*My masters accept,' he said at last. *You have chosen well, Warmaster.'

The chill wind that had carried the words of the warp ent.i.ty blew again, stronger this time, its ageless malevolence like the murder of innocence.

Its icy touch slid through Erebus and he drew a cold breath before the sensation faded and the unnatural darkness began to recede, the light of the fire once more illuminating the lodge temple.

The creature was gone and the void of its presence was an ache felt deep in the soul.

*Was it worth it, Warmaster?' asked Erebus, releasing the pent up breath he had been holding.

*Yes,' said Horus, glancing down at Ing Mae Sing's body. *It was worth it.'

The Warmaster turned to Regulus and said, *Adept, I wish the Fabricator General to be made aware of this. I cannot contact him directly, so you will take a fast ship and make for Mars. If what this creature says is true, you will make good time. Kelbor-Hal is to purge his order and make ready for its part in my new Crusade. Tell him that I shall contact him when the time comes and that I expect the Mechanic.u.m to be united.'

*Of course, Warmaster. Your will be done.'

*Waste no time, adept. Go.'

Regulus turned to leave and Erebus said, *We have waited a long time for this day. Lorgar will be exultant.'

*Lorgar has his own battles to fight, Erebus,' replied Horus sharply. *Should he fail at Calth, all this will be for nothing if Guilliman's Legion is allowed to intervene. Save your celebrations for when I sit upon the throne of Terra.'

SINDERMANN FELT HIS heart lurch in his chest at the sight of Petronella's bodyguard coming towards them. The man's every step was like death approaching and Sindermann cursed himself for having taken so long to get here. His tardiness had killed the saint and would probably see them all dead as well.

Jonah Aruken's eyes widened as he saw the ma.s.sive form of the saint's killer approaching. He turned quickly and said, *t.i.tus, grab her. Now!'

*What?' asked Ca.s.sar. *She's hooked up to all these machines, we can't just-'

*Don't argue with me,' hissed Aruken. *Just do it, we've got company, bad company.'

Aruken turned back to Sindermann and hissed, *Well, iterator? Is this that single moment you were talking about, where we find out who we really are? If it is, then I'm already regretting helping you.'

Sindermann couldn't reply. He saw Maggard notice them outside Euphrati's room and felt a cold, creeping horror as a slow smile spread across the man's features. I am going to kill you, the smile said, slowly. *Don't hurt her,' he whispered, the words sounding pathetic in his ears. *Please...'

He wanted to run, to get far away from the evil smile that promised a silent, agonising death, but his legs were lead weights, rooted to the spot by some immense power that prevented him from moving so much as a muscle.

Jonah Aruken slid from the medicae cell, with t.i.tus Ca.s.sar behind him, the rec.u.mbent form of Euphrati in his arms. Dripping tubes dangled from her arms and Sindermann found his gaze unaccountably drawn to the droplets as they swelled at the ends of the plastic tubes before breaking free and plummeting to the deck to splash in crowns of saline.

Aruken held his pistol out before him, aimed at Maggard's head.

*Don't come any closer,' he warned.

Maggard did not even slow down and that same deathly smile shone at Jonah Aruken.

With Euphrati still in his arms, t.i.tus Ca.s.sar backed away from the relentlessly approaching killer.

*Come on, d.a.m.n it,' he hissed. *Let's go!'

Aruken shoved Sindermann after Ca.s.sar and suddenly the spell of immobility that had held him rooted to the spot was broken. Maggard was less than ten paces from them and Sindermann knew that they could not hope to escape without bloodshed.

*Shoot him,' shouted Ca.s.sar.

*What?' asked Aruken, throwing his fellow crewman a desperate glance.

*Shoot him,' repeated Ca.s.sar. *Kill him, before he kills us.'

Jonah Aruken tore his gaze back to the approaching Maggard and nodded, pulling the trigger twice in quick succession. The noise was deafening and the corridor was filled with blinding light and careening echoes. Tiles shattered and exploded as Aruken's bullets cratered the wall behind where Maggard had been standing.

Sindermann cried out at the noise, backing away after t.i.tus Ca.s.sar as Maggard spun out from the sunken doorway in which he had taken cover the instant before Aruken had fired. Maggard's pistol leapt to his hand and the barrel blazed with light as he fired three times.

Sindermann cried out, throwing up his arms and awaiting the awful pain of bullets tearing into his flesh, ripping through his internal organs and blowing b.l.o.o.d.y-rimmed craters in his back.

Nothing happened and Sindermann heard a cry of astonishment from Jonah Aruken, who had likewise flinched at the thunderous noise of Maggard's gun. He lowered his arms and his mouth fell open in amazement at the sight before him.

Maggard still stood there, his muscled arm still holding his wide barrelled pistol aimed squarely at them.

A frozen bloom of light expanded at an infinitesimally slow pace from the muzzle and Sindermann could see a pair of bullets held immobile in the air before them, only the glint of light on metal as they spiralled giving any sign that they were moving at all.

As he watched, the pointed nub of a bra.s.s bullet began to emerge from the barrel of Maggard's gun and Sindermann turned in bewilderment to Jonah Aruken.

