Even Mahavastu wore a smile.

The smiles fell from all their faces as an urgent voice called out, "Stop. On the crew ramp, stay where you are."

Lemuel's heart turned to a lump of ice as he turned to see who had hailed them.

A captain in the Prospero Spireguard was leading a detachment of soldiers towards them.

"This looks bad," he said.

"YOU HAVE NOTHING to fear from me, Amon," said Magnus. "You have been my most faithful servant since I first came to Prospero. I could never harm you."

"With respect, my lord, I am sure young Uthizzar thought the same," said Amon, picking his way gingerly through the wreckage of Magnus' chambers. His grey hair was kept cropped close to his skull and his skin had the texture of aged vellum. He knelt pbeside Uthizzar's body and placed his hand upon the cracked and seared breastplate.

The bodies of the Scarab Occult lay around Uthizzar, their bodies twisted in unnatural ways and their flesh blackened as though consumed in the same fire that had destroyed Magnus' library.

"Tell me what happened," said Amon.

Magnus lowered his head, unwilling to meet his oldest friend's gaze. The Captain of the 9th made no accusations a he didn't need to. No accusation could carry greater guilt than Magnus placed upon himself. Almost a week had pa.s.sed since he had killed Uthizzar, a week in which he had almost given in to his self-destructive urges and turned his powers upon himself.

Fearing the worst, others had tried to enter his chambers, but Magnus had kept them all at bay until now. Magnus looked down at the grotesquely crumpled body of Baleq Uthizzar and sighed with regret and loss.

"It was an unforgivable lapse and should never have happened," he said, "but he knew too much and I could not let him leave."

"Knew too much about what?"

"Come here," said Magnus. "Let me show you."

Amon rose and followed Magnus onto the balcony overlooking the white city of Tizca. Magnus read the wariness in Amon's aura, and didn't blame him. He would be a fool not be wary. In all the long years since they had first spoken, as tutor and pupil, Magnus had never thought of Amon as a fool.

Magnus looked towards the noonday sky.

"Fly the Great Ocean with me," he said.

Amon nodded and closed his eyes, and Magnus let his body of light float free of his flesh. The concerns of the mortal world lessened, but could not be wholly ignored. Tizca transformed from a place of cool marble to a glittering jewel of light, the tens of thousands of shimmering soul-lights who called the city home like tiny lanterns.

"How fragile they are," said Magnus, though there was no one yet to hear him.

The warm glow of Amon's subtle body appeared next to him, and they flew into a sky of brilliant blue. The world around them deepened from blue to black, the stars pin-wheeling around them like darts of phosphor.

The blackness of s.p.a.ce transformed into the swirling, multi-coloured chaos of the Great Ocean, and both travellers felt the welcome rush of pleasure as its currents flowed around their ethereal forms.

Magnus led the way, streaking through the swirling abyss towards a destination only he was capable of finding. Amon followed him, his dutiful friend and beloved son. At length, they came to the region of stillness he had seen a week ago.

He felt Amon's horror as he beheld the vast fleet of ships, the slab-sided warships, the sleek strike cruisers and the monstrous monuments to destruction that were the Battle Barges. Hundreds of vessels drew ever closer to Prospero, ships of many flags and many allegiances, united with one shared purpose: annihilation.

Leading them was a feral blade of a ship, unsheathed to deliver the deathblow to its hated foe. Grey and fanged, it prowled the stars with carved eyes at its bladed prow piercing the depths of the Great Ocean with uncanny precision.

"Is that what I think it is?" asked Amon.

"It is," confirmed Magnus.

They flew closer to the brutal vessel, the protective shields that kept void-predators at bay no match for travellers of such power. They pa.s.sed through its layered voids, diving down through metre upon metre of adamantium hull plates, integrity fields and honeycombed bulkheads until they reached the heart of the ship.

The masters of this fleet gathered to plan the destruction of all that Magnus held dear, and the two sons of Prospero listened to their deliberations. Magnus was prepared for what he would hear, but Amon was not, and the flaring wash of his aetheric field sent a pulse of choleric energy through the ship's crew.

"Why?" begged Amon.

"Because I was wrong."

"About what?"

"Everything," said Magnus. "All the things you taught me, I arrogantly a.s.sumed I already knew. You warned me of the G.o.ds of the warp and I laughed at you, calling you a superst.i.tious old fool. Well I know better now, for I beheld such a being and thought I had the better of it, but I was wrong. I have done terrible things, Amon, but you must believe that I did them for the right reasons."

Amon drifted down towards the master of this vessel and the steely-eyed killer in golden armour who stood next to him on a raised command dais. A group of identically armoured warriors stood at the base of the dais occupied by their leaders.

"The Council of Nikaea?" demanded Amon. "Were they right to name us warlocks?"

"I fear they may have been, though only now do I understand that."

