Taking the armour of the dead, Solomon had risen, phoenix-like, from what many had considered to be his deathbed, and had fought on with all the ferocity and courage for which he was renowned. Saul Tarvitz had immediately offered to transfer command to him, but he had refused, knowing that the surviving warriors of all the Legions looked to Tarvitz for leadership. To usurp that would be pointless, especially now that their heroic defiance of betrayal was almost at an end.
The massed forces of the Warmaster had driven them back into the heart of the palace, and the Sons of Horus had committed their best warriors to the assault. Solomon knew the end was not far off and had no wish to deprive Tarvitz of the glory of his last stand.
To Solomon's surprise, Tarvitz had not been the only warrior to excel in the crucible of this desperate combat, but the swordsman Lucius had also performed wonders, taking the head of Chaplain Charmosian in a duel atop the traitor's Land Raider for all to see.
As gratifying as it was to see these warriors come into their own, it was but a shadow compared to the anguish of Caphen's death and the revulsion he felt at what had become of their former battle-brothers. How could it have come to this, that warriors who had once stood shoulder to shoulder in forging the Emperor's realm could be locked in a bloody fight to the death?
What had happened to drive them to this?
It was beyond his understanding, and the aching hollowness inside him could not be filled with the deaths of his enemies. The dream of a galaxy for mankind to inherit was dying with this treachery, and the golden future that awaited them was slipping out of reach forever. Solomon grieved for the future of grim darkness that was being hammered out on the anvil of Isstvan III, and hoped that those who would come after them would forgive them for what they had allowed to happen.
He hoped the future would remember the warriors around him for the heroes they were, but most of all, he hoped that Nathaniel Garro's Eisenstein could escape this trap and take word of the Warmaster's treachery to the Emperor. Tarvitz had told of his honour brother and how he had seized the frigate and sworn to return with the loyalist Legions to crush Horus utterly.
That hope, that tiny flickering ember of belief in salvation, had kept the warriors defending the shattered ruins of the Precentor's Palace fighting long after logic and reason would have otherwise dictated. Solomon loved each and every one of them for their heroism.
The distant thump of a bombardment drifted from the western reaches of the city where the scattered remnants of the Death Guard hunkered down in the face of near constant shelling from the traitor forces.
Solomon limped through the eastern reaches of the palace, the once mighty colonnades little more than a series of empty, mosaic floored chambers whose furnishings had long since been dragged out to form ad hoc barricades. The domes of the chambers had miraculously remained intact despite the months of shelling, the blackened walls and scorched frescoes an infinitely sad reminder that this had once been an Imperial world.
When he heard the sounds, they were faint at first, barely registering over the ever present crackle of flames and relentless booms of explosions. The clash of blades quickly penetrated the dull miasma of war, and Solomon picked up his pace as he realised that the eastern approaches to the palace must be under attack.
Solomon ran as fast as his injuries would allow him, the pain of his burnt flesh acute, rendering his every footfall agonising. The sound of battle grew more strident and he could pick out the sharp clang of sword blades, though he dimly registered that there was no gunfire, no explosions.
The sounds came from ahead. Solomon skidded into a brightly lit dome, sunlight catching on the blades of the warriors who battled within. Captain Lucius commanded this sector of the defences with around thirty warriors, and Solomon saw the lithe figure of the swordsman at the centre of a tremendous battle.
Bodies littered the floor and a struggling mass of Emperor's Children filled the dome, surrounding Lucius as he fought for his life.
'Lucius!' cried Solomon raising his weapon and rushing to the swordsman's aid.
A flash of steel licked out and a warrior fell, cloven from neck to groin by the energised edge of Lucius's blade.
'They're breaking in, Solomon!' shouted Lucius gleefully, taking the head from another of his attackers with a deadly high cut.
'Not while I have my strength they won't!' bellowed Solomon, swinging his blade at the nearest of the attackers. His blow smashed the traitor to the ground in a welter of blood and shattered armour.
'Kill them all!' shouted Lucius.
