by Gav Thorpe
Nodding, Corax turned his attention back to the others around the table. Many seemed unconvinced, but that was to be expected.
‘You doubt that we can achieve much in our broken state,’ the primarch said, speaking softly. He picked out one of the Iron Hands, whose arms and upper body had been replaced by augmetics and bionics. ‘Kasdar, you are the product of many hands, yes?’
‘Countless are the labourers at the forges who smelted the metal for my prosthetics, and countless more toiled with solder and pin to create the complex weave of nerve and circuit that interfaces with my mind.’ The legionary extended a clawed hand and formed a fist with artificial fingers, tiny cogs spinning in the joints of his hand. ‘But it is all guided by my will.’
‘A thousand disparate pieces, each of purpose and value, brought together under the control of a single mind,’ said Corax. ‘We shall be the same. A machine, an organism. Of many parts working separately, but invisibly, silently bound by common purpose and thought. I do not ask you to swear loyalty to me, for there is no greater oath you have sworn than by your deeds in the name of the Emperor. I do not ask you to become Raven Guard, for the blood of other fathers and the customs of other worlds have shaped you. You are each what you are, individual – but together, indivisible, we will be even greater.’
Damastor Kyil, another Iron Hand, stood up and looked to Corax for permission to speak. He received it with a nod.
‘I admire your courage, Lord Corax, as much as anyone here.’ Kyil’s face was for the most part made of metal and ceramic, glinting in the light of the hall. Only one eye and ear were left of the flesh that he had been born with. ‘I answered your astropathic call to stand amongst brothers again, and I am proud of those that sit around this table with me, and those in the dorms and ships elsewhere. Pride, though, and determination are not enough to win battles. You admit that the Raven Guard are but a few thousand. Perhaps another few hundred of us you have dredged together from surrounding systems and sectors. Even if we had warships, weapons, ammunition, battle tanks and the full stores of our armouries, there are not enough warriors to face the smallest of the traitor flotillas heading for Terra. Our only hope must be to join the defence before Horus’s forces have the Sol system besieged.’
Sitting down, Kyil received nods and approving looks from many of the others. Branne looked to stand to voice a rebuttal but Corax stayed him with a raised hand. He gestured to Captain Noriz.
‘Your wall-brothers await you at the Imperial Palace, captain. Is it your desire to return to Lord Dorn and await the attack of Horus’s forces?’
The captain seemed hesitant to reply. He rubbed his fingers through his close-cropped hair and stood, hands clasped together. He looked first at Corax, then Kyil, and then back to the primarch.
‘Yes,’ he said with an apologetic nod. ‘With all my heart I would desire to stand with the Emperor’s finest upon the walls of the greatest fortress in the galaxy.’
‘Thank you, captain.’
Corax turned to his left, where Arcatus had been sitting in silence, listening intently to everything that had been said.
‘As representative of the Custodians, whose duties should place you at the Emperor’s side, what do you say? Do we return to Terra?’
‘By the will of the Emperor and Malcador I left Terra at your side, Lord Corax. I was doubtful of what could be accomplished by so few warriors but I have been proven wrong. Out here our fight still serves to defend Terra.’
‘Where there is oppression there is always resentment, no matter how cowed a populace might be,’ said Corax. ‘The Legiones Astartes have never been kindly, not to many that were forced to compliance by the edge of a sword. But we were never tyrants, not even the worst of us, not before Horus turned his back on the oaths we had all sworn. I did not bring you to Scarato on a whim. Here is a lesson not just in guerrilla fighting but in winning wars against a far superior foe using hearts and minds as weapons. Any world where the traitors maintain their authority with threat of blade and gun is ripe for targeting. A few warriors, even a single legionary, can ignite a rebellion that can waylay or draw in hundreds of traitors.’
‘Perhaps for the Raven Guard,’ said Damastor Kyil, an artificial lung wheezing as he drew in a breath. ‘Not all of us grew up in a prison, nor spent years fighting far from the command of our primarchs. You take that culture for granted, Lord Corax.’
