‘I wonder if Horus was as confident in his assumptions when he came here.’
The Lion glared. ‘I am not Horus.’
‘No,’ Sanguinius said, keeping his voice level. ‘You are not. And you are not what he has become. But remember, brother. Remember what he was. I remember. I remember how wise I thought our father was to make him Warmaster. I remember Horus’ doubts, how he wondered if he was worthy of the task. How could this brother turn on us? Remember that none of us saw his treachery coming. Our father didn’t see it coming. Remember all of this, and remember that here is where Horus fell.’ He paused. ‘Now tell me you are certain there is nothing below.’
‘He’s right,’ Guilliman said. ‘I would like to know what happened to Horus.’
‘You think I don’t? And if Sanguinius is correct, what then? Is our strategy to replicate Horus’ error?’
Guilliman turned back to Sanguinius, an eyebrow raised.
‘Where do you stand, Roboute?’ Sanguinius finally demanded. ‘Why won’t you tell us?’
‘I wanted to hear you both out. We have a lot of data, but it does not point in a clear direction.’ He gestured towards the exterior of the hull. ‘We have just come through unambiguous evidence of the importance of Davin. But the necrosphere tells us nothing about how we should deal with the problem this world presents.’ He drummed his fingers on the table. ‘On balance,’ he said, ‘I agree with the Lion. Our enemy isn’t here. It is somewhere in the necrosphere. You saw it, Sanguinius. You’ve done battle with it already.’
More than you know, the Angel thought. ‘We can’t fight it until it declares itself,’ he said.
‘I agree. Destroying Davin may bring it out. In any event, I think a landing here will be a distraction.’
‘It will not be,’ Sanguinius insisted. ‘We have to know what is down there. We have to go.’ He stared at the centre of the map, thinking about the journey, how barriers immense beyond comprehension had tried to stop them, and how they had broken through. Their victories appeared to him as both impossible and inevitable. We are going planetside, he realised. We have no choice. Fate decrees it. The moment the thought crossed his mind, he doubted it. He had been doubting fate since Pyrrhan.
He was torn between certitude and hope. He didn’t know which to embrace. He looked back and forth between the Lion and Guilliman. Neither of them had his experience of time. Neither had lived their own deaths. Neither could truly perceive destiny concretely. They didn’t fully understand the implications of being here, now, where everything had begun. They thought they did. They could appreciate the symmetry of returning to the source of the war. But they could not feel, viscerally, the chains of inevitability and fate that were drawing them to this nexus, this singular point in space and time.
Where fate might be in flux.
No. They could not understand. There was someone who would, though.
‘I must speak with Konrad,’ Sanguinius said.
The Lion snorted with surprise. ‘You think he will convince me?’
‘No,’ said Sanguinius. ‘Nevertheless, I would speak with him.’
The Lion shrugged. ‘My decision is made.’ As Sanguinius reached the strategium’s door, the Lion said, ‘I will take action. Without delay.’
‘You will be wrong to do so,’ Sanguinius said, and left.
He saw the future again. The barrier to his vision fell when the brain-piercing whine had ceased. There was certainty again. The charnel house of the universe unfolded before him, every step known in the moment before it arrived. There was no comfort in this. There was no comfort in anything. Comfort was the delusion of the weak. There was, though, satisfaction. Curze could look upon the morbid farce of time and once again share in the humour.
For a long period, humour was all he had. The moments succeeded each other without change. The ship travelled. It entered the warp. It translated back into the materium. Curze sensed the changes, but they meant nothing. His cell might as well have been a stasis field. Anonymous guards changed shifts. The Lion did not return to speak with him. Time stagnated. There were no actions for Curze to take, no decisions in the physical limbo.
At last, limbo ended. He looked up, cracked lips peeling back over the stumps of his teeth. Before the boot-steps sounded, the Night Haunter was smiling. This was much better than a second conversation with the Lion. Much better.
The cell door ground open and Sanguinius entered. He stood before Curze, saying nothing.
