by Gav Thorpe
It was not his right to choose death. It was not his place to absolve himself of his sins. Only one being could do that, and he resided upon the Throneworld.
A fresh salvo of rockets and shells shrieked down towards them. Corax snatched up Russ’s spear and threw his other arm around Bjorn. Though he no longer had wings to soar, Corax could still fly. He activated his jump pack.
Its blast hurled them free of the barrage and carried them fifty metres from the impact. Fire and smoke swamped them as they crashed into the unyielding rock of the mountain.
Corax rolled to his feet as Bjorn tried to fight from his grasp. The Space Wolf leapt up, spear seized from the ground, and for a moment the Raven Guard primarch thought his brother’s fell-handed warrior would strike him.
‘This is not a good death!’ Corax snapped, stepping back. ‘This is not how we leave! We don’t get to choose!’
‘You are not my father, to command me!’ cried Bjorn, stepping back.
‘There is a war to fight and if we win – when we win – we must remember who it was that brought this upon us. Not mortals, not humans, but ourselves. This was a war between the Legions. You, me, and all of my brothers have the potential for this heresy within us.’
‘It’s a little late to change our minds, don’t you think?’ Bjorn pointed with the spear at the battle that still raged around them. ‘Surrounded, outgunned, our ships about to be burned in orbit.’
Corax activated the vox. ‘Commander Branne.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘Begin the shadow’s parting.’
The commander exhaled with obvious relief. ‘Thank you, my lord.’
Ten seconds later the first strikes from orbit lanced down through the gloom, just a hundred metres from the shattered cordon lines. Orbs of plasma followed and, through the fresh fury of orbital attack, the silhouettes of gunships descended, their pinpoint strikes carving into the foe.
The Space Wolf shook his head in disbelief.
‘Don’t worry, Bjorn,’ Corax roared, firing his pistol wildly at the traitor ranks, the release of the moment more than he could contain without pained laughter. ‘We’ve done this before.’
Hef’s jaw ached and he realised he had been worrying at the harness without thought, gnawing the padded bracing across his armour.
He craved an end. Blissful oblivion.
The lighting in the pod brightened, the ruddy gleam of the drop replaced by the ambient blue of the regular illumination strip. The address system crackled into life and Hef recognised Branne’s voice, though he found it difficult to picture the commander – only vague impressions and memories surfaced through the cloud that fogged his thoughts.
‘All stations, the evacuation has begun. There will be no drop. I repeat, the Raptors will not drop.’
Some of the others laughed. Hef slammed his fist into the harness release and dropped to the deck, falling onto all fours. He placed his forehead against the cold metal, his claws scraped on the steel and he started to weep.
Sitting back on his haunches, he let out his despair in a long, tormented cry.
Ogvai Ogvai Helmschrot, the most senior surviving jarl, sat opposite Corax in the compartment of the Stormbird, staring at the primarch. They said nothing for some time; the madness of the evacuation had left everyone preoccupied and exhausted. There was a cut above Ogvai’s right eye and Corax could still see slivers of ceramite in the wound.
‘You should see an Apothecary,’ he said.
‘What next?’ Ogvai asked, ignoring the primarch’s concern. ‘You can count the number of Great Companies we have left on one hand. I figure you know exactly what that’s like. What do we do? Where do we fight now, if the Wolf King does not awaken?’
‘That’s up to you. I am not my brother.’
‘And you? What of the Raven Guard?’
Corax let out a long, weary breath. This all felt so hatefully familiar.
‘We’ll go where we’re comfortable, where we can do the most damage to the Warmaster’s forces as they march for Terra. We’ll go back into the shadows.’
Epilogue
Corax paced slowly to the first cell door on the Red Level. He paused for a moment, repulsed and driven on in equal measure.
It had to be done.
Inside, he found a creature crouched in the corner, its skin white beneath clumps of thick black fur, its eyes round, ebon discs that stared at him without any obvious intellect. Even so, he could not ignore the similarities – the pale flesh, and the dark eyes.
