'And it does, it does!' Iaxis seemed quite animated at this. 'Tuchulcha, will you please show the primarch what you are capable of.'

Before the Lion could offer any protest, he felt his mind and body lurch, the sensation somewhere between that of a warp translation and a rapid teleportation. Darkness clouded his vision for an instant, and when his eyes were clear, he found himself no longer in the cavern beneath Perditus Ultima.

They were unmistakably in his throne room aboard the Invincible Reason. Tuchulcha and his avatar, minus most of the monitoring equipment, floated behind the throne, while Iaxis stood where he had been, a couple of metres to the primarch's right. Sirens were blaring and the voice of Captain Stenius was bellowing over the internal speakers.

'Battle stations! All crew report to battle stations. Geller field is being raised. Five minutes to full enclosure. Repeat, we have unexpectedly translated to the warp, Geller field is being raised, be prepared for attack.'

The Lion was dumbfounded, unable to comprehend what had happened for several seconds. He eventually realised that Tuchulcha must have moved the battle-barge into the warp and displaced itself, the primarch and tech-priest onto the vessel an instant later. Part of the Lion was appalled by the dangerous situation and Iaxis's naivete in allowing this to happen; a greater part of him marvelled at the unprecedented power on display.

'Tuchulcha,' the Lion said slowly, thinking it would be wise to be 'friends' with the unpredictable machine, 'where are we now?'

'We are adjoined to the place you call Perditus, Lion.'

The primarch turned to Iaxis, brow furrowed.

'Adjoined? We are in the warp. How is this possible? We were far too close to the world, to the star, for a translation.'

'Tuchulcha does not have to worry about that sort of thing, Lion,' the tech-priest said with a toothless grin. 'It is able to burrow directly from real space to warp space, without any backwash or graviometric displacement.'

'Why have I not learnt of this before?' demanded the Lion.

'Our studies are far from complete,' replied Iaxis. 'At the moment, we are at the whim of Tuchulcha, and as you see it is a little, well, temperamental.'

'Tuchulcha, I wish you to return us and the ship to Perditus Ultima.' The Lion kept his tone calm and friendly, suddenly aware of how precarious his position had become.

'Of course, Lion.' The boy's thin, blood-starved lips twisted into an abhorrent approximation of a smile. 'What do you wish me to do with the rest of your ships?'

VIII.

The Lion's audience chamber was quiet, occupied only by the primarch and his seneschal. The Lion was seated in his throne, betraying no sign of his thoughts or mood, as impassive as a statue. Corswain stood at the primarch's right, trying his best to conceal his own misgivings at the emerging situation. As time silently ticked past, he could no longer hold his tongue.

'My liege, I do not question your judgement in this matter, but I must admit to my own ignorance. We have secured Perditus Ultima and possess enough force to destroy the Death Guard outright, yet you invite their commander to a parley? I have an ill feeling about this. And to have the Iron Hands' captain present at the same time seems counter-productive.'

The Lion turned his head and regarded Corswain for a moment, his expression stern.

'You are right not to question my judgement, Cor.' The primarch's lips formed a thin smile, lightening his demeanour, if only a little. 'However, my reason for this meeting is straightforward. Before I decide on our following course of action, I must ascertain for myself the extent to which the knowledge of Perditus's secret has spread. Though he probably does not realise it, I remember that Captain Typhon took part in our original expedition here. He was just a company captain, I recall. That he knows of Tuchulcha's existence is unsurprising, but I sense that his agenda is not as transparent as it would first appear.'

'And Captain Midoa, my liege?'

'His presence here is an oddity, little brother. It might be chance that he intercepted the Death Guard attack, but coincidence does not sit well with me as an explanation. I must know why he came to Perditus, and on whose authority he claims to act. The Iron Hands are leaderless, my brother Ferrus slain at Isstvan, and I thought his Legion rendered inconsequential. It appears that I am wrong, and so I must have answers to questions that nag at me.'

The comm-piece in Corswain's ear chimed and he listened for a moment to the communique from Captain Tragan.

'Our guests will be here imminently, my liege,' Corswain said.