'You dare return to me in failure?' bellowed Horus, the bridge of the Vengeful Spirit shaking with the fury of his voice. His face twisted in anger, and Fulgrim smiled as he watched the Warmaster struggle to hold his Cthonic fury in check. The Vengeful Spirit had changed a great deal since Fulgrim had last stood in the Warmaster's inner sanctum, its once open and brightly lit hubbub replaced with something far darker.
'Do you even understand what I am trying to do here?' continued Horus. 'What I have started at Isstvan will consume the whole galaxy, and if it is flawed from the outset then the Emperor will break us!'
Fulgrim allowed a smile of delicious insouciance to surface on his face, the excitement of finally arriving at Isstvan III, and the scale of the carnage wrought below, stimulating his taste for the excessive. Though the Pride of the Emperor had but recently arrived, Fulgrim had been careful to appear before the Warmaster as magnificent as ever, his exquisite armour worked with fresh layers of vivid purples and gold, with many new embellishments and finery added to complement the bright colours. His long white hair was pulled back, and his pale cheeks were marked with the beginnings of tattoos that Serena d'Angelus had designed for him.
'Ferrus Manus is a dull fool who would not listen to reason,' said Fulgrim. 'Even the mention of the Mechanicum's pledge did not—'
'You swore to me that you could sway him! The Iron Hands were essential to my plans. I planned Isstvan III with your assurance that Ferrus Manus would join us. Now I find that I have yet another enemy to contend with. A great many of our Astartes will die because of this, Fulgrim.'
'What would you have had me do, Warmaster?' smiled Fulgrim, being sure to twist his words with a sly mocking tone. 'His will was stronger than I anticipated.'
'Or you simply had an inflated opinion of your own abilities.'
'Would you have had me kill our brother, Warmaster?' asked Fulgrim, hoping that Horus would not ask such a thing of him, but knowing that it was what he wanted to hear. 'For I will if that is what you desire of me.'
'Perhaps I do,' replied Horus unmoved. 'It would be better than leaving him to roam free to destroy our plans. As it is, he could reach the Emperor or one of the other primarchs and bring them all down on our heads before we are ready.'
'Then if you are quite finished with me, I shall return to my Legion,' said Fulgrim, turning away with a flourish calculated to infuriate the Warmaster. He was not to be disappointed, and felt his heart pound as Horus said, 'No, you will not. I have another task for you. I am sending you to Isstvan V. With all that has happened, the Emperor's response is likely to arrive more quickly than anticipated and we must be prepared for it. Take a detail of Emperor's Children to the alien fortresses there and prepare it for the final phase of the Isstvan operation.'
Fulgrim recoiled and turned back to his brother, the disgust at such a menial role horrifying and repugnant. The exquisite sensations flooding his body at his baiting of the Warmaster faded and left him hollow inside. 'You would consign me to the role of castellan, as some housekeeper making your property ready for your grand entrance? Why not send for Perturabo? This kind of thing is more to his liking.'
'Perturabo has his own role to play,' said Horus. 'Even now, he prepares to lay waste to his home world in my name. We shall be hearing more of our bitter brother very soon, have no fear of that.'
'Then give this task to Mortarion!' spat Fulgrim. 'His grimy footsloggers will relish an oppo
rtunity to muddy their hands for you! My Legion was the chosen of the Emperor in the years when he still deserved our service. I am the most glorious of his heroes and the right hand of this new Crusade. This is… this is a betrayal of the very principles for which I chose to join you, Horus!'
'Betrayal?' said Horus, his voice low and dangerous. 'A strong word, Fulgrim. Betrayal is what the Emperor forced upon us when he abandoned the galaxy to pursue his quest for godhood and gave over the conquests of our Crusade to scriveners and bureaucrats. Is that the charge you would level at me, to my face, on the bridge of my own ship?'
Fulgrim stepped back, his anger fading as he felt Horus's rage wash over him, relishing the crawling sensations that filled him at the excitement of the confrontation. 'Perhaps I do, Horus. Perhaps someone needs to tell you a few home truths, now that your precious Moumival is no more.'
'That sword,' said Horus, indicating the venom sheened weapon that Fulgrim had been given at their last meeting. 'I gave you that blade as a symbol of my trust in you, Fulgrim. We alone know the true power that lies within it. That weapon almost killed me, and yet I gave it away. Do you think I would give such a weapon to one I do not trust?'
