by Gav Thorpe
FROM A GALLERY overlooking one of the impromptu mess decks that had once been a live firing range, Corax looked down at several companies of his Raven Guard filling themselves with ship’s rations. They stood at long trestle tables – chairs were another scarce commodity on board – and diligently ate from platters laden with synthetic meat and dry soybread. The fare was tasteless, but rich in the proteins and carbohydrates the legionaries needed to sustain themselves. Nutrient supplements were imbibed in the form of fortified water drunk straight from crude jugs turned out by the serfs in the lower deck workshops.
‘How are our stores?’ the primarch asked. He knew the answer but wanted to make sure that his commanders were abreast of every detail of the ship’s running.
‘Of no immediate concern, lord,’ replied Agapito. Branne and Solaro made up the quartet, with Aloni on watch command at the strategium. ‘The Avenger was stocked for a full three-year tour, more than enough for our current needs.’
‘The Navigators are reporting the same difficulties as before,’ added Branne. ‘It’ll be at least another forty days until we reach the Sol system. They have requested that we make another realspace drop to confirm our location.’
‘They are guessing,’ said Corax, sighing. ‘The rising warp storms almost blot out the Astronomican. We’ve translated three times already, and every time we have been at least five light years off course.’
‘Do you think that the rebels have something to do with the warp storms?’ asked Agapito. ‘Is that possible?’
‘I would not rule out anything at the moment,’ said Corax. He knew more about the strange ways of the warp than the commanders with him, and it was not unreasonable to assume that Horus might have acquired some form of technology or other power that had allowed him to conjure the roiling tempest befouling the Immaterium. The nature of what that other power might be, the hints he had learned from the Emperor and gleaned from his fellow primarchs, was best not shared. ‘There is the possibility that this turmoil hampers our enemies as much as it does us, but only a possibility.’
‘If it is not impertinent to ask, lord, why are we heading for Terra?’ asked Branne. ‘Although I can’t begin to guess at the motives of the Warmaster, the treachery at Isstvan suggests he wants to remove all opposition as swiftly as possible. Would it not be safer to secure Deliverance against attack?’
‘Horus might expect as much,’ said Corax, turning his back to the balustrade to face his commanders. There was noise from below as the assembled legionaries finished their meals and began to pile up the empty platters. ‘That is good enough reason not to go there. I have even stronger reasons for going to Terra.’
The statement floated in the air for a while until Agapito realised it was up to him to ask the next question.
‘Are you willing to share those reasons with us, lord?’
‘I must speak with the Emperor,’ replied Corax. ‘We do not know yet whether news of Horus’s perfidy has reached the Imperial Palace.’
‘Surely the Emperor is gifted enough to know when such a tragedy has befallen his realm?’ said Branne.
‘The warp storms may serve another purpose beyond stifling travel,’ said Corax. He looked at his commanders, seeing confusion in their expressions. ‘The warp, the Navigators, the astropaths and even the Emperor are linked together. They derive their powers from its energy, and so the storm cover might shield the Emperor’s far-seeing gaze as much as it blinds the Navigators to the route to Terra.’
‘Do you think Horus will attack the Emperor directly?’ asked Solaro. ‘Does he plan to invade Terra?’
‘Certainly,’ said Corax. ‘He has turned from the Imperial Truth and must either destroy the Emperor or be destroyed. The Warmaster’s actions have set us on a course to this confrontation; there can be no other outcome.’
This was greeted with intakes of breath and thoughtful silence for a few moments. Corax sympathised with his subordinates. The magnitude of what Horus had done was difficult to comprehend.
‘It seems Isstvan will become Horus’s folly,’ said Branne. ‘Even with the backing of so many Legions and the blow he dealt at the dropsite, he cannot hope to stand against the rest of the Imperium.’
‘We must assume the worst,’ said Solaro, before Corax could speak. ‘If those of the other Legions, who we once trusted with our lives, can be turned, we can place no faith in the loyalty of the Mechanicum or the Imperial Army.’
