by Gav Thorpe
‘It is a matter for the militia, or the Praecental Guard if you wish.’ Guilliman laid a hand on the Lion’s arm. ‘Macragge knows its own. Let us deal with it.’
‘Deal with it?’ The primarch of the Dark Angels pulled back his arm from his brother’s grip. He darted a stare at Holguin, the look commanding the voted lieutenant to withdraw. Guilliman caught his meaning and sent his own retainers away.
‘Speak in confidence, brother,’ said the Lord Warden.
‘It is not good for us to disagree in view of the lesser ranks, brother,’ the Lion said, dropping his voice. ‘I cannot leave this matter for you to deal with. You should have dealt with it already, in the years when you were not fighting a civil war. You thought to placate them, didn’t you? If you make the Illyrians your friends, they are no longer your enemies?’
‘I prefer peaceful diplomacy.’
‘That is the luxury of your education. I grew up hunted by monsters in a forest beset by darkness. When a Great Beast marauds, the warriors of the keep do not seek terms with it, they do not ride out and ask for it to accommodate their feelings. They set forth with shocklance and power sword, and all the courage and determination they can muster. They find the beast and they lay their blades upon it until it is dead, or they are.’
‘You are not on Caliban any more,’ Guilliman warned, shaking his head. ‘These are people you speak of, not monsters.’
‘One is not,’ the Lion assured him. ‘One truly is a monster. I will catch him, and lay my blade upon him, and he will trouble us no more. Do you seek to obstruct me?’
Guilliman stepped back, arms crossing his chest. He thought for a moment and shook his head once.
‘I will only offer advice and reason, never forceful objection. You are correct, you are within your powers to act as you have and I have no basis to stop you. Remember that excellence in government is not measured by how many powers you take and laws you create, but in how many you do not have to use. A just society does not require such sanction.’
‘You always were the reasonable one, Roboute,’ said the Lion. ‘I am an animal of the forests.’
He turned back to the Stormbird. His next thought went unspoken.
That is why I will always be stronger.
FIFTEEN
Principles
Caliban
Astelan was curious about Luther’s choice of venue to meet Belath. For the most part the Grand Master of the Order conducted his business from his study, from which he had despatched Zahariel and Astelan earlier that day. Cloistering himself away from the public galleries and halls of state gave the impression that Luther was not seeking aggrandisement, a simple administrator tending to the needs of Caliban until the Lion returned.
Instead of that small chamber, Luther had instructed his First Master to bring their arrival to the Hall of Decemial, near to the gates of the Angelicasta. It was barely used except for occasional traditional feast days, on which nominated warriors of the Order were recognised by invitation to sit at the tables and banquet with their officers.
When he entered, Astelan’s questions were immediately answered. The tables had been removed and the benches set aside to form a corridor down the length of the hall. At the far end the great ebon throne of the Lion had been set on a shallow wooden stage. Before it, just to its right-hand side on the stone floor, a much smaller chair was set.
Luther waited in the chair while Chapter Masters and captains filled the benches, straining to see the new arrival.
It was perfect theatre. Had it been the Lion returning, all was set to fete his homecoming. As it was, the scene laid before Belath was one of patient dedication to service, awaiting that majestic return. It was as though Luther always sat on that chair, like a loyal hound missing the foot of his master, pining for the day of reunion.
Astelan stepped across the threshold between the two massive doors, the portal made of wood from ancient trees carved with twin likenesses of the Dark Angel – the winged, monkish figure that some claimed represented the Emperor as he had been clad when he led the First Legion in secret. Astelan doubted that.
Others thought it was the angel of death, and this Astelan could well believe. An incarnation of the nature of the warriors created by the Emperor’s will.
Whatever its meaning, its lineage was from the Legion and not the Order, one of the few Dark Angels trappings that had survived the last seventy years of gradual maintenance and replacement by Luther’s men.
The same was true inside. The banners that hung from the ceiling. The victory honours that adorned the walls. The trophies brought from worlds conquered before Caliban had been discovered.