'Good,' replied the Lion, directing his gaze back to the double doors. A few seconds later, those doors hissed open, revealing Tragan and a guard of thirty Dark Angels. In their midst were Captains Typhon and Midoa; the first easily seen in his huge suit of Terminator armour, a head taller than the surrounding warriors. At first glance, Typhon's armour appeared in poor repair, much patched and stained, the white of the Death Guard mottled in places with oil and battle damage. A moment's further inspection, however, revealed to Corswain that the Terminator suit was poorly maintained only on a cosmetic level; Typhon moved freely, every step accompanied by a wheeze of servos and hiss of fibre bundles. A short blade hung at his belt and in his hands he held his scythe-like manreaper.

Midoa followed behind the Death Guard commander, his black-and-silver armour showing signs of fresh paint and polish. His black cloak was tattered at the edges and a fresh scar was healing on his brow. Corswain had expected someone older, Midoa's fresh features a counterpoint to the seals and marks of honour that adorned the chestplate and shoulder guards of his suit. Like Typhon, he was still armed, with a power sword at his waist and a twin-barrelled combi-bolter slung on a strap over his shoulder.

'Thank you, Captain Tragan,' said the Lion. 'You may leave us.'

Corswain turned in surprise, but his primarch's attention was fixed on the two newcomers.

'My liege?' Tragan could not stop the question before he spoke it.

'Please return to your duties, captain,' said the Lion, keeping his tone affable. 'I am certain that our guests refused to surrender their weapons on principle only. I would expect no less from officers of the Legiones Astartes. They would not be so foolish as to test me on my own ship.'

With a glance at Typhon, Tragan nodded. The Dark Angels fell in behind their commander as he departed. The Lion gestured for Typhon and Midoa to approach.

'Am I to be your prisoner?' snapped Typhon, his voice echoing from the external speakers of his suit. 'If you are to execute me out of hand, then do so and be done with it.'

'You will address me properly, commander,' the Lion replied, showing no anger at the Death Guard's accusation. 'I have yet to decide your fate. Do not give me cause for upset.'

Typhon said nothing for a few seconds, subjected to an unblinking stare from the primarch. Under the force of that gaze he eventually nodded and slowly lowered to one knee.

'Lord Jonson, Primarch of the First,' said Typhon. 'Forgive my impertinence.'

'Perhaps,' said the Lion. He waved a hand for Typhon to stand. 'What is your purpose in coming to Perditus, commander?'

'I'm sure you already know it, Lord Jonson,' said Typhon.

'And still I wish it heard in your own words.'

'The warp device, Lord Jonson,' Typhon said, glancing at Captain Midoa. 'I came to Perditus to claim possession of it.'

'Interesting.'

'The Warmaster desires this device, for reasons that you should know well. It is inopportune that you should seek to thwart his plans in this way. He will take it badly.'

'Horus will take it badly?' snarled Corswain, stepping forwards. 'The Dark Angels do not answer to Horus.'

'In time they will, I am sure,' Typhon replied smoothly, looking briefly at the seneschal before returning his attention to the Lion. 'Your opposition to the Night Lords is expected, but unnecessary. It is an irrelevance, made personal by mutual antagonism. What is Thramas to the Dark Angels?'

'They are the Emperor's worlds, and we will protect them,' said Corswain, laying a hand on the hilt of his sword. 'Treachery does not go unpunished.'

'Be quiet, little brother,' said the Lion, shifting in his throne to rest an elbow on the sculpted arm, chin lowered onto his closed fist, eyes still fixed upon Typhon. 'Let the commander speak freely.'

'I have nothing more to say, Lord Jonson,' said the Death Guard.

'Your threat is meaningless, commander. What you say is irrelevant, but what you do not say is so loud that it deafens me.'

Typhon started to speak but the primarch silenced him with a raised hand.

'You make no mention of my brother, Mortarion, your primarch. Do you still fight for the Death Guard, commander? Or do you pursue an ambition at odds with your lord? If Mortarion desired the device you mention, he has the resources of an entire Legion at his disposal. Why would he send such a small flotilla to claim such a precious prize? No, Mortarion is not the hand that guided you here, commander.'

Straightening, the Lion rested his hands on his knees and leaned forwards.

