silver in the cavern's light, and the fangs of the wolf shone like icicles. He lowered the pendant into Magnus' flattened palm, looping the chain over his outstretched fingers.

"This was given to me by Horus Lupercal on Bakheng," said Magnus. "It was part of his armour, but a lucky shot broke it from his pauldron. He gave it to me as a keepsake of that war, and joked that it would guide me in times of darkness. He was egotistical even then."

"Now we'll see if he was right," said Ahriman.

"Yes we will," said Magnus, closing his eye and making a fist around the pendant. His breathing slowed, becoming shallower as he concentrated on the love he bore for his brother. Within moments, a swelling bloodstain appeared on Magnus' shoulder and he groaned in pain.

"What in the name of the Great Ocean is that?" cried Phael Toron.

"A sympathetic wound," said Amon. "A repercussion, a stigmata, call it what you will. We have little time; the Warmaster has already been wounded."

"Toron," hissed Ahriman, "you know your role. Fulfil your duty to your primarch."

The athame twitched on Phael Toron's palms, lifting up and twisting in the air until it hung directly over the primarch's heart. The silver cord within the vervain crown unwound of its own accord and slithered over the edge of the altar to bind itself to the magnetised chain.

"I will travel the Great Ocean for nine days," said Magnus through gritted teeth, and Ahriman was astonished. To travel for so long was unheard of. "No matter what occurs, do not break my connection to the aether."

The five warriors surrounding Magnus shared a look of concern, but said nothing.

"You must not falter," said Magnus. "Continue, or all this will be for nothing."

Ahriman lowered his gaze and continued to read, not understanding the words or how he knew their p.r.o.nunciation, but speaking them aloud just the same. His voice grew in volume, moving in counterpoint to the chanting of the Thralls.

"Now, Toron!" cried Magnus, and the athame plunged down, stabbing into the primarch's chest. A red bloom of glittering, iridescent blood spilled from the wound. Instantaneously, the swirling light found its outlet, and searing white beams erupted from the mirrors and surged into the hilt of the athame.

Magnus arched his back with a terrible roar. His eye snapped open, its substance without pupil or iris, but awash with all manner of incredible colours.

"Horus, my brother!" cried Magnus, his voice laden with the echoes of the thousand souls fuelling his ascent. "I am coming to you!"

And a terrifying, angelic form shot up from Magnus' body in a blazing column of light.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR.

She was my World/Whatever the Cost/The Price LEMUEL WAS FRANTIC with worry. He couldn't find Ahriman, and Camille was running out of time. A week that had started out so well had turned to one of the worst in the s.p.a.ce of a couple of days. Two of his dearest friends were gravely ill, and a third was suffering at the hands of a master who used him without care for his wellbeing.

Events were spiralling out of control, all his grand ideas for what he had hoped to learn from the Thousand Sons as insubstantial as mist. He had learned a great deal, but what use was power when those you loved could slip away from you without warning?

He had shed too many tears for lost loved ones. He wasn't going to shed any more.

Camille lay in a bed not dissimilar to Kallista's, though without the variety of equipment hooked up to her cranium. Cuts and grazes had been dressed, and her lungs had been flushed of carbon, ash and trace elements of metal oxides. The wound in her side had been treated and dressed, and she had been declared physically fit and prescribed strong pain balms and three days of bed rest.

After what Ahriman had told him, Lemuel worried that Camille didn't have three days.

He had begged Khalophis to find Ahriman, only to be told that Ahriman was "with the primarch" and could not be disturbed. Though Lemuel's body clock was turned upside down, he guessed it was early morning. Looking at a chrono above the nurse's station he saw that ten hours had pa.s.sed since Khalophis had brought Camille in.

Still, Ahriman had not come or even acknowledged Lemuel's calls for aid.

When he returned to Camille's room, Lemuel found an attractive ebony-skinned woman sitting by her bed, holding her hand and mopping her brow with a cloth. The elegant sweep of the woman's bone structure told Lemuel she was a native of Prospero.

"Chaiya?" he asked.

The woman nodded and favoured him with a nervous smile. "You must be Lemuel."

"I am," he said, rounding the bed and taking Chaiya's hand. "Can we talk outside?"