"And for that we are to suffer?"

Magnus nodded and flew up through the ironwork of the starship, exploding outwards into the seething cauldron of the Great Ocean. Amon flew at his side, and they hurtled back to Prospero, exhaling pent-up breaths as they opened their eyes and looked down on the rea.s.suringly familiar vista of Tizca.

"And the Legion knows nothing of this?" asked Amon.

"Nothing," said Magnus. "I have drawn a veil around Prospero. None see out, not even the Corvidae. Now the Thousand Sons must learn what it means to be blind."

"So our punishment draws ever closer," said Amon. "What happens when it gets here?"

"You are kind, old friend," said Magnus. "It is my punishment."

"Their axes will fall on the rest of us as well," pointed out Amon. "I ask again; what will we do when they get here?"

"Nothing," said Magnus. "There is nothing to do."

"There is always something to do. We can destroy them before they even reach us," hissed Amon, gripping Magnus' arm.

Magnus shook his head saying, "This is not about whether we can defend ourselves against this threat. Of course we can. It is about whether we should."

"Why should we not?" countered Amon. "We are the Thousand Sons and nothing is beyond us. No path is unknown to us and no destiny is hidden from us. Instruct the Corvidae to pierce the veils of the future. The Pavoni and Raptora can enhance our warriors' prowess while the Pyrae burn our enemies and the Athanaeans read the minds of their commanders. When they come they will find us ready to fight."

Magnus despaired, hearing only the urge to strike the first blow in Amon's voice.

"Have you not heard what I have said?" he pleaded. "I do not strike because it is what the powers that have manipulated me since I came here want me to do. They want me to take arms against our doom, knowing that if I do it will only confirm everything those who hate and fear us have always believed."

Amon looked out over the city, and his eyes took on a faraway look, tears of loss streaming down his cheeks.

"Before you came to Prospero, I had a recurring nightmare," he said. "I dreamt that everything I held dear was swept away and destroyed. It plagued me for years, but on the day you arrived from the heavens like a comet, the dream stopped. I never had it again. I convinced myself it was nothing more than an ancestral memory of Old Night, but it wasn't, I know that now. I foresaw this. The destruction of everything I hold dear is coming to pa.s.s."

Amon closed his eyes and he gripped the balcony with white-knuckled fury.

"I may not be able to stop it," he said, "but I am going to fight to protect my home, and if you ever held my friendship in any esteem, you would do the same."

Magnus rounded on Amon.

"Despite everything I have done, my fate is my own," Magnus said. "I am a loyal son of the Emperor, and I would never betray him, for I have already broken his heart and his greatest creation. I will accept my fate and though history may judge us traitors, we will know the truth. We will know we were loyal unto the end because we accepted our fate."

THE CAPTAIN OF the Spireguard stopped before him, and Lemuel reached out to soothe his aura. His terror made it difficult, but before he could reach out with any calming influence, he saw that the officer's aura was not expecting trouble, but wracked with grief.

Lemuel looked more closely, recognising the breadth of the man's shoulders, the immaculate pressing of the uniform and the gold hogging looped around his shoulders.

The captain removed his helmet, and Lemuel dared hope this enterprise wasn't doomed.

"Captain Vithara?" he said.

"Indeed, Master Gaumon," said Captain Sokhem Vithara of the 15th Prosperine a.s.sault Infantry. "I hoped I would see you before you left."

"Before we left?" asked Lemuel, confused as to why they weren't being frogmarched in manacles away from the lighter. The cargo bay doors were closing and they would be airborne in a matter of moments.

"Yes, I almost missed you because your names weren't on any of the manifests."

"No," agreed Lemuel with a guilty smile, "they wouldn't be."

"Still, I'm glad I caught you."

"You are?" asked Camille. "Why? What do you want?"

The young man struggled to find the right words, and in the end he gave up and just spoke in a confused torrent.

"I don't know for sure what happened to Kallista, but I know she does not want to remain here," he said, and Lemuel straggled to hold his composure in the face of the young man's obvious grief. "She wants you to take her away from here."

Lemuel exchanged a worried look with Camille.

"That could be difficult," he said.

"I know, I'm not making any sense," said Vithara, "but she said that she wanted to leave Prospero with her friends."

"And she told you this?" asked Camille, enunciating each word carefully so there could be no misunderstanding. "After she died?"

Vithara's face was a mask of indecision and incomprehension.

"I believe so," he said. "I dreamed of Kallista last night, you see. She was sitting beside me in Fiorento Park and we watched the sunshine on the lake. We didn't say anything, we just held each other. When the reveille bell woke me this morning, I found a note beside my bed telling me to be at the landing platforms at this exact time. I don't remember writing the note, even though it was in my handwriting, but it was obviously Kallista's words. She wanted me to be here, and she wanted me to give you this."

