by Various
Book 1 – HORUS RISING
Book 2 – FALSE GODS
Book 3 – GALAXY IN FLAMES
Book 4 – THE FLIGHT OF THE EISENSTEIN
Book 5 – FULGRIM
Book 6 – DESCENT OF ANGELS
Book 7 – LEGION
Book 8 – BATTLE FOR THE ABYSS
Book 9 – MECHANICUM
Book 10 – TALES OF HERESY
Book 11 – FALLEN ANGELS
Book 12 – A THOUSAND SONS
Book 13 – NEMESIS
Book 14 – THE FIRST HERETIC
Book 15 – PROSPERO BURNS
Book 16 – AGE OF DARKNESS
Book 17 – THE OUTCAST DEAD
Book 18 – DELIVERANCE LOST
Book 19 – KNOW NO FEAR
Book 20 – THE PRIMARCHS
Book 21 – FEAR TO TREAD
Book 22 – SHADOWS OF TREACHERY
Book 23 – ANGEL EXTERMINATUS
Book 24 – BETRAYER
Book 25 – MARK OF CALTH
Book 26 – VULKAN LIVES
Book 27 – THE UNREMEMBERED EMPIRE
Book 28 – SCARS
Book 29 – VENGEFUL SPIRIT
Book 30 – THE DAMNATION OF PYTHOS
Book 31 – LEGACIES OF BETRAYAL
Book 32 – DEATHFIRE
Novellas
PROMETHEAN SUN
AURELIAN
BROTHERHOOD OF THE STORM
THE CRIMSON FIST
PRINCE OF CROWS
DEATH AND DEFIANCE
TALLARN: EXECUTIONER
Many of these titles are also available as abridged and unabridged audiobooks. Order the full range of Horus Heresy novels and audiobooks from blacklibrary.com
Audio Dramas
THE DARK KING & THE LIGHTNING TOWER
RAVEN’S FLIGHT
GARRO: OATH OF MOMENT
GARRO: LEGION OF ONE
BUTCHER’S NAILS
GREY ANGEL
GARRO: BURDEN OF DUTY
GARRO: SWORD OF TRUTH
THE SIGILLITE
HONOUR TO THE DEAD
CENSURE
WOLF HUNT
HUNTER’S MOON
THIEF OF REVELATIONS
TEMPLAR
ECHOES OF RUIN
MASTER OF THE FIRST
THE LONG NIGHT
THE EAGLE’S TALON
IRON CORPSES
RAPTOR
Download the full range of Horus Heresy audio dramas from blacklibrary.com
It is a time of legend.
The galaxy is in flames. The Emperor’s glorious vision for humanity is in ruins. His favoured son, Horus, has turned from his father’s light and embraced Chaos.
His armies, the mighty and redoubtable Space Marines, are locked in a brutal civil war. Once, these ultimate warriors fought side by side as brothers, protecting the galaxy and bringing mankind back into the Emperor’s light. Now they are divided.
Some remain loyal to the Emperor, whilst others have sided with the Warmaster. Pre-eminent amongst them, the leaders of their thousands-strong Legions are the primarchs. Magnificent, superhuman beings, they are the crowning achievement of the Emperor’s genetic science. Thrust into battle against one another, victory is uncertain for either side.
Worlds are burning. At Isstvan V, Horus dealt a vicious blow and three loyal Legions were all but destroyed. War was begun, a conflict that will engulf all mankind in fire. Treachery and betrayal have usurped honour and nobility. Assassins lurk in every shadow. Armies are gathering. All must choose a side or die.
Horus musters his armada, Terra itself the object of his wrath. Seated upon the Golden Throne, the Emperor waits for his wayward son to return. But his true enemy is Chaos, a primordial force that seeks to enslave mankind to its capricious whims.
The screams of the innocent, the pleas of the righteous resound to the cruel laughter of Dark Gods. Suffering and damnation await all should the Emperor fail and the war be lost.
The age of knowledge and enlightenment has ended.
The Age of Darkness has begun.
