*She has... she has... not long left to her, and I was told by Maloghurst himself that I would be allowed to see her before... before the end.'

Using Maloghurst's name was a gamble, but it was a calculated gamble. These men were unlikely to have any formal channel to contact the Warmaster's equerry, but if they decided to check, he would be unmasked.

Sindermann kept his voice low and soft as he played the grandfatherly role, utilizing every trick he had learned as an iterator a the precise timbre of his voice, the frailty of his posture, keeping eye contact and empathy with his audience.

*Do you have children, my boy?' asked Sindermann, reaching out clasp the guard's arm.

*Yes, sir, I do.'

*Then you understand why I have to see her,' pressed Sindermann, risking the more direct approach and hoping that he had judged these men correctly.

*You're just going to the medicae deck?' asked the guard.

*No further,' promised Sindermann. *I just need some time to say my goodbyes to her. That's all. Please?'

The guards exchanged glances and Sindermann fought to keep the smile from his face as he knew he had them. The first soldier nodded and they moved aside to let him past.

*Just the medicae deck, old man,' said the guard, scrawling on a chit that would allow him pa.s.sage through the ship to the medicae deck and back. *If you're not back in your quarters in a couple of hours, I'll be dragging you back here myself.'

Sindermann nodded, taking the proffered chit and shaking both men warmly by the hand.

*You're good soldiers, boys,' he said, his voice dripping with grat.i.tude. *Good soldiers. I'll be sure to tell Maloghurst of your compa.s.sion for an old man.'

He turned quickly so that they didn't see the relief on his face and hurried away down the corridor towards the Medicae deck. The companionways echoed with their emptiness as he made his way through the twisting maze of the ship, an idiot smile plastered across his puffing features. Entire worlds had fallen under the spell of his oratory and here he was smiling about duping two simple-minded guards to let him out of his room. How the mighty had fallen.

*IS THERE ANY more news on Varvarus?' asked Loken as he and Torgaddon walked through the Museum of Conquest on their way to the Lupercal's Court.

Torgaddon shook his head. *The sh.e.l.ls were too fragmented. Apothecary Vaddon wouldn't be able to make a match even if we found the weapon that fired the shot. It was one of ours, but that's all we know.'

The museum was br.i.m.m.i.n.g with artifacts won from the Legion's many victories, for the Luna Wolves had brought a score of worlds into compliance. A grand statue dominating one wall recalled the days when the Emperor and Horus had fought side by side in the first campaigns of the Great Crusade. The Emperor, sword in hand, fought off slender, masked aliens while Horus, back to back with his father, blazed away with a boltgun.

Beyond the statue, Loken recognized a display of bladed insectoid limbs, a blend of metallic and biological flesh wrested from the megarachnids on Murder. Only a few of these trophies had been won after Horus's invest.i.ture as Warmaster, the majority having been taken before the Luna Wolves had been renamed the Sons of Horus in honour of the Warmaster's accomplishments.

*The remembrancers are next,' said Loken. *They are asking too many questions. Some of them may already have been murdered.'

*Who?'

*Ignace and Petronella Vivar.'

*Karkasy,' said Torgaddon. *d.a.m.n, I'd heard he killed himself, but I should have known they'd find a way to do it. The warrior lodge was talking about silencing him, Abaddon in particular. They didn't call it murder, although Abaddon seemed to think it was the same as killing an enemy in war. That's when I broke with the lodge.'

*Did they say how it was to be done?'

Torgaddon shook his head. *No, just that it needed to be done.'

*It won't be long before all this is out in the open,' promised Loken. *The lodge doesn't move under a veil of secrecy any more and soon there will be a reckoning.'

*Then what do we do?'

Loken looked away from his friend, at the high arch that led from the museum and into the Lupercal's Court.

*I don't know,' he said, waving Torgaddon to silence as he caught sight of a figure moving behind one of the furthest cabinets.

*What's up?' asked Torgaddon.

*I'm not sure,' said Loken, moving between display cabinets of gleaming swords captured from an ancient feudal kingdom and strange alien weapons taken from the many species the Legion had destroyed. The figure he had seen was another Astartes, and Loken recognized the colours of the World Eaters upon his armour.

Loken and Torgaddon rounded the corner of a tall, walnut-framed cabinet, seeing a scarred Astartes warrior peering intently at an immense battle-glaive that had been wrested from the hands of a xenos praetorian by the Warmaster himself.

*Welcome to the Vengeful Spirit,' said Loken.

The World Eater looked up from the weapon and turned to face them. His face was deeply bronzed, long and n.o.ble, contrasting with the bone white and blue of his Legion's colours.

*Greetings,' he said, bringing his forearm across his armoured chest in a martial salute.

*Kharn, Eighth a.s.sault Company of the World Eaters.'

*Loken of the Tenth,' replied Loken. *Torgaddon of the Second,' nodded Torgaddon. *Impressive, this,' said Kharn, looking around him.