Don’t you know how to begin, brother? Curze thought. Then let me help you. ‘So,’ he said, ‘you have come to free me.’
‘Have I?’
‘Do you doubt my insight?’
‘I doubt your honesty.’
‘You know better than that. I have never lied to you, Sanguinius. The truth is a great weapon.’ He twitched his fingers, numb from the pressure of the manacles. He wanted his claws. They were the truth given form. They cut as it did. They were as deaf to entreaty. Still, the truth of darkness was always there. It was always his. And in the end, it would do the cutting, the severing and the slaughter, whether he was able to pronounce it or not.
‘Do you know where we are?’ Sanguinius asked.
‘The Lion did not consult me about the itinerary,’ Curze said. And then he heard Sanguinius’ next words in his mind before the Angel spoke them.
‘We are in orbit over Davin.’
‘Ah. I’m fascinated to see why that is the reason you’re going to free me.’
Sanguinius ignored him. ‘What is down there?’ he asked.
‘Haven’t you taken the trouble to scan? Roboute must have. I would check with him.’
‘The scans show nothing. What is waiting for us there, Konrad?’
And suddenly there was ambiguity. The potential futures multiplied around the word us. In one branch, Sanguinius meant himself and Curze. In another, he meant the triumvirate. The futures divided, splitting again and again before rejoining at critical junctures. Death was the constant. It drew the strands together. But a fog of potential lingered around it.
‘I don’t know what is on the surface,’ Curze said. ‘How could I? I didn’t even know we were at Davin until just now.’ He did not expect to have that knowledge. His certainties were centred around his end, and the immediate moment. No, he would never expect to know what was on Davin. Yet the fact he didn’t bothered him. His ignorance was a reminder of the earlier blankness. There was no reason to connect the two, yet he felt the link, and unease wormed its way into his veins again. His lips pressed together, turning his smile into a grimace. This was not the way of things. He was the Night Haunter. He was the bringer of nightmares, the murderer of sleep. Unease was his to bestow, not his to suffer.
‘I believe fate is down there,’ Sanguinius said.
‘Whose? Yours or mine?’
‘Horus’ was.’
‘You didn’t answer my question.’
‘I think it might be fate itself.’
Curze saw himself answer before he did. The inevitability of his words made them true, though he did not know why. ‘I think you’re right,’ he said. Truth and uncertainty collided. The unease grew.
Sanguinius cocked his head, listening to something on his vox-bead. His eyes hardened. ‘Roboute is returning to the Samothrace,’ he said.
‘I can see this concerns you.’
‘The Lion plans to bombard Davin with cyclonic torpedoes.’
Again the import of the words registered with Curze before they were said. The unease reached a point of crisis. The future rushed in, blazing at a point of critical disjuncture. Sanguinius stood on the surface of Davin in one branch. In another, the planet flew apart under the Lion’s bombardment. There was another branch, too, murkier, far more uncertain, hovering on the edge of potential. It blurred the future’s divide. It made both possibilities true.
&nb
sp; ‘Why have you come to free me?’ Curze asked. That Sanguinius was going to take him from the cell had suddenly become imminent, turning into a concrete inevitability in the last few seconds. Sanguinius’ reasons remained beyond his reach as they flickered and changed in microseconds, caught in the tempest of the Angel’s uncertainty.
A klaxon began to sound. The doubts lifted from Sanguinius’ face. His eyes hardened with determination. ‘Don’t you know?’ he said. ‘Because you do not die on Davin. And neither do I.’
Sanguinius left the cell. He turned to the guards standing a few yards down. ‘I am taking the prisoner with me,’ he said. ‘Prepare him for transport.’
The two Dark Angels hesitated. ‘Lord Sanguinius,’ one of them said, ‘we have received no orders about this from the Lion.’
‘Nor will you.’ The klaxon boomed through the corridors. The Invincible Reason was manoeuvring into position for the bombardment. ‘I have no authority over you. Nevertheless, I am giving this command. I will not be opposed in this.’
