The Imperial Truth

by Laurie Goulding

  Truly, he is depraved.

  Mocking laughter erupts from Fulgrim, his arrogance boundless even in the face of incandescent hatred. Savagely, my father lashes out and rips the shoulder guard from Fulgrim's otherwise pristine armour. If I could make a fist in triumph, I would. With gathering momentum, the Gorgon turns inside the Phoenician's guard and makes to thrust with Fireblade.

  My eyes widen in anticipation of victory...

  But Fulgrim counters, faster than any warrior has a right to, and turns the blow aside before crafting one of his own that strikes my father's skull.

  Anguish rises with the blood in my gorge, but I dare not look away. I could not even if I wanted to.

  Ferrus Manus is staggered, bowed on one knee but resolute. Blood is streaming from his head, drenching him in a red shroud. Gritting his teeth, he finds a gap in the Phoenician's otherwise flawless guard and cuts deep across his torso.

  Fulgrim falls back, Forgebreaker no longer in his grasp as he clutches at his body. On their knees, they stare at one another, but I am struck by the Phoenician's apparent melancholy. I suspect lucidity has already fled, for I look upon Fulgrim and see true sadness. It is usurped by acceptance as Ferrus Manus rises to his feet.

  Fireblade hangs aloft like a frozen comet, burning.

  I am about to commit myself to duty's end. Death has stayed its hand and I am thankful for it.

  But the fatal blow does not fall. I blink and wonder if I have missed some crucial moment.

  A silver blade flashes in Fulgrim's grip. It halts Fireblade mid-swing, but the burning sword is descending all the same.

  A harsh flash of light hurts my eyes, but I no longer have the strength to look away. An aura, dark and eldritch, has enveloped both primarchs - I see Fulgrim on his feet and my father back on his knees, his armour parted as though it were parchment.

  I want to cry out, to rage at the wrongness of it. Fate has been thwarted. As I near death, I see it, I see the thing inside the Phoenician. It is writhing and serpentine, yet the flesh-host around it is staggering, bereft of his usual finesse.

  Fulgrim's eyes widen, and as they meet my own, I see his terror. I see the desperate urgency in him that screams not to kill his brother.

  The blow falls. I cannot stop it. Iron skin shears apart, cleaved by amethyst fire.

  I detect the reek of something spoiled, rotten meat and old flesh. Rolling over the slopes, surging from some unseen place come katabatic winds. They wash over me, over the dead, and I hear voices trapped within them.

  They are screaming.

  There are voices within the screams, beckoning me on. They come from the Land of Shadows, from Medusa, where the revenants of old, long forgotten lives still walk. They come for me, the slain warriors of the Clan Avernii, reaching out to take me with them, to grant me peace.

  I recoil as their faces change, as noble Medusan sons devolve into wraithly phantoms. Fingers wither into talons, eyes shrink into orbless sockets. They seek to drag me into the darkness, and I have just enough will left to deny them their soul-feast.

  Upon the Isstvan plain, a chilling tempest rages, with my dead father and his killers at the heart of it. I see the essence of life leaving the Gorgon through his severed neck. His head lies separate from it, glassy-eyed and etched with rage.

  As the wind dies, I feel my torment just beginning.

  Fulgrim stoops, although it isn't the Phoenician. With one hand, he seizes my father's cropped hair and presents the bloody head to me.

  I do not see a primarch - I behold a monster. My closeness to death has gifted me that truth.

  And in that moment, as my heart beats its last and a final breath saws painfully through my lungs, I realise what faces us. I can see it dearly.

  I see that we-

  BY THE LION'S COMMAND

  Gav Thorpe

  'SENESCHAL, DO WE open fire?'

  Chapter Master Belath's question cut across the din of warning klaxons. Corswain tore his eyes from the sensor display, away from the runes that showed traitor ships arrowing towards the centre of the fleet like a spear aimed for his heart. Signal returns confirmed that they were the same Death Guard ships that he had chased across twelve devastated star systems.

  'What are the separatists doing?' the seneschal demanded as he looked to Urizel, who was overseeing the augury consoles.