They had fought the war, and they had won. Now was the time to put right the assertion he had made to the sorcerer Nathrakin, on the forge world of Constanix II.
‘I have made several oaths in my long life, but I have been careful to swear only those I could fulfil – except for one,’ he told the beast. He crouched next to the pitiful thing and it shuffled closer, comforted by his presence, though the sight of it broke the primarch’s heart. ‘One I now think may be beyond me. I looked into the face of our enemy, into the heart of the force that had corrupted them. I knew that, even if we killed Horus, that power could not be eradicated completely. Chaos will return with ever greater strength if we allow it, if we give it the vessels it seeks and feed the ambitions that drive the weak to its embrace.’
Corax recognised the adoration and trust that radiated from the deformed Raptor. He laid one massive hand upon the former legionary’s head, and the fingers of the other curled around his throat. The creature’s mouth worked a few times, and drool dribbled over Corax’s hand and fell to the floor in thick gobbets.
‘I remember everything, and I remember my exact words before I sent that fiend back into the warp-vortex that had birthed it...’
Tears stung the primarch’s eyes.
‘I... I promised him that I would destroy every warp-spawned, Chaos-tainted creature in the galaxy before I die...’
The mewling, groaning thing that had been Navar Hef met his gaze.
‘And I have always kept my promises, my son.’
Afterword
It’s hard to talk about the Raven Guard without mentioning Deliverance Lost but, as I’ve written a completely different afterword for the hardback of that novel, I shall keep my thoughts on it here to a minimum. Instead I am able to delve into the novellas and short stories that have continued to tell the story of Corax and the Raven Guard since we left them, overrunning the Perfect Fortress of the Emperor’s Children.
It is tempting to take each tale in turn, have a quick look at it in isolation and then move onto the next, but it would also be lazy. From the moment I first discussed Soulforge with Laurie Goulding, the Horus Heresy editor at Black Library, the plan was clear. There was unlikely to be another full Raven Guard novel on the schedule any time soon, so the story would be carried forwards in other, shorter forms. The arc of Corax and the development of the characters that would culminate in Weregeld (a title and subject we agreed right at the outset) would be threaded through every piece of fiction as if they were one volume.
Which, of course, they now are.
It’s been a blessing, in a sense. Seeing the stories together has reminded me that we have crossed a lot of the galaxy and seen the years passing in a relatively short number of words. The novella and short story form have kept each episode distinct but relevant, and when read together they carry the story swiftly to the end in a way not possible in a more traditional novel narrative.
I’m also pleasantly surprised by how well the initial idea and the themes agreed on with Laurie have persisted in the various instalments. We’ve known the end point for some time – Corax’s fate and that of the Raven Guard, like so much of the Horus Heresy, has been part of the Warhammer 40,000 lore for many years. Getting there, charting the course that would take a heroic defender of the weak to the point at which he must destroy his own creations, was always the goal, and to do it i
n a way that came across as not only convincing but also sympathetic and compelling.
When Deliverance Lost ends, the situation is dire for the Imperium. The galaxy is divided by the Ruinstorm, the Space Wolves and White Scars are currently missing in action while the Imperial Fists fortify Terra. Of the other Legions, especially those on the Ultramar side of things, only scant information is forthcoming. Having chosen to bring the fight to Horus and his forces, Corax and his Legion wage planetary guerrilla warfare to slow the Warmaster’s advance in any way they can.
This concept is central to the character of Corax. His Legion is all but wiped out, but he will fight on... to the last warrior, if necessary. All of the primarchs are driven by their past and their upbringing, and through these stories I return again and again to Corax’s motivations.
Coming to maturity amongst political prisoners has given Corax a strong ideology that drives everything he does. More than any of his brothers, he sees himself as a liberator – first as the saviour of Deliverance, and second as a commander of the Emperor’s forces, freeing the galaxy from the persistent darkness of Old Night.