The t.i.tan crewman was as shocked as he was, his arms hanging limply at his side.

*What the h.e.l.l is going on?' breathed Aruken.

*I d-don't know,' stammered Sindermann, unable to tear his gaze from the frozen tableau standing in front of them. *Maybe we're already dead.'

*No, iterator,' said Ca.s.sar from behind them, *it's a miracle.'

Sindermann turned, feeling as if his entire body was numb, only his heart hammering fit to break his chest. t.i.tus Ca.s.sar stood at the end of the corridor, the saint held tightly to his chest. Where before Euphrati had lain supine, her eyes were now wide in terror, her right hand extended and the silver eagle that had been burned into her flesh glowing with a soft, inner light.

*Euphrati!' cried Sindermann, but no sooner had he given voice to her name than her eyes rolled back in their sockets and her hand dropped to her side He risked a glance back at Maggard, but the a.s.sa.s.sin was still frozen by whatever power had saved their lives.

Sindermann took a deep breath and made his way on unsteady legs to the end of the corridor. Euphrati lay with her head against Ca.s.sar's chest, as unmoving as she had been for the last year and he wanted to weep to see her so reduced.

He reached up and ran a hand through Euphrates hair, her skin hot to the touch.

*She saved us,' said Ca.s.sar, his voice awed and humbled by what he had seen.

*I think you might be right, my dear boy,' said Sindermann. *I think you might be right.'

Jonah Aruken joined him, alternating between casting fearful looks at Maggard and Euphrati. He kept his pistol trained on Maggard and said, *What do we do about him?'

Sindermann looked back at the monstrous a.s.sa.s.sin and said, *Leave him. I will not have his death on the saint's hands. What kind of beginning would it be for the Lect.i.tio Divinitatus if the saint's first act is to kill. If we are to found a new church in the name of the Emperor it will be one of forgiveness, not bloodshed.'

*Are you sure?' asked Aruken. *He will come after her again.'

*Then we will keep her safe from him,' said Ca.s.sar. *The Lect.i.tio Divinitatus has friends aboard the Vengeful Spirit and we can hide her until she recovers. Iterator, do you agree?'

*Yes, that's what to do,' nodded Sindermann, *hide her. Keep her safe.'

FIVE.

Dark Millennium Warsinger LOKEN HAD NOT set foot on the strategium for some time, the construction of the Lupercal's Court rendering it largely without function. In any case, an unspoken order had filtered down from the lodge members that Torgaddon and Loken were no longer to stand alongside the Warmaster and act as the Legion's conscience.

The isolated strategium platform was suspended above the industrious hubbub of the vessel's bridge, and Loken leaned over the rail to watch the senior crew of the Vengeful Spirit going about the business of destroying Isstvan Extremis.

Warriors of the Death Guard and Emperor's Children were already in the theatre of war and the enemies of the Warmaster would even now be dying. The thought of not being there to share the danger galled Loken and he wished he could be on that barren rock with his battle-brothers, especially since Torgaddon had told him that Saul Tarvitz was down there.

The last time the Sons of Horus and the Emperor's Children had met was during the war against the Technocracy and bonds of brotherhood had been re-established between the Legions, formally by the primarchs, and informally by their warriors.

He missed the times he had stood in the presence of his fellow warriors when the talk had been of campaigns past and yet to come. The shared camaraderie of brotherhood was a comfort that was only realised once it was stripped away.

He smiled wryly to himself, whispering, *I even miss your tales of "better days", Iacton.'

Loken turned away from the bridge below and unfolded the piece of paper he had discovered inside the dust jacket of the Chronicles of Ursh.

Once again he read the words hurriedly written in Kyril Sindermann's distinctive spidery scrawl on the ragged page of a notebook.

Even the Warmaster may not deserve your trust. Look for the temple. It will be somewhere that was once the essence of the Crusade.

Remembering Sindermann's words as he had been forced from the training halls by Maloghurst, Loken had sought out the book from the burnt out stacks of Archive Chamber Three. Much of the archive was still in ruins from the fire that had gutted the chamber and put Euphrati Keeler in a coma. Servitors and menials had attempted to save as many books as they could, and even though Loken was no reader, he was saddened by the loss of such a valuable repository of knowledge.

He had located The Chronicles of Ursh with the barest minimum of effort, as if the book had been specifically placed for him to find. Opening the cover, he realised that it had indeed been left there for him, as Sindermann's note slipped from its pages.

Loken wasn't sure exactly what he was looking for, and the idea of a temple aboard the Vengeful Spirit seemed laughable, but Sindermann had been deadly serious when he had implored Loken to seek out the book and his note.

It will be somewhere that was once the essence of the Crusade.

He looked up from the note and cast his eyes around the strategium: the raised platform where the Warmaster had delivered his briefings, the niches around the edge where Sons of Horus stood as an honour guard and the vaulted dome of dark steel. Banners hung along the curved wall, indistinct in the gloom, company banners of the Sons of Horus. He hammered his fist against his breastplate as he faced the banner of the Tenth.

