‘Oh?’ said Marduk. ‘And what pray has the sorcerer got to say for himself?’
‘The fallen magos was telling me how he has yet to access even ten per cent of the potential power of the Nexus Arrangement,’ interposed Kharesh. ‘Its potential is quite… staggering.’
‘I see,’ said Marduk.
‘Inshabael Kharesh, sorcerer lord of the Black–’ began the magos.
‘I know who you mean,’ interrupted Marduk.
‘–has informed Darioq-Grendh’al that the Warmaster Abaddon is benefactor to many Dark Mechanicus adepts and many Obliterator cults,’ said Darioq-Grendh’al. ‘He thinks that Darioq-Grendh’al would find much to his appreciation were the Warmaster to become his benefactor.’
‘Really,’ said Marduk.
Inshabael Kharesh merely shrugged his shoulders, refusing to be cowed by the Dark Apostle.
‘Would you deny the truth of the statement, Apostle?’ he said.
‘The device is mine, sorcerer,’ said Marduk, ‘Just as Darioq-Grendh’al is mine. I will not let either of them leave the 34th Host.’
‘We shall see,’ said the sorcerer, smiling.
‘Yes, we shall,’ said Marduk. Idly, he picked up something from one of the magos’s workbenches. His eyes widened as he recognised the spherical device.
‘A vortex grenade?’ he said in wonder. The most powerful man-portable weapon ever conceived by the Imperium of Man, a vortex grenade was a priceless artefact capable of destroying anything – anything – that it touched.
‘A gift,’ said Inshabael Kharesh, reaching out to take it from Marduk’s hands. ‘For the magos.’
Marduk refused to relinquish his hold on the deadly artefact, and for a moment the Dark Apostle and the sorcerer were locked together, unwilling to back down. Finally, Inshabael shrugged and let go.
‘A bribe,’ growled Ashkanez.
‘You would dare bring such an item aboard my ship without my knowledge?’ said Marduk, holding the vortex grenade under the sorcerer’s nose.
‘It is a bauble, nothing more,’ said the sorcerer. ‘I thought the magos might like to study it.’
‘Secure this,’ said Marduk, handing the vortex grenade to Kol Badar. The Coryphaus took it gingerly.
‘One cannot help but wonder why the creators of the Nexus Arrangement – the necron – had not used the device themselves,’ said the sorcerer, changing the subject.
‘It hardly matters,’ said Marduk.
‘Perhaps not,’ said Inshabael Kharesh with an enigmatic half-smile. Marduk suppressed the urge to strike him.
For the millionth time in the last few months, Marduk cursed the day that the Council of Sicarus had agreed to allow the sorcerer to accompany Marduk’s 34th Host.
While it was true that the Word Bearers and Black Legion had once been close, much of that good will and brotherly respect had evaporated upon the death of the Warmaster Horus. While Abaddon might have claimed the title of Warmaster for himself, it afforded him none of the respect that Horus had garnered from the XVII Legion. Of course, the Black Legion’s strength was unparalleled – their ranks outnumbered those of the Word Bearers almost ten to one – yet many within the Word Bearers regarded it as but a pale shadow of its former glory, its self-proclaimed Warmaster worthy of contempt. Nevertheless, it was all but certain that it would be the Black Legion who would form the mainstay of the final crusade against the hated Imperium, and because of that, the Word Bearers held their peace.
Marduk begrudged Kharesh’s presence upon his ship. He hated the self-satisfied, mocking gleam in the whoreson’s crystalline eyes as he observed the daily rituals of the 34th Host and studied Darioq-Grendh’al’s work on the xenos Nexus Arrangement device.
Perhaps more than anything else, he hated the fact that there was someone aboard the Infidus Diabolus whose life was not his to take.
He shifted his attention towards the twisted magos.
Darioq-Grendh’al’s head was turned to the side, staring down in morbid curiosity as he prodded the now lifeless slave laid out before him. His tentacles continued to burrow through the corpse’s innards, chewing and slurping. Part metal, part living tissue, part daemon, the mechadendrites were sinuous and writhing things, moving with a life of their own.
The stink of Chaos was strong on the corrupted magos, and though his heavily augmented body was fully swathed in heavy black cloth, Marduk could see it bulge and swell, writhing from within as Darioq-Grendh’al’s body altered its form, in constant flux.