Chaiya glanced over at Camille. "If there is something you wish to say concerning Camille's health, I think you should tell her first, don't you?"

"Under normal circ.u.mstances, I'd agree with you," said Lemuel, "but two of my best friends have been admitted to this facility, and my usual good manners are in short supply. So please indulge me."

"It's all right, Lemuel," said Camille. "You know me, if there's news to be told, I'd rather hear it first-hand. Say what you have to say."

Lemuel swallowed. Having to voice his suspicions to Camille's lover was bad enough; admitting them to her face was almost too much to bear.

"The psychneuein I told you about, it turns out they lay their eggs in a rather unorthodox manner."

Camille smiled, the muscles on her face relaxing.

"It's okay," she said, "none of them stung me. Khalophis kept me safe. If anything, you should be checking him out to see if he's going to become a mother."

Lemuel sat on the edge of the bed and shook his head. "That's not how they reproduce, Camille. As I said, it's rather unorthodox..."

He explained what Ahriman had told him of the reproductive cycle of the psychneuein, trying to emphasise that it wasn't even certain that she was in any danger. Chaiya's expression told him he wasn't doing a very good job.

"You think that's what this headache is?" she asked.

"It might be," he said. "I don't know. I hope not."

"You hope not? What kind of lame answer is that?" snapped Camille. "Get me a d.a.m.n brain scan or something! If I've got some alien's eggs in my head, I b.l.o.o.d.y well want to know about it."

Lemuel nodded and said, "Of course. I'll see what I can do."

"No," said Chaiya. "I'll do it. I have friends in the Thousand Sons. It will be better if I ask."

"Yes, yes," nodded Lemuel. "That sounds wise. Very well, I'll... I'll wait here shall I?"

Chaiya leaned over and gave Camille a kiss.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," she said before heading out of the room. Left alone with Camille, Lemuel took a seat and smiled weakly, crossing his hands in his lap.

"I'll never make a physician, will I?"

"With that bedside manner? Not anytime soon, no."

"How's your head anyway?"

"Still sore."

"Oh."

"I did get a b.u.mpy ride in Khalophis' speeder. I banged my head pretty good on the seat."

"I'm sure that's it then," said Lemuel.

"Liar."

"All right," he snapped. "So what do you want me to say? That I think alien eggs are going to hatch in your head and eat your brain while you're still alive? I'm sorry, I can't say that."

She watched him silently.

"Yeah, definitely need to work on that bedside manner," she said.

Her forced humour broke the dam within him, and he buried his head in his hands and wept. Tears flowed freely and his chest heaved with sobs.

Camille sat up.

"Hey, I'm sorry, Lemuel, but I'm the one in bed here," she said gently.

"I'm sorry," he managed eventually. "You and Kallista, it's too much. I can't lose you both, I just can't."

"And you're not d.a.m.n well going to," said Camille. "We'll figure this out. If there's going to be any tinkering done with my head, there's probably no better planet to be on, is there?"

Lemuel wiped his wet eyes with a sleeve and smiled.

"I suppose not. You're being very brave, you know that?"

"I am on some pretty strong meds, so I wouldn't give me too much of the credit."

"You're braver than you think," said Lemuel. "That counts for a lot. Believe me, I know."

"Yeah, me and Kalli are going to be fine, you wait and see," she said.

"Yes," said Lemuel bitterly. "That's all I ever do."

Camille reached out and took his hand, letting her eyes drift closed.

"No," she said. "That's not true is it? You did all you could to save her."

Lemuel pulled his hand free. "Don't. Please."

"It's all right," said Camille. "Tell me about Malika."

HE BEGAN HESITANTLY, for it had been many years since he had spoken of Malika. The words were too tangled in grief to come easily, but he haltingly told Camille of the brightest, most beautiful woman in the world.

Her name was Malika, and they had met at a fund-raising dinner held by the Lord of the Sangha district to procure monies that would allow him to purchase a quarry's worth of Proconnesus marble from the Anatolian peninsula to donate to the Imperial Masonic Guild. The current Guildmaster, Vadok Singh, had promised a prominent location for the statues that would be crafted from the blocks, perhaps even the Emperor's Investiary, and rumour had it the commission had been awarded to no less a sculptor than Ostian Delafour.

