by Nick Kyme
The ring of scorched earth held the secret, I had but to unlock it to know the truth. The question was obvious.
What is Vulkan's fate?
I had a gift, one I had forgotten and projected onto another. With it I could scour the ends of this earth in search of the bright and shining beacon that was my father. So much grief, so much death. I tapped the latent air around me, still redolent with the psychic screams of my brothers. Cerulean fire flared in my eyes, I felt it burning, saw it spilling beyond the cavern to reveal the shadows of my murderers as they crept closer.
Any attempt to find my father, if I opened my mind fully to the horrors of Isstvan, would likely kill me and everything around me in a psychic storm…
An Iron Warrior emerged from the darkness into the azure light. I saw him balk in the few seconds I had left. Throwing back my head, I unshackled my mind, let it roam and see all and everything. It unlocked the ring of scorched earth; it showed me the last truth that still eluded me.
White light, heat and the disorientation of translocation.
He was gone. Vulkan was gone.
A conflagration was blazing through my body and I lowered my eyes to watch my enemies flee in vain. I would give them a truth, just before we all died, before the cavern and the tunnel and several kilometres of the Isstvan plain were reduced to a blackened crater in the outpouring of my psychic anguish.
I did not regret my death, just as I did not regret my life. I wished I had met my father one last time, but that was not the future we had made for ourselves.
It is a grim, dark horizon we are travelling towards. In it the galaxy burns.
But there is still hope…
'There is still hope,' I said aloud, my voice rising to a scream.
The Iron Warrior slowed and turned. As he looked into my eyes, I think he realised that he was doomed.
Here was the truth; this was what I told him.
'Vulkan lives!'
I fought with Usabius during the long years of the Great Crusade. I would not say we were friends but we did share a mutual respect for one another. This conflict has changed us all, this particular treachery even more so and far deeper than any of us could have imagined, but I believe it has brought the two of us closer as brothers. How I wish it could have been during more glorious times than these.
The Raven Guard I find to be of sour mood. I suspect it is a defence mechanism of sorts. One such as he, a member of the Apothecarion, has seen death both on and off the battlefield, but not like this. The scale of murder and injury on Isstvan must be testing even Torvax's formidable limits. I see him sometimes, as he's wiping down the blood, staring into darkness. I often wonder what he sees there and if it's the same as what I see.
Colder than tempered steel is Erasmus Ruuman. I have had some experience fighting alongside the Iron Hands but confess that I knew little of their battle formations and rank system. I mistakenly believed the Iron Fathers and Ironwroughts to be the selfsame creed of specialist, but Ruuman was quick to correct me. His expertise with weaponry is unmatched and he has skill to rival full-fledged Techmarines. Without which I suspect we would have died long before now.
Ishmal is broken. I can see it in his eyes, in his mangled body that he's forced to roll around on a makeshift wheeled chair. Hе clings to command, but it's all he has left to hold on to. Hе is also deluding himself if he thinks Lord Manus survived. I wonder if he truly believes this or if it is merely a facade to prevent some deeper mental trauma than the one he is already suffering from overtaking him.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Nick Kyme is the author of the Tome of Fire trilogy featuring the Salamanders. He has also written for the Horus Heresy Space Marine Battles and Time of Legends series with the novels Vulkan Lives, Fall of Damnos and The Great Betrayal. In addition, he has penned a host of short stories and several novellas, including ''Feat of Iron'' which was a New York Times bestseller in the Horus Heresy collection The Primarchs. He lives and works in Nottingham.
