by Dan Abnett
Tarvitz watched the confrontation in mounting disbelief. He’d never seen anyone stand up to Lord Eidolon.
The pair were chest-plate to chest-plate, Eidolon slightly taller. Torgaddon seemed to be smirking.
‘How would you like this to go, Eidolon?’ Torgaddon inquired. ‘Would you, perhaps, like to go home with your head stuck up your arse?’
‘You are a base-born cur,’ Eidolon hissed.
‘Just so you know,’ replied Torgaddon, ‘you’ll have to do an awful lot better than that. I’m a base-born cur and proud of it. You know what that is?’
He pointed up at one of the stars above them.
‘A star?’ asked Eidolon, momentarily wrong-footed.
‘Yes, probably. I haven’t the faintest idea. The point is, I’m the designated commander of the Luna Wolves speartip, come to rescue your sorry backsides. I do this by warrant of the Warmaster himself. He’s up there, in one of those stars, and right now he thinks you’re a cretin. And he’ll tell Fulgrim so, next time he meets him.’
‘Do not speak my primarch’s name so irreverently, you bastard. Horus will—’
‘There you go again,’ Torgaddon sighed, pushing Eidolon away from him with a two handed shove to the lord’s breastplate. ‘He’s the Warmaster.’ Another shove. ‘The Warmaster. Your Warmaster. Show some cursed respect.’
Eidolon hesitated. ‘I, of course, recognise the majesty of the Warmaster.’
‘Do you? Do you, Eidolon? Well, that’s good, because I’m it. I’m his chosen instrument here. You’ll address me as if I were the Warmaster. You’ll show me some respect too! Warmaster Horus believes you’ve made some shit-awful mistakes in your prosecution of this theatre. How many brothers did you drop here? A company? How many left? Serghar? Head count?’
‘Thirty-nine live ones, Tarik,’ the vox answered. ‘There may be more. Lots of body piles to dig through.’
‘Thirty-nine. You were so hungry for glory you wasted more than half a company. If I was… Primarch Fulgrim, I’d have your head on a pole. The Warmaster may yet decide to do just that. So, Lord Eidolon, are we clear?’
‘We…’ Eidolon replied slowly, ‘…are clear, captain.’
‘Perhaps you’d like to go and undertake a review of your forces?’ Torgaddon suggested. ‘The enemy will be back soon, I’m sure, and in greater numbers.’
Eidolon gazed venomously at Torgaddon for a few seconds and then replaced his helm. ‘I will not forget this insult, captain,’ he said.
‘Then it was worth the trip,’ Torgaddon replied, clamping on his own helmet.
Eidolon crunched away, calling to his scattered troops. Torgaddon turned and found Tarvitz looking at him.
‘What’s on your mind, Tarvitz?’ he asked.
I’ve been wanting to say that for a long time, Tarvitz wished to say. Out loud, he said, ‘What do you need me to do?’
‘Gather up your squad and stand ready. When the shit comes down next, I’d like to know you’re with me.’
Tarvitz made the sign of the aquila across his chest. ‘You can count on it. How did you know where to drop?’
Torgaddon pointed at the calm sky. ‘We came in where the storm had gone out,’ he said.
TARVITZ HOISTED LUCIUS to his feet. Lucius was still picking at his ruined armour.
‘That Torgaddon is an odious rogue,’ he said. Lucius had overheard the entire confrontation.
‘I rather like him.’
‘The way he spoke to our lord? He’s a dog.’
‘I like dogs,’ Tarvitz said.
‘I believe I will kill him for his insolence.’
‘Don’t,’ Tarvitz said. ‘That would be wrong, and I’d have to hurt you if you did.’
Lucius laughed, as if Tarvitz had said something funny.
‘I mean it,’ Tarvitz said.
Lucius laughed even more.
IT TOOK A little under an hour to assemble their forces in the clearing. Torgaddon established contact with the fleet via the astrotelepath he had brought with him. The shield-storms raged with dreadful fury over the surrounding stalk forests, but the sky directly above the clearing remained calm.
As he marshalled the remains of his force, Tarvitz observed Torgaddon and his fellow captains conducting a further angry debate with Eidolon and Anteus. There were apparently some differences of opinion as to what their course of action should be.
