War Without End

by Various

  At low anchor over Davin are ships of every description. Tsi Rekh should not be able to see them so clearly, but the rip summoned by Ghehashren makes them appear as close as if they were in the lower atmosphere.

  Or if he were suspended on the edge of the void.

  Merchant. Military. Colony transport. Tsi Rekh understands the broad types of the ships, but only at the most basic level. The vessels are ancient. They are battered, worn, and the warp has gnawed at them, leaving the marks of its teeth. The longer Tsi Rekh looks up, the closer his perspective comes to the ships. He can now pick out individual details. He focuses on one freighter. He marvels at its size. He wonders how many thousands it might carry. But none of them has ever set foot in a starship. He will not question Ghehashren, but cannot understand how the prophet expects the people of Davin to get aboard. And even then, how are they to pilot these vessels? He sees within the bridge now. It is massive.

  He is on the bridge. Surrounded by the control surfaces. He is standing beside the command throne. A frayed mechadendrite coils beside him. He reaches out. He grasps the limp cable. He can feel the metallic ridges against his palm.

  He gasps.

  He is back on the mountainside, blinking, stunned by awe and terror. In his hand is a piece of the mechadendrite. He stares at it, then looks up at Ghehashren. Some of the prophet’s eyes have turned his way. Ghehashren’s mouth is not capable of expression, yet the beak and the jaw are parted slightly, as if in a smile.

  ‘Do you see?’ Ghehashren asks. The voice is soft, for Tsi Rekh alone.

  The priest nods.

  He knows of Akshub’s ability to travel behind the barriers, to arrive in an instant anywhere on Davin. How much greater the prophet’s power must be, after walking so long in the realm of the gods. Thousands of years in the Lodge of Echoes, long enough for the old Davin to pass away, long enough to become the marvel of horror that strides along the ridges of the peak. The scale of what Ghehashren will accomplish staggers him anew. The prophet will transport the people to the ships. Will he or some other power guide them to their destinations? That truth is hidden.

  But this truth is upon him: the walker of the ways will be the Exodus.

  The people are shouting, crying, screaming in the ecstasies of faith. They praise Ghehashren, they praise the gods. There is a massive surge forward towards the base of the mountain, where the rip waits, in blood and darkness and the torment of light. But Ghehashren holds up a hand, and the surge stops in an instant. The thousands upon thousands see and hear and obey.

  The prophet looks down upon the priests.

  ‘All lodges are one,’ he declares, and Tsi Rekh can see the truth of that pronouncement. The masses below are a unity, fused together by the fire of their mission, and by the thunder of the Lodge of Echoes. Ghehashren continues, ‘But the followers of the one will need voices of guidance. My journey is not with you. And so I shall give each of you charges.’

  Serpent and Wild Cat, Wolf and Bear, Wyrm and Rat, they all face each other with new purpose. Rivalry died in the sacrifice of their followers. They are tiny instruments in the hands of the Ruinous Powers. What wars and schisms may wage in times to come are not for them to decide. The greatest of them all has spoken. The honour of their task and the promise of infinite corruption is all they need.

  Tsi Rekh needs more. He hides his anger. He will never disobey the commands of the transcendent being who has come among them, but he will not be robbed of his destiny.

  Where is his echo?

  It can be in only one place.

  The other priests descend from the mountain, and the great partitioning begins. The masses know by instinct whom they are meant to follow. Destiny has come to all. Ghehashren speaks the will of the gods, and his thunder guides the preparations.

  Tsi Rekh dares the great forbidden. To pass one more time through the cleft in the mountain. To spiral through stone. To stand before the Lodge of Echoes. Alone.

  To mount the ramp.

  He will find his destiny. It must be here. The echo will come back to him. It will complete the lesson that was intended for him and no other. Fate has called him this far. It cannot have been a trick. Not with the name so close to revelation.

  The ramp is not stone. It is bone, and the marrow of compressed echoes. Whispers move under his feet. For the first time in his life, Tsi Rekh knows fear untouched by the conviction of faith. He fears punishment but he walks on. He reaches the entrance to the lodge. He must not pause.

