Fear to Tread

by James Swallow

  No help from the Word Bearers had been requested or required by the Blood Angels, however. The black-armoured Wardens, their roles already embedded in the Legion proper, took on the task of policing the reformation.

  ‘Ah, yes,’ said Harox, speaking for the first time. ‘Of course. You have your own.’ He glanced at Raldoron, as if he were attempting to intuit his thoughts.

  ‘My Wardens are not the same as Lorgar’s Chaplains,’ Sanguinius stated, matter-of-factly.

  ‘Indeed,’ said Kreed, ‘and the role of my granted office is not the issue at hand, my lord. I am here as the steward of a message for you, Lord Sanguinius.’ At that, the woman sauntered forwards.

  ‘Not that I would denigrate the powers of the mamzel,’ said the primarch, ‘but the Red Tear’s astropathic choir is the finest in this sector. Any communication Horus wishes to send to me they could pluck from the tides of the void and deliver in kind.’

  Raldoron watched as Kreed slowly shook his head. ‘No, my lord. That is not so. Great Horus stipulated to me with no uncertainty that Sahzë alone will be the conduit of this message, and that his orders in this were ironclad.’

  The Angel’s manner cooled. ‘Those were my brother’s exact words?’

  ‘No, lord,’ replied Kreed. ‘Those were your Warmaster’s words.’

  Raldoron glanced at Zuriel and saw the same questions on the Sanguinary Guard’s face as were doubtless visible on his own.

  ‘Far be it from me to defy the Warmaster,’ said Sanguinius, without weight. ‘Lady? Come forwards, if you will.’

  ‘I cannot,’ she trilled. ‘For I too am under the strictest of the Warmaster’s instructions.’ Sahzë extended a long arm and cast around the antechamber, taking in Zuriel’s men, Raldoron and the Word Bearers. ‘They must leave us.’

  Zuriel’s jaw set. ‘We are the Sanguinary Guard. We will not leave our lord alone with an unknown witch!’

  Sahzë continued as if the Guard Sergeant had not spoken. ‘Horus Lupercal’s message is for his brother’s eyes only. The meme-blocks in my psyche and the telepathic codes holding my aura closed will only dissolve…’ She released a sigh, gazing dreamily at the primarch. ‘When we are alone.’

  Sanguinius was like marble for the longest moment, his face unreadable. Then his expression shifted, returning to his easy aspect. ‘Do as she says, Zuriel. Take your warriors and wait outside.’ He turned to Raldoron. ‘Captain, please ensure our guests are accommodated while I deal with this matter.’

  Raldoron came closer, lowering his voice. ‘My lord, are you–’

  ‘Certain,’ Sanguinius told him, in a tone that would brook no argument.

  Reluctantly, the First Captain gave a bow and turned away. Kreed and Harox fell in step with him, and a few paces behind, Zuriel and the Sanguinary Guard followed suit.

  ‘This is against protocol,’ muttered Lohgos under his breath. ‘If he were here, Azkaellon would never allow it.’

  ‘You are fearful over nothing, brother,’ Raldoron heard Halkryn reply. ‘These are our allies. There’s no threat here, and that girl is just a wisp of a thing.’

  Lohgos’s reply was frosty. ‘Is she?’

  The antechamber’s doors closed with a low ring of metal on metal, and Sanguinius approached the astropath. She could not remain still, shifting on her feet as if being acted upon by a breath of wind that touched only her.

  The primarch reached out and raised her chin with his fingertips, making her meet his gaze. ‘You’re a curious one,’ he offered. ‘What has made my brother send you to me, mamzel?’

  ‘I would not like to guess,’ she breathed, fingering a silver clasp upon her robes.

  ‘No?’

  ‘I am not privy to the thoughts of godlings.’

  The Angel chuckled. ‘We are not gods, he and I. But in a poor light one might mistake us as so.’

  ‘Such contradiction in those words, great one,’ said Sahzë. ‘I am not divine, sayeth the angel.’ She reached out, daring to touch the trailing edge of his folded wings beneath the mail cloak.

  Sanguinius allowed the imposition, but then stepped back to give her room. ‘I am, like Horus and all my kin, as my father made me. Born of science and learning, not of mythology.’

  ‘The Emperor made you an angel,’ said the astropath, her voice echoing in the empty room. ‘Why? Did he make a devil as well?’

