Fulgrim

by Graham McNeill

  Even though nothing remained of the Old One within a Dreadnought’s sarcophagus, save a ruined body hung in amniotic suspension, there was still a beating heart and living brain at its core. All he could sense from this monstrous creation was death, as though whatever dwelled within was little more than a ghost somehow bound to a lifeless shell.

  Fulgrim nodded towards Eldrad and said, ‘Very well, Eldrad Ulthran of Craftworld Ulthwé, you may deal with me as a representative of the Emperor of Mankind.’

  Eldrad nodded graciously and gestured towards the low table. ‘Sit, please, and let us talk and eat as travellers who find themselves on the same road.’

  ‘That would be pleasant,’ said Fulgrim, gracefully lowering himself to the ground and indicating that his captains should do the same, introducing each of them as they sat. Solomon adjusted his sword and sat at the table as the skimming tanks pivoted smoothly in the air and a ramp lowered gently to the ground from their rears.

  Solomon sensed the tension in his fellow Astartes. He could almost feel the Phoenix Guard tighten their grips on their halberds. But no assault came from the interior of the vehicles, only a group of white-robed eldar bearing platters of food. They moved with such amazing poise and grace that their feet seemed to glide across the grass towards the table.

  The platters were deposited, and Solomon saw that a feast had been laid before them: choice cuts of the most tender meat, fresh fruit and pungent cheese.

  ‘Eat,’ said Eldrad.

  Fulgrim helped himself to meat and fruit as did Lord Commander Vespasian, but Eidolon refrained from eating. Julius and Marius likewise helped themselves, but for once, Solomon found himself in accordance with Eidolon and took nothing from the platters.

  He noticed that Eldrad did not touch the meat, but ate only sparingly from a bowl of fruit.

  ‘Does your kind not eat meat?’ asked Solomon.

  Eldrad turned his large oval eyes upon him, and Solomon felt as though he were a butterfly pinned to a wall. He saw great sadness in the farseer’s eyes and, reflected in their ageless depths, he saw echoes of the great deeds he might yet achieve.

  ‘I do not eat meat, Captain Demeter,’ said Eldrad. ‘It is too rich for my palate, but you should try some, I am told it is very good.’

  Solomon shook his head. ‘No. What interests me more is why you choose now to reveal yourself to us. It is my belief that you have been shadowing us ever since we arrived here.’

  Fulgrim shot him an irritated glance, but Eldrad pretended not to see it.

  ‘Since you ask, Captain Demeter, yes, we have been shadowing you, for it is a curious thing to see your ships abroad in this region of space,’ said Eldrad. ‘We had thought that it was shrouded from your kind. How is it that you managed to reach it?’

  Fulgrim put down his food and said, ‘You have been shadowing us?’

  ‘Merely a precaution,’ said Eldrad, ‘for the worlds you have encountered in your travels belong to the eldar race.’

  ‘They do?’

  ‘Indeed,’ confirmed Eldrad. ‘When first we realised you were traversing our territory, we thought to attack, but when we saw that you simply passed onwards without attempting to settle worlds that were not yours, I desired to know why.’

  ‘I knew that to despoil such beautiful worlds would be wrong,’ said Fulgrim.

  ‘It would have been wrong,’ agreed Eldrad. ‘These maiden worlds have been awaiting the coming of my people for aeons. To try and take them from us would have been a grave mistake.’

  ‘Is that a threat?’ asked Fulgrim.

  ‘A promise,’ warned Eldrad. ‘You have displayed a restraint we have not come to expect from your race, Lord Fulgrim. After all, you are led by a warrior known as the Warmaster and your aim is to conquer the galaxy for your own kind, regardless of the sovereignty or desires of the races with which you share it. I do not mean to antagonise you when I say that this is monstrously arrogant.’

  Solomon expected Fulgrim’s anger to be incandescent, but the primarch merely smiled and said, ‘I am no expert on history, but did your race not once claim to have ruled the galaxy?’

  ‘Claim? We did rule it once, and it was thanks to our arrogance and complacence that we lost it. But do not ask of such things again, for I will speak no more of those lost days.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Fulgrim, ‘Empires rise and fall, civilisations come and go. For each it is tragic, but it is the way of things. One dynasty must die for another to rise and take its place. You cannot deny the human race its manifest destiny to rule the stars as you once did.’

