'It's not fair,' growled Abaddon. 'It shouldn't be like this. The Emperor wouldn't let this happen. He shouldn't let this happen.'
'The Emperor hasn't been here for a long time, Ezekyle.'
'Does he even know what's happened? Does he even care anymore?'
'I don't know what to tell you, my friend,' said Aximand, picking up his bolter once more and pressing the catch that released the magazine, seeing that Abaddon had a new target for his impotent rage.
'It's not been the same since he left us after Ullanor,' raged Abaddon. 'He left us to clean up what he couldn't be bothered to finish, and for what? Some damn project on Terra that's more important than us?'
'Careful, Ezekyle,' warned Aximand. 'You're in dangerous territory.'
'It's true though isn't it? Don't tell me you don't feel the same, I know you do.'
'It's… different now, yes,' conceded Aximand.
'We're out here fighting and dying to conquer the galaxy for him and he won't even stand with us out on the frontier. Where is his honour? Where is his pride?'
'Ezekyle!' said Aximand, throwing down his bolter and rising to his feet. 'Enough. If you were anyone else, I would strike you down for those words. The Emperor is our lord and master. We are sworn to obey him.'
'We are pledged to the commander. Don't you remember your Mournival oath?'
'I remember it well enough, Ezekyle,' retorted Aximand, 'better than you it seems, for we also pledged to the Emperor above all primarchs.'
Abaddon turned away and gripped the wire mesh of the training cage, his muscles bulging and his head bowed. With a cry of animal rage, he tore the mesh panel from the cage and hurled it across the training halls, where it landed at the armoured feet of Erebus, who stood silhouetted in the doorway.
'Erebus,' said Aximand in surprise. 'How long have you been standing there?'
'Long enough, Little Horus, long enough.'
Aximand felt a dagger of unease settle in his heart and said, 'Ezekyle was just angry and upset. His humours are out of balance. Don't—'
Erebus waved his hand to brush off Aximand's words, the dim light reflecting from the brushed steel plates of his armour. 'Fear not, my friend, you know how it is between us. We are all lodge members here. If anyone were to ask me what I heard here today, you know what I would tell them, don't you?'
'I can't say.'
'Exactly,' smiled Erebus, but far from being reassured, Aximand suddenly felt beholden to the First Chaplain of the Word Bearers, as though his silence were some kind of bargaining chip.
'Did you come for anything, Erebus?' demanded Abaddon, his choler still to the fore.
'I did,' nodded Erebus, holding out his palm to reveal his silver lodge medal. 'The Warmaster's condition is deteriorating and Targost has called a meeting.'
'Now?' asked Aximand. 'Why?'
Erebus shrugged. 'I can't say.'
They gathered once more in the aft hold of the flagship, travelling the lonely service stairwells to the deep decks of the Vengeful Spirit. Tapers again lit the way and Aximand found himself desperate to get this over with. The Warmaster was dying and they were holding a meeting?
'Who approaches?' asked a hooded figure from the darkness.
'Three souls,' Erebus replied.
'What are your names?' the figure asked.
'Do we need to bother with this now?' snapped Aximand. 'You know it's us, Sedirae.'
'What are your names?' repeated the figure.
'I can't say,' said Erebus.
'Pass, friends.'
They entered the aft hold, Aximand shooting a venomous glance at the hooded Luc Sedirae, who simply shrugged and followed them in. Candles lit the vast, scaffold-framed area as usual, but instead of the lively banter of warriors, a subdued, solemn atmosphere shrouded the hold. All the usual suspects were there: Serghar Targost, Luc Sedirae, Kalus Ekaddon, Falkus Kibre and many more officers and file troopers he knew or recognised… and Maloghurst the Twisted.
Erebus led the way into the hold, moving to stand in the centre of the group as Aximand nodded towards the Warmaster's equerry.
'It's been some time since I've seen you at a meeting,' said Aximand.
'It has indeed,' agreed Maloghurst. 'I have neglected my duties as a lodge member, but there are matters before us that demand my attendance.'
'Brothers,' said Targost, beginning the meeting. 'We live in grim times.'
'Get to the point, Serghar,' snarled Abaddon. 'We don't have time for this.'
