Lorgar: Bearer of the Word

by Gav Thorpe

  Nairo found himself running too, and was soon drawn into a huge crowd surging through the camp in the direction of Lorgar's approach. He called to several guards looking dumbfounded at this mass, demanding that they act as escort for him. Though never ordained, Nairo was regarded as a talisman of the One, a mascot almost, and all knew him. Their attention called to his presence by the voices of the ward-adepts, the Faithful did their best to part at his approach. Even so it took some time for him to make his way through the press of people to see what was happening.

  Lorgar had emerged from the darkness and was on the edge of the camp, surrounded by his followers. Though they did their best to keep a respectful distance, gun-deacons and rod bearers holding back the living wall, the pressure of so many people created an ever-constricting circle around the Ecclesiarch.

  Those amongst the Faithful who were close enough to be seen waved prayer books and sheaves of their own writings - or copies of Lorgar's sermons that acted as a secondary scrip among the servants and soldiers of the camp, so valued were his words. They called for the blessings of the One, and where the violet gaze of the Ecclesiarch fell there was much crying out, swooning and declarations of undying faith. Some afflicted with the sandlung and bone-cankers called out to be healed by the power of the single divinity of Colchis.

  Slowly the bubble around Lorgar moved with him, opening in the crowd, until he spied Nairo amongst the throng, alert to every detail as ever. He beckoned for Nairo to approach but his invitation was misunderstood and a woman with a babe beside the former teacher ran forwards and fell to her knees, offering up her son as though a gift to Lorgar.

  'Golden One, lay thy hands upon my son - may he be blessed in the gaze of the One.'

  'He is already blessed by a mother of faith,' Lorgar replied with a smile.

  Nairo saw something in the gaze he had not witnessed before. Where he had known only humility and concern, now in the eyes of Lorgar he saw triumph, as though the adulation of the crowd was already a victory. He could only guess at what had occurred during Lorgar's absence, but he knew he did not like the sight.

  3 5 2

  'I don't think they're listening.'

  Axata's attempt at humour was poorly received by the hierarchs and gun-deacons who accompanied Lorgar. Half a kilometre ahead of them the desert seemed to chum and boil, rising straight up into a shifting wall of debris and crackling energy. The tempest field of Gahevarla.

  It extended far into the sky, blotting out the early sun so that the host of Lorgar waited in an unnatural, shifting umbra. Such shade would have been gratefully received under other circumstances, but its presence left a clammy chill upon Nairo. The only sound was the crackle of energy and the hiss of sand particles slashing the air.

  The former slave tightened his grip on the haft of his powered maul. He had never used it for its true purpose, having been happy to remain towards the back of the cohorts behind the more aggressive - and frankly more skilled - members of Lorgar's millions-strong congregation. Hanging back would not spare him the tribulations of this battle, though. There was only one route to Gahevarla and it lay directly though the Scourstorm.

  A gun wagon clad in thick plates of iron, studded with rivets and heavily welded, ventured forwards at a signal from Axata. It had not even reached the periphery of the storm when a bolt of lightning flared from the undulating field, arcing several metres to earth through the fuel store. Vapour detonated with an explosion that jolted everyone present save Lorgar, scattering metal and body parts over forty metres of scorched earth.

  Everyone's mood soured even further at the thought of marching through the storm on foot.

  Nairo looked over his shoulder. Thirty thousand gun-deacons, armed acolytes, sword-adepts and warrior priests stood ready to advance. It was likely that not one of them would make it to the walls of Gahevarla, their broken bodies scattered to the Empyrean on the devil-winds of the magisters.

  'Waiting won't make it easier,' Axata declared. He took a step towards the land yacht not far away, where his staff of officers waited. 'Might as well give the order.'

  He had taken three more strides when Lorgar's quiet command halted him.

  'Wait.'

  3 5 3

  The single word stopped everybody. Nairo's breath caught in his throat, almost choking him.

  Relaxed, seemingly entirely at ease with the world, Lorgar broke from his followers and advanced towards the storm. Nairo wanted to call out, to warn him that even his One-blessed frame and constitution could not withstand the assault of the Scourstorm. His flesh would be shriven from his skeleton and all would be failure.