  'Their vessels are powering up, seneschal. No locking scans detected,' The legionary leaned over the wasted forms of the slaved servitors to examine the main screen. 'Reactor spikes in the orbital stations. Weapons are arming. Torpedo tubes are closed.'

  Corswain took the news without comment while Belath paced back and forth across the quarterdeck of the strategium, whispering curses.

  'If you have something to say,' Corswain muttered, 'then speak it.'

  'I was merely regretting the decision to come to Argeus without the full Legion, seneschal,' Belath replied, regaining his composure.

  'My decision, you mean. You raised little objection at the command council.'

  'With respect, seneschal, it is of no consequence how we come to be here. Do we open fire on the separatists? We cannot allow them the first volley,'

  Corswain turned. 'Do not open fire! Manoeuvre the fleet to counter the Death Guard approach. All ships to reform on our position.'

  'That will bring more of the fleet into range of the orbital platforms and expose us to the rebels,' Belath protested.

  'I issued an order, Chapter Master. I did not invite opinion. We will meet the Death Guard in battle.'

  'But the rebels-'

  'President-General Remercus has observed the agreed truce thus far. If the separatists wished to attack us, they have already had ample opportunity:

  'Unless they were waiting for something.'

  'Carry out my orders.' Corswain did not shout, but his curt tone forestalled any further debate.

  Belath nodded reluctantly and moved to the communications array to one side of the command deck. From here he relayed the order to the other eleven Dark Angels vessels currently standing off from the so-called 'Free Army of Terra Nullius'.

  It was not the first time that the Dark Angels had encountered a world that had ceded from the Imperium and yet not dedicated itself to Horus; it was, however, the most military. Seven capital ships and transports for more than three hundred thousand men had gathered at this proclaimed safe haven. It was a force that could conquer whole systems, idly waiting for the civil war to resolve itself.

  On the display, the lead ships of the Death Guard fleet approached the outlying Dark Angels vessels. The three smaller escort ships retreated towards the strike cruisers and battle-barges of the main fleet, speeding out of range before they came under any fire.

  It was no satisfaction to Corswain that the Librarians' telepathic auguries of the traitor fleet's location had been proven true. If only he had shown more faith in their abilities, then he would not now be outnumbered and out of position between two potential foes.

  'Communications - send priority transmission to the President-General. Redirect to my quarters.'

  Belath frowned. 'You're leaving the strategium?'

  'You may be new to the command of the Second Order, Chapter Master, but I have every confidence you will respond properly to this attack. I have other matters that demand my attention.'

  As Corswain departed the strategium, two legionaries from his personal guard fell in behind their commander. He stopped to address them.

  'Return to the command deck to assist Chapter Master Belath. Be sure to remind him that he is not to fire on the Free Army, or their orbital stations, unless they directly target us.'

  The Space Marines saluted in acknowledgement and turned away, leaving Corswain to walk unattended. His kept the vox-channel open to monitor the unfolding fleet action - in the two minutes it took him to reach the door of his personal chambers, the Death Guard had broken off their headlong rush, having failed to take the pickets unawares with their ambush. It seemed that they
were regrouping for a more concerted thrust towards the Dark Angels.

  As the door hissed closed behind him, Corswain slumped against the wall beside it, his armour whining as it strove to match his sagging frame. The seneschal closed his eyes and rested his head against the bare metal, trying to think.

  'A foolish errand,' he muttered, echoing the words Grand Master Haradin had spoken at the council.

  Perhaps it had been foolish, but the council had demanded - albeit in a veiled manner - that Corswain take the lead.

  A sharp crack cut through the raised voices as Corswain slammed his sheathed sword onto the worn wood of the table. The Seneschal of the Dark Angels glared at the assembled Masters of the Legion.

  'Shouting at cross-purposes gets us nowhere.'

  Silenced for the moment, the eight commanders sat back in their seats, glowering at one another. Corswain took a breath and looked to each of them in turn. They regarded him warily.