A Legion space, protected in the heart of the Angelicasta like an insect preserved in amber. A nod towards that allegiance while all around, in the titles and hierarchy, in the oaths and battle doctrine, the Order had essentially returned to replace the Dark Angels.
Its presence brought another realisation. The masquerade perpetrated by the arrangement of the hall had been long considered. Long enough, in fact, that Luther had ensured that the door itself remained as a mask in Legion tradition so that any that approached would think nothing had changed. It was the seed from which the Legion could be reborn if necessary, the last vestige of fealty to Terra and its superhuman son installed as ruler of Caliban.
It reminded Astelan that Luther had been expecting the return of the primarch for a long time. How would such a wait prey upon the nerves and ambitions of a man?
Belath entered next, announced loudly by Astelan. He came to an abrupt halt as the occupants of the benches rose to their feet with a cheer and applauded. He looked left and right, his expression warring between confusion and delight.
Zahariel lingered beyond the door, and had said nothing for the remainder of the journey into the Angelicasta. He stayed several paces back as Astelan gestured for Belath to continue, escorting the Chapter Master from just a stride behind.
Luther rose from his seat and held up his arms for quiet. The seemingly spontaneous outpouring of appreciation for the Lion’s returning noble son died away.
‘We offer gratitude and tribute to our returning hero!’ the Grand Master declared. ‘Too long have we been bereft of the company of our brothers that set abroad upon the Emperor’s Crusade. Now brought back to us, let us listen keenly to the tales of war he brings, and laud his triumphs!’
There was another roar of approval and burst of applause, which hastened Belath’s stride. By the time he had reached Luther at the far end of the hall the Chapter Master looked exceptionally ill at ease. Astelan watched him closely, enjoying Belath’s discomfort. The greater the outpouring of praise, the more Belath shrank back from it.
‘Master Luther,’ Belath said over the din, ‘I had hoped my arrival would not be conspicuous. I communicated as much.’
‘You must forgive the enthusiasm of your brothers,’ Luther replied, signalling for the audience to fall silent again. When they had done so, he continued. ‘We have been forced to share only vicariously in the deeds of the Legion, and wished to honour you.’
‘I have news that is to be passed to your ear alone,’ Belath said in a low voice. ‘Grave tidings of a galaxy at war.’
‘I see.’ The Grand Master’s smile was replaced with a solemn look. He turned his attention to the gathered officers. ‘Our brother is quite overwhelmed by your appreciation, lords of Caliban. We will feast his return in proper fashion and in due course, but for the moment please return to your duties. And remember, do not let your warriors fall to gossip and idle chatter. Announcements will be forthcoming, but in the meantime they are not to be distracted from their training and the work at hand.’
As the legionaries filed away, one from their group detached from the parting mass – Lord Cypher. Luther sat down again as the Guardian of the Order stood at his left shoulder. No word had been given but Luther did not spare his advisor a second glance.
‘Zahariel, Astelan,’ he called as they turned to depar
t. ‘I require your attendance for a while longer.’
‘My instruction was to deliver my message to you alone, Lord Luther,’ said Belath, darting an angry look at Zahariel in particular.
‘This is my command circle, my trusted lieutenants. There is nothing you will tell me that I would not have them hear, so let us not waste time by making me your herald.’
‘No offence was intended, Master Luther,’ Belath said hurriedly.
‘None was taken, it is simply a matter of expediency, brother,’ Luther said cordially. His tone changed in an instant, eyes narrowing. ‘Does the Lion still live?’
To Astelan’s surprise, and that of Luther judging by his expression, Belath did not have a ready answer. He swallowed hard and looked away for a moment.
‘We believe so.’
‘Believe?’ Luther leaned forward on the arms of his chair. ‘Who believes what?’
‘What do you know already?’ Belath asked, again avoiding a direct answer as he had earlier. ‘Of Horus and the rebellion?’
‘Little enough,’ Luther admitted with a frown. ‘Hearsay, rumour. Horus and his sons have turned against the Emperor and some of the other Legions also. We have heard nothing solid since the warp storms engulfed us, just little morsels gleaned from those that came unbidden to our domain, but I assume that they are related?’