Vithara accepted a pale blue ceramic jar from one of his soldiers and held it out to Lemuel. Simply crafted, it was an urn in which one might keep a beloved family member's ashes.

Lemuel took the jar and smiled and said, "You know, I believe you are absolutely right. Kallista did come to you last night, and since I am her friend, I will honour her wishes."

"Then you think she really came to me last night?"

"I do," said Lemuel, his own grief eased by the notion. "I really do."

Vithara saluted Lemuel and said, "Thank you, Master Gaumon. I'll miss Kalli, but if this is what she wants then who am I to deny her?"

"You are a very n.o.ble man," said Camille, stepping forward and planting a soft kiss on his cheek. "I see why Kalli liked you."

He smiled and nodded towards the crew compartment of the lighter, where an exasperated deck hand waited to close the hatch.

"You'd better go," said Vithara. "You don't want to miss the Cypria Selene's launch. After all, time and tide wait for no man."

"Indeed they do not," said Lemuel, shaking Vithara's hand. The servitors loaded the steamer trunks into the lighter as Mahavastu climbed down from his palanquin. Camille guided the venerable scribe onto the lighter as Vithara led his men from the landing platform.

Lemuel followed his friends...o...b..ard. As the hatch slid shut behind him, he had what he knew would be his last sight of Prospero.

He was wrong about that.

THE CYPRIA SELENE weighed anchor on schedule and eased clear of her berth with smooth grace. Silver jibs jutted into s.p.a.ce from the central hub of the orbital docks, the s.p.a.ce around it thick with manoeuvring warships. Thousand Sons battle-barges slipped their moorings and set sail for the outer reaches of the star system, and squadrons of strike cruisers flocked around them as they departed Prospero.

To coordinate so large a ballet of ships was no small feat. The Photep led an armada of ships with the power to level planets to the furthest edges of the star system, while the Ankhtowe, Scion of Prospero and the Kymmeru a.s.sumed equally-angled vectors, leading fleets to the corners of the Thousand Sons' domain.

The order to disperse the fleet had come with the highest alert prefixes, and the four battle groups made best speed for their destinations. None of the captains knew the nature of the alert, but all had been given strict instructions not to unlock their orders until reaching their a.s.signed coordinates.

That such orders left Prospero dangerously undefended was clear to every shipmaster, but none dared disobey a direct command from the primarch himself. Whatever the purpose of this dispersal was not for them to question. Their only duty was to obey.

Military traffic took precedence over civilian vessels, and it took six hours for the Cypria Selene to work its way up the queue of ships awaiting a transit corridor. Eventually, the vessel's Master Steersman was able to pilot his way towards clear s.p.a.ce and open up the plasma drives to take his vessel towards the coreward jump point.

From there, warp-willing, it would be a three-week journey to the Thranx system.

THE ANGLE OF launch had been good, and instead of taking four days to reach the coreward jump point, Cypria Selene achieved the necessary safe distance from the Prosperine star to safely activate its warp drives in three. The vessel's Navigator confirmed the warp-currents in the realm beyond were as calm as he had known them, and the Master of Cartography ran a final positional check before pa.s.sing his jump calculations to the Navigator's module.

In the ship's observation dome, Lemuel and Mahavastu chatted about where they next planned to visit, while Camille and Chaiya held hands as they listened to the toneless jump countdown through speakers set into the wood-panelled walls.

Set high on the rear quarter of the Cypria Selene, the dome provided a commanding view over the vast superstructure of the ma.s.s-conveyer. Its hull stretched away from them for sixty kilometres, ending in a blunt wedge of a snout. For a vessel intended to carry vast quant.i.ties of war materiel, troops and bulk items of warfare and compliance, it was handsomely appointed.

The four of them had settled into ship-board life with ease, and the cabins they had been a.s.signed by the misdirected clerk were clearly intended for highborn pa.s.sengers.

"Give or take, you should be on Terra inside two months," Lemuel told Mahavastu. "You'll be back in Uttarpatha, cataloguing old records recovered from beneath the ruins. I hear they've finished collating the datacores of NeoAleksandrya, but there's bound to be more. They'd be mad not to want your help."

"Perhaps," agreed Mahavastu, leaning heavily on an ebony cane with a golden pommel inset with a jade eye. "Though I fear I may be too old for such excitement."

"Nonsense," said Lemuel. "There's life in you yet."

"You are kind, Lemuel," said Mahavastu, "but I think perhaps I will instead concentrate on my memoirs. What I can recall of them."

"I would be happy to read them."

"Happier than I shall be to write them, I feel."

Lemuel didn't reply, but simply smiled as Camille and Chaiya joined them at the edge of the observation dome. Perhaps sixty people had come to watch the ship translate into the warp, either curious to see how so enormous a vessel could travel between the stars or eagerly fearful to look into the mysterious realm of the warp.