Such things took money, and the wealthiest citizens of the district had been summoned to show their devotion financially. Lemuel was a rich man, and had built a sizeable estate, thanks to a combination of business ac.u.men and the ability to read people's auras to know when he was being played false. He owned property throughout Mobayi, and was well-liked, having turned much of his wealth to philanthropic works.

Malika was the daughter of the Lord of the Sangha district, and they had fallen in love that night beneath the stars and over a bottle of palm wine. They were married the following year, in a ceremony that cost more than many of the families living on Lemuel's lands made in a year. Lemuel had never been happier, and as he spoke of the first seven years of marriage, his face lit up with golden memories.

The first signs of Malika's diminishing health came with severe migraines, unexplainable blackouts and short-term memory loss. Physicians prescribed pain balms and rest, but nothing helped alleviate her symptoms. The diagnoses of the finest medical pract.i.tioners from all across the Nordafrik districts were sought, and eventually it came to light that Malika had developed a highly aggressive astrocytoma, a malignant brain tumour that he was told was incredibly difficult to treat.

Surgery alone could not control the tumour, as its cells had extended their cancer throughout her brain. Radiation therapy followed numerous surgical procedures alongside aggressive chemotherapy in an attempt to control any further tumour growth, but the physicians told Lemuel that the heterogeneous nature of her ailment was making it difficult to treat. As one cell type was destroyed, they said, others lurked in the wings to take over the job of destroying Malika's brain.

Lemuel watched his wife fade away and there was nothing he could do about it. Such helplessness was anathema to him, and he turned to ever more esoteric methods in his attempts to save her, despite the futility of their likely effect. No treatment was too ridiculous, for Lemuel was willing to try anything to save his beloved wife.

Any chance was better than none.

Lemuel employed homeopathic and naturopathic experts to administer holistic courses of herbal treatments, while Ayurvedic pract.i.tioners placed equal emphasis on the wellbeing of her mind and spirit. Qi gong, acupuncture, controlled breathing, hypnosis and orth.o.m.olecular therapies were all tried, but none of them had any effect whatsoever.

Lemuel refused to give up. His researches had led him to the farthest corners of knowledge, and he uncovered many texts that spoke of forces beyond human understanding. In these books he recognised his own abilities and read of others that could heal the sick, raise the dead and call forth powers that were unearthly and abhorred.

That didn't matter. He would do whatever it took to save his wife.

She begged him to stop, but he would not listen. She had made peace with her mortality, but Lemuel could not. He wept as he told Camille of how she had watched from their roof veranda as he left on an expedition to the mountains of the Himalazia in search of hidden masters said to have achieved mastery over body and mind.

If anyone could help, it would be them.

Laden with all his wealth, he and his followers travelled far into the mountains and almost died in the frozen winds that scoured these highest peaks. It proved to be a wasted journey; the builders of the Emperor's palace had long since displaced any hidden masters that might once have lived in these mountains.

By the time he returned to Mobayi, Malika was dead.

"SHE WAS THE world to me," said Lemuel as he finished his tale.

"I'm so sorry," said Camille. "I never knew. I mean, I saw something of her when I touched you on Aghoru, but I didn't know. Why did you never tell us about Malika?"

Lemuel shrugged.

"I don't like telling people that she died," he said. "The more people I tell, the more it sinks in that she's really gone. It makes it more real and more unchangeable, somehow."

"You think you can change that she died?"

"For a while I thought I could," said Lemuel. "Some of the books I read spoke of bringing the dead back to life, but they were maddeningly vague. Nothing worked, but when the opportunity came to be selected for the Remembrancer Order, I jumped at the chance to pet.i.tion the Thousand Sons."

"Why the Thousand Sons?"

"I'd heard the rumours," said Lemuel. "Hadn't you?"

"I don't listen to rumours," said Camille, smiling. "I just start them." Lemuel chuckled.

"Touche, my dear," he said. "I spent a long time listening to rumours in my search for a cure for Malika, and I'd heard a great deal spoken about the sorcery of the Thousand Sons. I heard whispers of how a great many of them had been horribly afflicted with dreadful mutations, and of how Magnus had saved his Legion. I thought that if I could learn from them, I might learn how to bring Malika back."