  'What else would you have me do?' he demanded. 'The Lion's last command, a command he gave to me in person, was to bring word of his actions to Lord Russ of the Space Wolves, and to engage the enemy wherever possible.'

  'The enemy are to be found everywhere, Russ nowhere,' said Haradin, Grand Master of the Third Order. Two of his Chapter Masters, Nerael and Zanthus, nodded their approval. 'Was it really the Lion's intent to split the Legion over so many systems?'

  'We are but fifteen thousand light years from Caliban,' said Astrovel, Fourth Chapter Master of the Seventh Order. 'We should see first to the defence of our home world.' He shook his head, his scarred face grim. 'The Lion would give us short regard if we chased after this Death Guard traitor, only to allow the foe to fall upon Caliban as they have hundreds of other worlds.'

  'We chase shadows,' said Haradin. 'A dozen systems we have scoured for this foe, and we find each in uproar or destroyed, tainted by his presence. He leads us away from the strength of the Death Guard on purpose - I would swear to it.'

  Corswain looked to his right, where Dalmeon stood to one side of the council, and the Librarian stepped closer to the table at a gesture from the seneschal. 'l cannot divine his intent, but we have had some success in finding his location. There are certain portents that we believe point to Typhon's next target. The warp is in turmoil, riven by the powers of darkness, and wherever we look we see destruction and despair. Despite this, our auguries point to the Argeus system, some two hundred light years from our present position.'

  'Thank you, Dalmeon.' Corswain looked at the other commanders. 'We cannot know where Mortarion and the rest of the Death Guard linger, but we have unfinished business with Typhon.'

  'Surely you don't intend to move all of our forces on this evidence?' said Haradin. 'With no offence to our brother Librarian, such visions could amount to nothing. A foolish errand.'

  'You are right,' Corswain sighed, lifting his sword from the table and hooking it back onto his belt. 'Warp-scrying has never been an exact art.'

  'The empyrean is a fickle power,' said Astrovel, regarding Dalmeon with narrowed eyes. 'It was for good reason that the Emperor forbade the use of such... talents.'

  'That matter was settled by the Lion,' said Corswain. 'Needs dictate a new perspective.'

  'A perspective Brother-Redemptor Nemiel did not share,' said Astwvel. 'I would not countermand the will of the Lion, but we cannot know his full intent in such matters.'

  'I think the Lion made his position perfectly clear,' said Haradin. 'At least, there is no further argument from Nemiel, is there?'

  'This gossip is pointless,' snapped Corswain. 'Were the Lion here, such words would not flow so easily from your lips, Grand Master. I am his authority now - you will show me equal respect.'

  'So I ask again, what do you intend for the Legion?' asked Haradin. 'This is the third council you have brought me to, and yet our objective is no clearer and no closer than before the first.'

  'Watch your tongue, brother,' glowered Belath, newly promoted to command of the Second Order. 'Your accusations are not needed here. The Lion named Corswain as his second. Surely you do not dispute the wishes of the primarch?'

  Haradin stared in silence at him. Corswain knew the veteran Grand Master's words had not been intended as an insult - simply a goad for him to make a decision. Corswain felt the gazes of the council upon him and wondered why the Lion had chosen him for this task; he wished that another had been placed in command. But that was not to be, and Corswain had sworn to his primarch that he would lead in his stead. A decision had to be made.

  'You are right,' Corswain said again, directing his words to Haradin. 'To send the whole fleet on such scant information would be foolish. The Legion will break by Orders, and I will travel with Belath and the Second. We will move to Argeus to find the truth of the matter, with force sufficient for the

  task if Typhon is to be found there. The rest of you will continue our search of the neighbouring systems, to locate the Space Wolves or bring the fight to the enemy as you find them.'

  'That is your command?' asked Haradin, looking unconvinced.

  'It is,' said Corswain. 'Spread word to the rest of the Legion. The fleet will disperse in twelve hours.'

  The Grand Master shrugged. 'As you order, seneschal, so we will obey.'

  'Seneschal, we have contact with President-General Remercus.'