Sanguinius placed his hand on the hilt of the Blade Encarmine. He did not draw it. The act was less a threat than a reminder. He had no intention of harming the legionaries. Physically opposing him, though, was more than they could do. He spread his wings, lifting them high. He filled the corridor. He towered over the Dark Angels.
‘Do what your honour demands,’ he said. ‘Know that the responsibility for what happens now is mine, not yours. These events are beyond your ability to control.’
The legionaries did not move, but they did not raise their guns.
‘Know this too,’ Sanguinius said. ‘What I do, I do for the Imperium. So does the Lion. Nothing that happens now changes this fact.’
‘We cannot let you pass, Lord Sanguinius,’ the other guard finally said.
‘I understand,’ he said. ‘And you have my respect.’
Sanguinius drew the Blade Encarmine and smashed the blade against the helm of one guard, splitting it open and staggering the Dark Angel. He whirled and seized the other guard before he could fire. He raised the Dark Angel and slammed him against the wall. His breath hissing with anger at the necessity of what he did, he struck both guards with the flat of the blade, hammering them into unconsciousness.
‘Forgive me,’ he said. He turned from them to a small chamber a few paces further up the hall. It was the guard post. He entered it, yanked open a plasteel vault, and took the chains and neuro-manacles he found inside. He returned to Curze and worked in silence as he transferred the Night Haunter from the wall shackles to the new restraints. The beats of the klaxon continued, counting away the time before Davin’s annihilation.
‘No threats?’ Curze asked. ‘No warnings that I will die if I try to escape?’
‘Escape to where, Konrad?’
‘Well said. There is no escape for any of us, is there?’
Perhaps not, Sanguinius thought. He was not certain, though, and so he felt hope. Destiny was tightening into a knot on Davin. He could feel his actions being dictated by events that marched forwards, unstoppable, to ends he could not perceive. But on Pyrrhan, he had cut through such a knot. There was a possibility he did not wish to articulate, for fear of extinguishing a frail and precious flame. Soon, he hoped, it would be strong enough for him to speak of it.
He took Curze down from the wall. He shackled the Night Haunter’s hands behind his back, but left his legs free.
Curze cocked his head at the sound of the klaxons. ‘I hear the blaring of your time running out,’ he said.
‘There is time enough,’ Sanguinius said. He thought of what Curze had done to his sons. He thought of the dead of the Sanguinary Guard on Macragge, and of Azkaellon’s severed arm. He faced his rage at his brother’s crimes. Then he did what was necessary for the Imperium, and for his father. He yanked on the chain attached to Curze’s neck and hauled the Night Haunter into a run down the corridor.
Curze laughed as they ran past the fallen guards. ‘You do your very best to bring me joy, brother.’
‘Sanguinius,’ the Lion shouted through the Angel’s vox-bead. ‘What are you doing?’
‘What I must. As you are. But you are wrong.’
‘You are setting us against each other. This is madness.’
‘No. It is necessary, and it is fated.’ He shut down the channel, cutting the Lion off mid-roar.
Sanguinius opened a vox-channel to his Chapter Masters, grateful for the preparations he had made before taking the Thunderhawk to the Invincible Reason. ‘Launch drop pods,’ he ordered. ‘Immediate landing in the vicinity of the temple. All forces away, now!’
He and Curze ran down the halls of the Dark Angels battleship, racing for the bay where his gunship waited. The Night Haunter kept laughing, and laughed harder as the Lion sent troops to stop them, and Sanguinius battered them down. With every Dark Angel he harmed, Sanguinius felt the knot of destiny closing, growing tighter, choking off one future after another. He did not know how far the Lion would go to stop him. Sanguinius was pushing him hard, risking the fragile trust that existed between the brothers. We only really trust ourselves, he thought. If we can even be said to do that.
‘The Ninth Legion is landing in force,’ Holguin observed.
The Lion gripped the arms of his throne. He took a breath, forcing himself to see clearly through the red haze of anger.
‘Sanguinius must be mad,’ Farith Redloss said.