He does not see himself as a conqueror, though he has conquered worlds. He does not desire dominion over the people and territories he has brought to compliance and, perhaps foremost amongst his brothers, was ready and willing to relinquish power to mankind. Corax planned to compose a political treatise that would do for governance what Guilliman’s Codex Astartes would come to do for warfare.
With the treachery of Horus brought to light, Corax found new determination and a fresh purpose. He knows better than most the sacrifices required for victory and, although he values life highly, he is far from a pacifist. Innocents will die, but Corax believes in his cause and hardens himself to their deaths. A greater aim drives him, allowing him to put aside the tragedies he must unleash in order to achieve that greater goal. As he says himself in Soulforge, ‘War is a series of intentional catastrophes’.
Yet for all this, Corax holds back from a total ends-justify-the-means approach. It is this that separates him from the likes of Konrad Curze, the Night Haunter who has plagued his thoughts since their confrontation on Isstvan V. It is a hard path to tread, and perhaps one that brings Corax and his Legion more grief than necessary. He often chooses the harder ways, preserving the lives of those he has sworn to protect in favour of his own warriors, holding back from bombardment and annihilation for fear of causing too much collateral damage.
One might think that he is testing his own resolve at every opportunity, seeking to assure himself that the vainglory, selfishness and arrogance that has seen the fall of the greatest primarchs does not exist within him. This leads to self-doubt, and ultimately a questioning of everything he has done in the name of the Emperor.
On the other hand, Corax is well aware that he stands apart from humanity. He is not a mortal, something made very apparent by his own unnatural abilities and the status afforded him by the downtrodden of Lycaeus. He is a creature far removed from the humans that he protects and, while he may try to disguise his nature for the most part, he cannot deny it. It is in believing himself different but not better that he attempts to reconcile this separation.
Such was the stage when I sat down to write Weregeld, to complete not only Corax’s story but also provide some closure on the other characters of the series. It seemed a tricky task, pulling together character stories from across the narrative, but with help from Laurie I identified all the pertinent threads and started tying them together. The more I worked on the synopsis, the more I realised that the central theme, the arc I had planned from the start, naturally brought everyone back into the orbit of the primarch.
I am not known for happy endings, and the story of the Raven Guard does not buck that trend. They are a microcosm of the Imperium, of humanity. Their trials, their woes, are a reflection of the greater story. It is a tale of the passing of hope, the twilight of all mankind’s dreams of greatness – the end of the beginning, if not the beginning of the end.
It is, as I intended when I named the novel that would form the pillar of the narrative, a story of deliverance, lost.
Gav Thorpe
April 2016
About the Author
Gav Thorpe is the author of the Horus Heresy novel Deliverance Lost, as well as the novellas Corax: Soulforge, Ravenlord and The Lion, which formed part of the New York Times bestselling collection The Primarchs. He is particularly well-known for his Dark Angels stories, including the Legacy of Caliban series. His Warhammer 40,000 repertoire further includes the Path of the Eldar series, the Horus Heresy audio dramas Raven’s Flight, Honour to the Dead and Raptor, and a multiplicity of short stories. For Warhammer, Gav has penned the End Times novel The Curse of Khaine, the Time of Legends trilogy, The Sundering, and much more besides. He lives and works in Nottingham.
An extract from Deliverance Lost.
The last time he had been in the Isstvan system, his departure had been very different. Eight hundred company banners had snapped and flapped in the strong wind, displaying the company insignias of the Legion in gold, silver and white upon black backgrounds. Wings and claws of various designs fluttered amongst icons of swords and shields. The purple and dark green heather had been trampled flat beneath armoured boots, large patches of blue lichen scuffed away by countless footsteps to reveal dark earth and pale rock beneath.
Drawn up in unmoving rank and file, the legionaries of the Raven Guard filled the floor of the Redarth Valley, their Stormbirds, Thunderhawks and other drop-craft commanding the heights around them, silhouetted against an early evening sky of dark blues and purples. Trails of ragged, violet cloud stretched from horizon to horizon as if dragged across the skies by the fingers of some godly hand. The air above the army was criss-crossed with vapour trails from patrolling aircraft, and pinpricks of light moving across the heavens showed the presence of the ships in low orbit, like slow-moving shooting stars carefully observing the proceedings below.