The lodge master glared at Abaddon, but saw the first captain's lurking temper and nodded rather than confront him. Instead, he gestured towards Erebus and addressed the lodge as a whole. 'Our brother of the XVII Legion would speak to us. Shall we hear him?'
'We shall,' intoned the Sons of Horus.
Erebus bowed and said, 'Brother Ezekyle is right, we do not have time to stand on ceremony so I will be blunt. The Warmaster is dying and the fate of the Crusade stands on a knife-edge. We alone have the power to save it.'
'What does that mean, Erebus?' asked Aximand.
Erebus paced around the circumference of the circle as he spoke. 'The apothecaries can do nothing for the Warmaster. For all their dedication, they cannot cure him of this sickness. All they can do is keep him alive, and they cannot do that for much longer. If we do not act now, it will be too late.'
'What do you propose, Erebus?' asked Targost.
'The tribes on Davin,' said Erebus.
'What of them?' asked the lodge master.
'They are a feral people, controlled by warrior castes, but then we all know this. Our own quiet order bears the hallmarks of their warrior lodges in its structure and practices. Each of their lodges venerates one of the autochthonic predators of their lands, and this is where our order differs. In my time on Davin during its compliance, I studied the lodges and their ways in search of corruption or religious profanity. I found nothing of that, but in one lodge I found what I believe might be our only hope of saving the Warmaster.'
Despite himself, Aximand became caught up in Erebus's words, his oratory worthy of the iterators, with the precise modulation of tone and timbre to entrance his audience.
'Tell us!' shouted Luc Sedirae.
The lodge took up the cry until Serghar Targost was forced to restore order with a bellowed command.
'We must take the Warmaster to the Temple of the Serpent Lodge on Davin,' declared Erebus. 'The priests there are skilled in the mystic arts of healing, and I believe they offer the best chance of saving the Warmaster.'
'Mystic arts?' asked Aximand. 'What does that mean? It sounds like sorcery.'
'I do not believe it is,' said Erebus, rounding on him, 'but what if it was, Brother Horus? Would you refuse their aid? Would you allow the Warmaster to die just so we can feel pure? Is the Warmaster's life not worth a little risk?'
'Risk, yes? But this feels wrong.'
'Wrong would be not doing all that we could to save the commander,' said Targost.
'Even if it means tainting ourselves with impure magick?'
'Don't get all high and mighty, Aximand,' said Targost. 'We do this for the Legion. There is no other choice.'
'Then is it. already decided?' demanded Aximand, pushing past Erebus to stand in the centre of the circle. 'If so, then why this charade of debate? Why bother even summoning us here?'
Maloghurst limped from Targost's side and shook his head. 'We must all be in accord here, Brother Horus. You know how the lodge operates. If you do not agree to this, then we will go no further and the Warmaster will remain here, but he will die if we do nothing. You know that to be true.'
'You cannot ask this of me,' pleaded Aximand.
'I have to, my brother,' said Maloghurst. 'There is no other way.'
Aximand felt the responsibility of the decision before him crushing him to the floor as every eye in the chamber turned upon him. His eyes meet Abaddon's and he saw that Ezekyle was clearly in favour of doing whatever it took to save the Warmaster.
'What of Torgaddon and Loken?' asked Aximand, trying to buy some time to think. 'They are not here to speak.'
'Loken is not one of us!' shouted Kalus Ekaddon, Captain of the Reaver squads. 'He had his chance to join us, but turned his back on our order. As for Tarik, he will follow our lead in this. There is no time to seek him out.' Aximand looked into the faces of the men around him, and he realised had no choice. He never had from the moment he had walked into the room.
Whatever it took, the Warmaster had to live. It was that simple.
He knew there would be consequences. There always were in a devil's bargain like this, but any price was worth paying if it would save the commander.
He was damned if he would be remembered as die warrior who stood by and let the Warmaster die.
'Very well,' he said at last. 'Let the Lodge of the Serpent do what it can.'
The difference in Davin's moon in the few hours since they had last set foot on it was incredible, thought Loken. The cloying mists and fogs had vanished and the sky was lightening from a musky yellow to bleached white. The stench was still there, but it too was lessened, now just unpleasant rather than overpowering. Had the death of Temba broken some kind of power that held the moon locked in a perpetual cycle of decay?