  ‘Have you met my brother Magnus?’ he replied, with a wry smile.

  Sahzë folded her arms to her chest, her hands playing at her thin, elegant neck. Her every motion seemed performed, as if it were a step in some long, expressive dance. ‘Did your father give you wings and fair aspect to show his mastery? To prove to the galaxy that he was superior to every dream of seraphs?’

  The woman’s words had brought the primarch a moment of amusement, but that now faded. ‘You are here to give me a message,’ Sanguinius told her. ‘Deliver it.’

  ‘As you wish.’ Sahzë’s long fingers pulled at the folds of her robes and the cloth unwrapped itself from around her, falling from her thin shoulders to gather in a shimmering, silken pool at her feet. Her pale, hairless flesh was ivory and unblemished.

  With exaggerated care, the astropath dropped to the floor and gathered herself into a crouching, hunched form. Sanguinius’s acute senses felt a sudden drop in temperature around her, and a rime of frost sparkled into being over Sahzë’s skin. She snorted, puffs of white vapour escaping her nostrils, and began to tremble. But not from the cold.

  Above her, motes of strange light gathered, emitting out of the air itself. The primarch smelled a sulphurous, electric tang. His thoughts racing, he spoke quickly into his vox. ‘Priority,’ he said quietly. ‘Isolate the astropathic choir in their sanctum chamber immediately. Seal them in and do not open it again until I give the order.’

  Sanguinius cut the link without waiting for a reply. He could perceive the sudden plume of energy collecting around the woman, feeling the pressure of it on the edges of his more ephemeral senses – and such a discharge of psychic power might easily wreak havoc with the delicate minds of the Red Tear’s astropaths.

  Sahzë gave an agonised cry that drew him back to her, and the woman’s head snapped upwards with an audible click. In an explosive flood, streamers of thick, churning mist burst from her open mouth, her nostrils, ears and eyes.

  The primarch’s hand dropped to the infernus pistol holstered at his waist and hesitated there. This was no manner of psychic communication he was familiar with.

  A piercing psychic shriek cut through his thoughts and then melted away into silence. The mist resembled thick, milky fluid flowing through clear oil, but by turns it began to coalesce into a more solid, defined structure. Sanguinius’s eyes widened as the shape became the vaguest suggestion of a human. It grew more distinct with each passing second, gaining layers of detail and nuance.

  The ectoplasmic cloud coagulated into a familiar form, and then it spoke. ‘Well met, brother.’ The timbre of the words was distorted, as if they were coming through water, the low tones resonating, but it was without doubt the voice of the Warmaster.

  Sanguinius’s eyes flicked to Sahzë, who writhed silently in the throes of a psyker trance, then back to the apparition. ‘Horus?’ he asked, studying the smoke-shape. ‘What is this?’

  ‘The woman is extremely gifted,’ said his brother. ‘And her abilities have been… enhanced by those with unique knowledge.’

  ‘How is this done?’ The Angel slowly circled the trembling, naked woman. ‘She is a… a conduit? That is not possible…’

  The Horus-image turned to follow him. ‘Clearly it is, Sanguinius. Hurling psychic shouts into the void and hoping they will be heard is but one method of contact over interstellar distances.’

  ‘The only method.’

  ‘Not so,’ Horus corrected. ‘Sahzë’s rare gift is what you see at work here. She can forge a direct line of contact through the warp, becoming the passage between us as easily as if we were speaking over a vox-ch
annel. She is mind-bonded to another, who is before me now.’

  ‘Incredible,’ Sanguinius admitted. ‘This is of father’s creation?’

  ‘He is occupied with his great work on Terra.’ Horus gave a curt shake of the head. ‘I have learned a lot myself, brother, especially in these recent weeks. New possibilities are opening up before me.’ He nodded to himself. ‘For all of us.’

  ‘I am impressed,’ said the Angel. ‘But I would counsel caution with such things. Remember how the Emperor looked gravely upon the Thousand Sons for their experiments with the immaterium.’

  Horus’s face rippled and shifted, making his expressions hard to read. ‘Magnus was foolish. He kept his aims concealed from father. I will never do that. The Emperor will always know what I intend.’ The Warmaster’s phantom loomed larger, the shapes of his battle armour becoming visible as he moved. Even this simulacrum served to carry his great presence across the light years without diminishing it. ‘A question occurs to me, Sanguinius. As I stand here upon the deck of the Vengeful Spirit with my warriors at my hand and the end of the Great Crusade on the horizon… I think of our doubts.’