‘Launch from bay thirty,’ a servitor’s mechanical voice intoned. The flat announcement signalled the flight of the Thunderhawk Vyssini from the Invincible Reason.
‘Auspex,’ the Lion said, ‘give me a trajectory.’
‘Towards Davin, my lord.’
‘What are your orders?’ Stenius asked.
Do we shoot my brother down, you mean? the Lion thought. Wood creaked beneath his grip. Damn you, Sanguinius. Damn you for forcing that choice on me. ‘Track it all the way down,’ he said. He knew where the Angel was heading. He gave the command solely because one was needed.
‘Why did he take Curze?’ said Holguin. ‘What sense does that make?’
‘None,’ said Redloss. ‘Is he mad?’
‘He acts according to his convictions,’ the Lion said. ‘He is wrong. And we must act for the Imperium.’
‘The fleet is in position,’ Stenius said. ‘Bombardment targets locked.’
‘So noted, captain,’ the Lion said.
Then Guilliman was voxing. ‘You can’t fire now,’ he said.
The Lion killed the vox.
‘My lord,’ Holguin began.
‘I will have silence,’ the Lion told him.
The noise of the bridge fell to a murmur. Davin filled the oculus, its atmosphere streaked by the fires of the drop pod descents.
The decision loomed before the Lion. He had to make it now. The madness of Sanguinius’ actions convinced him even more firmly of the need to destroy Davin. The world was dangerous. It was attacking them even now, even though all the scans still showed no activity of any kind. Perhaps its existence was enough. It was a foul thing, and had to be purged from the galaxy.
Is this what I must do, then? Destroy it, and kill Sanguinius? Precipitate war with the Ninth Legion? And possibly the Ultramarines as well?
That would serve Horus well.
And what is the alternative? Stay my hand, and let this madness play out? Allow Davin to wreak havoc? Reach this point only to fall into a trap?
The destruction of Davin was an absolute imperative. If he had had any doubts left after Episimos, they would have been burned away by Sanguinius’ actions. The corrupted worlds must die, and Davin was the source of the corruption.
‘The Vyssini has entered the atmosphere,’ said Stenius.
Give the order, said the inner voice of brutal necessity. You know what must be done.
The Lion nodded
to himself. ‘Captain,’ he said. ‘Prepare to…’
He stopped.
His blood froze at the enormity of what he was about to say.
‘Cancel the bombardment,’ he shouted. ‘Prepare for a massed landing. We are taking Davin.’
The Lion stormed from the bridge. He marched through the corridors, his fury warning all, legionary and mortal, from his path. He did not stop until he reached Curze’s cell. He dismissed the guards. He had no good reason for having come here. He hadn’t consciously known where he was headed at first.
He stood in the cell and faced the wall, staring at the empty manacles. He blinked, and held up his right hand. There was a faint tremor in his fingers.
‘So close,’ he whispered. He had come within a word of murdering his brother. A word.
A malign influence has been working on me.
An influence too subtle for him to feel its effects and resist them. Slowly and patiently, it had been leading him to ruin.
The Lion closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, the cell seemed too welcoming, as if he had come here to condemn himself. He grunted and stepped into the corridor. He slammed the door closed behind him.
He felt no freer. There were chains around him, all the stronger because he was not sure of their nature.
He voxed Guilliman. ‘Roboute,’ he said, ‘you must beware.’
‘What have you done?’ Guilliman demanded. ‘You can’t bombard–’
‘I am not,’ the Lion interrupted. ‘But I almost did.’
Guilliman fell silent, absorbing the implications.
‘Roboute,’ the Lion said again, ‘beware of yourself. Do not trust your impulses. Be sure of your decisions. I almost destroyed us.’
The Lion walked on. His steps were heavy. Horror at what he had almost done warred with his anger at Sanguinius, and his mistrust of himself. He longed to strike a blow against the enemy that had manipulated and shamed him. Perhaps the foe was the shadow Sanguinius had seen in the warp.
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