*Thank you,' said Loken. *The Warmaster always believed we should remember our enemies. If we forget them, we shall never learn.'

He pointed at the weapon Kharn had been admiring. *We have the preserved corpse of the creature that carried this weapon somewhere around here. It's the size of a tank.'

*Angron has his share of trophies too,' said Kharn, *but only from foes that deserve to be remembered.'

*Should we not remember them all?'

*No,' said Kharn firmly. *There is nothing to gain from knowing your enemy. The only thing that matters is that they are to be destroyed. Everything else is just a distraction.'

*Spoken like a true World Eater,' said Torgaddon.

Kharn looked up from the weapon with an amused sneer. *You seek to provoke me, Captain Torgaddon, but I already know what other Legions think of the World Eaters.'

*We were on Aureus,' said Loken. *You are butchers.'

Kharn smiled. *Hah! Honesty is rare these days, Captain Loken. Yes, we are and we are proud because we are good at it. My primarch is not ashamed of what he does best, so neither am I.'

*I trust you're here for the conclave?' asked Loken, wishing to change the subject.

*Yes. I serve as my primarch's equerry.'

Torgaddon raised an eyebrow. *Tough job.'

*Sometimes,' admitted Kharn. *Angron cares little for diplomacy.'

*The Warmaster believes it is important.'

*So I see, but all Legions do things differently,' laughed Kharn, clapping Loken on his shoulder guard. *As one honest man to another, your own Legion has as many detractors as admirers. Too d.a.m.n superior, the lot of you.'

*The Warmaster has high standards,' said Loken.

*So does Angron, I a.s.sure you,' said Kharn, and Loken was surprised to hear a note of weariness in Kharn's voice. *The Emperor knew that sometimes the best course of action is to let the World Eaters do what we do best. The Warmaster knows it too; otherwise we would not be here. It may be distasteful to you, captain, but if it were not for warriors like mine, the Great Crusade would have foundered long ago.'

*There we must agree to disagree,' said Loken. *I could not do what you do.'

Kharn shook his head. *You're a warrior of the Astartes, captain. If you had to kill every living thing in a city to ensure victory, you would do it. We must always be prepared to go further than our enemy. All the Legions know it; the World Eaters just preach it openly,'

*Let us hope it never comes to that,'

*Do not pin too much on that hope. I hear tell that Isstvan III will be difficult to break.'

*What do you know of it?' asked Torgaddon. Kharn shrugged. *Nothing specific, just rumors really; something religious, they say, witches and warlocks, skies turning red and monsters from the warp, all the usual hyperbole. Not that the Sons of Horus would believe such things.'

*The galaxy is a complicated place,' replied Loken carefully. *We don't know the half of what goes on in it.'

*I'm beginning to wonder myself,' agreed Kharn. *It's changing,' continued Loken, *the galaxy, and the Crusade with it.'

*Yes,' said Kharn with relish. *It is.'

Loken was about to ask Kharn what he meant when the doors to the Lupercal's Court swung open.

*Evidently the Warmaster's conclave will begin soon,' said Kharn, bowing before them both. *It is time for me to rejoin my primarch.'

*And we must join the Warmaster,' said Loken. *Perhaps we will see you on Isstvan III?'

*Perhaps,' nodded Kharn, walking off between the spoils of a hundred wars. *If there's anything left of Isstvan III when the World Eaters finish with it.'

THREE.

Horus enthroned The saint is in danger Isstvan III LUPERCAL'S COURT WAS a new addition to the Vengeful Spirit. Previously the Warmaster had held briefings and planning sessions on the strategium, but it had been decided that he needed somewhere grander to hold court. Designed by Peeter Egon Momus, it had been artfully constructed to place the Warmaster in a setting more suited to his position as the leader of the Great Crusade and present him as the first among equals to his fellow commanders.

Vast banners hung from the sides of the room, most belonging to the Legion's battle companies, though there were a few that Loken didn't recognize. He saw one with a throne of skulls set against a tower of bra.s.s rising from a blood-red sea and another with an eight-pointed black star shining in a white sky. The meaning of such obscure symbols confounded Loken, but he a.s.sumed that they represented the warrior lodge that had become integral to the Legion.

Greater than all the majesty designed by the architect designate, was the Primarch of the Sons of Horus himself, enthroned before them on a great basalt throne. Abaddon and Aximand stood to one side. Both warriors were armoured, Abaddon in the glossy black of the Justaerin, Aximand in his pale green plate.

The two officers glared at Loken and Torgaddon a the enmity that had grown between them during the Auretian campaign too great to hide any more. As he met Abaddon's flinty gaze, Loken felt great sadness as he realized that the glorious ideal of the Mournival was finally and irrevocably dead. None of them spoke as Loken and Torgaddon took their places on the other side of the Warmaster.

Loken had stood with these warriors and sworn an oath by the light of a reflected moon on a planet the inhabitants called Terra, to counsel the Warmaster and preserve the soul of the Legion.