  He crosses the threshold.

  The echo is here. It is massive. It strikes. It uses all of his senses to speak at last the full measure of the name.

  The hum. The choir. The stutter. The wail.

  And the constriction, serpent strong. Lllllllllllllllllllllll…

  The name is taking Tsi Rekh in its claws.

  MADAIL.

  MADAIL.

  MADAIL.

  Carving him open. Revelation yes, knowledge yes, truth yes, all claws, all teeth, all pain.

  Wonder of destiny. Agony of fate.

  He will be the passage. He will be the way.

  Vision returns, and he is on the ground outside the lodge, Ghehashren standing over him. The parting of the beak and jaw, that smile of darkness. The gaze of all the eyes.

  The prophet speaks. No thunder. A whisper using the returned echo, knowledge shared by the two of them alone. ‘You understand?’

  Tsi Rekh nods. The full sweep of the glory that awaits still unfolding in his mind. The destruction he will wreak. The name he will serve.

  MADAIL.

  ‘I will be the passage,’ he whispers, throat bleeding.

  ‘One more gift,’ Ghehashren says, and speaks two names. They are death, rattle and hiss. They await at the end of the path.

  Pandorax.

  Pythos.

  ‘Seneschal, do we open fire?’

  Chapter Master Belath’s question cut across the din of warning klaxons. Corswain tore his eyes from the sensor display, away from the runes that showed traitor ships arrowing towards the centre of the fleet like a spear aimed for his heart. Signal returns confirmed that they were the same Death Guard ships that he had chased across twelve devastated star systems.

  ‘What are the separatists doing?’ the seneschal demanded as he looked to Urizel, who was overseeing the augury consoles.

  ‘Their vessels are powering up, seneschal. No locking scans detected.’ The legionary leaned over the wasted forms of the slaved servitors to examine the main screen. ‘Reactor spikes in the orbital stations. Weapons are arming. Torpedo tubes are closed.’

  Corswain took the news without comment while Belath paced back and forth across the quarterdeck of the strategium, whispering curses.

  ‘If you have something to say,’ Corswain muttered, ‘then speak it.’

  ‘I was merely regretting the decision to come to Argeus without the full Legion, seneschal,’ Belath replied, regaining his composure.

  ‘My decision, you mean. You raised little objection at the command council.’

  ‘With respect, seneschal, it is of no consequence how we come to be here. Do we open fire on the separatists? We cannot allow them the first volley.’

  Corswain turned. ‘Do not open fire! Manoeuvre the fleet to counter the Death Guard approach. All ships to reform on our position.’

  ‘That will bring more of the fleet into range of the orbital platforms and expose us to the rebels,’ Belath protested.

  ‘I issued an order, Chapter Master. I did not invite opinion. We will meet the Death Guard in battle.’

  ‘But the rebels–’

  ‘President-General Remercus has observed the agreed truce thus far. If the separatists wished to attack us, they have already had ample opportunity.’

  ‘Unless they were waiting for something.’

  ‘Carr
y out my orders.’ Corswain did not shout, but his curt tone forestalled any further debate.

  Belath nodded reluctantly and moved to the communications array to one side of the command deck. From here he relayed the order to the other eleven Dark Angels vessels currently standing off from the so-called ‘Free Army of Terra Nullius’.

  It was not the first time that the Dark Angels had encountered a world that had ceded from the Imperium and yet not dedicated itself to Horus; it was, however, the most military. Seven capital ships and transports for more than three hundred thousand men had gathered at this proclaimed safe haven. It was a force that could conquer whole systems, idly waiting for the civil war to resolve itself.

  On the display, the lead ships of the Death Guard fleet approached the outlying Dark Angels vessels. The three smaller escort ships retreated towards the strike cruisers and battle-barges of the main fleet, speeding out of range before they came under any fire.

  It was no satisfaction to Corswain that the Librarians’ telepathic auguries of the traitor fleet’s location had been proven true. If only he had shown more faith in their abilities, then he would not now be outnumbered and out of position between two potential foes.