After a while, Torgaddon walked away from the argument. Tarvitz guessed he was recusing himself from the quarrel before he said something else to infuriate Eidolon.
Torgaddon walked the line of the picket, stopping to talk to some of his men, and finally arrived at Tarvitz’s position.
‘You seem like a decent sort, Tarvitz,’ he remarked. ‘How do you stand that lord of yours?’
‘It is my duty to stand him,’ Tarvitz replied. ‘It is my duty to serve. He is my lord commander. His combat record is glorious.’
‘I doubt he’ll be adding this endeavour to his triumph roll,’ Torgaddon said. ‘Tell me, did you agree with his decision to drop here?’
‘I neither agreed nor disagreed,’ Tarvitz replied. ‘I obeyed. He is my lord commander.’
‘I know that,’ Torgaddon sighed. ‘All right, just between you and me, Tarvitz. Brother to brother. Did you like the decision?’
‘I really—’
‘Oh, come on. I just saved your life. Answer me candidly and we’ll call it quits.’
Tarvitz hesitated. ‘I thought it a little reckless,’ he admitted. ‘I thought it was prompted by ambitious notions that had little to do with the safety of our company or the salvation of the missing forces.’
‘Thank you for speaking honestly.’
‘May I speak honestly a little more?’ Tarvitz asked.
‘Of course.’
‘I admire you, sir,’ Tarvitz said. ‘For both your courage and your plain speaking. But please, remember that we are the Emperor’s Children, and we are very proud. We do not like to be shown up, or belittled, nor do we like others… even other Astartes of the most noble Legions… diminishing us.’
‘When you say “we” you mean Eidolon?’
‘No, I mean we.’
‘Very diplomatic,’ said Torgaddon. ‘In the early days of the crusade, the Emperor’s Children fought alongside us for a time, before you had grown enough in numbers to operate autonomously.’
‘I know, sir. I was there, but I was just a file trooper back then.’
‘Then you’ll know the esteem with which the Luna Wolves regarded your Legion. I was a junior officer back then too, but I remember distinctly that Horus said… what was it? That the Emperor’s Children were the living embodiment of the Adeptus Astartes. Horus enjoys a special bond with your primarch. The Luna Wolves have cooperated militarily with just about every other Legion during this great war. We still regard yours as about the best we’ve ever had the honour of serving with.’
‘It pleases me to hear you say so, sir,’ Tarvitz replied.
‘Then… how have you changed so?’ Torgaddon asked. ‘Is Eidolon typical of the command echelon that rules you now? His arrogance astounds me. So damned superior…’
‘Our ethos is not about superiority, captain,’ Tarvitz answered. ‘It is about purity. But one is often mistaken for the other. We model ourselves on the Emperor, beloved by all, and in seeking to be like him, we can seem aloof and haughty.’
‘Did you ever think,’ asked Torgaddon, ‘that while it’s laudable to emulate the Emperor as much as possible, the one thing that you cannot and should not aspire to is his supremacy? He is the Emperor. He is singular. Strive to be like him in all ways, by all means, but do not presume to be on his level. No one belongs there. No one is alike to him.’
‘My Legion understands that,’ Tarvitz said. ‘Sometimes, though, it doesn’t translate well to others.’
‘There’s no purity in pride,’ Torgaddon said. ‘Nothing pure or admirable in arrogance or over-confidence.’
‘My lord
Eidolon knows this.’
‘He should show he knows it. He led you into a disaster, and he won’t even apologise for it.’
‘I’m sure, in due course, my lord will formally acknowledge your efforts in relieving us and—’
‘I don’t want any credit,’ Torgaddon said. You were brothers in trouble, and we came to help. That’s the start and finish of it. But I had to face down the Warmaster to get permission to drop, because he believed it was insanity to send any more men to their deaths in an unknowable place against an unknowable foe. That’s what Eidolon did. In the name, I imagine, of honour and pride.’
‘How did you convince the Warmaster?’ Tarvitz wondered.
‘I didn’t,’ said Torgaddon. ‘You did. The storm had gone out over this area, and we detected your vox scatter. You proved you were still alive down here, and the Warmaster immediately sanctioned the speartip to come and pull you out.’