‘Of that I can’t say definitively, but it can’t be coincidence. It is not just Caliban that is isolated, the warp is in turmoil the length and breadth of the galaxy. How it answers to the command of Horus… The truth is…’ Belath shook his head. ‘There is very little truth to be told these days. I will tell you only of what I have been told by Corswain or have witnessed myself.’
‘Corswain?’ Lord Cypher stepped closer. ‘The name sounds familiar, but I cannot place it.’
‘A Captain-Paladin,’ said Luther. ‘I met him briefly when our ships were taken by the Ninth Order at Zaramund. A fine young warrior, very promising. An excellent bladesman.’
‘Not Paladin any longer. He is the Lion’s seneschal now.’
‘My replacement?’ Luther’s brow furrowed deeper and he drew in his cheeks. After a moment, he relaxed and nodded. ‘It was inevitable, I suppose, that the Lion would need a second in my absence.’
‘More than that, it has transpired,’ said Belath. He stepped from side to side, gathering his thoughts. His gaze swept across the other Space Marines. ‘The situation is dire. Horus planned his rebellion well. The Salamanders and Raven Guard are all but destroyed. The Iron Hands… The Gorgon is dead, slain by the blade of Fulgrim. The Night Lords, the Word Bearers, the World Eaters, they have all sided with the traitor. The Iron Warriors also.’
Luther swallowed hard, Zahariel’s frown deepened. It was almost impossible to envisage, to think that perhaps the Imperium had collapsed. More than ever Caliban and those on the world needed to look to their own efforts and fortunes.
‘The Lion,’ said Astelan. This was startling news but he could barely contain his impatience. ‘What of the Lion?’
‘We fought the Night Lords, in the sectors around Thramas. The Lion and the Night Haunter almost killed each other.’ Belath grimaced at the thought. ‘Too much to say, so many battles and dead brothers. We caught the Night Lords in one final ambush. And then the Lion had to leave.’
‘Leave?’ This time it was Luther who could not suppress his agitation, sliding to the front of his chair. ‘Leave what?’
‘Corswain told me that the primarch had received news from the east, beyond the storms. Guilliman gathered all his strength to Ultramar. For all we know, Terra has fallen to Horus, the Emperor dead by His son’s hand. So some believe, Guilliman included it seems.’
‘You make no sense, Belath,’ said Lord Cypher. ‘Speak plainly of what happened.’
‘The Lion departed, splitting the Legion.’ Belath sighed at the recollection. ‘He abandoned thoughts of saving Terra to bring Guilliman back to the righteous path. He left Corswain in charge, but we fared badly, fighting against elements of the Death Guard.’
‘Mortarion has turned as well?’
‘I cannot confirm that. Our foe was Calas Typhon. He still wars against Corswain and thirty thousand brothers, or did so when we left.’
Luther seemed more intrigued than surprised by this announcement. Belath continued, oblivious to the Grand Master’s reaction.
‘Corswain despatched me with transports to bring more warriors to the campaign. Twenty transports, each large enough to carry fifteen hundred warriors.’
‘Thirty thousand Space Marines.’ Astelan nodded in appreciation. ‘That would swing any war in your favour.’
‘Our favour,’ added Lord Cypher, a little too quickly perhaps. Belath looked strangely at Astelan.
‘The recruits are ready, yes? You have been training and arming as the Lion instructed?’
‘A mighty host stands ready,’ said Luther.
‘You seem reluctant, Master Luther,’ said Belath. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘I hope not,’ replied the Grand Master. He stood up, forcing the Chapter Master back a step. He did not speak for several seconds, seeming reluctant to say what was on his mind, his eyes roaming across the banners and trophies as if seeking inspiration. ‘I want to believe you, Belath, I really do.’
‘I don’t understand.’ The new arrival looked at Astelan first, and quickly realised he would gain no support from that quarter. His gaze moved to Lord Cypher. ‘You have known me since I first took up a bolter. Why do you hold your tongue?’
Lord Cypher said nothing and it was left to Astelan to give voice to the thought that vexed Luther.