'Similarly, you invoke the name of the Warmaster, but it is not Horus's will that despatched you to Perditus. Perhaps as you say, I am an irrelevance to my traitorous brother, but that does not mean Horus would wish to pit his sons against mine in open conflict. He destroyed three Legions at Isstvan, but my Dark Angels were not amongst them. Curze, Mortarion, Horus; none of them desire full scale war with my Legion, and for good reason.'

In reply Typhon was silent, perhaps regretting his words, or fearing that further argument would only serve to betray him more deeply. The Lion moved his dark gaze to the Iron Hands commander.

'And you, Captain Midoa, what purpose brought you here?'

'To secure Perditus Ultima against the traitors, Lord Jonson,' replied the captain, looking across to Typhon. 'We arrived just in time, it appears.'

'And who set you upon this purpose, captain?'

'We were part of the four-hundred-and-sixth expeditionary fleet, lord, far from Isstvan when the muster was called. When we learnt of the tragedy that had befallen our Legion, we did what we could, securing such worlds as we had newly brought to compliance, fighting those traitorous forces that we encountered. Six months ago we were intercepted by an Ultramarines fleet near Ojanus, and received summons that Lord Guilliman was gathering all loyal forces at Ultramar. We answered the call, and later the primarch despatched us to Perditus, fearing the traitors might attempt to seize the device held by the Mechanicum.'

The Lion accepted this with a slow nod, deep in thought.

'And now that you have learnt of Perditus's secret, what is your intent?' asked the primarch.

'It is not safe to leave the warp engine here, lord. It is too powerful to risk its misuse, and so I believe the best course of action is to relocate it to the safety of Macragge.'

'Indeed,' said the Lion, eyebrows arching high. 'You took that decision upon yourself?'

'Lord Guilliman had intimated that such a course might be necessary, lord.'

Fingers drumming quickly on the arm of his throne, the Lion moved his gaze from one commander to the other and back again, before looking at Corswain.

'When we have concluded this parley, send word to the captains, little brother. The fleet is to assume formation for the bombardment of Perditus Ultima.'

There were outbursts from Typhon and Midoa, which fell on deaf ears.

'As you command, my liege,' said Corswain.

'You cannot destroy the warp engine!' said Midoa, taking a step forwards. 'If its power can be harnessed, it could be the weapon that enables us to turn the tide on the traitors.'

'You suppose too much, captain,' the Lion replied sharply. 'I too received Guilliman's summons. I do not concur with his plans, and I would no more trust him with this engine than any servant of Horus. I consider Ultramar no safer place for this device than Perditus, and even if Guilliman does not use it for his own purposes I cannot allow it to fall into the hands of the Emperor's enemies.'

Typhon's laugh rang around the chamber as Midoa made further protest.

'Your good humour is misplaced, commander,' snapped the Lion, silencing Typhon's mirth and Midoa's arguments. 'I am of a mind to let you depart Perditus without the engine, so that you might take word of its destruction to whatever masters you wish to claim. However, slight me again or dishonour my audience and I will be content to allow your lieutenants to perform that errand in your stead.'

Silence greeted this proclamation and the Lion stood up, signalling that the audience was at an end.

'Perditus Ultima and its prize will be destroyed within hours. Tell my brothers that there is nothing for them here.'

IX.

On the main display, the tiny speck of light that was Captain Midoa's shuttle disappeared behind the shadow of his heavy cruiser, the Fastidious Prosecutor. Looking at a sub-screen, the Lion saw the Terminus Est of the Death Guard powering away, its plasma engines almost lost against the light reflecting from Perditus Ultima's surface. The primarch was about to turn away, with both Typhon and Midoa now returned to their respective ships, when he overhead a message from Lady Fiana coming through to one of the communications attendants.

'Relay that connection to speakers,' the Lion demanded, pointing a finger at the Legion serf, who complied immediately, eyes wide with surprise.

'Lauded primarch, my family and I are detecting a distortion in the warp around Perditus Ultima,' Fiana repeated, her voice coming through the address grilles all around the strategium.

'Tuchulcha?' asked the primarch.

