Saturnine

by Dan Abnett

  At the mouth of Omicron, the slaughter was almost done. Gallor had brought Seventh in through another assault door, and the two kill teams had pincered Vincor between them in the open space. The fight had turned into blunt execution.

  Leod Baldwin had been wounded, but was still on his feet.

  ‘Good work,’ Loken told him. ‘Get to the infirmary.’

  ‘When we’re finished,’ Baldwin replied.

  Loken walked through the smoke to greet Gallor.

  ‘How are we faring?’ Loken asked as they clasped hands quickly.

  ‘Quite the tally,’ Gallor replied. ‘Feels like we’ve gutted the best part of two companies between us all. Brightest and Black Dog are still engaged.’

  ‘Strife?’

  ‘Took a mauling,’ said Gallor. ‘Garro and the bits of Strife that made it through went with Haar’s mob.’

  They both turned at the sound of a long, drawn-out rumble.

  That keeps happening,’ said Gallor. ‘Trickster says the place is caving in. The undermining has turned some of the zones into sinkholes. But that Land fellow is pouring his concoction in, so I’m told.’

  ‘They’re sealing the flaw?’

  Gallor nodded. ‘Any bastards that haven’t shown their heads yet will be trapped. Some justice.’

  Loken realised his vox had been torn out with his helmet.

  ‘Raise Trickster,’ he said to Gallor. ‘Ask them if they have any more work for us.’

  ‘Trickster? This is Seventh, with Naysmith,’ Gallor said into his link. ‘Requesting target tracks.’

  * * *

  ‘Acknowledged, Seventh’ said Elg. ‘Stand by.’

  ‘Any tracks remaining?’ Diamantis asked her.

  ‘Nothing on sweep, or Grand Borealis acoustics,’ she replied. ‘Magos Land’s efforts may have entombed any extant infiltration units.’

  ‘Maintain tracking pattern,’ said the Huscarl.

  ‘Of course,’ she replied.

  ‘Some may yet break through,’ said Diamantis. ‘Land’s process will be effective, but it will take time to pump sufficient material into the fault.’

  ‘The magos estimated six hours and forty-three minutes to achieve full seal,’ she said.

  ‘He was that precise?’ asked Diamantis.

  Elg smiled. ‘He gave it in seconds too, but I thought that was superfluous.’

  ‘So how long now?’ Diamantis asked.

  ‘Flow has been running for two hours and seven minutes, lord,’ said an operator.

  Diamantis stepped back, and ran a hand across his cropped hair.

  ‘Any word from the wall?’ he asked.

  ‘The hardline is down again,’ said an operator.

  Diamantis scowled.

  ‘Surely we’d know, lord,’ said Sindermann.

  ‘Know what?’ Diamantis asked him.

  ‘If…’ Sindermann began. ‘If our efforts here have been to no avail.

  If we were doomed by other means…’

  ‘Diamantis?’

  The Huscarl looked back at Elg. She was frowning at a side monitor.

  ‘What, mistress?’

  ‘According to these readings, the sealant flow has stopped,’ she said. ‘Level register has not altered in the last four minutes. The pumps have shut down.’

  ‘Clogged nozzles?’ said Ahlborn.

  Diamantis ignored him, and took the mic from the hook.

  ‘This is Trickster,’ he said. ‘Magos, report status.’

  He waited.

  ‘Magos, this is Trickster. Report your running status. We show you stopped. What is the situation?’

  He looked at Elg.

  ‘No response,’ he said.

  ‘If there’s a technical issue, he’s probably working on it,’ suggested Sindermann.

  ‘Or he’s lost in some mathematical puzzle, and isn’t paying attention,’ said Diamantis.

  ‘I’ll go and see to it, lord’ said Ahlborn.

  * * *

  Arkhan Land perched at the very edge of his work stool. On his bench, his artificimian cowered, wide-eyed, in the small cage Diamantis had permitted Land to bring.

  ‘I suppose,’ Land said, ‘you’re going to kill me?’

  ‘I might,’ said Horus Aximand. ‘I might just do that.’

  ‘You killed everybody else,’ said Land.

  Aximand glanced down at the blood-soaked bodies of Land’s team.