  ‘Communications – send priority transmission to the President-General. Redirect to my quarters.’

  Belath frowned. ‘You’re leaving the strategium?’

  ‘You may be new to the command of the Second Order, Chapter Master, but I have every confidence you will respond properly to this attack. I have other matters that demand my attention.’

  As Corswain departed the strategium, two legionaries from his personal guard fell in behind their commander. He stopped to address them.

  ‘Return to the command deck to assist Chapter Master Belath. Be sure to remind him that he is not to fire on the Free Army, or their orbital stations, unless they directly target us.’

  The Space Marines saluted in acknowledgement and turned away, leaving Corswain to walk unattended. His kept the vox-channel open to monitor the unfolding fleet action – in the two minutes it took him to reach the door of his personal chambers, the Death Guard had broken off their headlong rush, having failed to take the pickets unawares with their ambush. It seemed that they were regrouping for a more concerted thrust towards the Dark Angels.

  As the door hissed closed behind him, Corswain slumped against the wall beside it, his armour whining as it strove to match his sagging frame. The seneschal closed his eyes and rested his head against the bare metal, trying to think.

  ‘A foolish errand,’ he muttered, echoing the words Grand Master Haradin had spoken at the council.

  Perhaps it had been foolish, but the council had demanded – albeit in a veiled manner – that Corswain take the lead.

  A sharp crack cut through the raised voices as Corswain slammed his sheathed sword onto the worn wood of the table. The Seneschal of the Dark Angels glared at the assembled Masters of the Legion.

  ‘Shouting at cross-purposes gets us nowhere.’

  Silenced for the moment, the eight commanders sat back in their seats, glowering at one another. Corswain took a breath and looked to each of them in turn. They regarded him warily.

  ‘What else would you have me do?’ he demanded. ‘The Lion’s last command, a command he gave to me in person, was to bring word of his actions to Lord Russ of the Space Wolves, and to engage the enemy wherever possible.’

  ‘The enemy are to be found everywhere, Russ nowhere,’ said Haradin, Grand Master of the Third Order. Two of his Chapter Masters, Nerael and Zanthus, nodded their approval. ‘Was it really the Lion’s intent to split the Legion over so many systems?’

  ‘We are but fifteen thousand light years from Caliban,’ said Astrovel, Fourth Chapter Master of the Seventh Order. ‘We should see first to the defence of our home world.’ He shook his head, his scarred face grim. ‘The Lion would give us short regard if we chased after this Death Guard traitor, only to allow the foe to fall upon Caliban as they have hundreds of other worlds.’

  ‘We chase shadows,’ said Haradin. ‘A dozen systems we have scoured for this foe, and we find each in uproar or destroyed, tainted by his presence. He leads us away from the strength of the Death Guard on purpose – I would swear to it.’

  Corswain looked to his right, where Dalmeon stood to one side of the council, and the Librarian stepped closer to the table at a gesture from the seneschal. ‘I cannot divine his intent, but we have had some success in finding his location. There are certain portents that we believe point to Typhon’s next target. The warp is in turmoil, riven by the powers of darkness, and wherever we look we see destruction and despair. Despite this, our auguries point to the Argeus system, some two hundred light years from our present position.’

  ‘Thank you, Dalmeon.’ Corswain looked at the other commanders. ‘We cannot know where Mortarion and the rest of the Death Guard linger, but we have unfinished business with Typhon.’

  ‘Surely you don’t intend to move all of our forces on this evidence?’ said Haradin. ‘With no offence to our brother Librarian, such visions could amount to nothing. A foolish errand.’

  ‘You are right,’ Corswain sighed, lifting his sword from the table and hooking it back onto his belt. ‘Warp-scrying has never been an exact art.’

  ‘The empyrean is a fickle power,’ said Astrovel, regarding Dalmeon with narrowed eyes. ‘It was for good reason that the Emperor forbade the use of such... talents.’