‘You are right,’ said Corax. ‘We have no idea of the true strength of the rebels.’ He stopped. The word ‘rebels’ did not convey nearly enough the gravitas of what Horus and his conspirators had perpetrated. ‘The traitors will have planned their moves for some time. Horus is prone to grand gestures, to displays of power, but he does not move without due preparation. Be sure of it, he did not act until he was ready, and that must mean he sees now as his best chance of a swift victory.’
‘It’ll be up to us to deny him, of course,’ said Branne, lip curling with anger.
‘Of course,’ said Corax, smiling thinly. ‘It is not in our foes’ interests to see the Imperium destroyed. They look to usurp the Emperor and become the rulers of the galaxy. So they must act quickly, destroying the Emperor and those who will fight with him, before the rest of the Imperium is dragged into the war. No matter what powers Horus has at his disposal, I agree with Branne. The traitors cannot win a long war.’
The legionaries were filing out below, while more were entering from the open doors in the far wall. Dozens of serfs were clearing the tables and bringing out heaps of fresh rations for the new arrivals. Corax looked down, meeting the eyes of the Raven Guard looking up at their leader. There was a dreary defiance etched into the features of those passing below, a moroseness that the primarch did not like.
‘Sergeant Nestil,’ Corax called out, halting the squad leader. The sergeant stood transfixed for a moment, like a target seeing the glint of a weapon pointed in his direction.
‘Lord Corax?’ Nestil replied. ‘How may I serve?’
‘Why so glum, sergeant?’ Corax kept his tone light-hearted. ‘Is the food not to your liking?’
‘I have eaten better, I must admit, lord,’ said the sergeant.
‘I suspect Horus is sitting on a big pile of grox steaks, sergeant. When we have permission from the Emperor, we’ll go and relieve him of them.’
There was laughter from the gathered legionaries, a little thin but better than the depression that Corax had sensed before.
‘Aye, lord, and no doubt Fulgrim has a few fancies too that we could help him with,’ replied Sergeant Nestil, earning more laughs.
‘You can be sure of that, Lancrato, you can be sure,’ said Corax, laughing along with the poor joke.
The primarch waved the legionaries on and turned his attention back to his commanders. His smile faded quickly.
‘We cannot allow the wounds of Isstvan to fester,’ he told them. ‘The Legion is depleted in strength, but it is the injuries to our spirit that are more grievous. We live or die by our successes, and they have been short of late.’
‘We will fight to the last man,’ said Solaro. ‘Yes,’ said Corax. His next words were to encourage himself as much as his companions. ‘Yet it would be better if we could get Horus’s forces to do that instead. We need a victory, something to restore honour and prestige. If we hole up in Deliverance, we surrender the initiative to our foes. That is not how we fight. With whatever force we can muster, we must take the fight to the traitors. We must prove to ourselves and others that they are not impervious, that an assault on Terra is not inevitable. At the moment we have been dealt a harsh blow, but we cannot run forever. The sooner we turn and fight back, the sooner we will sow doubt amongst the traitors and cracks will appear in their alliance.’
‘Are you so sure they will be so easy to break apart, lord?’ asked Agapito. Corax started to walk along the gallery. The great arched windows to his right were shuttered with ribbed steel blocking the view of the warp outside,
but he could still feel its presence, like an oppressive atmosphere, a tension that permeated everything. To think that it might be under the control of Horus in some way was disconcerting.
‘Easy? No,’ said Corax in reply to Agapito’s question. ‘Yet there will be disunity. Even under the banner of the Emperor my brothers and I could find cause for argument. Horus may have the ears of some for now, but each seeks to profit in his own way from this rebellion. When it becomes clearer that those goals will not be achieved without great effort, their resolve will wane and their common cause will fracture.’
‘Let us hope we can bring that about,’ said Agapito.
Corax directed a stern stare at the commander, stopping just before the narrow doorway at the end of the gallery. Agapito wilted slightly under the primarch’s unforgiving gaze.