Slender tendrils of fragrant smoke drifted from fang-mouthed oil burners, filling the bed-chamber with a delicious mix of cinnamon and honeysuckle. A fine sheen of oiled sweat and perfumed breath completed the indulgent atmosphere. Early morning sunlight shone in golden streaks through the slatted timber louvres over the windows, spilling languidly over the breathless couple that lay in the sumptuous bed, their eyes unfocused, their limbs entwined and their minds blissfully self-absorbed.
Three bottles of fine Caeban wine sat on a handmade table beside the bed, and red stains all across the sheets were testament to the wildness of its consumption. Raeven slipped his arm from Lyx’s shoulders and traced a finger over the coiled tattoo behind her ear that was normally hidden by her auburn hair.
‘Do you know how much trouble you’d be in if anyone saw that?’ he asked.
‘You’ve seen it,’ she replied.
‘Yes, but I’m not going to report you for a cult tattoo.’
‘Then why should I worry?’ she said with a grin. ‘You’re the only one who gets to see it.’
‘Not even Albard?’
‘Especially not Albard,’ she laughed, but he saw through her levity.
‘You’re not really mixed up with the Serpent cult are you?’
Lyx shook her head and kissed him. ‘Can you really imagine me dancing naked in the forest?’
‘I am now. Is that what they do?’
‘That’s what they say,’ said Lyx. ‘That, and sacrifice virgins and mate with nagas.’
Raeven made a disgusted face. Like most people, he’d heard the rumours about the vile practices of the Serpent cult – their misguided belief in old gods and their abhorrence of all forms of authority. And like most people, he’d dismissed them as just that, rumours.
‘Anything left to drink?’ asked Lyx.
He reached over her to examine the bottles. All were empty, and he slumped back onto the bed with a sigh.
‘No, it’s all gone.’
‘We drank it all?’ asked Lyx, turning onto her side. She gave him a full-lipped smile as the movement pulled the sheets down her body. Raeven took a moment to savour the nut-brown colour of her flesh and the way it rose in goosebumps in the chill air of the high bedchamber.
‘I’m afraid so,’ he said.
‘That explains why my head feels like one of your father’s pet nagas is squeezing it.’
Raeven rubbed his eyes and ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth. Like Lyx, his skin was the colour of young oak, ridged by cut lines of defined musculature. He was slender where his brother was bulky, and toned where Albard could only generously be described as ‘stocky’.
With nothing nearby to drink, Raeven reached up and pulled down a coiled pipe of leathery azhdarchid skin and sucked upon the copper end piece, until the smouldering embers in the bowl on the shelf above the headboard took light. He puffed a stream of aromatic smoke into the air, making a pillow of his arm.
‘I doubt if old Oruboros or Shesha could even break an egg open, these days,’ he said at last. ‘It’s a stupid comparison to make.’
‘You know what I mean,’ she pouted.
‘I do, but you’re prettier when you’re sad.’
‘That must be why you’re so cruel to me.’
‘One of the many reasons,’ agreed Raeven, letting the soothing effects of the smoke ease away the disquiet he always felt when he woke in the same bed as Ly
x. As enticing as her bodily charms and paramour’s skills were, he couldn’t quite rid himself of the feeling that there was something unnatural about their...
Their what? Lovemaking? Hardly, since there was little love lost between them.
Rutting had something of a ring to it, in that it perfectly encapsulated the frenetic violence of their coupling, but didn’t quite express the frisson he took from its taboo nature. Raeven glanced over at the ring on Lyx’s finger and almost laughed as his genhanced eyes read the betrothal inscription laser-etched upon its platinum surface.
‘What’s funny?’ asked Lyx.
‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘I just caught a glimpse of the vow Albard had inscribed on your ring.’
She pulled her hand below the sheets, and her face flushed. She shrugged.
‘It’s a nice ring, and you insist I keep it on.’
‘Yes,’ said Raeven, letting the smoking pipe coil back up to the bowl. ‘I like to know what I’m defiling.’
She smiled and reached over to pull him towards her. Her fingers brushed over the steel-rimmed sockets bored through the meat of his body at his neck and spine. He saw her flinch at the cold, metallic presence in his skin, and took a moment to savour the look of distaste that flashed in her eyes.