‘I do not,’ the primarch replied. ‘You will soon each have first-hand experience of the fighting I describe. And you will have close acquaintance with those that have been terrorised into submission. I demand no promise or oath beyond that you accompany us on our next attack and learn from the Raven Guard how to wage the war we must now fight. After that, you are free to go your own ways, to attempt to return to Terra or other home worlds as you choose, or to remain under my command.’
‘This next attack, where will it be?’ asked Kasati Nuon, fingers flexing as though they were constricting around the throat of some poor victim.
‘A world imprisoned by Horus’s followers, in the Carandiru system. We will liberate it.’
‘I know this system,’ Captain Noriz said sharply. All eyes turned to him. ‘The Two-Hundred and Fourteenth Expedition led by Lord Dorn himself razed the capital and then built the Winter City on the ruins. If it has been turned into a prison… The walls of the Imperial Fists do not easily fall, Lord Corax.’
‘Indeed, and it is to such walls the Emperor is trusting the future of the Imperium,’ said Corax. ‘But countless are the fortifications that have been overcome, thought impregnable by those behind them. Tell me, Captain Noriz, you spent much time fortifying Deliverance and Kiavahr, and your Legion is expert at both assault and defence of siegeworks. What would be your strategy for overcoming the defences of the Winter City?’
‘Given our present company, that is an easy answer.’ The Imperial Fist looked at the others around the table and smiled. ‘It is the best way to take any fortress. From the inside.’
Six
Scarato
[DV -80 days]
After Corax ended the council, Soukhounou met with his fellow commanders in a chamber adjoining the hall. The room was ostentatious, filled with gilded furniture, the high ceiling decorated with floral plaster reliefs. On the walls were scenes of nobles at leisure – hunting along a steep canyon atop the backs of hunched lizards, riding slender solar-sailed barges over a majestic waterfall, or banqueting at night beneath a firework-lit sky.
‘Our brother-in-arms is returned to us!’ Branne’s exclamation caused Soukhounou to turn as the commander greeted Arendi wrist to wrist in the warrior’s fashion, pounding the other Space Marine on the shoulder. Agapito lifted a fist to his chest in a more reserved welcome.
‘A day I often thought might never come to pass,’ said Arendi. His expression brightened as Branne stepped back. ‘Long anticipated, and heartily welcome. I wish it had been sooner.’
‘We cannot change the past,’ said Agapito. ‘Fortunately we can still change the future.’
‘Yes, that is true.’ Arendi looked at Soukhounou as though noticing him for the first time. ‘Lieutenant Soukhounou, isn’t it?’
‘Commander now,’ he replied. It had been an unexpected development, but rapid promotion was one of the unavoidable aspects of the Legion since the massacre. First Solaro had been outed as a traitor, and then Nuran Tesk had died in the assault on the Perfect Fortress just weeks after being placed in command. Soukhounou was not a superstitious man but he tried not the think about the fates of his predecessors too often.
‘You are Terran, yes? We’ve fought together, haven’t we?’
‘Not side by side,’ admitted Soukhounou. ‘There was little occasion until Isstvan for me to share air with the primarch’s guard. And yes, I hail from Terra originally.’
‘Then that explains why my brothers greet me with smiles yet a cell is the welc
ome I received from you.’
‘Forgive me, but the circumstances that led to my promotion make me wary of those that claim loyalty with false guise. You were treated no differently from any other that responded to the primarch’s call.’
‘False guise?’ Arendi looked confused and turned to Branne and Agapito. ‘What false guise?’
‘A long story, Gherith,’ said Branne. ‘One that will live long in infamy and shame. It can wait. Soukhounou, be assured that this is Commander Arendi. You must trust to the judgement of the primarch, and those that shared air with him since we were children. This distrust will be our undoing – an injury inflicted by the traitors that continues to nag at us.’
Taking a deep breath, Soukhounou acquiesced with a nod.