That felt like a very long time ago.

*Loken, Torgaddon,' said Horus, and even after all that had happened, Loken felt honored to be so addressed. *Your role here is simply to observe and remind our Legion brothers of the solidity of our cause. Do you understand?'

*Yes, my Warmaster,' said Torgaddon.

*Loken?' asked the Warmaster.

Loken nodded and took his allotted position. *Yes, Warmaster.'

He felt the Warmaster's penetrating eyes boring into him, but kept his gaze fixed firmly on the arches that led into the Lupercal's Court as the doors beneath one of them slid open. The tramp of feet sounded and a blood-red angel of death emerged from the shadows.

Loken had seen the primarch of the World Eaters before, but was still awed by his monstrous, physical presence. Angron was huge, easily as tall as the Warmaster, but also ma.s.sively broad, with wide hulking shoulders like some enormous beast of burden. His face was scarred and violent, his eyes buried deep in folds of angry red scar tissue. Ugly cortical implants jutted from his scalp, connected to the collar of his armour by ribbed cables. The primarch's armour was ancient and bronze, like that of a feral world G.o.d, with heavy metal plates over mail and twin chainaxes strapped to his back. Loken had heard that Angron had once been a slave before the Emperor had found him, and that his masters had forced the implants on him to turn him into a psychotic killer for their fighting pits. Looking at Angron, Loken could well believe it. Angron's equerry, Kharn, flanked the terrifying primarch, his expression neutral where his master's was thunder.

*Horus!' said Angron, his voice rough and brutal. *I see the Warmaster welcomes his brother like a king. Am I your subject now?'

*Angron,' replied Horus unperturbed, *it is good that you could join us.'

*And miss all this prettiness? Not for the world,' said Angron, his voice loaded with the threat of a smouldering volcano.

A second delegation arrived through another of the arches, arrayed in the purple and gold of the Emperor's Children. Led by Eidolon in all his magnificence, a squad of Astartes with glittering swords marched alongside the lord commander, their battle gear as ornate as their leader's.

*Warmaster, the Lord Fulgrim sends his regards,' stated Eidolon formally and with great humility. Loken saw that Eidolon had learned the ways of a practiced diplomat since he had last spoken to the Warmaster. *He a.s.sures you that his task is well under way and that he will join us soon. I speak for him and command the Legion in his stead.'

Loken's eyes darted from Angron to Eidolon, seeing the obvious antipathy between the two Legions. The Emperor's Children and the World Eaters were as different as could be a Angron's Legion fought and won through raw aggression, while the Emperor's Children had perfected the art of picking an enemy force apart and destroying it a piece at a time.

*Lord Angron,' said Eidolon with a bow, *it is an honour.'

Angron did not deign to reply and Loken saw Eidolon stiffen at this insult, but any immediate confrontation was averted as the final delegation to the Warmaster entered the Lupercal's Court.

Mortarion, Primarch of the Death Guard was backed by a unit of warriors armoured in the dull gleam of unpainted Terminator plate. Mortarion's armour was also bare, with the bra.s.s skull of the Death Guard on one shoulder guard. His pallid face and scalp were hairless and pocked, his mouth and throat hidden by a heavy collar that hissed spurts of grey steam as he breathed.

A Death Guard captain marched beside the primarch, and Loken recognised him with a smile. Captain Nathaniel Garro had fought alongside the Sons of Horus in the days when they had been known as the Luna Wolves. The Terran-born captain had won many friends within the Warmaster's Legion for his unshakeable code of honour and his straightforward, honest manner.

The Death Guard warrior caught Loken's gaze and gave a perfunctory nod of greeting.

*With our brother Mortarion,' said Horus, *we are complete.'

The Warmaster stood and descended from the elevated throne to the centre of the court as the lights dimmed and a glowing globe appeared above him, hovering just below the ceiling.

*This,' said Horus, *is Isstvan III, courtesy of servitor-manned stellar cartography drones. Remember it well, for history will be made here.'

JONAH ARUKEN PAUSED in his labours and slipped a small hip flask from beneath his uniform jacket as he checked for anyone watching. The hangar bay was bustling with activity, as it always seemed to be these days, but no one was paying him any attention. The days when an Imperator t.i.tan being made ready for war would pause even the most jaded war maker in his tracks were long past, for there were few here who had not seen the mighty form of the Dies Irae being furnished for battle scores of times already.

He took a hit from the flask and looked up at the old girl.

The t.i.tan's hull was scored and dented with wounds the Mechanic.u.m servitors had not yet had time to patch and Jonah patted the thick plates of her leg armour affectionately.

*Well, old girl,' he said. *You've certainly seen some action, but I still love you.'

He smiled at the thought of a man being in love with a machine, but he'd love anything that had saved his life as often as the Dies Irae had. Through the fires of uncounted battles, they had fought together and as much as t.i.tus Ca.s.sar denied it, Jonah knew that there was a mighty heart and soul at the core of this glorious war machine.