by Gav Thorpe
How apt that the Powers had clad themselves in the guise of the Emperor Himself, to shield Colchis from His ire. Through Lorgar they had found the means to hide from the gaze of their would-be destroyer, concealing a blade aimed at the heart of the Imperium dedicated to their overthrow.
The Emperor's disregard for Lorgar, His contempt for the great work done in His name, provided opportunity. Kor Phaeron met his adopted son's gaze, holding that violet stare for just a moment, seeking connection.
Moisture glistened there. Lorgar knew full well what he was asking. Did he know truly where the course inevitably would lead? It was Kor Phaeron's role to guide him to that conclusion.
'There will be bloodshed,' said the First Captain, meaning both from Lorgar's request and the demand of the Emperor. The Powers demand sacrifice, he reminded himself. To each they give position; from each a price to pay. Lorgar's debt would be levied in sorrow. The Lore and the Law. 'A new war, like nothing before.'
'I am no stranger to such an undertaking.'
The chime of the door warden system alerted them to a new arrival. At Lorgar's command the door hissed open to reveal Erebus, clad in the black robe of a Chaplain. The Word Bearer stopped suddenly at the threshold as he caught sight of his primarch's appearance, a mixture of horror and sorrow etching his weathered features.
'Come in, I would speak with you,' Lorgar bid him before returning to his conversation. 'Do you remember, Kor Phaeron? We called it the Last War. How history makes a vanity of such things.'
'I remember it,' the Keeper of Faith murmured.
BOOK 2:
ASCENDANCE
112 years ago [Terran standard]
23.3 years ago [Colchisian calendar]
2 1 1
Kor Phaeron watched from the shadow of the deck, his calculating gaze moving from the crowd gathered in the shade of the temple-rig to Lorgar in the pulpit and back again. Another Declined tribe, held in rapture by the acolyte's words, staring up at him as he delivered another self-written sermon.
When the preacher had first passed the tide of Bearer of the Word eight days before, it had been a moment of necessity, desperation almost. Yet he looked back to see in that instant also the hand of the Powers, for it had been an inspired decision. The benefits were many, most obviously that Lorgar commanded far more natural loyalty than Kor Phaeron could have ever hoped for himself. There was not a soul whose path they had crossed who was not moved by his words, not touched by his passion and faith. Though they had been avoiding contact, the number of such souls was gradually swelling the size of the congregation.
Kor Phaeron looked around the camp. It was twice the size it had been before he had met Lorgar, more than replacing the slain converts. Their tents and wagons, their families and beasts made the affairs of the caravan more complicated. However, as they were all theoretically converts, Kor Phaeron had made feeding, organising and dealing with the newcomers the problem of Axata. The responsibility seemed like a boon to the master of converts, whereas in fact it enabled the priest to keep the newcomers out of his affairs.
And such affairs he now had time to ponder and shape and grow as he desired, unfettered by the demands of sermonising and seeing to the soul-being of his congregation. Lorgar was truly the means to salvation, a figurehead like no other. That he took the eyes of the many away from Kor Phaeron was of great value, and as with Axata the role itself seemed to be its own reward. Lorgar had never looked happier as when he stood before a willing audience listening to his stirring speeches - except perhaps when he spoke in private with Kor Phaeron, wrangling over some newly translated nugget of information from the books that Kor Phaeron had finally allowed him to read.
They had arranged one such session for that wake-main and Lorgar took the final prayers of the gathering quickly, eager to meet with his teacher; another slight change in Kor Phaeron's positioning from master, but one that made no substantive difference to the influence he held. In reality, Lorgar was a far better proselytiser of Kor Phaeron's ideas than he had ever been himself. Possessed of fiery disposition upon the pulpit but able to extend empathy and compassion where the priest was hardened to life's miseries and uncaring of others' petty burdens.
The two of them descended to Kor Phaeron's chamber - Lorgar insisted in remaining billeted with the slaves despite his new rank and purpose, but spent most of his time here with the library. It was to the books that the youth now moved, plucking one from the shelf without hesitation to present to Kor Phaeron. His expression was one of eagerness.