As the Thunderhawk had skimmed the marshes, Loken had seen that the diseased forests were gone, their trunks collapsed in on themselves without the life-giving corruption holding them together. Without the obscuring mists, it was easy to find the Glory of Terra, though thankfully there was no deathly message coming over the vox this time.
They touched down and Loken led Locasta squad, Torgaddon, Vipus and Marr from the Thunderhawk with the confident strides of a natural leader. Though Torgaddon and Marr had held their captaincies longer than Loken, both instinctively deferred to him on this mission.
'What do you expect to find here, Garvi?' asked Torgaddon, squinting up at the collapsed hulk of the ship. He hadn't bothered to find a new helmet and his nose wrinkled at the stench of the place.
'I'm not sure,' he answered. 'Answers, maybe; something to help the Warmaster.'
Torgaddon nodded. 'Sounds good to me. What about you, Marr? What are you looking for?'
Tybalt Marr didn't answer, racking the slide of his bolter and marching towards the crashed vessel. Loken caught up with him and grabbed his shoulder guard.
'Tybalt, am I going to have a problem with you here?'
'No. I just want to see where Verulam died,' said Marr. 'It won't be real until I've seen the place. I know I saw him in the mortuary, but that wasn't a dead man. It was just like looking in a mirror. You understand?'
Loken didn't, but he nodded anyway. 'Very well, take up position in the file.'
They marched towards the dead ship, clambering up the broken ramps of debris to the gaping holes torn in its side.
'Damn, but it feels like a lifetime since we were fighting here,' said Torgaddon.
'It was only three or four hours ago, Tarik,' Loken pointed out.
'I know, but still…'
Eventually they reached the top of the ramp and penetrated the darkness of the ship, the memory of the last time he had done this and what he had found at the end of the journey still fresh in Loken's mind.
'Stay alert. We don't know what else might still be alive in here.'
'We should have bombed the wreck from orbit,' muttered Torgaddon.
'Quiet!' hissed Loken. 'Didn't you hear what I said?'
Tarik raised his hands in apology and they pressed on through the groaning wreck, along darkened hallways, flickering companionways and stinking, blackened corridors. Vipus and Loken led the way, with Torgaddon and Marr guarding the rear. The shadow-haunted wreck had lost none of its power to disturb, though the disgusting, organic growths that coated every surface with glistening wetness now seemed to be dying - drying up and cracking to powder.
'What's going on in here?' asked Torgaddon. 'This place was like the hydroponics bay a few hours ago, now it's…'
'Dying,' completed Vipus. 'Like those trees we saw earlier.'
'More like dead,' said Marr, peeling the husk of one of the growths from the wall.
'Don't touch anything,' warned Loken. 'Something in this ship had the power to harm the commander and until we know what that was, we touch nothing.'
Marr dropped the remains and wiped his hand on his leg as they journeyed deeper inside the ship. Loken's memory of their previous route was faultless and they soon reached the central spine and the route to the bridge.
Shafts of light speared in through holes in the hull and dust motes floated in the air like a glittering wall. Loken led on, ducking beneath protruding bulkheads and sparking cables as they reached their ultimate destination.
Loken could smell Eugan Temba long before they saw him, the reek of his putrefaction and death thick even beyond the bridge. They made their way cautiously onto the bridge, and Loken sent his warriors around the perimeter with directional chops of his hand.
'What are we going to do about those men up there?' asked Vipus, pointing to the dead soldiers stitched to the banners hanging from the roof. 'We can't just leave them like that.'
'I know, but we can't do anything for them just now,' said Loken. 'When we destroy this hulk, they'll be at rest.'
'Is that him?' asked Marr, pointing at the bloated corpse.
Loken nodded, raising his bolter and advancing on the body. A rippling motion undulated beneath the corpse's skin, and Temba's voluminous belly wobbled with internal motion. His flesh was stretched so tightly over his frame that the outlines of fat maggots and larvae could be seen beneath his parchment skin.
'Throne, he's disgusting,' said Marr. 'And this… thing killed Verulam?'