  ‘Manifest destiny,’ laughed Eldrad. ‘What does your race know of destiny? When things transpire in your favour you believe it to be destiny, but when you suffer disaster is that not also destiny? Who says destiny must be a good thing? I have seen sights that would make you curse destiny, and I know secrets that would shred your sanity were you to know but a fraction of them.’

  Solomon felt the rising tension between the two leaders and knew that sooner or later this must end in blood. Clearly the Phoenix Guard were readying themselves for battle, and Solomon could see in the minute movements of the sword-armed eldar that they too sensed the escalation of words.

  Instead of violence, Fulgrim simply laughed at Eldrad’s words, as though he were enjoying the confrontation.

  ‘We are a pair are we not? Needling at one another and fencing around the real issue.’

  ‘And what is the real issue?’ asked Eldrad.

  ‘Why we are even speaking at all. You claim the worlds in this region are yours, but you have not settled them. Why? Your race fades, yet you cling to life aboard a starship when there are paradises awaiting you. You want more from us than simply to shepherd us away from your territories, so let us be honest with one another, Eldrad Ulthran of Craftworld Ulthwé. Why are we sitting opposite one another?’

  ‘Very well, Fulgrim of the Emperor’s Children, but I tell you now that you will not want to hear the real reason I desired to speak with you.’

  ‘No?’

  Eldrad shook his head sadly. ‘No, for it will anger you greatly.’

  ‘You know this do you?’ asked Fulgrim. ‘I thought you said you were no witch.’

  ‘I need no powers of foresight to know my warning will anger you.’

  ‘Tell me your warning and I will consider it objectively,’ promised Fulgrim.

  ‘Very well,’ said Eldrad. ‘At this very moment, the one you call Warmaster lies in death’s shadow and there are forces beyond your comprehension battling for his soul.’

  ‘Horus?’ cried Fulgrim. ‘He is injured?’

  ‘He is dying,’ nodded Eldrad.

  ‘How? Where?’ demanded Fulgrim.

  ‘On the world of Davin,’ said Eldrad. ‘A trusted counsellor betrayed him, and now the powers of Chaos whisper lies wrapped in truth into his ears. They feed his vanity and ambition with a distorted vision of things yet to come.’

  ‘Will he live?’ cried Fulgrim, and Solomon heard anguish like nothing he had heard before.

  ‘He will, but it would be better for the galaxy were he to perish,’ said Eldrad.

  Fulgrim slammed his fist down on the table, smashing it in two, and surged to his feet. His pale features blazed with anger. The Phoenix Guard lowered their halberds as the armoured eldar warriors flinched at his sudden rage.

  ‘You dare wish the death of my dearest friend?’ roared Fulgrim. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he will betray you all and lead his armies against your Emperor!’ said Eldrad. ‘In one fell swoop, he will condemn the galaxy to thousands of years of war and suffering.’

  FIFTEEN

  The Worm at the Heart of the Apple

  War Calls

  Kaela Mensha Khaine

  AT FIRST, FULGRIM thought he’d misheard. Surely this alien could not be suggesting that Horus, most loyal son of the Emperor, would betray their father and lead his armies into civil war? The very idea was ludicrous, for the Emperor would nev
er have appointed Horus to the position of Warmaster if he had not been utterly sure of his loyalty.

  He searched Eldrad Ulthran’s face for any sign of a jest or that this was all some hideous mistake, for there was no way such an insult could stand unchallenged. Even as he sought to find reason in this exchange, the voice in his head roared in anger.

  This xeno filth means to sow the seeds of dissent among you!

  ‘This is madness!’ roared Fulgrim, his anger flaring. ‘Why would Horus do such a thing?’

  Eldrad rose from the ground as the giant wraithlord behind him widened its stance, and the bone-armoured warriors reached for their swords. Eldrad held up his staff to halt their warlike motions. ‘His soul is being tempted with visions of power and glory by the gods of Chaos. It is a battle he will not win.’

  Lies, lies, lies, lies, lies, lies, lies, lies, lies, lies, lies!

  ‘Gods of Chaos?’ cried Fulgrim, as a red mist of hate fuelled power raced throughout his body. ‘What in the name of Terra are you talking about?’