'No, Warmaster,' said Fulgrim.
'Exactly The Isstvan V phase of my plan is the most critical,' said Horus, and Fulgrim could feel the Warmaster's superlative diplomatic skills coming to the fore as the dangerous embers of his ego were fanned.
'Even more so than what is happening below us. I can entrust it to no other. You must go to Isstvan V, my brother. All depends on your success.'
Fulgrim let the violent potential crackling between them continue for a long, frightening moment, before laughing. 'And now you flatter me, hoping my ego will coerce me into obeying your orders.'
'Is it working?' asked Horus.
'Yes,' admitted Fulgrim. 'Very well, the Warmaster's will be done. I will go to Isstvan V'
'Eidolon will stay in command of the Emperor's Children until we join you,' said Horus, and Fulgrim nodded.
'He will relish the chance to prove himself further,' said Fulgrim.
'Now leave me, Fulgrim,' said Horus. 'You have work to do.'
Fulgrim turned smartly and marched from the Warmaster's presence, his breathing coming in shallow bursts as he replayed the violent potential of the near confrontation and allowed the memory of his brother's anger once more to stimulate his senses.
The feeling was sublime, and he imagined greater and headier delights ahead when the Isstvan V portion of the Warmaster's plan came to fruition: such horrors, such death, such delights.
Solomon drove his roaring blade through the chest plate of the warrior before him, twisting the weapon savagely as it tore through the layers of ceramite, flesh and bone. Blood sprayed from the ghastly wound and the traitor crashed to the tiled floor. He spun painfully to find another opponent, but the only figure left standing was Lucius, his scarred face flushed with the energy of the battle. Solomon checked to make sure there were no survivors before finally lowering his sword and acknowledging the pain of his many wounds.
Blood dripped from his sword as the whirring teeth slowly wound to a halt, and he took a deep breath as he saw how close they had come to being overwhelmed. The skill with which the swordsman had despatched his foes bordered on the miraculous, and Solomon knew that Lucius's reputation as the deadliest killer in the Legion was entirely justified.
'We did it,' he gasped, painfully aware of how dearly the victory had been bought. All the warriors under Lucius's command were dead, and as Solomon surveyed the carnage, he felt an immense sorrow as he saw that there was little to tell traitor from loyalist.
But for a twist of fate, might he too have turned on his brethren?
'We did indeed, Captain Demeter,' smirked Lucius. 'I couldn't have done it without you.'
Solomon looked up at the supercilious tone and bit back an angry retort. He shook his head at the swordsman's ingratitude and nodded wearily.
'Strange they came with so few warriors,' he said, kneeling beside the body of the last traitor he had killed. 'What did they think to gain?'
'Nothing,' said Lucius, cleaning the blood from his sword with a scrap of cloth, 'yet.'
'What do you mean?' demanded Solomon, fast growing weary of Lucius's obtuse answers. The swordsman's smiled, but didn't answer, and Solomon looked away, taking in the dead bodies and the stench of seared flesh and bone.
'Don't worry, Solomon,' said Lucius, 'it will all soon become clear to you.'
The smug gleam in the swordsman's eyes unnerved Solomon more than he cared to admit and a horrific, gut wrenching suspicion began to form in his mind.
He quickly looked around the dome, his eyes darting back and forth as he did a quick count of the bodies that lay silent and unmoving on the cratered floor. Lucius had been given the remains of four squads to defend this portion of the palace, some thirty warriors.
'Oh no,' whispered Solomon as he realised that there were around thirty corpses. He gazed at the battered armour plates, the blackened faces, and the damage that told him these warriors had not come fresh from their billets to attack the palace, but had been here all along. These dead warriors were not traitors at all.
'They were loyalists,' he whispered.
'I'm afraid so,' said Lucius. 'I am going to rejoin the Legion. The price for that is allowing Eidolon and his warriors a way into the palace. It was most fortunate you arrived when you did, Captain Demeter. I do not know if I would have been able to kill them all before the lord commander arrives.'
