by Gav Thorpe
‘I know you,’ said Arendi, eyes narrowed as he stood up and looked at Kurthuri. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I am here to make sure you are what you say you are, brother,’ Kurthuri said gently. ‘This should not take long and will not hurt if you do not offer resistance.’
‘You were in the Librarius! If you think you’re going to sink your teeth into my mind, you’re badly mistaken.’
Corax pressed a stud on the monitor controls, activating the speaker inside the other room.
‘Arendi, this is Lord Corax. Brother-Librarian Kurthuri is there following my orders. You will comply with every instruction he gives you.’
‘A psyker?’ Arendi looked appalled. More than that, he looked fearful. ‘I would rather not, my lord. Do you know what these psykers are capable of?’
‘They can tell me the truth,’ Corax said sharply. ‘I have had enough of your objections. If you refuse to submit to examination I will have you locked in the deepest cell on the planet.’
‘They… They hunted us with these witch-bastards, my lord! They taunted us with visions of what they had done, at the massacre, to the prisoners they took, tried to bait us out of hiding. We had to think of nothing, emptying our minds to stop them picking up the slightest echo. They turned us into mindless prey, my lord! They enjoyed it!’
Corax grimaced, but he could not relent.
‘We have a rule now, Gherith. All of those that come in must undergo psychic examination. One rule for all.’
Arendi hung his head, hands twitching. When he raised his eyes he stared at Kurthuri with surprising intensity.
‘All right, do it!’
‘Relax, brother.’ Kurthuri gestured for Arendi to sit down. The Librarian followed him to the bench and sat next to him. ‘This will be easier if there is physical contact,’ he said, his voice quiet and calm. He reached out a hand. ‘Do you mind?’
Arendi shook his head after a moment and they clasped each other’s arms, wrist to wrist. Kurthuri closed his eyes but Arendi’s were wide open, staring at the psyker.
There were no pyrotechnics, no moans or drama. Corax watched the display without wavering, even as Arendi started to tremble. He could see the legionary’s eyes beginning to glisten, on the brink of tears.
Eventually, Kurthuri opened his eyes and released him, but it was several seconds before Arendi was able to relinquish his grasp, leaving red marks in the flesh of the Librarian where his fingers had dug in.
‘Happy now?’ Arendi demanded, standing up.
Kurthuri said nothing as he left, the clang of the door signalling his exit. Corax turned his eye towards the door of the monitoring station until the Librarian entered. A raised eyebrow was all the question the primarch needed to ask.
‘He is Gherith Arendi,’ said Kurthuri. ‘His memories, his sense of self, they cannot be replicated or faked.’
Corax exhaled, realising he had been holding his breath since the Librarian had begun his test.
‘Good news, my lord,’ said Soukhounou. He looked at Kurthuri. ‘You seem unhappy about something.’
The Librarian shook his head and cast a meaningful glance at Corax and then to the commander.
‘Give us a moment,’ said the primarch, nodding towards the door. ‘Please.’
Soukhounou left them without comment.
‘He is hiding something,’ Kurthuri quietly confided when the door was closed. ‘A secret, deep where I can’t see it.’
‘Like the others?’
‘Possibly. Each is individual – there is nothing I can do to ascertain the nature of what they wish to keep from me.’
‘But are they loyal?’
‘I cannot give you a guarantee, but none of them are disloyal.’
‘What does that mean?’ Corax demanded, frowning. ‘If they are not disloyal then they must be loyal, yes?’
‘I’m sorry, but they are all harbouring a secret, my lord. A shared secret, I would guess, considering that all of them arrived together. While that remains, I cannot be one hundred per cent certain of their motives. But, for what it is worth, I detect no animosity towards us, and when I probe with images of the traitors it provokes a profound hate-response.’
‘I understand,’ said Corax. He saw that Kurthuri was almost dead on his feet. ‘Go and sleep – four full hours. If anyone disturbs you then they will answer to me.’
‘Thank you, Lord Corax.’