  Eldrad’s implacable mask slipped and his face was transformed in horror. ‘You travel the warp and yet you know not of Chaos? Khaine’s blood! I see now why they chose your race to strike at.’

  ‘You speak in riddles, xenos,’ said Fulgrim. ‘I won’t stand for this.’

  ‘You must listen,’ pleaded Eldrad. ‘The warp, as you call it, is home to the most malign beings imaginable, terrible energies that are elemental and ferocious. They are gods that have existed since the dawn of time and will outlast this guttering flame of a universe. Chaos is the worm at the heart of the apple and the canker in the soul that devours from within. It is the mortal enemy of all living things.’

  ‘Then Horus will turn from such evil,’ said Fulgrim, his hand drawn towards his silver-hilted sword, the purple crystal on the pommel winking with an alluring shimmer. The voice of his unspoken will screamed at him.

  Kill him! He will infect you with lies! Kill him!

  ‘No,’ said Eldrad, ‘Horus will not turn from it, for it promises him exactly what he wants to hear. He will believe he does what is best for humanity, but he has been blinded to the realities of what he is doing. The gods of Chaos have woven falsehoods around him, but these are mere fripperies that lesser minds will use to explain his betrayal. The truth is more prosaic. The fire of the Warmaster’s ambition has been stoked from a steady flame to a roaring inferno, and it will damn the galaxy to an age of war and blood.’

  ‘I should kill you for these words,’ snarled Fulgrim.

  ‘I am not trying to anger you, I am trying to warn you,’ cried Eldrad. ‘You have to listen to me. It is not too late to stop this, but you must act now. Warn your Emperor that he is betrayed and you will save billions of lives! The future of the galaxy is in your hands!’

  ‘I will not listen to you!’ roared Fulgrim, drawing his sword. Eldrad staggered as though a sudden force assailed him. The farseer’s dark eyes flashed to the blade and his features twisted in an expression of horror and anguish.

  ‘No!’ cried Eldrad, as a great wind that seemed to rise from nowhere howled around the stunned observers. Fulgrim’s blade swept out towards Eldrad’s neck, cleaving the air in a sweeping, silver arc.

  A fraction of a second before the sword took the farseer’s head an enormous blade flashed and intercepted its deadly edge. An explosion of sparks burst before Eldrad and he staggered away from Fulgrim as the wraithlord stood erect, its huge sword drawing back to strike at the primarch.

  Eldrad shouted, ‘They are corrupted! Kill them!’

  Fulgrim felt a massive swell of power fill him as he drew the sword, its blade rippling with after-images of vibrant purple energy. His Phoenix Guard and captains surged to their feet as he struck his blow against the farseer, and guns blazed as a vicious, short range firefight erupted.

  The bone-armoured warriors charged with an ear-splitting shriek that tore at the nerves, and a hail of bolter fire cut down a handful before they hit home. Fulgrim left the warriors to his captains, as the Phoenix Guard charged the mighty, golden-helmed wraithlord.

  You must kill him! The farseer must die before he ruins everything!

  Fulgrim roared as he leapt after the farseer, the wraithlord’s monstrous sword arcing towards him as the Phoenix Guard slashed at it with their golden blades. He rolled beneath the blow, rising to pursue the architect of this bloodshed. Eldrad Ulthran and the grim-faced warriors in black armour backed away from him towards the curving structure, as a pale nimbus of light began to gather at its base.

  ‘I tried to save you,’ said Eldrad, ‘but you are already the unwitting tool of Chaos.’

  The Primarch of the Emperor’s Children swung his sword at the farseer, but his enemy vanished in a flare of light and his weapon clove only air. He roared in frustration as he realised that the structures were in fact teleportation devices.

  He turned back to the battle raging behind him as a hail of energised bolts spat from the barrels of the nearest skimmer tank’s guns. Its first shots had been hesitantly aimed, thanks to the presence of the farseer, but Fulgrim saw that no such caution restrained them now. The prow of the tank skimmed the grass as its pilot brought it around in a tight turn, expecting his quarry to flee, but Fulgrim had never run from an enemy in his life and wasn’t about to start now.

  Fulgrim leapt into the air just as the eldar pilot saw the danger and tried to gain height. It was already too late. The primarch’s sword hacked through the side of the vehicle and tore downwards, ripping through its hull as he gave a bellow of hatred.