  The words caught the same as his breath and remained unsaid. The agitation of the others around him testified that they were similarly afflicted as they watched the holy master walk to his doom.

  Just ten metres from the wall of furious elements he stopped. Lorgar seemed to consider the Scourstorm for some time, marshalling his thoughts.

  He knelt, head bowed to the sands, the touch of the outer winds lifting particles across his head, settling drifts of sand in the folds of his robes. He remained motionless for some time.

  Words drifted on the wind. Praises to the One. Nairo heard scattered mention of the names of cities - settlements that had been brought into the dominion of the Covenant. Other testimony was made, of dedication and faith.

  And finally, an invocation. Not a prayer, not a request.

  A demand.

  'The Powers desired death to sate their appetites, to pay for their gifts. I have told these people that the Lore and the Law of the One is different. A life lost in earnest endeavour shall be remarked, but it is our labours that we sacrifice, not our existence. Heed me not and I will still give the order. I will lead these people myself into the uncaring storm. It will take me and Colchis will never be yours. I do not ask this of you, I do not threaten you, I simply state what shall be if you desire it.'

  He stood up, mace in one hand, the very same weapon he had fashioned to slay the convert mutineers years before, though much reinforced with bands of metal and studs.

  Lorgar started walking again and fronds of power leapt from the storm, coruscating across his golden skin, earthing along his limbs.

  3 5 4

  The wall of the Scourstorm bowed before Lorgar's advance, opening up as if to embrace him even as lightning of green and purple and white flared and spat around the Ecclesiarch.

  He lifted his arms and the breach widened as though at his command. Churning sand parted, forming a ravine of moving rocks and swirling grit to either side, bridges of power crackling across the growing divide. Into this breach advanced Lorgar.

  'Move!' Axata bellowed, racing to his yacht. 'All cohorts advance!'

  The command was broadcast on hailer and hidden wave, and within moments the host of Lorgar started to march. Armoured rigs and multi-turreted gun wagons prowled forwards among their ranks.

  The sand shifted beneath Nairo's feet and he found himself stumbling forwards, moving into the chasm of the storm as though into a waiting maw. Not since his near death beneath the milli-crawler had he felt the presence of the One so keenly. His nerves sang with the divine presence, ears pounding, heart racing as he followed Lorgar into the dark canyon.

  3 5 5

  Gahevarla fell by the end of Long Noon.

  Led by Lorgar, the host of the Faithful took the walls by rest-eve of Mornday. Relentless, they poured into the city and the central citadel was besieged by the coming of wake-main on Long Noon. The last of the magisters held out from the tower and cast bolts of black energy and a fog of toxic green vapour into the horde of the faithful, slaying hundreds, until Lorgar himself shattered the gates of their inner keep. The sorcerer died by Axata's hand even as the hot winds blew away the remnants of the Scourstorm.

  Upon a barbican of the keep Lorgar stood with Nairo and Axata, while in the streets of the city below the process of conversion continued apace, priests moving amongst the shocked inha
bitants preaching the Truth of the One.

  'So that's done then,' said Axata. He sighed, his relief evident.

  Lorgar remained silent.

  'All of Colchis is united beneath the Book and the Flame,' said Nairo, in reference to the sigil of the Covenant. There had been a time when such a declaration, the thought of a single unified church controlling the lives of every person on the planet would have filled him with horror. With Lorgar at the head of that church it seemed the most natural, beautiful thing beneath the Empyrean.

  Lorgar said nothing.

  'There'll still be a few malcontents, always is,' said Axata. He glanced past the broad chest of the Ecclesiarch to meet Nairo's gaze, concern written on his features. 'But we've won. It's over. Time to celebrate.'

  Still Lorgar stared into the distance without response.

  Nairo thought him in the grip of a vision, but there was none of the pain or elation matched with such an occurrence, so he was forced to conclude that his holy master was simply so deep in thought he did not hear them. He motioned for himself and Axata to depart, but as the two of them turned to head towards the steps from the rampart Lorgar finally spoke.

  'This is not the end,' he said slowly. 'It is simply the conclusion of the beginning.'