‘You don’t like them?’ he asked.
‘No, they’re cold.’
‘You should be used to that by now,’ said Raeven, pushing her down onto the bed. He leaned down to kiss her, but she turned her head to the side.
‘Did it hurt?’ she asked. ‘When the Sacristans cut you open, I mean?’
Still supporting himself on his elbows, Raeven nodded. ‘Yes. The Sacristans had us immobilised with muscle inhibitors, but father decided we would undergo the surgery without the benefit of pain-blockers, just like they did in his day. We were paralysed, but awake the whole time.’
She flinched at the thought of being cut open by the iron-faced priests of Mars and their lickspittle Sacristans. Raeven felt his jaw clench at the memory of the procedure, strapped in a bronze gurney in the depths of the Sanctuary as he and Albard faced each other across the expanse of bottle-green ceramic tiles and sterile steel.
‘I suspect father expected me to scream, but I was damned if I’d give him the satisfaction.’
‘What do they feel like now?’ she said, probing the edges of the sockets in his flesh and sliding her fingers inside, despite her avowed distaste. So like her to express squeamishness one moment, naked interest the next. She’d been like that the first time he’d taken her to his bed, pleading with him that what they were doing was wrong, but coming back night after night for more of the same.
‘They feel like part of me,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Like they’ve always been a part of me.’
‘Albard’s are infected,’ said Lyx, rubbing the skin around the neural connector, and Raeven saw her breathing was becoming heavier. ‘He has me rub counterseptic poultices on them several times a day.’
‘Does he like that?’
She shook her head. ‘No, he hates it.’
‘Good,’ said Raeven, kissing her and feeling her body respond to his touch.
Later, with Lyx asleep, Raeven slid from his bed and padded softly across the floor of his chambers. This high in the valley, the air was cold, but thick mallahgra pelts hunted by his grandfather in the jungles of Kush kept his feet pleasantly warm. Sweat cooled rapidly on his skin, and he pulled a sea-green robe edged in xenosmilus fur around his naked body. Beyond the louvres, he could hear the sound of the city preparing for the day’s celebrations – the excited hubbub of tens of thousands of voices.
Though Raeven was hundreds of metres above the city in one of the three Devine Towers, he fancied he could still hear the cosmopolitan mix of accents as the people gathered there came from all across the world to honour the Becoming of Lord Devine’s sons. Merchants from Loquash would be haggling with the painted men of Aenatep. Artisans of the Clockwork City would unveil their ticking, mechanical marvels – hoping to avoid the attentions of the Sacristan Guard – while the various Houses would no doubt be parading the best and bravest of their knights, boasting of their great hunts and the productivity of their satrapies. And the people of Lupercalia would bear this intrusion of so many thousands to their city with the stoic surety that not one of the newcomers could hold a candle to House Devine.
Raeven pulled back the heavy drapes and pushed out through the louvred shutters to the stone-walled balcony beyond, as though the city were his and his alone.
The stepped expanse stretched out before him, filling the width of the valley from one side to the other and cascading down its length to the fertile plains below. Colourful structures of every conceivable shape, size, height and orientation jostled for space amid streets that bore the qualities of the Emperor’s Legions that had brought this world back into the embrace of the Imperium.
Where the Lion had raised the Dawn Citadel in the tapering reaches of the upper valley, the streets around it were rigidly arranged in an unbending grid pattern. And where local geography interfered with that plan, it had been engineered away by the Mechanicum. Lower down, the streets were woven together like intricate knotwork, the free-flowing yet ordered nature of this street-plan said to be a representation of Lord Horus’s war-making. The Khan had chosen not to make his mark in stone, and had instead taken himself into the wild places and high mountains. No one knew exactly what legacy the primarch of the White Scars had left, though fireside tales whispered that he had spoken of secret things to the tribes and noble Houses that existed at the edges of the world.