'I think I have finished translating this one,' he said. Kor Phaeron looked at the book. It was the one with the flowing scripts and strange pictures. Lorgar continued, talking at pace. 'It is like nothing else in the library. None of the other languages and dialects came close to helping decode it, so I had to start from scratch.
'I think, and I know what this sounds like, but I think it is not human in origin.'
Kor Phaeron frowned.
'Not human?'
'The pictures, the references, the entire reality described in the text is nothing like a human experience.' Lorgar's passion faltered and his expression became a lopsided smile. 'The truth is, I think it's either a book of poetry, or a guide to culinary artistry.'
'A guide to…?'
'I know,' Lorgar shrugged. 'It's quite opaque and I might be wrong. I shall keep working on my translation, but I do not think the contents will be shedding any further light upon the Truth.'
2 1 2
Lorgar sat down on the bed, which made the floor creak for he had continued to grow at an outstanding pace and now stood taller even than Axata. His appetite was immense, fuelling his huge body even as the books and Kor Phaeron did the same for his equally massive intellect. The youth sighed.
'You are not content?' Kor Phaeron asked the question lightly, but the last thing he desired was a restless Lorgar. The youth had a tendency to seek out answers for questions others did not even ask. Any sign of ennui signalled work for Kor Phaeron.
'I am not sure of what the Powers intend,' confessed Lorgar. He rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his gigantic hands together. 'There is barely a sentence in all of this library that I have not inscribed upon my thoughts, but I am no closer to seeing the Truth. I Bear the Word as you did, and the converts grow in number, but this cannot be what the Powers desire of us.'
Kor Phaeron said nothing, knowing that it was not the time to make suggestions. Lorgar had a look he now recognised well, of a course of thoughts running on their own lines, not to be disrupted.
'I - we - are missing something, I think. What we seek is not in the books, but in the stars perhaps.'
'You have mastered the arts of the observations and know every single entry in the Heavenly Scripts by heart.'
'And nightly we chart the constellations and seek some sign from the Powers of what to do. And what do they say?'
'Nothing,' admitted Kor Phaeron. 'Their gaze is elsewhere, Lorgar. The Powers are infinite beings but they do not waste their attention on the unworthy. The crimes of the Covenant. Their demolition of true faith brought the apathy of the Powers to Colchis.'
'And how will we reignite that faith, my teacher?'
'With hard…' He fell quiet as he noticed a distant, absent look in the youth's eye As though he stared through the wall. 'Are you listening to me?'
There was no reaction from Lorgar at first. Kor Phaeron resisted the urge to raise his voice, to strike Lorgar from his reverie. He saw the youth's lips moving ever so slightly though the rest of him was immobile.
'What are you saying? Speak up!'
'Listen, father…' Kor Phaeron winced at the use of the patriarchal title. Occasionally Lorgar regressed to such familiarity when he forgot himself. 'Listen to the music.'
Kor Phaeron strained to hear but no music came to his ears, only the usual noises of the temple-rig readying to continue onwards until rest-eve. He moved to the window and opened it, in full knowledge that Lorgar's heari
ng was uncannily good, like all of his senses and much else about him. Still he did not hear any pluck of a string or pipe of a flute.
'I hear nothing, boy,' he said, but realised that Lorgar's gaze had not shifted from its mesmeric state. He conscious mind was not within the cabin.
2 1 3
All of a sudden Lorgar threw himself backwards onto the cot with a hoarse shout, cracking the umbers beneath his weight. The bed collapsed to the floor with the youth atop. Hands held up to his temples, eyes wide with shock, Lorgar roared, deafeningly loud in the close confines of the chamber. The sound of it toppled Kor Phaeron, sending him crashing to the floor with his hands over his ears, head reeling from the violence of the outburst.
Ringing in his ears, spots in front of his eyes, Kor Phaeron squinted across the cabin floor to see Lorgar rolling from side to side, mouth opening and closing like a landed fish, eyes roaming and roving with wild motion. Still dizzy, Kor Phaeron crawled closer, stretching out a hand to comfort his beleaguered ward. His chest felt tight, his throat knotted at the sight of Lorgar beset by fits and tics.