  3 6 1

  The pealing of bells, the chimes and gongs of a hundred temples drowned out the roars and cheers of the millions-strong crowd that thronged the approaches through Vharadesh. Already swelled by years of refugees and converts, the city had passed its walls like a lake breaking its banks. Vast suburbs had been erected and about these new constructions a shanty-camp every bit as large as the City of Grey Flowers spread into the deserts, populated by a massive influx of pilgrims in anticipation of Lorgar's glorious return.

  The Ecclesiarch rode upon the pulpit of a gilded temple-rig - the same truck that had carried him in the deserts with Kor Phaeron years before, now engineered and bedecked with the finest the Covenant could offer. On the cab rode Axata, and beside him Nairo and others who were hailed as the First Disciples, the Heralds of the One.

  Nairo despised such monikers, thought them an affront to his ideals of equality, but Lorgar said to pay them no mind, an affectation that would soon fade as Colchis passed into a true age of enlightenment.

  As they moved through the tents and caravans and into the city proper, Nairo was shocked by what he saw. When he had left the main thoroughfares had been lined with shrines and schools, monasteries of different sects and disciplines. Winding alleys and narrow souks had played home to throngs of worshippers and preachers.

  All revels had been forced out of the city, so that an austere, respectful quiet greeted them. The streets were lined with the ordained, priest and deacon alike, heads bowed slightly in respect for their returning hero.

  Much had been levelled. The academy where he had taught was now a broad plaza, tiled with gold and silver. Mosaic icons of the One decorated the walls of buildings, standing where temples and ossuaries had been demolished and rebuilt, literally reshaped in the new image of the Covenant.

  And statues. Statues everywhere, of Kor Phaeron and Lorgar. In marble and granite, gold and silver, of alabaster and painted limestone, it seemed there was not a square, marketplace or processional that was not beneath the gaze of one of these life-sized - sometimes even larger - idols.

  The Spire Temple loomed over all, much refurbished and redecorated, though its grand tower was dominant as ever, a finger thrust towards the Godpeak of the Empyrean. Broad steps led from the plaza before the temple to an arched portico thirty metres high.

  A solitary figure waited on the white stair for them.

  Kor Phaeron.

  3 6 2

  At the approach of his Ecclesiarch, Kor Phaeron lowered to one knee, hands clasped to his chest, chin bowed. He remained thus only for a few heartbeats before straightening. Flanked by Axata and Nairo, Lorgar ascended.

  The archdeacon had not thought it possible Not when Lorgar had first declared his intent to bring all of Colchis into the fold of the Covenant. Kor Phaeron chided himself for his lack of ambition in that regard, and his doubts. The Ecclesiarch had proven himself more than capable and now as archdeacon, Kor Phaeron ruled a world.

  He had set in motion plans to ensure his continued pre-eminence, but Lorgar's success at Gahevarla cemented Kor Phaeron's position more than anything. The people would worship Lorgar as they worshipped the One. Let him be the figurehead; it was not the praise that Kor Phaeron desired.

  The church was his, the world his. All were sworn to his service, in reality if not word.

  Kor Phaeron smiled.

  'Welcome home, your holy majesty.'

  3 6 3

  Lorgar did not return the smile.

  There is still much to be done' said the Ecclesiarch.

  'Of course,' said Kor Phaeron. 'Those cities still fresh to the cause have not yet been fully embraced by the Covenant, but missions are already under way.'

  'It is not that.' Lorgar looked across the city, distracted for a moment. 'A very fine place you have made A jewel, and all our cities shall be fashioned likewise. But news of victory is misplaced.'

  'I heard that Gahevarla no longer kneels beneath the yoke of the magisters. Was that wrong?'

  'The magisters are gone,' confirmed Lorgar. He glanced at Nairo and Axata before continuing, 'I have heard that all is not as it appears.'

  Kor Phaeron feigned ignorance, though he knew the rapid beating of his heart was audible to the remarkable man before him. The Ecclesiarch continued, not seeming to notice this sudden panicked reaction.