  ‘I did,’ he agreed. He pointed Mourn-it-All‘s tip at Land. ‘I have had a miserable day, in my defence,’ he said. ‘I had to scramble up through a filthy, stinking hole in the ground. I didn’t know where I was. All I knew was that everything – everything – was mined. I had to take that out on somebody. These idiots were the first somebodies I found.’

  ‘Also,’ said Land carefully, ‘there’s a war on. And they were enemy personnel.’

  ‘Well yes, obviously, that too,’ said Little Horus.

  ‘But you let me live?’

  ‘They were servitors and adepts,’ said Aximand. ‘You’re clearly a magos of some sort. In charge of all this.’

  He gestured with his free hand at the ‘this’: the bulk tanks and pumping rigs around them.

  ‘I needed you alive to shut it down,’ he said. ‘Because this filth is part of the reason everything’s mined. You did do that, didn’t you?’

  ‘You watched me.’

  ‘It’s definitely shut down?’

  ‘The pumps are off,’ said Land. ‘I suppose I’m surplus to requirements now?’

  ‘No,’ said Aximand, stepping closer to him. ‘You’re smart. In charge of this area. You’re going to show me the way out.’

  ‘Out?’

  ‘Of here. Into the Palace.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘I haven’t decided,’ said Aximand.

  ‘You’re alone,’ said Land. ‘What could you do, alone, in the Sanctum Imperialis?’

  ‘A lot of damage,’ said Aximand. ‘An incredible amount of damage. One man is hard to find. Hard to stop. I could complete the mission.’

  ‘A one-man spear-tip?’

  Aximand glared at him. ‘Have you any idea who I am?’ he asked.

  ‘Horus Aximand, Mournival, Sons of Horus,’ replied Land. ‘Called Little Horus. Not the Horus we were hoping for.’

  Aximand snatched up his sword. Then he lowered Moum-it-All slowly.

  ‘Clever,’ he said, smiling. ‘You’re trying to goad me. Force me into killing you so I can’t coerce your help.’

  Land shrugged. ‘Speaking as someone who has been on his own for most of his life,’ he said, ‘doing his best to wage a one-man war to set things right, I can tell you, Horus Aximand, your chances aren’t good. You need allies. Friends. Comrades. No one man will turn this. No one man will win it. That’s what I’ve found.’

  ‘Oh, you’re right,’ said Aximand. ‘But luckily, I’ve got you. Get on your feet. Show me the way. Open the locks and the secure access. Lead me out of here, and take me into the Palace.’

  Land sat back. He folded his arms. He looked Aximand in the eyes.

  ‘No,’ Land said. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Wrong answer,’ said Aximand, pressing the tip of his blade against Land’s throat.

  The bolter shell hit Aximand in the left shoulder, shredding his pauldron and hurling him backwards.

  ‘Land! Get out of the damn way!’ Diamantis yelled, advancing down the walkway between the sealant tanks, bolt pistol aimed.

  Land threw himself sideways. The Huscarl fired again, but the bolt went wide, and tore up deck plates. Aximand rolled, his shoulder smoking, and fired his bolter in reply.

  The shell detonated against Diamantis’ left hip, and slammed him into the side of a store-tank. Aximand got up and ran in the opposite direction, ducking in among the lab’s pump systems.

  Down on one knee, blood leaking from his wound, Diamantis grimaced, and aimed again.r />
  ‘No!’ Land yelled, running to him. ‘No more!’

  ‘He’s-‘ Diamantis began.

  ‘Blast away with those things in here, and you’ll hit something critical!’ Land exclaimed. ‘Blow out a pump, Huscarl, and we’ll never seal the fault!’ He tried to help Diamantis to his feet.

  ‘Get me to the link,’ the Huscarl growled.

  ‘You couldn’t take him down with one shot?’ Land asked.

  ‘You were in the way!’

  ‘I thought you were supposed to be good?’

  ‘You were in the damn way!’

  Diamantis grunted with pain as he reached the desk, and leaned his weight on it. He grabbed the vox.

  ‘This is Trickster! This is Trickster!’ he yelled. ‘Traitor Astartes loose in the operation area! I repeat, Traitor Astartes loose. He was in the pump lab, now moving! One of the damn Sons-‘

  ‘Mournival,’ said Land. ‘Aximand.’

  ‘-one of the Mournival!’ Diamantis spat into the mic. ‘Response urgent! Target is not, I repeat, not contained in the zones mortalis! He is at large in the support areas!’