  ‘That matter was settled by the Lion,’ said Corswain. ‘Needs dictate a new perspective.’

  ‘A perspective Brother-Redemptor Nemiel did not share,’ said Astrovel. ‘I would not countermand the will of the Lion, but we cannot know his full intent in such matters.’

  ‘I think the Lion made his position perfectly clear,’ said Haradin. ‘At least, there is no further argument from Nemiel, is there?’

  ‘This gossip is pointless,’ snapped Corswain. ‘Were the Lion here, such words would not flow so easily from your lips, Grand Master. I am his authority now – you will show me equal respect.’

  ‘So I ask again, what do you intend for the Legion?’ asked Haradin. ‘This is the third council you have brought me to, and yet our objective is no clearer and no closer than before the first.’

  ‘Watch your tongue, brother,’ glowered Belath, newly promoted to command of the Second Order. ‘Your accusations are not needed here. The Lion named Corswain as his second. Surely you do not dispute the wishes of the primarch?’

  Haradin stared in silence at him. Corswain knew the veteran Grand Master’s words had not been intended as an insult – simply a goad for him to make a decision. Corswain felt the gazes of the council upon him and wondered why the Lion had chosen him for this task; he wished that another had been placed in command. But that was not to be, and Corswain had sworn to his primarch that he would lead in his stead. A decision had to be made.

  ‘You are right,’ Corswain said again, directing his words to Haradin. ‘To send the whole fleet on such scant information would be foolish. The Legion will break by Orders, and I will travel with Belath and the Second. We will move to Argeus to find the truth of the matter, with force sufficient for the task if Typhon is to be found there. The rest of you will continue our search of the neighbouring systems, to locate the Space Wolves or bring the fight to the enemy as you find them.’

  ‘That is your command?’ asked Haradin, looking unconvinced.

  ‘It is,’ said Corswain. ‘Spread word to the rest of the Legion. The fleet will disperse in twelve hours.’

  The Grand Master shrugged. ‘As you order, seneschal, so we will obey.’

  ‘Seneschal, we have contact with President-General Remercus.’

  Corswain opened his eyes and strode across the small antechamber to the communications monitor. He entered his cipher code and the screen flickered into life, revealing the face of the separatists’
leader.

  When Corswain had first met him, Remercus had seemed surprisingly young; a slight man no more than forty Terran years of age. His hair was cut short, but there were threads of grey in his carefully trimmed beard.

  ‘As I predicted, you have brought your war to Terra Nullius, Corswain. I warned you that your presence here made mockery of our neutrality.’

  ‘The Death Guard were already here,’ Corswain replied, keeping his temper in check. ‘It is convenient, is it not, that they eluded detection by your fleet.’

  ‘I do not doubt that the eyes of the Legiones Astartes can see into every asteroid field and dust cloud, but those of the Free Army cannot. Perhaps they followed your fleet to the system. I find it a remarkable coincidence that both the Dark Angels and Death Guard happen upon our world in such a short space of time.’

  ‘It is no coincidence, Remercus. We have hunted this fleet for a hundred days. We would have brought them to battle somewhere. Perhaps the greater coincidence is finding them here, where so many ships and soldiers of the Imperium stand idle.’

  ‘We have debated this before; do you wish to have the same arguments again, Corswain? Terra Nullius is not interested in this war waged amongst the Legions. If either fleet attempts to land troops on our planet, we will protect ourselves.’

  The internal vox-link crackled into life before Corswain could reply, temporarily muting the President-General. It was Belath.

  ‘Seneschal, the Death Guard are five minutes from effective range. The fleet is performing defensive manoeuvres but it would be wise to launch a pre-emptive strike. They outgun us, Corswain. We cannot allow them to gain the upper hand in position as well.’

  Corswain sighed. ‘Remain within range of the orbital batteries. Launch anti-torpedo drones and attack craft. Manoeuvre for line of engagement.’

  ‘We have little room to move, seneschal. To form a line of battle will take us into the Free Army vessels. We waste time while you treat with these rebels.’