At the head of the valley, to the north, waited the Raven Guard’s allies. In red and gold, the Therion Cohort stood beside their tanks and transports, arrayed in swathes of twilight and shadow cast by the immense Titan war machines of the Legio Victorum and the Legio Adamantus.
In front of the massed Legion waited a body of five hundred men. Most were garbed in plated carapace armour of shining black, their hoods drawn back to reveal heads of close-cropped hair, faces tattooed with swirling patterns. The soldiers’ targeter lenses gleamed red in the dusk light, gun-halberds drawn up to the salute. At their front stood the elite guard, armoured in enamelled silver, surrounding a handful of civilian dignitaries in ornate robes and coats trimmed with gold braid and heavy epaulettes.
At a signal from one of the elderly men, the soldiers and leaders as one dropped to a knee and bowed their heads to the giant figure pacing slowly out of the ranks of the Raven Guard. The man approaching the Isstvanian delegation was more than a man: he was a primarch. Lord Corax, commander of the Raven Guard, towered above his superhuman warriors, his armour as dark as the night, chased with filigreed designs of towers and ravens and intricate scrollwork. His head was bare, showing pale flesh and straight black hair that hung to the exposed collar of his ornate breastplate. A flight pack fashioned with black wings stretched from the primarch’s back, metallic feathers whistling shrilly in the breeze as he advanced. Dark eyes regarded the delegation with solemn pride.
With hands sheathed in clawed gauntlets, Corax gestured for the Isstvanians to rise.
‘You kneel as a defeated foe. Now stand as men of the Imperium,’ the primarch declared. His voice carried easily over the wind that tousled his hair across his thin face. ‘We have waged war against each other, but the Imperial Truth has prevailed and you have sworn to accept its teachings. In complying with the Emperor’s wishes you have proven yourselves men of wisdom and civilisation, fitting partners to the many other worlds you now jo
in as part of the Imperium of Man. Not conquered, not subjugated, but free men, who have shown courage and pride in defending their values but who have seen the light of the Imperial Truth and now welcome the benefits it will bring.’
Corax turned to his Legion and his voice increased in volume, echoing to the furthest ends of the valley with little effort.
‘We have fought hard and we have fought bravely, and another world is brought from the darkness of superstition and division into the light of the Emperor’s clarity and unity,’ he told his warriors. ‘It is with honour to the fallen and respect to all who stand here that I can declare the Isstvan system brought to compliance!’
A deafening roar of approval sounded from the vocalisers of eighty thousand armoured warriors, joined by cheers drifting down from hundreds of thousands of Therion throats; a clamour which was drowned out by the celebratory blare of the Titans’ war sirens.
Almost fifteen years later, Corax had returned with his brother primarchs to bring the rebel Horus to account, but at the dropsite his former allies had shown their true colours. Turning on the Iron Hands, Salamanders and Corax’s Raven Guard, the traitors had all but destroyed those loyal to the Emperor as they had dropped on the world.
Corax had survived the treacherous ambush, though only just. With the remnants of his Legion, the primarch had attacked and retreated, pursued across the wild hills and mountains of the world by half a dozen Legions. Now the Raven Guard had been forced to stand at the last, driven into the open to face the wrath of their pursuers.
The Raven Guard’s first war at Isstvan had been a great victory. Their latest was a humbling defeat. It was a very different noise that provided the background symphony concluding Corax’s latest campaign in the Isstvan system.
The first missiles from the World Eaters’ Whirlwinds were streaking through the sky towards the Raven Guard. Corax’s legionaries refused to take shelter, proud to stand their ground against this enemy after many days of hit-and-run attacks and desperate retreat. The explosions tore through the squads, slaying dozens. Corax stood amidst it all as if in the eye of a hurricane. His officers looked to him and drew strength from his bold defiance of the World Eaters.