‘Send Soukhounou back to me when you leave.’
Kurthuri saluted and departed. A few seconds later, the commander returned.
‘So do we trust him?’ he asked.
Corax looked at the vid-screen again and knew that the decision was his alone.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Division, distrust and doubt – the three greatest plagues Horus has unleashed upon the galaxy. We could destroy the enemy overnight to the last man and still die from these wounds ten thousand years later.’
‘How can we heal the whole galaxy?’ asked Soukounou. ‘We have not yet even won the war.’
‘Perhaps the two things are one and the same,’ Corax said, almost lost in the thought. He revived his focus and looked sharply at the leader of the Falcons. ‘Find me the ranking members of the arriving groups and have them attend council in the morning. If Arendi has been passed as fit in the meantime, have him come as well.’
‘You have a plan?’ Soukhounou grinned at the thought and his enthusiasm touched Corax, who smiled back.
‘It is time to stem some of the bleeding caused by Horus.’ The primarch’s smile faded and his eyes narrowed. ‘And time to inflict some wounds of our own.’
V
Scarato [DV -80 days]
The leaders of the Legion remnants assembled by Corax were a mix of line officers and sergeants for the most part, the odd lieutenant amongst them – warriors of higher rank tended to have been closer to their primarchs at the outset of the civil war. Seated around a long table brought into the grand hall for the assembly, they looked at the primarch with a mixture of hope, wariness and awe.
He did not stand up, preferring not to overwhelm the delegates with his physical presence. For the same reason, he had not donned his armour but was dressed in a simple bodysuit of light grey beneath a long charcoal-coloured coat. Like the throne upon which he sat, the clothes had been made for him as a token of favour of Naima by Scaratoan craftsmen and women.
It had been a long time, over two years Terran-standard, since he had worn much else other than his armour. He had wondered what it would be like, fearing that perhaps he would feel underdressed, but in fact it allowed him to think more like a civil leader than a general.
‘Rank is irrelevant,’ Corax began. ‘The hierarchies of old, the titles of centurion and warsmith, adjutatorius and lieutenant-armourer are meaningless. For all of you, structure is a thing of memory, and tables of organisation a topic of nostalgia. The Raven Guard know this as well as you, though you are sundered from your primarchs and the upper echelons of the Legions whose liveries you bear.’
Corax gestured towards his commanders, sitting to his right.
‘This is the entirety of my command staff. Captains of the Falcons, Talons, Hawks and Raptors. My Legion numbers a few thousand warriors. A handful of companies by the old determining of strength. Many of you lead squads, and some less than that. For years now you have fought simply to survive. Some of you have tried to reach Terra or sought to reunite with your Legions but for most of us that is not an option.’ He looked pointedly at Warsmith Annovuldi of the Iron Warriors, and then to Kasati Nuon of the Night Lords and the few others representing warriors whose primarchs had sided with Horus. ‘And there are those of you that know you can never return to your Legions even when we are victorious. You have, I think, suffered the greatest betrayal of all, and I have nothing but admiration for your courage, loyalty and determination despi
te the direst circumstances into which you have been plunged.’
Corax looked at his hands, laid on the polished wood of the table, pale against the dark grain. It helped to steady his thoughts. In many ways the gathering was very different from those early councils on Lycaeus, which had been held in abandoned sub-ducts and conducted in whispers. But though the environment had changed the aim was the same and he thought back to the first days of the resistance. His first task had been morale; to convince others that it was not only possible for them to overthrow their captors but to persuade them it was inevitable. He faced that same task with these broken forces. They had proven willing to fight, but he had to give them a vision of what they were fighting for, and he had to instil in them the belief that not only could they win but that their victory was assured. To do so, he drew on every fibre of his primarch being to speak with absolute authority.