  He put the mic down, wincing in pain.

  ‘You’re bleeding quite a lot,’ said Land.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I think your whole hip is-‘

  ‘I am aware, magos.’

  ‘How did you know?’ asked Land.

  Diamantis looked at him. ‘The pumps had stopped,’ he said with effort. ‘I thought I’d come in person and find out what you were playing at myself.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Land.

  ‘He forced you to shut them off?’

  Land nodded. ‘He had a sword, which he was clearly prepared to use-‘

  Diamantis glared at him, breathing hard to control his body’s response to pain and blood loss. ‘So turn them on again!’ he barked.

  ‘Yes! That! Of course!’ Land ran to the main system station. He started hauling back the heavy levers of power switches. There was a churning, sloshing noise from the row of tanks, and the pumps began to rumble again, one by one.

  ‘I hope the nozzles haven’t clogged…’ Land remarked.

  Every breath an effort, Diamantis snatched up the mic again with a bloody hand.

  ‘This is Trickster,’ he said. ‘I repeat advisory. Traitor Astartes loose in the operation and support areas. Target is Mournival. I repeat, Traitor Astartes loose. Vicinal pump lab, now moving. Someone respond now!’

  * * *

  Gallor listened to his earpiece carefully.

  ‘There’s one loose,’ he reported. ‘One got through the zones. Loose in operations and support. Trickster says it’s one of the Mournival.’

  Loken was already moving.

  ‘Spread out,’ Gallor yelled to the kill teams. ‘Systematic search, chamber to chamber! Find him!’

  * * *

  Two Termite wrecks smouldered in Mortalis Kappa, surrounded by the corpses of the Sons of Horus they had tried to deliver. Haar left his men checking for survivors, and walked through the arch into Mortalis Lambda, where another Termite wreck lay surrounded by a ring of black-armoured dead. Garro was standing with Bel Sepatus. The two kill squads, along with Garro’s remnants, had combined to meet the three simultaneous incursions.

  They had been mercilessly precise.

  ‘One hundred and seventy-five kills,’ said Haar with a grin. ‘Biggest haul yet, and only nine of ours lost. You know, I wish I was able to see the dismay on their damn faces as they stepped into your sights.’ He paused. ‘What?’ he asked.

  Sepatus was listening to his link.

  ‘There’s a stray one,’ Garro said to Haar. ‘Got through into operations. Trickster is assigning a kill team.’

  ‘Just one?’ rumbled the Riven Hound.

  ‘Mournival,’ said Garro.

  ‘Even so,’ Haar said. ‘He can’t get far. He might as well be dead already.’

  Sepatus looked at them. ‘I have requested we be permitted to deploy and join the hunt,’ he said.

  ‘And?’ asked Haar. ‘I fancy getting some Mournival red on my fist.

  I hear they make the effort worthwhile.’

  Garro snorted.

  ‘I am waiting for Trickster to give the word,’ said Sepatus, glancing at them both with a lofty air. ‘If the main board remains clear of target tracks for another five minutes-‘

  The bang of decompression drowned out his next words. They were bathed in frosty light.

  Sons of Horus snapped solid out of the air all around them, in the midst of the two kill teams, throughout Kappa and Lambda.

  Cataphractii. First Company. One hundred brothers of the infamous Justaerin Terminator section, the most feared and notorious warrior elite of the XVI.

  One hundred warriors, and First Captain Abaddon.

  Havoc ignited.

  FOUR

  * * *

  Oanis burning

  Just us and the monsters

  Brother against brother

  Below the burning walls of Oanis guntower, Fulgrim smiled. His teeth gleamed in the firelight. His long white hair blew out in the night wind, dancing like the vast tongues of flames above him.

  ‘You’re very young,’ he said.

  He crouched beside the Imperial Fist sprawled on the wall top.

  ‘Very young. New to this,’ he whispered.

  Madius was trying to crawl. His bones were as broken as his warplate. He had lost his helm somewhere, and his face was drenched in blood. Every shaking move took supreme effort, every centimetre he dragged himself through the slick of his own blood was a triumph of will.

  ‘Are you trying to escape?’ Fulgrim asked. He tutted. ‘I don’t think you’re supposed to do that. Your father doesn’t like it. You’re supposed to stand and fight. But then, you are new. Maybe no one’s had time to tell you the rules.’