‘You are right,’ he said, raising a fist of brotherhood to Arendi. ‘It was wrong of me to be so suspicious. However, I would urge caution still when dealing with the other legionaries not of Deliverance. Nothing can be guaranteed in these trying times.’
They stood for a moment in silence, each taken by his own thoughts.
‘A slightly disturbing thought, isn’t it?’ said Arendi, breaking the quiet. He looked past Soukhounou at the murals.
‘What is?’ Soukhounou asked. ‘Painting on walls?’
‘The elite of this world, living like kings,’ said Arendi. ‘I fear that you have displaced the Sons of Horus only to make room for more veiled dictators.’
The others looked at the pictures, trying to understand what the former commander meant.
‘There is no evidence that the planetary aristocracy mistreated any of their subjects prior to the arrival of the traitors,’ Agapito said. ‘Scarato came to compliance peacefully.’
‘You don’t see a life of privilege as evidence of excess?’ Arendi looked at Soukhounou and then to Branne. ‘The benefit of a youth not spent as a cell-brother, I’d say.’
‘If you have an accusation, make it plain,’ said Soukhounou. ‘Do you think any of us less dedicated to the cause? I’d say your time away has clouded your memory, or your judgement.’
‘No accusation, I assure you. It is simply a matter of fact that those who have not felt the touch of the lash can never imagine its sting. Oppression comes in many forms. Not all tyrants are immediately obvious. By subtle word, by application of quiet threat and bribe they coerce and cajole. Righteousness requires terrible effort.’
‘It is as if you speak with the voice of your father, old Reqaui,’ said Branne, forcing a laugh. ‘Political discussions must wait on more pressing matters. We need to devise dispositions and arrangements for the forthcoming campaign for presentation to Lord Corax. He made it plain that he seeks to leave within days.’
‘We need to pick task force leaders and assign commands to the other legionaries,’ added Agapito.
‘And I will leave you to it,’ said Arendi, with a curt nod.
‘You should stay,’ said Agapito.
‘Yes,’ said Soukhounou in a gesture of conciliation. Though he did not care for Arendi’s attitude since returning, he was influential amongst the Deliverance-born legionaries. His return would be taken as a good sign by many in the Raven Guard. ‘You have an insight that will prove valuable. A perspective none of us can imagine. And even if the current situation sees you without rank, you were once commander.’
Arendi looked at Soukhounou, perhaps trying to judge if there was any further meaning behind his words. His brow creased slightly and his lips thinned.
‘I hold no command now,’ he said. ‘If Lord Corax sees fit to restore me, then I will join your deliberations. Until then I must see to the welfare of the warriors that came with me.’
Stalling further protest, Arendi turned and left without another word. Branne shook his head and glared at Soukhounou.
‘I thought you would offer more welcome to a long-lost son of Deliverance. Think on what we suffered on the fields of Isstvan and then think on the hardships he and the others must have endured in the years afterwards. Arendi is an example to us all, and you should not be so dismissive of him.’
‘Does it not make you think, brothers?’ said Soukhounou, looking at the door as if Arendi was still there. ‘Who of us has not been changed by these past years? There is something in Gherith that I do not think I like.’
‘The primarch speaks for him,’ said Agapito, though he looked uncertain. ‘We should not second-guess Lord Corax.’
‘We should set aside such thoughts of division,’ said Branne. ‘Why can’t you be glad that our own have survived and been returned to us?’
The question was left hanging in silence as Agapito and Soukhonou exchanged a look. Soukhounou decided that this was no time to voice any argument against Arendi’s loyalties or agenda. It was obvious that the bonds of history were far stronger than that of Legion alone. The Raven Guard were all fiercely loyal to Corax, but a doctrine that promoted independent thought and self-sufficiency was also prone to creating moments of fracture as personal identity surpassed group allegiance.
‘With Corax’s command that the other newcomers are to be spread amongst the Raven Guard companies there will be rivalries and division enough without resurrecting old suspicions between Terrans and the Deliverance-born,’ he said.