  'Beneath the masquerade of the Covenant there are sects and cults still dedicated to the Powers. And even among those who acknowledge the authority of the One, some have begun to speak out against rule from Vharadesh. Against me. The work, my sermons, is it finished?'

  'Yes. The new book for the Faithful is ready to approve, Ecclesiarch.'

  'It shall be the cornerstone of our new order. All shall learn the Truth from its words. There must be no dissent. Only in utter unity shall we bring forth the One from the Empyrean.'

  'Then we shall purge the taint,' said Kor Phaeron. 'No heretic will be left alive to move against your will.'

  'Yes,' said Lorgar. 'A purge.'

  3 6 4

  'Of ideas,' Nairo said hurriedly. 'We shall teach the Truth, with this book of which you speak.'

  The thought of more bloodshed filled him with grim terror, not least for his own well-being. Even more so, the idea that the millions who had already died were not enough blood to sate Kor Phaeron's thirst for power and revenge sickened him to the core. The archdeacon could not be allowed to dictate the thoughts of Lorgar in this matter.

  'It was from slavery that you led us, holy master,' Nairo said, wringing his hands. 'Freedom, not subjugation, is the Lore and the Law. It matters not if it is the hand of the Ecclesiarch or his words that are laid upon them - men and women must be free to speak their mind. The Word, not the Mace.'

  'Nonsense,' rasped Kor Phaeron. 'Opposition must be crushed without delay. It is a canker, a rot that will destroy all we have built from within. A brotherhood stands ready to serve your will.'

  Lorgar looked between his two companions, Axata having withdrawn slightly, feeling out of place in such a debate.

  'You two shall never be in accord. Shall you make me umpire and peacekeeper for evermore?'

  'This witless slave would have you throw away everything, make a mockery of all who have given their lives, given limbs and health for you. You cannot let this wretch soil your thoughts with his cowardly counsel any longer.'

  'Kor Phaeron has used you from the moment he killed those who saved you in the desert,' Nairo replied hotly. 'Can you not see? He beat and whipped you into subservience, and though you wear the grey of Ecclesiarch he has made himself master. He has filled your head with nothing but his poison, and now he would turn you into his enforcer, a glorified cult thug.'

  Lorgar's brow
creased at this accusation and he looked at Kor Phaeron.

  'Filthy lies!' shrieked Kor Phaeron.

  Nairo did not see the fist that caught his chin and before he realised that the archdeacon had struck he tumbled down several steps, bruising ribs and elbows. He did not rightly know what he did, but realised that his dagger, which for a year had remained in its sheath at his hip, was now in his hand.

  3 6 5

  Kor Phaeron stared in shock, time slowing as Nairo launched himself up the steps, knife aimed for the archdeacon. He started to raise a hand to ineffectually ward off the blow, disgusted with himself for letting the slave rise so high in the opinions of Lorgar.

  It was a stupid, filthy way to die.

  A shadow covered him when Lorgar moved. Kor Phaeron saw the head of the mace, once the censer that had spilled incense through the masses of his caravan. It descended like a comet trailing gilded chains and talismans, and connected with Nairo's head.

  The slave's skull split asunder and his shoulder shattered beneath the blow, spine crumpling into ruin under the weight of it. The Up of the knife nicked Kor Phaeron's chin as it flew from lifeless fingers.

  Nairo folded into himself, crushed against the steps, legs snapping as his torso was driven down by the hammer blow of a demigod.

  Choking back a cry, Kor Phaeron stepped backwards, equally terrified and elated by the look that burned in the gaze of Lorgar. The Golden One, the Bearer of the Word, Urizen Ecclesiarch of the Covenant stood with hands bloodied, Nairo's corpse at his feet A nimbus of gold seemed to play about his head, though it may have simply been reflected sunlight.

  Lorgar lifted up a gore-covered finger and pointed to the skies.

  'He is coming!' he declared. 'We shall be ready!'

  THE GALAXY BURNS

  964.M40

  Forty-Seven One (formerly Karlstadt)

  It was fitting that it ended where it had begun. Almost. Birthed on Colchis, upon a balcony of the Spire Temple, Lorgar's mission to spread the word of the Emperor first became a reality among the stars on this planet.