'I assume so,' replied Loken. 'The Warmaster didn't say exactly, but there's nothing else here is there?'
Loken left Marr to his grief and turned to his warriors, saying, 'Spread out and look for something, anything that might give us some clue as to what happened here.'
'You don't have any idea what we're looking for?' asked Vipus.
'No, not really,' admitted Loken. 'A weapon maybe.'
'You know we're going to have to search that fat bastard don't you?' Torgaddon pointed out. 'Who's the lucky sod who gets to do that?'
'I thought that'd be something you'd enjoy, Tarik.'
'Oh no, I'm not putting so much as a finger near that thing.'
'I'll do it,' said Marr, dropping to his knees and peeling away the sodden remnants of Eugan Temba's clothing and flesh.
'See?' said Torgaddon, backing away. 'Tybalt wants to do it. I say let him.'
'Very well. Be careful, Tybalt,' said Loken before turning away from the disgusting sight of Marr pulling apart Temba's corpse.
His men began searching the bridge and Loken climbed the steps to the captain's throne, staring out over the crew pits, now filled with all manner of vile excrescences and filth. It baffled Loken how such a glorious ship and a man of supposedly fine character could come to such a despicable end.
He circled the throne, pausing as his foot connected with something solid.
He bent down and saw a polished wooden casket. Its surfaces were smooth and clean, and it was clearly out of place in this reeking tomb. Perhaps the length and thickness of a man's arm, the wood was rich brown with strange symbols carved along its length. The lid opened on golden hinges and Loken released the delicate catch that held it shut.
The casket was empty, padded with a red velvet insert, and as he stared at its emptiness, Loken realised how thoughtless he'd been in opening it. He ran his fingers along the length of the casket, tracing the outline of the symbols, seeing something familiar in their elegantly cursive forms.
'Over here!' shouted one of Locasta, and Loken quickly gathered up the casket and made his way towards the source of the call. While Tybalt Marr disassembled the traitor's rotten body, Astartes warriors surrounded something that gleamed on the deck.
Loken saw that it wa
s Eugan Temba's severed arm, the fingers still wrapped around the hilt of a strange, glittering sword with a blade that looked like grey flint.
'It's Temba's arm right enough,' said Vipus, reaching down to lift the sword.
'Don't touch it,' said Loken. 'If it laid the Warmaster low, I don't want to know what it could do to us.'
Vipus recoiled from the sword as though it were a snake.
'What's that?' asked Torgaddon, pointing at the casket.
Loken dropped to his haunches, laying the casket next to the sword, unsurprised when he saw that the sword would fit snugly inside.
'I think it once contained this sword.'
'Looks pretty new,' said Vipus. 'And what's that on the side? Writing?'
Loken didn't answer, reaching out to prise Temba's dead fingers from the sword hilt. Though he knew it was absurd, he grimaced with each finger he pried loose, expecting the hand to leap to life and attack him.
Eventually, the sword was free, and Loken gingerly lifted the weapon.
'Careful,' said Torgaddon.
'Thanks, Tarik, and here was me about to throw it.'
'Sorry.'
Loken slowly lowered the sword into the casket. The handle tingled and he had felt a curious sensation as he had said Tarik's name, a sense of the monstrous harm the weapon could inflict. He snapped the lid shut, letting out a pent-up breath.
'How in the name of Terra did someone like Temba get hold of a weapon like that?' asked Torgaddon. 'It didn't even look human-made.'
'It's not,' said Loken as the familiarity of the symbols on the side of the casket fell horribly into place. 'It's kinebrach.'
'Kinebrach?' asked Torgaddon. 'But weren't they—'
'Yes,' said Loken, carefully lifting the casket from the deck. 'This is the anathame that was stolen from the Hall of Devices on Xenobia.'
The word went out across the Vengeful Spirit at the speed of thought, and weeping men and women lined their route. Hundreds filed each passageway as the Astartes bore the Warmaster on a bier of kite-shaped shields. Clad in his ceremonial armour of winter white with burnished gold trims and the glaring red eye, the Warmaster's hands were clasped across his golden sword, and a laurel wreath of silver sat upon his noble brow.
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