  The Phoenician looked around. Across the broad top of the

  Saturnine Wall, his children were massacring the wallguard garrison. Still more of his children were arriving through the void breach, via drop pods, or scaling the bulwarks from wall-base deployments. The Sonance had shut down. The guns of the Saturnine Wall, still firing, had begun to disintegrate the vulnerable Donjons, destroying all the beautiful instruments they carried. The siege engines were collapsing in vast fire clouds that lit up the face of the wall like sunrise. It was a shame, but the carriers and the instruments had finished their performance anyway. The III Legion were in. They had claimed a rampart of the Ultimate Wall.

  ‘I’ll tell you this,’ said Fulgrim gently. ‘Even if you could run, and you can’t with those poor legs of yours, mind, I don’t think you could escape. There’s no sanctuary here.’ He glanced at the Palace beyond them. ‘Soon, there won’t be any sanctuary anywhere,’ he added.

  He looked down at the Imperial Fist again. Madius was still crawling, gasping and straining with each tiny movement he managed to make.

  ‘Poor frightened child,’ Fulgrim said. ‘There, there.’ His face darkened. ‘Oh, I see,’ he said. ‘You’re not trying to escape. You’re trying to reach that.’

  He glanced at the chipped gladius that lay a metre or so in front of the young captain. Madius’ bloody fingers were clawing towards it.

  Fulgrim stood up. ‘You don’t want that,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a much nicer one.’

  He drew his long, single-edged sword, and took it in a two-handed grip.

  ‘See?’ he said.

  He raised his arms to strike.

  Something hit him. Something cannoned into him, and staggered him backwards. Something hacked at him. Something was hurting him.

  Fulgrim wrenched backwards. Sigismund kept swinging, his powerblade scoring and cracking Fulgrim’s beautiful armour.

  ‘Get off!’ Fulgrim exclaimed. ‘Get away from me!’ He was three times the Templar’s size. He kicked out, like a man kicking at an aggressive dog, and knocked Sigismund backwards. Sigismun
d rolled, and came back to his feet. He swung his blade, two-handed, into Fulgrim’s thigh.

  The Phoenician shrieked, more in indignation than pain. The shriek was attuned across strange pitches, and it shivered the stones of the wall. He snatched Sigismund up by the throat with one hand. The blade, still bound to Sigismund’s wrist by its chains, pulled out of the wound. Choking, Sigismund grabbed the dangling blade, and struck repeatedly at the giant holding him. He lopped off a lock of the Phoenician’s hair. Then he cut his lip.

  Fulgrim shrieked again, and flung Sigismund away. The Templar sailed five metres, hit the wall of Oanis Tower, and dropped onto the platform.

  ‘How dare you!’ Fulgrim yelled, striding towards where Sigismund lay. He staunched his split lip with one hand, and spun his long sword in the other.

  ‘Sigismund’s courage sometimes outstrips his abilities.’

  Fulgrim stopped. He turned. He smiled with blood-pinked teeth.

  Rogal Dorn glared back at him. He flexed his grip on his raised greatsword.

  ‘Mine doesn’t,’ said Dorn.

  * * *

  When Sanguinius rose above them, it was as a wonder. They had all truly thought he had abandoned them. He seemed to shine like a star, his wings unfurled.

  Rann thought of the moment, which now seemed years past, but had only been days before, when the Great Angel had come to them at the Bar’s outworks, and driven back the traitor engines. Rann had believed he would never see a greater deed, not if he lived ten thousand years.

  This simpler deed seemed greater.

  And it was not a triumph of arms, a single-handed assault on a belching Titan machine. He was just appearing when they had believed he had gone, soaring like an eagle when they thought he had flown from them.

  Their hearts lifted with him. Their tired spirits rose.

  ‘The Great Angel is with us!’ Rann yelled. The Great Angel is with us!’

  They were all yelling. Every loyal warrior on the fourth circuit wall.

  Against iron and steel and fire and smoke, most things cannot stand. Hope seems weak, and effort overwhelmed. A symbol rallies men against the dark. It shields hope from the fire, and armours effort against iron. A flag, a standard raised, a ray of light, a banner held aloft, a winged figure ascending, alive with light. At burning, crippled Gorgon Bar, the sons of Terra knew they could not die, for the Angel Sanguinius flew above them, and he, like his father, could never, ever die.