'No, this is something different. It is like a miniature vortex, a hole burrowing through the warp.'

'Burrowing from where? To what does this hole lead?'

'Give us a moment, lauded primarch. Ardal is ascending the pilaster for a better fix on the location of the disturbance.'

'Raise void shields,' snapped Captain Stenius. 'Arm weapons batteries and sound the call to battle order.'

The Lion was content to let his subordinate take the appropriate defensive measures. He waited with arms crossed, gaze moving between the main screen, the sub-display of the Terminus Est and the speaker located to the right of the display array, as if he could see Lady Fiana beyond.

'Detecting a power surge from the Terminus Est, captain,' announced one of the serfs at the scanner consoles.

'Just raising void shields, captain,' said another almost immediately after.

'The warp disturbance is local, very small.' Navigator Ardal's voice was reedy over the internal comm. 'I do not know how, but it seems to be originating from the Death Guard flagship.'

'Where to?' snarled the Lion. 'Where is it directed?'

'Perditus Ultima, lauded primarch. It's some kind of warp tunnel, straight into the heart of the facility. I've never seen anything like it.'

'Corswain!' The Lion's use of the seneschal's name automatically switched the battle-barge's systems to a direct address channel. Almost unnoticed, a tiny icon blinked on a sub-screen, indicating on a schematic of the Invincible Reason that Corswain was in the transit corridor outside the starboard launch bays, having seen off Midoa and Typhon.

'Yes, my liege?'

'Assemble your guard, and the Librarians, at teleporter chamber two. I will meet you there.'

'Where are we going?'

'Lay in coordinates for the Magellix facility. The Death Guard are trying to steal the warp engine.'

Typhon's manreaper parted the tech-adept from pelvis to throat, the scythe's power field fizzing and cracking with vaporising blood. The ragged remains of the tech-adept flopped to the bare stone of the floor as a squad of skitarii burst from the doors ahead. The Mechanicum's bionically-augmented warriors sported a variety of laser weapons and rocket launchers. As red las-blasts seared down the tunnel and the corkscrew contrails of guided rockets followed, the Grave Wardens opened fire. Typhon's autocannon thundered in his fist while a counter-barrage of missiles and bolts hammered into the half-machine defenders of Perditus Ultima.

The Terminators continued their implacable advance, stepping over the sparking, bloodied remnants of the skitarii, passing into the corridor that led to Tuchulcha's prison. More skitarii appeared and were cut down, the Grave Wardens all but impervious to the weapons carried by their foes.

At the head of the column, Typhon was still trying to push aside the side effects of the warp-teleportation he had employed to bring his warriors inside the facility. The Father had not been so generous in his gifts this time, and Typhon's skin felt heavy beneath his armour. His whole body itched and his head occasionally swam with the effort he had expended to punch a hole through reality.

'Why did we not do this when we first arrived?' rasped Vioss, striding alongside Typhon to the left. 'We would have retrieved the device long before the arrival of the Dark Angels.'

'I did not know that Tuchulcha was awake,' replied Typhon. 'It will have to transport itself back to Terminus Est, for I do not have the power. It is of a far greater mass than it looks, the bulk of its construction existing only in warp space.'

'A feat of engineering,' said Vioss, his sarcasm plain to hear.

'A miracle of the Father,' Typhon corrected him as they came to the chamber of Tuchulcha. The Death Guard commander stopped, seized by a sudden pain in his abdomen. He gritted his teeth as he felt something squirming through his insides; or at least a sensation he considered similar to having his intestines burrowed out by some hellish rodent. In a few seconds the pain had passed and he barrelled forwards through the next set of doors.

The globe of Tuchulcha hung in the centre of the room, surrounded by the entrapments and delving devices of the Mechanicum. Typhon was struck by the beauty of the patterns that flowed across the device's surface. A melange of oily colours merged and split, creating a hypnotic effect. With some effort, the Death Guard leader broke his gaze from the floating orb, seeing a red-robed figure kneeling before the device, hood covering head and face.

Typhon aimed his reaper autocannon at the kneeling figure, but his finger did not squeeze the trigger as a child's voice broke the quiet.

'Stop! Do not harm him!'