If anywhere was once the essence of the Crusade it was the strategium.

The strategium was empty, and it was an emptiness that spoke more of its neglect and its obsolescence than simply the absence of people. It had been abandoned and the ideals once hammered out here had been abandoned too, replaced with something else, something dark.

Loken stood in the centre of the strategium and felt an ache in his chest that was nothing to do with any physical sensation. It took him a moment to realize that there was something out of place here, something present that shouldn't be: a smell that he didn't recognize, faint but definitely hanging in the air.

At last he recognized the smell as incense, cloying, and carrying the familiar scent of hot, dry winds that brought sour fragrances of bitter blossoms. His genhanced senses could pick out the subtle aromas mixed into the incense, its scent stronger as he made his way through the strategium hoping to pinpoint its source. Where had he smelt this before?

He followed the bitter smell to the standard of the Seventh, Targost's company. Had the lodge master flown the banner in some ritual ceremony of the warrior lodge?

No, the scent was too strong for it to be simply clinging to fabric. This was the aroma of burning incense. Loken pulled the banner of the Seventh away from the wall, and he was not surprised to find that, instead of the brushed steel of the strategium wall, there was the darkness of an opening cut into one of the many access pa.s.sages that threaded the Vengeful Spirit.

Had this been here when the Mournival had gathered? He didn't think so.

Look for the temple, Sindermann had said, so Loken ducked beneath the banner and through the doorway, letting the banner fall into place behind him. The smell of incense was definitely here, and it had been burned recently, or was still burning.

Loken suddenly realized where he had smelled this aroma before and he gripped the hilt of his combat knife as he remembered the air of Davin, the scents that filled the yurts and seemed to linger in the air, even through rebreathers.

The pa.s.sageway beyond was dark, but Loken's augmented eyesight cut through the gloom to reveal a short pa.s.sageway, recently constructed, that led to an arched doorway with curved sigils etched into the ironwork surrounding it. Although it was simply a door, Loken felt an unutterable dread of what lay beyond it and for a moment he almost considered turning back.

He shook off such a cowardly notion and made his way forwards, feeling his unease grow with every step he took. The door was closed, a stylised skull mounted at eyelevel and Loken felt uncomfortable even acknowledging that it was there let alone looking at it. Something of its brutal form whispered to the killer in him, telling him of the joy of spilling blood and the relish to be taken in slaughter.

Loken tore his eyes from the leering skull and drew his knife, fighting the urge to plunge it into the flesh of anyone waiting behind the door.

He pushed it open and stepped inside.

The s.p.a.ce within was large, a maintenance chamber that had been had been cleared and refitted so as to resemble some underground stone chamber. Twin rows of stone benches faced the far wall, where meaningless symbols and words had been painted. Blank-eyed skulls hung from the ceiling, staring and grinning with bared teeth. They swayed gently as Loken pa.s.sed them, thin tendrils of smoke rising from their eye sockets.

A low wooden table stood against the far wall. A shallow bowl carved into its surface contained flaky dark detritus that he could smell was dried blood. A thick book lay beside the depression.

Was this a temple? He remembered the bottles and gla.s.s flasks that had been scattered around the water fane beneath the Whisperheads.

This place and the fane on Sixty-Three Nineteen looked different, but they felt the same.

He heard a sudden rustle on the air, like whispers in his ear, and he spun around, his knife whipping out in front of him.

He was alone, yet the sense of someone whispering in his ear had been so real that he would have sworn on his life that another person had been standing right beside him. Loken took a breath and did a slow circuit of the room, his knife extended, on the defensive in case the mysterious whisperer revealed himself.

Bundles of torn material lay by the benches, and he made his way towards the table a the altar, he realized a upon which lay the book he had noticed earlier.

Its cover was leather, the surface cracked, old and blackened by fire.

Loken bent down to examine the book, flipping open the cover with the tip of his knife. The words written there were composed of an angular script, the letters written vertically on the page.

*Erebus,' he said as he recognized the script as identical to that tattooed upon the skull of the Word Bearer. Could this be the Book of Lorgar that Kyril Sindermann had been raving about following the fire in the archive chamber? The iterator had claimed that the book had unleashed some horror of the warp and that had been what caused the fire, but Loken saw only words.

How could words be dangerous?

Even as he formed the thought, he blinked, the words blurring on the page in front of him. The symbols twisted from the unknown language of the Word Bearers to the harsh numerical language of Cthonia, before spiraling into the elegant script of Imperial Gothic and a thousand other languages he had never seen before.

He blinked to ward off a sudden, impossible, sense of dizziness.

*What are you doing here, Loken?' a familiar voice asked in his ear.

Loken spun to face the voice, but once again he was alone. The temple was empty.

*How dare you break the trust of the Warmaster?' the voice asked, this time with a sense of weight behind it.

And this time he recognized the voice. He turned slowly and saw Torgaddon standing before the altar.

*DOWN!' YELLED TARVITZ as gunfire streaked above him, st.i.tching monochrome explosions along the barren rock of Isstvan Extremis. *Squad Fulgerion, with me. All squads to position and wait for the go!'