Marduk smiled to see the magos so changed, to see such a being of order, uniformity and structure released to become a true creature of Chaos.
‘We make transference within the hour, Darioq-Grendh’al,’ said Marduk. ‘The device will be ready?’
‘Yes, Marduk, Dark Apostle of the 34th Host of the Word Bearers Astartes Legion, genetic descendant of the glorified Primarch Lorgar,’ said Darioq-Grendh’al. ‘It will be ready.’
The room was dim and circular, with tiered steps around the edge. A two-headed eagle, the symbol of the Imperium marked the marble floor, but otherwise the room was bare of ornamentation. Marble columns supported the high domed ceiling. The walls of the room had been raised, hiding the view beyond from sight, and their photo-chromatic panels had been dimmed; in direct sunlight, the hololithic figures arranged around the room were difficult to see.
There were over forty figures standing on the circular steps, the higher-ranked individuals positioned on the lowest tiers. Only ten of those figures were physically in the room, including Aquilius himself and his Proconsul Ostorius, both fully garbed for war. The other six were officers of the Boros Imperial Guard and the Fleet Commanders of the Imperial Navy stationed at the Kronos star fort.
Aquilius recognised the Legatus and Praefectus of the Boros 232nd from his inspection of their ranks. Though neither was of the highest rank, and they stood on the upper tiers, the 232nd’s combat record was faultless and the high legate of the Boros Guard had requested their presence personally. Ostorius had acquiesced to the appeal, and Aquilius had been pleased to see that Praefectus Verenus had accompanied his Legatus. He had seen something in the man, something akin to the pride of a White Consul. A shame that he was too old for indoctrination into the Chapter, for he believed he would have made a fine Space Marine.
The other thirty figures standing on various tiers around the room were all hololiths, the monochromatic projections of those that could not be present because of their distance. There were many gaps upon the tiers; those gathered were only the ones that were available at such short notice, and all were high-ranking individuals. There were admirals and lord high commanders, all positioned only a step or two from the floor, and high-grade officers of the commissariat and Ecclesiarchy positioned higher up.
Some of the images were clearer than others. At a glance, some appeared completely solid, excepting their monochrome colouring. Others were like ghosts, transparent and incorporeal, while others were thick with static and jerky with time-lapse, their mouths out of synch with their speech.
Upon the lowest tier were Adeptus Astartes, the Emperor’s angels of death. All belonged to the Adeptus Praeses, the fraternity of Chapters that had been created for the sole purpose of guarding against incursions from within the Eye of Terror. They formed the first line of defence against the inhabitants of that hellish realm, responding to any threat with bolter, chainsword, unshakeable faith and the fury of the righteous.
Once there had been twenty Chapters of the Adeptus Praeses; now there were eighteen. The Archenemy had annihilated one Chapter and, more shocking still, another had been branded Excommunicatus Traitorus.
Aquilius’s gaze strayed around the circle of these august Space Marines.
Chapter Masters, senior captains, Librarians, Chaplains; all were present here, members and representatives of the Adeptus Praeses. Never had he been in the presence of such prestigious individuals.
The Chapter Master of the Marines Exemplar, twin sc
ars ritually carved down his cheeks, stood alongside captains of the Iron Talons, barbarous-looking in their skin-draped power armour, yet utterly devoted to the Imperium. The Chief Librarian of the insular Brothers Penitent stood alongside the captain of the First Company of the Knights Unyielding, his ornamental armour plastered with purity seals and oath papers. A hooded member of the Crimson Scythes stood apart from the others, as was the way of his Chapter. Aquilius could not discern his rank.
Finally, Aquilius’s gaze came to rest upon the last two Astartes warriors, the revered Chapter Masters of the White Consuls, Cymar Xydias and Titus Valens.
Unusually amongst the Adeptus Astartes, the White Consuls had not one but two Chapter Masters. While one patrolled the fringes of the Eye of Terror or partook in holy warfare, the other was located back at the Chapter’s home world, Sabatine, governing the Chapter from its fortress-monastery high in the mountains. The Consuls were spread far and wide, battle-brothers and companies located across more than fifty systems at any one time, and it had served the Chapter well to have its pair of co-rulers, for the Chapter Master engaged in the theatre of war was able to concentrate his attentions fully upon the task at hand, confident that the Chapter was being run efficiently.