  The tank’s pronged front section dropped to the ground and the vehicle slewed around, the bevelled edge carving into the ground, flipping the vehicle over onto its side with a terrific crack of what sounded like splintering bone.

  Bright energy exploded from the wreck in a huge plume of light, and Fulgrim laughed in triumph. He spun his sword and returned his attention to the clash of weapons, watching as the terrifying wraithlord reached down and crushed one of the Phoenix Guard in a massive fist. Armour cracked asunder and blood fell in a crimson rain as the warrior died. Fulgrim snarled in anger as he saw three of his elite praetorians lying twisted and broken at the machine’s feet.

  His captains fought with the warriors in bone armour, their swords a blur as shrieking war shouts filled the air over the ring of steel on bone. Fulgrim moved away from the blazing wreckage of the tank, his sword aimed at the gold-helmed war machine.

  As if sensing his presence, the wraithlord turned its head towards him and hurled aside the dead warrior in its grip. Fulgrim could sense the ghost within the machine as a blazing hunger for vengeance and knew this thing wanted him dead as much as he desired to see it destroyed.

  With a speed that shocked him, the wraithlord loped towards him, its agility terrifying. He stepped to meet it and ducked beneath a scything blow of its crackling blade, rising again to hack his sword into its slender arm. The blade bit a fingerbreadth before sliding clear, and Fulgrim felt the jarring vibration of the impact along the entire length of his body. The wraithlord’s fist slammed into his chest and punched him from his feet, the eagle stamped breastplate cracking under the thunderous blow. Fulgrim grunted in pain, tasting blood on his lips.

  The pain was enormous, but instead of laying him low it energised him, and he leapt to his feet with a wild cry of exultation. His wreath hung broken over his face and he ripped it clear, tearing out his plaits and smearing the powder and oils across his face.

  Looking more like a feral savage than the Primarch of the Emperor’s Children, Fulgrim once again launched himself at the wraithlord. Its huge sword slashed towards him, but he raised his own blade and the two met in a ferocious thunder of metal and fire. The purple gem in the pommel of Fulgrim’s sword flared, and the wraithlord’s blade exploded in a shower of bone fragments.

  Fulgrim pressed his attack as the wraithlord reeled, and swung his sword in a murderous, two-handed swing at its legs. He roared as the blade smash
ed into its knee and tore through the joint with a shrieking howl of pleasure. Rippling coils of energy whipped from the wound as the great war machine swayed for the briefest moment before crashing to the ground.

  Now finish it! Destroy what lies within its head and it will suffer a fate beyond death!

  Fulgrim leapt on top of the straggling machine, smashing his fist into the smooth sheen of its golden face with a deafening war cry. The surface cracked and split under the force of his blow and he felt blood spring from his hand. He ignored the pain and hammered his fist against its head again and again, feeling the surface of the machine’s carapace-like skull yield to his furious assault. It tried to reach up and hurl him from its body, but he lashed out with his sword, the blade hacking off its huge fist with an ease that had seemed impossible only moments before.

  At last the golden helm cracked and Fulgrim tore the wraithlord’s head open, revealing a smooth ceramic faceplate, pierced and woven with gold wire and engraved with silver runes. Its surface was studded with gleaming gems, and at the centre of this arrangement sat a pulsing red stone. Fulgrim could sense the fear emanating from this stone and reached down to pluck it from its mounting, a rising shriek of panic felt in the soul rather than heard. The stone was hot to the touch, and fiery lines danced within its depths, haunted shapes and alien features writhing within it.

  He felt its anger and hatred towards him, but most of all he felt its dreadful, all-consuming fear of oblivion.

  Fulgrim laughed as he crushed the stone in his fist, hearing a shrieking howl of anguish flee its destruction. He felt his sword grow warm, and looked down to see the gem at its pommel burn like an amethyst star, as though feeding on the spirit released from the stone.

  How he knew this he did not know, but next to the elation he felt in victory, it seemed a minor mystery, and no sooner had the realisation surfaced than it was gone.

  As the wondrous feeling of power faded, Fulgrim turned his face towards the battle being fought by his captains. They struggled against the shrieking warriors in bone armour, their swords fencing in a deadly ballet with these supremely skilled warriors. Behind them, the remaining enemy tank waited to support its fellow eldar, its guns useless while the combat raged.