  ‘I have none,’ the Angel answered without hesitation. ‘This cause is as just as it has ever been, my brother. We bring light to those in need of illumination, we are following in our father’s glorious footsteps. You know that.’

  ‘I know that,’ Horus echoed, and for a moment he almost seemed disappointed. ‘I do. I know our Emperor’s desire, for an ordered galaxy with his rule upon it.’

  ‘It is what we are born for.’ Sanguinius paused, concern etching his features. It was difficult to interpret the ghost-image of his brother, but he could sense a distance between them that was not just physical. ‘Horus, what troubles you? Is something amiss? Is that why you wished to speak to me alone?’

  His answer came slowly, but with certainty. ‘I am untroubled, brother. Do not concern yourself for me.’ He gestured towards Sanguinius, wraith-like fingers reaching out. ‘I have new orders for the Blood Angels. An important mission that will require the full might of your armies.’

  ‘You wish me to commit my entire Legion to a single objective?’

  Horus nodded, the image blurring. ‘Yes, and you will need the strength of every one of your sons. I have learned that a cluster of worlds in the Northern Cross, out on the Fringe, have severed all lines of contact with Terra and the Imperium. These worlds are key colonies in that region, a lynch-pin system vitally important to the protection of the outer sectors, and of critical strategic importance to the Great Crusade.’

  ‘Invasion?’ said Sanguinius. ‘Or insurrection?’

  ‘Both,’ the Warmaster replied. ‘My intelligencers believe that the planetary governors have willingly surrendered their authority and their military to the rule of a xenos trespasser.’ He fixed his brother with a hard eye. ‘You know them well, Sanguinius. We faced them together on the deserts of Melchior. The alien tyrants who call themselves the nephilim.’

  For an instant, the primarch was struck silent. Then he shook his head, his brow furrowing. ‘The nephilim are extinct,’ he insisted. ‘We culled them by the million on Melchior! Their home world was razed by the White Scars. Jaghatai looked me in the eyes and told me it was done!’

  ‘It appears that the Khan and his warriors were too quick to mark the grave of these hateful creatures. Clearly, the V Legion were not as thorough as we believed. Some survived, and now they have returned to plague the Imperium.’

  ‘I would not have thought the White Scars capable of such an error…’ Sanguinius’s frown deepened. It was difficult to conceive that Jaghatai Khan and his hordes would have left even one nephilim alive after their assault.

  ‘Go to the Eastern Fringe,’ Horus insisted, ‘and finish the deed once and for all. Take your Legion and exterminate whatever you find there.’

  ‘And the colonies?’

  Horus became grave. ‘Do what you can. But it may already be too late for the colonies and their populations. If so, they are to be considered enemy combatants. Do not seek surrender or accept capitulation, Sanguinius. There can only be death… but with all your sons by your side, I am confident that these aliens and their lickspittle worshippers will be utterly destroyed.’

  The Angel considered the Warmaster’s words. ‘That is your order?’

  ‘Aye,’ echoed the distant voice. ‘You will take Kreed and the Dark Page with you on this duty. They will observe, and when all is done, return to me with the final word of it.’

  ‘We have a delegation of remembrancers in the fleet… Perhaps they should be sent elsewhere.’

  ‘Keep them with you,’ Horus told him. ‘They will serve their purpose.’

  Sanguinius turned over the command in his thoughts. Horus’s demand was that the Blood Angels serve as the edge of the axe, sweeping in across space to destroy all that lay before them. It was an act they were capable of, of that there was no doubt, but it seemed a crude use of their capability. ‘I will do as my Warmaster asks, if that is his wish,’ said the primarch. ‘My other fleets are close by and I can gather them to my side in short order. But I cannot proceed without a question.’

  ‘Ask it,’ Horus demanded.

  ‘Why have you chosen the Blood Angels for this endeavour?’ Sanguinius tried to search the face of the apparition for some degree of meaning, but the smoky image did not hold under his scrutiny. ‘Surely the Wolves of Russ or Angron’s World Eaters would be better suited to such a punitive campaign? My Legion are not executioners.’