The Chapter Masters were a dramatic contrast in both appearance and demeanour.
Cymar Xydias, who had reigned as Chapter Master for almost twelve hundred years, and currently oversaw the Chapter’s movements from Sabatine, was a severe warrior with an angular face. With a piercing gaze and cutting insight, Xydias was a strategic genius; his understanding of both the flow of battle and the politics of the systems the White Consuls oversaw was masterful and inspiring. He wore a long cloak and a metal wreath of ivy upon his balding head.
Xydias had won countless wars for the White Consuls over the centuries, glorious victories that had been forever documented in the annals of the Chapter. His perfectly executed stratagems were studied by White Consul neophytes and initiates, and he was renowned for his ability to outthink the enemy, always a dozen moves ahead. Weaving an intricate and often bewildering web of attack and counter-attack, of feint and rapid redeployment, his strategic ploys had achieved unlikely victory time and again. His strategic acumen was far beyond the ken of any regular battle-brother, and Aquilius had studied every battle that Xydias had overseen.
Where Cymar Xydias was lean and hawk-like, Chapter Master Titus Valens was a thick-necked warrior, his massive frame encased in an exoskeleton of Terminator armour that made his bulk even greater. His face was broad and blunt, his short-cropped hair sandy blond and speckled with grey where Xydias’s was white and sharply receding. His left shoulder plate bore the Crux Terminatus, the holy icon that every suit of revered Terminator armour bore, each containing a tiny fragment of the golden armour worn by the God-Emperor himself ten thousand years earlier. The Chapter symbol, a resplendent blue eagle’s head, was emblazoned upon his right, and a gleaming double-headed eagle was sculpted into his chest plate, every feather carved in immaculate detail.
Xydias’s strategic brilliance came from a combination of natural talent, intense tutorage under the finest minds of the White Consuls and the Ultramarines in his youth, and a lifetime of study and experience. Valens’s strength lay in his instinctive comprehension of the ebb and flow of battle.
While Chapter Master Titus Valens was as highly educated and classically trained as the most learned of the White Consuls, his true talents, as Aquilius understood it, lay in his innate understanding of warfare and its psychology. Valens always seemed to know the exact moment to press the assault in order to demoralise the enemy, the exact moment when a line was close to breaking and needed bolstering. He led the Chapter from the fore, an inspiring and prominent figure capable of turning defeat into a resounding victory with one well-timed charge.
Aquilius idolised Xydias, emulating his logical, strategic mind. Proconsul Ostorius was a fervent supporter of Titus Valens.
Aquilius had listened intently on the odd occasion that Ostorius spoke of the battles he had fought alongside the Chapter Master. Ostorius’s eyes would shine with passion then, and Aquilius could picture the battle in his mind’s eye as if he had been there himself. He felt the thrill that Ostorius had experienced as Valens had hurled himself into the breach at Delanok Pass time and again, heroically rallying the thirty White Consuls battle-brothers as they held for sixty-two days against a force of over ten thousand, desperately holding the line until reinforcements from the 6th and 9th Companies arrived and flanked the enemy, cutting them down mercilessly between their controlled lines of fire.
‘Give your report, Proconsul Ostorius,’ said Chapter Master Titus Valens.
The room descended into silence, every present member of the caucus listening to the Proconsul intently.
‘Honoured brethren,’ said Ostorius in a loud clear voice, addressing the gathered personages. ‘Twenty-three minutes ago a considerable Chaos fleet was detected transferring from the warp. It is predicted that it will realise in thirty-five minutes’ time, emerging on the dark side of the Trajan Belt. I request the aid of the Adeptus Praeses to defeat this threat.’
‘From the incoming information, I see that this fleet consists of between eleven and fifteen warships of cruiser size or larger,’ said Chapter Master Absalon of the Marines Exemplar. ‘Do we have any ship recognition yet?’
‘We do,’ said Ostorius. ‘Archive scouts have found two matches, with more pending. The first, the battlecruiser Righteous Might, which disappeared from Imperial records in M32.473. Its last transmission announced an attack from an unidentified raider fleet, attacking from the Maelstrom.’