The one portion of unity amid the chaotic nature of the city’s plan was the Via Argentum, a laser-straight processional that climbed the length of the valley from its wide-mouthed opening to the rocky fortress built into the ochre stone of the mountain. Raeven held a hand over his eyes and looked up at the artfully shaped peak, less a geological feature than a man-made statement carved into the face of the world.
Arms slipped around his waist, and Raeven smelled the jasmine oil Lyx liked rubbed onto her skin. He could feel that she was naked, and he wondered if he had time to take her back to bed before his mother came to fetch him.
‘Are you nervous?’ she asked.
He looked at the marbled dome of the citadel, the early morning sun catching the copper banding between the coffered azure panels. He shook his head, angry that she might think him afraid of what this day promised.
‘No,’ he said, pushing her away. ‘I have been prepared for the Ritual of Becoming since my tenth summer. I know who I am, and I’m ready for whatever happens. If a dullard like father can go through it, then I don’t think I’ll have any trouble.’
‘I heard that the firstborn of House Tazkhar died and that his three brothers went mad after they went through it.’
‘House Tazkhar?’ sneered Raeven. ‘What do you expect from nomadic dung-burners who can’t even build a proper city? Some shit-smeared shaman masquerading as a Sacristan probably poured holy naga venom into their neural connectors.’
‘You shouldn’t get angry,’ said Lyx. ‘You need to be calm. The Throne Mechanicum imprint is based on your neural state at the moment of connection.’
Raeven rounded on her and laughed, a bitter bark of derision.
‘And you’re a Mechanicum priest now, are you? What other pearls of wisdom do you have for me, or does your insight only stretch to the blindingly obvious?’
Lyx pursed her lips. ‘You are in a foul mood this morning.’
‘I am what you make me,’ he returned. ‘I always have been.’
Lyx’s hand flashed out to slap him, but gene-manipulation in the male bloodline of House Devine over the centuries ensured that Raeven’s reaction speed was far faster than hers. He caught her hand and twisted the arm savagely around her back. He pushed her back into the room and threw her face-down upon the bed. S
he turned to face him as he opened his robe, her expression the same mixture of revulsion and devotion she’d worn since childhood.
Before he could do more, the door to his chamber opened and a statuesque woman in a flowing dress of iridescent scales swept imperiously within. She wore a headdress of nagahide, and a number of venom-blinded servants followed in her wake, each bearing a selection of outfits for him to choose from.
‘Mother!’ said Raeven, planting his hands on his hips and sighing in exasperation. ‘Don’t you knock anymore?’
Cebella Devine shook her head and wagged an admonishing finger. ‘What mother needs to knock at her son’s door on the day of his Becoming?’
‘Clearly not you,’ said Raeven.
‘Hush now,’ said Cebella, running an elongated fingernail across the sculpted lines of his chest. ‘You don’t want to be angry with me. Not today, of all days.’
‘Spare me, mother,’ snapped Raeven. ‘Lyx has already given me the benefit of her extensive knowledge on the matter.’
Cebella’s expression hardened and she turned to face the young girl on the bed, who stared back at her with withering contempt.
‘Get dressed, Lyx,’ said Cebella. ‘It is inappropriate for you to be here today.’
‘Just today?’ Lyx laughed.
‘If you plan to be Raeven’s Adoratrice consort, you need to start acting like one.’
‘Like you are to Cyprian?’ hissed Lyx, her fingers curled into fists. ‘I hardly think so.’
‘Get out,’ said Cebella, her face a granite mask. ‘Albard will be here soon. Take the servants’ tunnels and don’t let me see you until after matters are concluded.’
‘With pleasure,’ said Lyx, visibly controlling her fury and gathering up her clothes. She slipped them on with practiced speed and, fully attired, sashayed to Raeven’s side to plant a kiss on his cheek. ‘Until later.’
Cebella snapped her fingers and said, ‘Someone open the drapes. This room smells like a brothel.’
‘Well, you’re the expert there,’ Lyx muttered, throwing a final barb and darting past Cebella to vanish though the door.
‘Right,’ said Cebella, turning her critical gaze upon her son. ‘Let’s see if we can make you vaguely presentable.’