'Calm, calm,' croaked the priest, panic gripping him as he seized Lorgar's huge hand in both of his own, trying to squeeze hard enough for the touch to register through the tumult that continued to wrack the youth's huge form.
As suddenly as it started the seizure ended and Lorgar sat bolt upright, eyes boring holes through the metal of the wall for several heartbeats. He then turned his head and looked straight at Kor Phaeron.
'I have heard and I have seen, father!' the youth declared.
'The Powers?' Kor Phaeron let go of Lorgar's hand and backed away. 'They have communicated with you?'
'I have had a vision. I have seen and heard the Truth.' He raised a hand as though listening intently. 'And the song continues, even now.'
'What song?'
'The song of the Empyrean, of all time and space, of the universe singing to itself.'
Kor Phaeron kept all suspicion from his expression, but he did not like this turn of events. Clearly something had beset his acolyte, but he was not yet willing to believe the Powers had intervened directly.
'Rest,' he instructed the boy. He fetched the water ewer from the table and handed it to Lorgar, who drank from it as though it were a cup, downing the contents in two mouthfuls.
'It is beautiful,' said Lorgar, turning his violet eyes to Kor Phaeron. Gold flecks danced in the pupils. 'One is coming. One who will be the ending and the beginning.'
2 1 4
On being questioned further - gently, for despite his physical strength Lorgar's spirit was often still that of a frail adolescent - the acolyte revealed that he had seen a being cloaked in gold and stars, descending from the Empyrean with the wings of an eagle.
'What does it mean?' Lorgar asked. 'I can think of nothing in the Messages, nor the Observations. It cannot be the fifth prophet, can it?'
Kor Phaeron scratched his chin and moved to the door, calling for a slave to bring more water and wine, to give himself a little time to think. While he waited, he considered his options. They were few and none were to his liking.
'It is unprecedented,' he eventually admitted. Lorgar was about to speak but Kor Phaeron heard steps in the companionway and held up a hand to silence the acolyte. 'Say nothing of this yet.'
Lorgar looked as though he might protest but Kor Phaeron's glare forestalled any dissent. A knock at the door announced the arrival of a slave with a fresh jug of water and a bottle of Lanansan red. Kor Phaeron dismissed the woman and returned his attention to Lorgar, handing him the tepid water, which the youth downed in two more long draughts.
The preacher poured wine for himself and sipped, gathering his thoughts before he continued.
'If we are not sure what to make of this extraordinary event, then the Faithful will be even more perplexed. It is not our place to spread hearsay and speculation. We are ambassadors for the Truth, you are the Bearer of the Word. Until we can say unequivocally what the Powers wish us to know, what would you tell them?'
The irresistible logic cut off any retort, but Kor Phaeron did not grant Lorgar time to comment before he continued, 'We cannot ignore the timing, coincidental as it is. On this day when you speak of seeking a sign, you suffer this vision?'
'Not suffer,' Lorgar said quickly. 'It was enrapturing.'
'You looked in agony.'
'Well, yes.' Lorgar looked embarrassed, as though a guilty pleasure had been exposed. 'It was excruciating, I suppose, but so magnificent also. And now it has brought me the music of the spheres. Such a wonderful arrangement.'
'You still hear it? What does it sound like? You never heard it before? Did you hit your head when you fell?'
'Yes, wonderful, no, and no.' Lorgar's frown of chastisement made Kor Phaeron's chest tighten. 'You think I would keep this from you?'
'I do not know what to think,' Kor Phaeron said, with considerable feeling. He finished his wine with a gulp, masking an overwhelming sense of frustration. Lorgar looked to him for guidance, so guidance would be what he gave. 'But we already know that you have been marked out for greatness. I think - and this is only my initial deductions - that the vision is of yourself. It is a waking dream, a portent of what is to come. A self-revelation.'
'Like Tezen had on the slopes of Mount Ashask?'
Kor Phaeron struggled to remember the episode, his own powers of recollection far inferior to that of his acolyte. It was wise to assume the youth was right; there was not a line he could not quote verbatim.
'Of sorts,' Kor Phaeron hedged. His mind continued to race and he spoke as the words came to him, once more channelling the raw wisdom of the Powers as though from another place. 'Today you lament the absence of the Powers, and today they have sent you a vision. It is encouragement not instruction, I conclude. An inducement, perhaps, to show you what might become if you apply yourself.'