  ‘You are what your Warmaster tells you to be,’ came the terse reply. Horus paused, then spoke again, moderating his tone. ‘You wish to know why I sent you the woman Sahzë, why I wanted to keep this conversation most secret?’

  The odour of human sweat and seared flesh reached the primarch, and Sanguinius glanced at the astropath. She was rocking back and forth, vomiting up the thick strings of mist, buried in the depths of her trance. He saw strange traceries beneath the surface of her skin, bright lines like fire burning deep in the pale meat of her, crosses piled upon crosses, stars and circles. He saw this, and on some level he was disquieted.

  ‘It is because of a vow I made to you.’ Horus’s words drew his attention away. ‘On Melchior, in the sunken ruin of an alien chapel. I told you I would do all I could to help you deal with… your lost. No matter how long it took.’

  Sanguinius became very still. ‘I remember.’

  ‘A secret truth was discovered in the ruins of the nephilim home world. The xenos control human minds, that we have always known. But they possess a technology capable of manipulating the structure of the brain. Something that can reach into the very depths of a man’s mind and excise the darkness bred into him. Do you understand, my brother? They have a key, these creatures. It may be the very solution you have been searching for. A way to undo the flaw.’ He nodded. ‘I know you have not halted in your private quest for a solution.’

  ‘Yes,’ Sanguinius said, feeling an echo of the terrible burden upon him once more. ‘And we have found nothing. Even now, my Guard Commander returns from Nartaba Octus after a fruitless hunt.’ He looked away for a moment. The primarch had sent Azkaellon to the planet beset by eldar pirates to seek out a lost bio-relical, but there had been nothing to find but ruins. It preyed on him to keep these matters from his sons, but there were always burdens a father had to carry alone.

  ‘Obey my command in this,’ Horus told him, ‘and I promise you that the Blood Angels will find a new freedom.’

  At last, Sanguinius drew himself up and gave the salute of the aquila to the phantom image of his brother. ‘I obey, Warmaster,’ he said. ‘Where are we bound?’

  The face in the smoke smiled. ‘A star system called Signus.’

  THREE

  Of the Bloodline

  Wolves

  Drowning in Ashes

  The pace of the warrior’s bare feet slapping against the cold metal decking was a metronome, measuring out the passage of
time as he circled the length of the Hermia’s gun gallery.

  The Blood Angel ran at a pace that would have matched the cruise of an Mastodon troop carrier over even ground, his training fatigues snapping at his limbs. Across his back he carried a metal frame loaded with iron discs, counterbalance weights borrowed from the crews of the heavy ballistic launcher carriages arrayed far below the platform of the gallery. There were thick cowls around his wrists and ankles, filled with dense osmium powder. They dragged on him, simulating the load of a full suit of Mark II power armour, but with none of the strength-enhancing systems or internal temperature control mechanisms. Still, the warrior’s sheen of chem-engineered sweat kept him cool, allowing him to maintain his velocity as he approached the bow of the Hermia and the midpoint of the gun gallery.

  Raised up high over the bow of the starship, the gallery was part of the pre-Crusade design of the vessel. Formerly a space where gunnery officers could take visual sight readings and sensor gear could be housed, advances in technology by the Mechanicum priesthood had made such uses obsolete – and after the cruiser’s most recent refit, the kilometres-long platform had been remade. Aside from the Hermia’s main spinal corridor, it was the longest passageway on the ship, and for the most part it was empty. One side of the gantry looked down into the hull spaces where the bow guns and Geller field arrays rested, the other out through panels of armourglass into deep space, the crimson flanks of the starship dropping away beneath.

  The Blood Angel saw the turn coming and upped his speed into a sudden sprint. He wanted to finish his run before the Hermia completed its escape burn from the edges of the Nartaba system, before it moved into interstellar space and ventured into the warp. Elsewhere on the ship, his battle-brothers were already preparing their armour and weapons for the coming mission. His commander, Brother-Sergeant Cassiel, had ordered a mandatory equipment review, and the squad leader was notorious for his exacting attention to the smallest detail. The rest of the unit – Sarga, Leyteo, Xagan and the others – would be hard at work under his hawkish scrutiny, stripping their bolters down to the frame and working at their warplate with lapping powder. His armour was still in the hands of the Legion serfs, however, the repairs to its damaged chest plate taking longer than had been expected.