‘We have no room for hope,’ said Corax. ‘We plan and we act. Hope is for dreamers and poets. We have our will and our weapons and we shall dictate our own fate.’
WHEN CORAX HAD departed, Branne, Agapito and Solaro made their way back to the quarters they now shared.
‘Why did you mention hope, brother?’ Branne asked harshly. ‘Do you not remember those same words he spoke at Gate Forty-Two?’
‘It was just a turn of phrase, brother,’ said Agapito, clearly taken aback. ‘Of course I remember Gate Forty-Two. Who could forget that slaughter?’
‘Be more careful with your words in the future,’ snapped Branne. ‘Lord Corax does not need any extra distractions at the moment.’
Agapito looked as if he would argue, but then bowed his head, accepting the admonishment.
‘As you say, brother,’ he said. ‘I will watch my words carefully in future.’
LOOKING AT THE nearly-empty jars in his small case, Pelon wondered how much longer he could make the spices and herbs last. The praefector had said nothing of the crude fare Pelon had been forced to serve him of late – his breeding was far too good and his military experience too long for such complaints – but it nagged at Pelon’s conscience that a noble of Therion should endure the same bland meals as a common serf.
He had done his best to make Valerius’s sparse quarters accommodating, setting out such belongings as the praefector had brought aboard on the narrow shelves and bedside table. Valerius’s full dress uniform and parade regalia were hung on one wall, along with his gold-hilted power sword, but their bright appearance only highlighted the drab, unpainted bulkheads, rather than drawing the eye away from them.
Pelon had managed to procure a few paints and brushes from the ship’s stores, not enough to liven up the whole chamber but sufficient to add some colour to the plain furnishings and the bare tin plates and cups he had taken from the mess. The Raven Guard seemed to revel in their austerity, he had decided, embracing the harsh conditions of their home on Deliverance instead of celebrating the luxuries and frivolities that should have come with compliance. The manservant had never thought he would miss those endless corridors of the old mines, or the empty vistas through the windows, but since coming on board the Avenger he had come to see the time he had spent on the dusty moon as comparative opulence.
He heard the outer door hissing open and finished his fussing around the small table he had set out for the praefector’s supper. Valerius came into the main chamber and sat down without comment, his eyes passing quickly over the carefully sliced protein slabs dusted with chemyrrh and orthal. The praefector lifted the dented metal cup, its edge painted with a fine line of red by Pelon, to his lips, but stopped before he took a sip. He lowered the cup to the table and finally looked at his manservant.
‘I miss wine,’ said Valerius. ‘A nice carafe of Mastillian red, a glass of bubbly Narinythe. For shame, I’d even settle for a sip of that stuff Prime Tribune Nathor rustled up on Hedda-Signis.’
Pelon said nothing. It was not his place to speak, but to listen. He had overstepped the mark before, back on Deliverance, and no end of trouble had come from it. With everything that had been going on – and he had overheard a lot from the Raven Guard and the crew about events that had taken place on Isstvan – he was happy to be safe and able to concentrate on his sole duty of providing for the praefector.
‘Mustn’t grumble, though, Pelon,’ said Valerius, as if his servant was the one who had voiced the lament. ‘Latest estimate says we’re just twelve days from translating into the Sol system. Though judging by their recent success rate, I’d not be surprised if the Navigators took twice that time. It’s exciting though, isn’t it? Terra, Pelon! Won’t that be something of remark?’
Pelon was not sure if he should reply or not. It was difficult sometimes to judge whether he was simply an ear for the praefector to speak into or if his master wanted to engage in conversation. Valerius did not continue, and had a look of expectation that suggested to Pelon that he was waiting for a reply of some kind.
‘I would have never have thought I would see such a thing, master,’ Pelon said dutifully. In truth, he had been exceptionally anxious about the upcoming stop at the centre of the Imperium. No doubt there would be all manner of dignitaries there to greet their arrival. It would be a shocking failure on Pelon’s part if Valerius turned up looking like some ragamuffin officer from one of the professional regiments, but he only had limited resources to launder and repair his master’s uniform. ‘It is an honour that I can scarce believe.’