‘From today a new phase of war begins. Our numbers are few compared to the might of those that oppose us, but we have weapons with a power Horus could only dream of wielding. We serve the Emperor, not ourselves, and that will give us a strength that outmatches anything the craven traitors possess. That strength will bring us allies, by the thousands, the millions, the billions. Mankind does not desire a tyrant to rule over them and – despite the efforts of the Word Bearers who proselytise his elevation as a new Emperor – the Arch-Traitor cannot hide his true nature. His followers are beasts and degenerates, pillaging and enslaving those weaker than themselves.’
Corax looked at Branne, Agapito and Arendi.
‘What is weakness?’
‘An illusion,’ said Branne, who smiled in recollection, using the primarch’s words spoken during the early days of the Lycaeus uprising. ‘It is a label oppressors use as a whip to belittle their victims. Only those that believe the lies, who refuse to see their own strengths, are truly weak.
‘And what is strength?’
‘True strength comes from knowing one’s own value is dependent upon the value of others,’ said Arendi. It had been only a short time since he and the other survivors of the primarch’s guard had arrived, but already he showed signs of returning health. His face was filling out, eyes brighter, skin smoother. ‘It is recognising the bond between us all and acting together for the cause of all.’
Nodding, Corax turned his attention back to the others around the table. Many seemed unconvinced, but that was to be expected.
‘You doubt that we can achieve much in our broken state,’ the primarch said, speaking softly. He picked out one of the Iron Hands, whose arms and upper body had been replaced by augmetics and bionics. ‘Kasdar, you are the product of many hands, yes?’
‘Countless are the labourers at the forges who smelted the metal for my prosthetics, and countless more toiled with solder and pin to create the complex weave of nerve and circuit that interfaces with my mind.’ The legionary extended a clawed hand and formed a fist with artificial fingers, tiny cogs spinning in the joints of his hand. ‘But it is all guided by my will.’
‘A thousand disparate pieces, each of purpose and value, brought together under the control of a single mind,’ said Corax. ‘We shall be the same. A machine, an organism. Of many parts working separately, but invisibly, silently bound by common purpose and thought. I do not ask you to swear loyalty to me, for there is no greater oath you have sworn than by your deeds in the name of the Emperor. I do not ask you to become Raven Guard, for the blood of other fathers and the customs of other worlds have shaped you. You are each what you are, individual – but together, indivisible, we will be even greater.’
Damastor Kyil, another Iron Hand, stood up and looked to Corax for permission to speak. He received it with a nod.
‘I admire your courage, Lord Corax, as much as anyone here.’ Kyil’s face was for the most part made of metal and ceramic, glinting in the light of the hall. Only one eye and ear were left of the flesh that he had been born with. ‘I answered your astropathic call to stand amongst brothers again, and I am proud of those that sit around this table with me, and those in the dorms and ships elsewhere. Pride, though, and determination are not enough to win battles. You admit that the Raven Guard are but a few thousand. Perhaps another few hundred of us you have dredged together from surrounding systems and sectors. Even if we had warships, weapons, ammunition, battle tanks and the full stores of our armouries, there are not enough warriors to face the smallest of the traitor flotillas heading for Terra. Our only hope must be to join the defence before Horus’s forces have the Sol system besieged.’
Sitting down, Kyil received nods and approving looks from many of the others. Branne looked to stand to voice a rebuttal but Corax stayed him with a raised hand. He gestured to Captain Noriz.
‘Your wall-brothers await you at the Imperial Palace, captain. Is it your desire to return to Lord Dorn and await the attack of Horus’s forces?’
The captain seemed hesitant to reply. He rubbed his fingers through his close-cropped hair and stood, hands clasped together. He looked first at Corax, then Kyil, and then back to the primarch.
‘Yes,’ he said with an apologetic nod. ‘With all my heart I would desire to stand with the Emperor’s finest upon the walls of the greatest fortress in the galaxy.’
‘Thank you, captain.’
Corax turned to his left, where Arcatus had been sitting in silence, listening intently to everything that had been said.
‘As representative of the Custodians, whose duties should place you at the Emperor’s side, what do you say? Do we return to Terra?’