‘And the second?’ said one of the captains of the Iron Talons, in a thick, guttural accent.
Ostorius nodded to the commodore of the Boros Naval Fleet, who cleared his throat before speaking.
‘A positive match on an Infernus-class battleship,’ said the commodore, which caused an outbreak of muttering and consternation. ‘One of only seven ever launched from the forge docks of Balthasar XIX. An inefficient design. Monstrously powerful, though.
‘We have matched the call-signature of this Infernus to that of the Flame of Purity. According to our records, the Flame of Purity turned traitor during the Heresy and suffered grievous structural damage during its aftermath care of the White Scars – your father Legion, noble captains,’ said Ostorius, nodding towards the two Space Marines of the Iron Talons.
‘We know this ship,’ snarled the First Captain of the Iron Talons. ‘We pledge our oath to support Boros Prime. We send six companies.’
Ostorius bowed to the Iron Talons before continuing.
‘Since M33.089 the Flame of Purity has had confirmed sightings in eighty-four documented confrontations,’ said Ostorius. ‘It has since been redubbed the Crucius Maledictus.’
‘The Word Bearers,’ spat the warrior brother of the Crimson Scythes.
‘So it would appear,’ said Ostorius.
‘Between eleven and fifteen battleships,’ said the Chapter Master of the Knight Unyielding. ‘A sizeable force.’
‘The Crucius Maledictus was present during the destruction of the Black Consuls,’ said Chapter Master Xydias. ‘Undoubtedly, the Word Bearers know that Boros is under the control of the White Consuls.’
‘The bastards have a taste for your bloodline,’ growled one of the Iron Talons captains.
‘It would seem so,’ said Chapter Master Xydias.
‘From the number of ships we are reading, I would hazard that there are around five or six Word Bearers Hosts bearing down on Boros,’ said Ostorius.
‘If that is true, we may be facing anywhere between five and fifteen thousand Word Brother zealots,’ said Chapter Master Valens. ‘Plus whatever foul allies they have brought with them.’
‘Engines?’ said a senior Imperial Guard warmaster.
‘Highly likely,’ said Chapter Master Xydias. ‘The traitorous Legio Vulturus has been codified as fighting alongside the Word Bearers
on dozens of occasions, often in the same systems in which the Crucius Maledictus has been sighted. It would be wise to expect to face Titans if the enemy was to make planetfall.’
‘Pray it does not come to that, brother,’ said Absalon of the Marines Exemplar.
‘With the Emperor’s grace, it will not,’ said Chapter Master Valens. ‘But we must be prepared for the eventuality.’
‘I will notify Lord Commander Horacio and the Princeps Senioris engaged in the Thraxian campaign,’ said the Chapter Master Absalon. ‘I shall request that they spare some of the Princeps’ Legios, upon the off-chance that the Archenemy makes planetfall. I am certain that the Legio Gryphonicus would relish the opportunity to exact their revenge upon the engines of their dark kin.’
‘My thanks,’ said Chapter Master Xydias, graciously. ‘I need not remind you all of the importance of the Boros Gate. If the enemy were to claim it, then they would have an open path into Segmentum Solar and the heart of the Imperium. All available White Consuls battle-brothers will be marshalled to meet this threat head on. The only warriors of our Chapter who shall not answer this call are those officiating as Proconsuls and Coadjutors of our protectorate systems, and the Praetorian squads of Sabatine itself. The 8th and 9th reserve Companies are already mobilising here, for immediate transference. Brother Valens?’
‘The war here in Bellasus VII is almost done,’ said Co-Chapter Master Valens. ‘Astartes presence is no longer required to complete the pacification. I shall disengage and lead the four battle companies with me to the Boros Gate immediately. The Divine Splendour shall lead my armada.’
Aquilius was impressed. The White Consuls were a fleet-heavy Chapter with three immense battle-barges and more than a dozen strike cruisers at their disposal. Fully two-thirds of the fleet was always scouring the fringes of the Eye of Terror, ever vigilant for incursion. That two of the Chapter’s three hallowed battle-barges, the Divine Splendour and the Righteous Fury, were being re-routed to the Boros system, together with virtually the entirety of the White Consuls Chapter, spoke of the level of threat that the enemy posed.
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