  Corswain opened his eyes and strode across the small antechamber to the communications monitor. He entered his cipher code and the screen flickered into life, revealing the face of the separatists' leader.

  When Corswain had first met him, Remercus had seemed surprisingly young; a slight man no more than forty Terran years of age. His hair was cut short, but there were threads of grey in his carefully trimmed beard.

  'As I predicted, you have brought your war to Terra Nullius, Corswain. I warned you that your presence here made mockery of our neutrality.'

  'The Death Guard were already here,' Corswain replied, keeping his temper in check. 'It is convenient, is it not, that they eluded detection by your fleet.'

  'I do not doubt that the eyes of the Legiones Astartes can see into every asteroid field and dust cloud, but those of the Free Army cannot. Perhaps they followed your fleet to the system. I find it a remarkable coincidence that both the Dark Angels and Death Guard happen upon our world in such a short space of time.'

  'It is no coincidence, Remercus. We have hunted this fleet for a hundred days. We would have brought them to battle somewhere. Perhaps the greater coincidence is finding them here where so many ships and soldiers of the Imperium stand idle.'

  'We have debated this before; do you wish to have the same arguments again, Corswain? Terra Nullius is not interested in this war waged amongst the Legions. If either fleet attempts to land troops on our planet, we will protect ourselves.'

  The internal vox-link crackled into life before Corswain could reply, temporarily muting the President-General. It was Belath.

  'Seneschal, the Death Guard are five minutes from effective range. The fleet is performing defensive manoeuvres but it would be wise to launch a pre-emptive strike. They outgun us, Corswain. We cannot allow them to gain the upper hand in position as well.'

  Corswain sighed. 'Remain within range of the orbital batteries. Launch anti-torpedo drones and attack craft. Manoeuvre for line of engagement.'

  'We have little room to move, seneschal. To form a line of battle will take us into the Free Army vessels. We waste time while you treat with these rebels.'

  'I am fully aware of the strategic situation, Chapter Master, and I will judge the best use of my time. Execute my commands.'

  Corswain severed the link and turned his attention back to the President-General.

  'Time is pressing, so I will be frank. There is no neutrality in this war. There are no bystanders. You say it is waged by the Legiones Astartes. Perhaps, but billions have died already that did not seek conflict.'

  'Is that a threat, Seneschal Corswain of the Dark Angels?'

  Remercus looke
d away for a moment and exchanged words with someone, too quietly for Corswain to hear over the transmission. When he turned back to the communicator, his eyes were wide with anger.

  'You move your ships towards my fleet? A cowardly tactic, using poorly armed transports as shields against your enemies. You show your true colours too soon, Corswain. Just as during the Great Crusade, you will build your victory upon the bodies of much humbler men.'

  'Countless dead legionaries would stand as argument to that accusation.' Corswain replied, riled by the implication of Remercus's words. 'How many of my brothers lie dead thanks to the frailties of the humble? How many of my brothers laid down their lives to stem a breach in the line opened by fleeing cowards, or died in the first assault so that Imperial Army regiments could advance uncontested? You know your words are as empty as the promises of Horus.'

  'I have heard no such promises, if that is your meaning. What manner of man are you that you so desire war you cannot comprehend the motives of those of us who would desire a life without it?'

  Another report from Belath punctured Corswain's indignation, giving him a moment to collect his thoughts. 'Seneschal, the Free Army ships are dispersing.'

  'The Death Guard should be your only concern, Chapter Master. What are they doing?'

  'Forming up for an attack against our line. We need to turn and match them, or they will be able to concentrate their firepower on one part of the fleet.'

  'What heading?'

  'Seneschal?'

  'On what heading are the Death Guard approaching, Chapter Master? Against which part of the fleet will they bring their attack to bear?' There was a pause while Belath retrieved this information.

  'They are coming for us, seneschal. Wrath's Descent would appear to be at the centre of their attack axis. We should bring the vanguard about to support.'

  'All ships are to remain on course as previously ordered. The Death Guard attack is a feint. They would not dare to come within range of the orbital batteries.'