Torgaddon looked up at the misty stars. ‘The storms are their best weapon,’ he mused. ‘If we’re going to wrestle this world to compliance, we’ll have to find a way to beat them. Eidolon suggested the trees might be key. That they might act as generators or amplifiers for the storm. He said that once he’d destroyed the trees, the storm in this locality collapsed.’
Tarvitz paused. ‘My Lord Eidolon said that?’
‘Only piece of sense I’ve heard out of him. He said that as soon as he set charges to the trees and demolished them, the storm went out. It’s an interesting theory. The Warmaster wants me to use the storm-break to pull everyone here out, but Eidolon is dead set on finding more trees and levelling them, in the hope that we can break a hole in the enemy’s cover. What do you think?’
‘I think… my Lord Eidolon is wise,’ said Tarvitz.
Bulle had been stationed nearby, and had overheard the exchange. He could not contain himself any longer.
‘Permission to speak, captain,’ he said.
‘Not now, Bulle,’ Tarvitz said.
‘Sir, I—’
‘You heard him, Bulle,’ Lucius cut in, walking up to them.
‘What’s your name, brother?’ Torgaddon asked.
‘Bulle, sir.’
‘What did you want to say?’
‘It’s not important,’ Lucius snorted. ‘Brother Bulle speaks out of turn.’
‘You are Lucius, right?’ Torgaddon asked.
‘Captain Lucius.’
‘And Bulle was one of the men who stood over you and fought to keep you alive?’
‘He did. I am honoured by his service.’
‘Maybe you could let him talk, then?’ Torgaddon suggested.
‘It would be inappropriate,’ said Lucius.
‘Tell you what,’ Torgaddon said. ‘As commander of the speartip, I believe I have authority here. I’ll decide who talks and who doesn’t. Bulle? Let’s hear you, brother.’
Bulle looked awkwardly at Lucius and Tarvitz.
‘That was an order,’ said Torgaddon.
‘My Lord Eidolon did not destroy the trees, sir. Captain Tarvitz did it. He insisted. My Lord Eidolon then chastised him for the act, claiming it was a waste of charges.’
‘Is this true?’ Torgaddon asked.
‘Yes,’ said Tarvitz.
‘Why did you do it?’
‘Because it didn’t seem right for the bodies of our dead to hang in such ignominy,’ Tarvitz said.
‘And you’d let Eidolon take the credit and not say anything?’
‘He is my lord.’
‘Thank you, brother,’ Torgaddon said to Bulle. He glanced at Lucius. ‘Reprimand him or punish him in any way for speaking out and I’ll have the Warmaster himself personally deprive you of your rank.’
Torgaddon turned to Tarvitz. ‘It’s a funny thing. It shouldn’t matter, but it does. Now I know you felled the trees, I feel better about pursuing that line of action. Eidolon clearly knows a good idea when someone else has it. Let’s go cut down a few more trees, Tarvitz. You can show me how it’s done.’
Torgaddon walked away, shouting out orders for muster and movement. Tarvitz and Lucius exchanged long looks, and then Lucius turned and walked away.
THE ARMED FORCE moved away from the clearing and back into the thickets of the stalk forest. They passed back into the embrace of the storm cover. Torgaddon had his Terminator squads lead the way. The man-tanks, under the command of Trice Rokus, ignited their heavy blades, and cut a path, felling the stalks to clear a wide avenue into the forest swathe.
They pressed on beneath the wild storms for twenty kilometres. Twice, megarachnid skirmish parties assaulted their lines, but the speartip drew its phalanxes close and, with the advantage of range created by the cleared avenue, slaughtered the attackers with their bolters.
The landscape began to change. They were apparently reaching the edge of a vast plateau, and the ground began to slope away steeply before them. The stalk growth became more patchy and sparse, clinging to the rocky, ferrous soil of the descent. A wide basin spread out below them, a rift valley. Here, the spongy, marshy ground was covered with thousands of small, coned trees, rising some ten metres high, which dotted the terrain like fungal growths. The trees, hard and stony and composed of the same milky cement from which the murder trees had been built, peppered the depression like armour studs.
As they descended onto it, the Astartes found the land at the base of the rift swampy and slick, decorated with long, thin lakes of water stained orange by the iron content of the soil. The flash of the overhead storms scintillated in reflection from the long, slender pools. They looked like claw wounds in the earth.