‘You’re not wrong about that,’ said Valerius, plunging his fork into a piece of synth-squash that Pelon had artfully carved into a slim-petalled flower. An hour’s work was demolished in seconds by the praefector’s chewing. ‘There are lord-commanders of Therion who have not had the privilege.’
‘You seem to be of good mood today, master,’ said Pelon, sitting at the end of the bed as he dared to venture his opinion.
‘I have had a conclave with Corax and the Raven Guard commanders, Pelon,’ said Valerius, between mouthfuls of food. ‘I fear our stay on Terra will be short-lived. As soon as I can secure passage, I am to travel back to Therion to entreat further forces. With the losses the Legion has suffered, and the regrettable sacrifice of my own command, it is desired that I raise a new cohort to fight alongside Lord Corax against the traitors.’
‘It is good that he would entrust such a duty to you, master,’ said Pelon. He regretted his words as Valerius purposefully placed his knife and fork on the half-empty plate and turned a frown on the manservant.
‘Why ever would they not trust me?’
‘I was not speaking of you in particular, master,’ Pelon said hurriedly. ‘Trust has been in short supply of late, is all. Even I get wary glances from the crew as they see me about my business. Times such as these, it’s good the primarch has every faith in Therion to fight for the Emperor.’
‘Yes, you are right,’ said Valerius, resuming his meal. He smiled through the laborious mastication of a faux-grox fillet, his words coming as a mumble. ‘It is quite an important duty. We’ll need every able man and woman who can carry a lasgun. It’ll be like the founding after compliance. Bigger even!’
The praefector finished his supper, washed it down with his recycled water and stood up.
‘Dark times, Pelon, but aren’t all great moments in history seeded in the dark?’ he said, kicking off his short boots and flopping onto the bed. ‘Nobody remembers those who lived in times of joy and plenty.’
‘Indeed not, master,’ said Pelon, collecting up the dishes and cup. He stopped just before the door. ‘Will you need me for the next hour, master? I’ve got some time in the laundries, is all.’
‘No, I think I can be without you for an hour,’ said Valerius, sounding tired. Pelon glanced over his shoulder and saw the praefector’s eyes were closed, his chest already rising and falling gently. ‘Perhaps a little more salt next time,’ the praefector murmured, his voice trailing away into sleep.
‘As you say, master,’ Pelon said to himself with a smile of satisfaction, closing the door behind him.
ONE HUNDRED AND thirty-three days
after departing from Isstvan, the Avenger finally reached the Sol system, heart of the Imperium, birthplace of mankind.
On Corax’s orders, the ship came in and deployed its void shields immediately; it would be incautious to arrive without some form of protection but using the reflex shield had the potential to invite immediate suspicion.
The sensor reports were also flooding in, bringing with them a picture of a star system in considerable turmoil. Dozens of warships, haulers and transports were moving back and forth from the Lunar bases and Terra, navigating their way through layer after layer of minefields, orbital defence platforms and out-system heavy monitors. More still were arriving; there was not an hour that passed without at least two or three ships breaking from warp.
Word was spreading across the Imperium. The warp storms that had so hampered the Raven Guard on their journey also disrupted astrotelepathic communication. Even in the best of conditions it took many weeks, sometimes several months, for messages to be relayed from the heart of the Imperium to its outer reaches. Add to this the violence of the warp tempest and it could still be many months before some systems were even aware of the Warmaster’s treachery.
This was just the beginning, Corax sensed. Dozens of ships would become hundreds, thousands perhaps. For the moment Horus had the element of surprise, but the behemoth that was the Imperium was being roused to confront this new threat. The resources of the Emperor were vast, but ponderous; but once they had achieved a critical momentum they would be unstoppable. Of this, the primarch was certain. Horus’s only chance of triumph was a swift victory, and Corax would do all he could to ensure that such a thing would not happen.