'Apply myself to what?'
Kor Phaeron hesitated. Long had he plotted this moment, for a long time unsure how he would ever achieve his goal whilst absolutely faithful to the notion that he would. Lorgar had been delivered to him for that purpose, though Kor Phaeron had only ever hinted at what he wished for his adopted son. Was it time yet?
'The Covenant, Lorgar. You are the lightbringer, the one who will push back the darkness, the purger of the faithless. The Bearer of the Word must become the principle of the Covenant, Archpriest of the Godsworn.'
2 1 5
Kor Phaeron waited with hammering heart, but he need not have feared. Lorgar considered his words only for a few moments and then nodded, radiating strength and commitment.
'Then it shall be so. We shall make for Vharadesh.'
'Now?' Kor Phaeron said, unable to hide his enthusiasm.
He was ready for the long-anticipated confrontation with his old order, had dreamed of such moments every day since his exile. The preacher knew he would only have one chance to supplant those who had so wronged him, and the new Bearer of the Word was the key to that justice Kor Phaeron no longer professed to be master of Lorgar; he could not simply command the youth to go to the Sacred Towers, the City of Grey Flowers. Kor Phaeron met Lorgar's gaze and fell into the grip of those violet eyes.
'Not yet,' said Lorgar, 'but soon. Many answer our call, and many more will answer it in the days to come.'
'You would take an army to Vharadesh?' said Kor Phaeron, imagining the towers of his enemies being toppled, the walls of the city struck asunder by the host of Lorgar.
'I shall bring a new creed, the Truth of the One.'
'And who shall listen to the Word? A few dozen nomads, a caravan now and then? It will take more than this rabble to break the defences of Vharadesh.'
'There are those already willing to listen.' Lorgar fixed Kor Phaeron with his penetrating gaze. 'The slaves. A host of souls awaiting redemption. Two days from here lie the mines at Taranthis. We shall begin there.'
'It is blasphemy, to free slaves from bondage laid upon them by the Powe
rs. It is not the place of…' His protest dwindled beneath the unflinching gaze of Lorgar.
'I am the Bearer of the Word, the Messenger of the Truth. Let it not be five thousand fists beating against the gates of Vharadesh, but five hundred thousand voices raised in prayer that open them.'
Against such statement, all argument fled Kor Phaeron, for Lorgar had spoken and in his voice was the Will of the Powers.
2 2 1
Little could be seen of Taranthis from the ground, for like the tezenite mine workings for which it was famed, the settlement was mostly dug beneath the hard sandstone and granite rock of the hinterlands known as the Copper Plate. Only the dark red walls of the township were visible - though the stream of heavy wagons that moved along the road between the mine and Vharadesh some one hundred and forty kilometres away betrayed its presence long before the defences came into view.
A perimeter of towers stood sentry in the dustlands several kilometres from the gatehouse, and at the approach of Kor Phaeron's caravan, columns of armoured transports issued from two of these way-keeps. Powered by efficient vapour engines, one of the prized secrets that allowed the Covenant to maintain its pre-eminence, the millipede-like transports crawled over the sands on dozens of small tracks, speargun cupolas bristling from their reticulated hulls.
Nairo watched them with a growing unease, their black flags marked with the burning book of the Covenant an unwelcome reminder of the power that had placed him into slavery.
'Axata, stand your warriors ready,' Kor Phaeron commanded from his lectern pilaster. 'Have the caravan form up.'
Armed converts lined the rails and manned the spear-hurlers of the temple-rig while flags and whistles signalled to the other vehicles to close on the mobile shrine. Nairo dodged the trampling feet and careless elbows of the soldiery, their numbers boosted further by two chance encounters in the desert while the caravan had made its way to Taranthis.
Nomad riders and chariots left plumes of sand in their wake as they rode alongside the shrine, calling to each other in their strange voices and shrill whisties. Land yachts and solar carts formed an outer ring, the whole caravan moving at the pace of the temple-rig as it ploughed through the dunes towards the incoming soldiers of the Covenant.