‘You are probably telling the truth, Belath. At least some of it. Horus and many others have turned. The First Legion might well be divided. How are we to know who holds your allegiance? What guarantee can you offer that the troops we despatch will not be led into a trap and annihilated, or worse?’
‘Worse?’ said Luther.
‘Turned,’ Astelan said quietly. ‘I do not know how many were lured from the Emperor by Horus, but it is no small number evidently. Some promises might sway even a son of Caliban to a new cause.’
‘This is preposterous.’ Belath rounded on Astelan, jabbing an accusing finger. ‘You seek to settle an old grievance at the expense of the Legion!’
‘Do I not have cause for grievance, Belath?’ said Astelan, recalling events several decades earlier. ‘Was it not you that reported to the Lion that I had failed to control the situation at Byzanthis? You blamed me for your own bloody meddling and the Lion was only too willing to listen.’
‘You question my loyalty, Merir Astelan?’ The words were spat through gritted teeth. ‘Your insubordination was no secret even before I was tasked with monitoring you.’
‘We know how loyalty to the Lion is rewarded, don’t we?’ snarled Astelan, directing the comment towards Zahariel. ‘I would ask Brother Nemiel, but he cannot answer.’
‘Astelan is right,’ said the Master of the Mystai. ‘There is nothing we can trust beyond the walls of Aldurukh. Old oaths are meaningless in this new reality. The Lion may have allied with Guilliman and abandoned Terra and us, or he may return at the head of Horus’ armies. We can be sure of nothing.’
‘You can be sure of Corswain!’ Belath declared, gasping the words as a drowning man snatches down lungfuls of air. ‘Do any of you doubt his heart and loyalty?’
Silence answered the question.
‘There is only one way to be sure.’ Luther spoke quietly, the echo of argument fading down the massive hall. The Grand Master gestured towards Zahariel and then looked at Belath. ‘We can, at least, determine what you believe is the truth. If you are willing?’
Belath looked with disgust at the former Librarian, doubtless recalling his earlier brutal intrusion into the Chapter Master’s thoughts. Returning his attention to Luther he saw no compromise or room for appeal in the Grand Master’s stare. Lip curling with disdain, Belath nodded his acquiescence.
‘This is an outrage,’ he whispered. ‘The honour of you all is stained by this act, but mine will remain pure. Do what you must, mind-thief.’
Zahariel looked to Luther for confirmation and received a nod of affirmation. This time he did not lay hands on Belath, but simply stared at him, the pupils of his eyes glowing bright gold.
‘Think of Corswain,’ the Master of the Mystai instructed. ‘Of your purpose in coming here.’
Belath met the psyker’s gaze and for a moment the face of Zahariel was reflected in his eyes. The Chapter Master’s facial muscles relaxed and his look became glazed for a few seconds.
Far sooner than Astelan expected, Zahariel closed his eyes, the golden shimmer beneath them quickly dimming. When he opened them again they had taken on their normal hue.
‘All that he has told us is true,’ Zahariel said. ‘The war with the Night Lords, the Lion’s departure, Corswain’s campaign against Calas Typhon. The transports came hence from Terra Nullius, a world that has chosen neither the Emperor nor the Warmaster as ruler.’
This last piece of information had been gleaned almost by accident, but it was reassuring to learn of the existence of another world seeking to distance itself from the two sides of the storm engulfing the galaxy.
There was something else, but Zahariel caught himself before saying it. Instead the Master of the Mystai took a step back, bowing his head.
‘Satisfied?’ spat Belath, glaring at Luther. ‘Any fresh humiliation you wish to heap upon me?’
‘I must offer my humblest, deepest apologies,’ replied the Grand Master. He sank to one knee before Belath, bowing his head in contrition as a neophyte might make atonement to his sergeant-at-arms. He glanced sidelong at Lord Cypher and Astelan, the look unseen from where Belath stood over Luther. ‘If the Lion has passed his authority to Corswain, then we shall heed the word of the seneschal as though it were that of the primarch himself.’
Astelan latched quickly to the Grand Master’s approach.
‘I shall begin the mustering of the troops, Chapter Master,’ he said, fist raised to his chest in salute. ‘We are honoured to rejoin the Legion at long last.’