Solomon felt the walls of his existence come crashing down as the enormity of what he had done sank in. He dropped to his knees, and tears of horror and anguish spilled down his cheeks.
'No! What have you done, Lucius?' he cried. 'You have doomed us all.'
Lucius laughed and said, 'You were already doomed, Solomon. I just hastened the end.'
Solomon hurled aside his sword in disgust at what he had become, a killer no better than the traitors beyond the palace, and his anger at Lucius surged like a molten river.
'You took my honour from me,' he snarled, rising to his feet and turning to face the swordsman. 'It was all I had left.'
Lucius was right in front of him, that cocky, arrogant smile still plastered over his scarred features. The swordsman smiled and asked, 'How does it feel?'
Solomon roared and flew at Lucius, wrapping his hands around his foe's neck. Hate and remorse flooded his limbs with fresh energy to better strangle the life from this thief of honour.
A terrible pain erupted in his stomach, tearing upwards through his chest, and Solomon cried out as his ruined frame fell away from Lucius. He looked down to see the glowing blade of Lucius's sword protruding from his breastplate. The sizzle of burning meat and melting ceramite was strong in his nostrils as Lucius thrust his sword completely through his torso.
The strength fled from his body, and all the agony of the injuries he had fought to overcome since the firestorm returned a hundredfold. His entire body was a mass of pain, his every nerve-ending shrieking in agony.
Solomon dropped to his knees, his blood and life pouring from his body in a hot rush. He reached up to grip Lucius's arms, and fought to focus on the swordsman's face as death reached up to claim him.
'You… will… not… win…' he gasped, each word forced from his throat a small victory.
Lucius shrugged. 'Maybe, maybe not, but you won't be around to see it.'
Solomon fell backwards in slow motion, feeling the motion of air across his face and the crack of his skull against the hard floor. He rolled onto his back, looking out through the cracked dome to the clear blue sky beyond.
He smiled as the pain balms of his armour struggled uselessly to alleviate the mortal wound Lucius's blade had done to him, staring into the limitless expanse of the open sky and feeling as though his gaze might reach beyond the atmosphere to where Horus's fleet hung in space.
With a clarity denied him in life, Solomon saw where t
he Warmaster's terrible betrayal would inevitably lead, the horror and the long war that would surely follow. Tears spilled down his cheeks, but they were not shed for his own ending, but for the billions who would suffer an eternity of darkness for the sake of one man's dreadful ambition.
Lucius walked away from him, not even bothering to watch his final moments, and Solomon was glad of the peace. His breathing slowed and his eyelids flickered as the sky grew darker with each breath.
The light was dying with him, he thought, as though the world marked his passing by drawing a curtain across the day and ushering him into the final darkness with honour.
Solomon closed his eyes as a final tear fell to the ground.
PART FIVE
THE LAST PHOENIX
TWENTY-ONE
Vengeance The Price of Isolation
The Prodigal
Death-Marked Love
The Iron Forge had become Ferrus Manus's refuge since the monstrous betrayal visited upon him by his once-brother. Its gleaming walls were cracked, the primarch's hurt reaching out to destroy the things he held dear in fury at the treachery given voice here. Gabriel Santar stepped over weapons and armour strewn acrosss the floor, many pieces twisted as though melted in the heart of a fire. He carried with him a data-slate with fresh news from Terra. He hoped that it would lift his primarch out of the anger fuelled depression that had settled upon him like a shroud in the wake of the traitor's scheme to sway the Iron Hands to the cause of treachery.
Every artificer, forgemaster, Techmarine and labourer had worked unceasingly to repair the damage done to their ships by the surprise attack of the Emperor's Children fleet, and, in an unbelievable time, the ships of the 52nd Expedition had been ready to make for Terra and bring warning of the Warmaster's perfidy.
In this, however, they had been stymied as the ships' Navigators and astropaths had been unable to penetrate the warp, monstrous storms of terrifying force erupting through the depths of the immaterium, preventing any contact with or from Terra. To venture into the warp while it raged and seethed with unnatural vigour was tantamount to suicide, but it had taken all of Gabriel Santar's calming words to break through Ferrus Manus's towering fury and persuade him to await the end of the storms.
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