The air was busy with fibrous grey bugs that milled and swirled interminably in the stagnant atmosphere. Larger flying things, flitting like bats, hunted the bugs in quick, sharp swoops.
At the mouth of the rift, they discovered six more thorn trees arranged in a silent grove. Reduced cadavers and residual meat and armour adorned their barbs. Blood Angels, and Imperial army. There was no sign of the winged clades, though fifty kilometres away, over the stalk forests, black shapes could be seen, circling madly in the lightning-washed sky.
‘Lay them low,’ Torgaddon ordered. Moy nodded and began to gather munitions. ‘Find Captain Tarvitz,’ Torgaddon called. ‘He’ll show you how to do it.’
LOKEN REMAINED ON the strategium for the first three hours after the drop, long enough to celebrate Torgaddon’s signal from the surface. The speartip had secured the drop-site, and formed up with the residue of Lord Eidolon’s company. After that, the atmosphere had become, strangely, more tense. They were waiting to hear Torgaddon’s field decision. Abaddon, cautious and closed, had already ordered stormbirds prepped for extraction flights. Aximand paced, silently. The Warmaster had withdrawn into his sanctum with Maloghurst.
Loken leant at the strategium rail for a while, overlooking the bustle of the vast bridge below, and discussed tactics with Tybalt Marr. Marr and Moy were both sons of Horus, cast in his image so firmly that they looked like identical twins. At some point in the Legion’s history, they had earned the nicknames ‘the Either’ and the ‘the Or’, referring to the fact that they were almost interchangeable. It was often hard to distinguish between them, they were so alike. One might do as well as the other.
Both were competent field officers, with a rack of victories each that would make any captain proud, though neither had attained the glories of Sedirae or Abaddon. They were precise, efficient and workmanlike in their leadership, but they were Luna Wolves, and what was workmanlike to that fraternity was exemplary to any other regiment.
As Marr spoke, it became clear to Loken that he was envious of his ‘twin’s’ selection to the undertaking. It was Horus’s habit to send both or neither. They worked well together, complementing one another, as if somehow anticipating one another’s decisions, but the ballot for the speartip had been democratic and fair. Moy had won a place. Marr had not.
Marr rattled on to Loken, evidently sublimating his worries about his brother’s fate.
After a while, Qruze came over to join them at the rail.
Iacton Qruze was an anachronism. Ancient and rather tiresome, he had been a captain in the Legion since its inception, his prominence entirely eclipsed once Horus had been repatriated and given command by the Emperor. He was the product of another era, a throwback to the years of the Unification Wars and the bad old times, stubborn and slightly cantankerous, a vestigial trace of the way the Legion had gone about things in antiquity.
‘Brothers,’ he greeted them as he came up. Qruze still had a habit, perhaps unconscious, of making the salute of the single clenched fist against his breast, the old pro-Unity symbol, rather than the double-handed eagle. He had a long, tanned face, deeply lined with creases and folds, and his hair was white. He spoke softly, expecting others to make the effort to listen, and believed that it was his quiet tone that had, over the years, earned him the nickname ‘the Half-Heard’.
Loken knew this wasn’t so. Qruze’s wits were not as sharp as they’d once been, and he often appeared tired or inappropriate in his commentary or advice. He was known as ‘the Half-Heard’ because his pronouncements were best not listened to too closely.
Qruze believed he stood as a wise father-figure to the Legion, and no one had the spite to inform him otherwise. There had been several quiet attempts to deprive him of company command, just as Qruze had made several attempts to become elected to the first captaincy.
By duration of service, he should have been so long since. Loken believed that the Warmaster regarded Qruze with some pity and couldn’t abide the idea of retiring him. Qruze was an irksome relic, regarded by the rest of them with equal measures of affection and frustration, who could not accept that the Legion had matured and advanced without him.
‘We will be out of this in a day,’ he announced categorically to Loken and Marr. ‘You mark my words, young men. A day, and the commander will order extraction.’
‘Tarik is doing well,’ Loken began.
‘The boy Torgaddon has been lucky, but he cannot press this to a conclusion. You mark my words. In and out, in a day.’
‘I wish I was down there,’ Marr said.