‘I concede to your superior knowledge on the subject, brothers.’ Branne raised his hands in appeasement. ‘We must bury our differences, or be sure that Lord Corax will bury them for us, and our rank. This is no time to let small gaps become gaping chasms.’
‘Of course,’ said Agapito. ‘We have all been put out of sorts by Arendi’s return. In a few days’ time we will be more settled and the matter nothing more than memory.’
Soukhounou hoped what his fellow commander said would hold true but could not help but worry that Arendi’s return signified something far more damaging.
Seven
Kapel-5642A
[DV -67 days]
Red littered the corridor: the red of Mechanicum robes and the blood of those wearing them. Here and there steel and silver and brass stood out in the bright flare of Corax’s lightning claws. The darker shadows of power armour provided a softer contrast – a handful of Sons of Horus that had been overseeing the shipyard.
‘Branne, move forward and trigger targeting.’
The primarch stopped, standing over the crumpled ruin of a traitor with the markings of a sergeant. Looking down at the renegade, Corax did not feel anger or hatred. Disappointment, perhaps. There were those that he had learned had refused to follow the Warmaster into rebellion, but the Sons of Horus could not be blamed for following their primarch. He wondered if the dead sergeant had required persuading or if a last small step to turn against the Emperor had been easy to take, the culmination of a longer process.
‘One hundred and eighty seconds. Orbital defences are responding.’
Nearly a kilometre away, on the other side of the orbital facility, Branne and his Raptors had breached the main transmitter array for the star base. It would be a simple enough task to set up a comm-link between the Avenger and the berth monitoring systems that policed the space traffic around five massive starship hulls being assembled above the asteroid-base of Kapel-5642A.
Corax had ordered the strike just in time. One of the new battleships was almost operational, the others nearing completion within weeks. Not the Mechanicum’s finest work, Corax assumed, but speedily built in relation to the decades-long construction normally required. The primarch knew first-hand the efficiencies of forced labour and interned workers, and Horus’s allies in the Mechanicum had been replicating such methods across dozens of forge worlds and shipyards like Kapel.
‘Sixty seconds,’ Corax told his warriors as he pulled back down the corridor towards the entry point blasted by his Stormbird. ‘Avenger, do you have the berth grid matrix?’
‘Affirmative, Lord Corax,’ Ephrenia replied. ‘Programming tor
pedo firing solutions now.’
Clad in golden armour, Arcatus Vindix Centurio of the Custodian Guard burst into the corridor from a junction ahead, accompanied by another six of the superhuman warriors; survivors of many battles since they had departed Terra to guard the gene-formulas gifted to Corax by the Emperor. They cut down augmented soldiers and semi-mechanical servitors amidst the flare of the powered blades and boltgun flash of their Guardian Spears. The Custodian cleaved a hulking praetorian servitor in two with a sweep of his halberd, shattering gears and bones with equal ease. Stepping astride the remnants, he raised his weapon in salute to the approaching primarch.
‘I am beginning to see the merit in taking the fight to the enemy,’ said Arcatus. ‘There is more than one way to protect the Emperor. Sometimes a solid offensive is the best defence.’
‘If Horus cannot reach Terra, the Emperor is safe,’ replied Corax. The two of them fell into step together, picking their way past the steaming, smoking, bleeding remnants of the Mechanicum warriors that clogged the passage. ‘This is a war we simply cannot afford to lose.’
Arcatus nodded. He paused to drive the tip of his glaive into the squirming body of a serpentine machine-beast jittering under the toppled corpse of a combat-servitor.
‘A handful of years ago, when Horus turned at Isstvan, it was a shock to everybody,’ he said. ‘We of the Legiones Custodes had to believe that the worst might come, but in the back of their minds many thought it impossible that the renegade Warmaster could actually take on the might of the Imperium.’
‘I never doubted it,’ said Corax.
‘You must understand how powerful denial can be. Yes, Horus had destroyed three Legions, or close enough, and as his schemes unfolded the Dark Angels and Ultramarines were removed from the main theatre of war. But even then there were those that could not envisage a galaxy where the traitor forces held the balance of power.’