‘By the will of the Emperor and Malcador I left Terra at your side, Lord Corax. I was doubtful of what could be accomplished by so few warriors but I have been proven wrong. Out here our fight still serves to defend Terra.’
‘Where there is oppression there is always resentment, no matter how cowed a populace might be,’ said Corax. ‘The Legiones Astartes have never been kindly, not to many that were forced to compliance by the edge of a sword. But we were never tyrants, not even the worst of us, not before Horus turned his back on the oaths we had all sworn. I did not bring you to Scarato on a whim. Here is a lesson not just in guerrilla fighting but in winning wars against a far superior foe using hearts and minds as weapons. Any world where the traitors maintain their authority with threat of blade and gun is ripe for targeting. A few warriors, even a single legionary, can ignite a rebellion that can waylay or draw in hundreds of traitors.’
‘Perhaps for the Raven Guard,’ said Damastor Kyil, an artificial lung wheezing as he drew in a breath. ‘Not all of us grew up in a prison, nor spent years fighting far from the command of our primarchs. You take that culture for granted, Lord Corax.’
‘I do not,’ the primarch replied. ‘You will soon each have first-hand experience of the fighting I describe. And you will have close acquaintance with those that have been terrorised into submission. I demand no promise or oath beyond that you accompany us on our next attack and learn from the Raven Guard how to wage the war we must now fight. After that, you are free to go your own ways, to attempt to return to Terra or other home worlds as you choose, or to remain under my command.’
‘This next attack, where will it be?’ asked Kasati Nuon, fingers flexing as though they were constricting around the throat of some poor victim.
‘A world imprisoned by Horus’s followers, in the Carandiru system. We will liberate it.’
‘I know this system,’ Captain Noriz said sharply. All eyes turned to him. ‘The Two-Hundred and Fourteenth Expedition led by Lord Dorn himself razed the capital and then built the Winter City on the ruins. If it has been turned into a prison… The walls of the Imperial Fists do not easily fall, Lord Corax.’
‘Indeed, and it is to such walls the Emperor is trusting the future of the Imperium,’ said Corax. ‘But countless are the fortifications that have been overcome, thought impregnable by those behind them. Tell me, Captain Noriz, you
spent much time fortifying Deliverance and Kiavahr, and your Legion is expert at both assault and defence of siegeworks. What would be your strategy for overcoming the defences of the Winter City?’
‘Given our present company, that is an easy answer.’ The Imperial Fist looked at the others around the table and smiled. ‘It is the best way to take any fortress. From the inside.’
VI
Scarato [DV -80 days]
After Corax ended the council, Soukhounou met with his fellow commanders in a chamber adjoining the hall. The room was ostentatious, filled with gilded furniture, the high ceiling decorated with floral plaster reliefs. On the walls were scenes of nobles at leisure – hunting along a steep canyon atop the backs of hunched lizards, riding slender solar-sailed barges over a majestic waterfall, or banqueting at night beneath a firework-lit sky.
‘Our brother-in-arms is returned to us!’ Branne’s exclamation caused Soukhounou to turn as the commander greeted Arendi wrist to wrist in the warrior’s fashion, pounding the other Space Marine on the shoulder. Agapito lifted a fist to his chest in a more reserved welcome.
‘A day I often thought might never come to pass,’ said Arendi. His expression brightened as Branne stepped back. ‘Long anticipated, and heartily welcome. I wish it had been sooner.’
‘We cannot change the past,’ said Agapito. ‘Fortunately we can still change the future.’
‘Yes, that is true.’ Arendi looked at Soukhounou as though noticing him for the first time. ‘Lieutenant Soukhounou, isn’t it?’
‘Commander now,’ he replied. It had been an unexpected development, but rapid promotion was one of the unavoidable aspects of the Legion since the massacre. First Solaro had been outed as a traitor, and then Nuran Tesk had died in the assault on the Perfect Fortress just weeks after being placed in command. Soukhounou was not a superstitious man but he tried not the think about the fates of his predecessors too often.
