'A paradise unearned is but a land of shadows.' Fulgrim frowned. 'It is as if you are not listening. I do not wish to make it a paradise I wish to make it compliant. If you would stage a coup, then stage a coup. But make it quick. You will get no help from me'
'You will stand aside then, when we come for Pandion?'
Fulgrim frowned. He'd expected as much, given the lengths to which they'd gone to kill the old man during the banquet. He shook his head. 'Pandion and his family are under my protection. For better or worse they represent the only hope of stability this world has. I will not allow you - or any of the others - to throw this planet into chaos. If you wish to form a new government, do so. But it will have Pandion as a figurehead. Order will be maintained.'
'He is corrupt!' one of the Sabazians shouted.
'Yes. But he is mine. Just as any government you form will be mine. Whatever form you wish it to take, it will be hammered into a shape tolerable to me. That is the nature of compliance.' Fulgrim slapped Fireblade's hilt. 'Bow your head, or lose it. Those are your options.' It was a hard line to take, but necessary.
The Sabazian Brotherhood could not be allowed to flourish, whatever its aims. Like the patricians, they would only create instability. They wished to uplift the common man, without thought as to what that might mean for both him and those he served. The freedom they offered was merely a tyranny of the weak. Twenty-Eight One's course was set, and nothing could be allowed to deter it. To deter him. He would bring Byzas to heel before the month was out, as he had swom.
'There is a third option - we can resist. We can fight.' It was said quietly. 'As we have always fought, so will we continue to fight. Until our world is free of the shackles which bind it.' He pointed at Fulgrim. 'You have placed Nova-Basilos under martial law. You have executed members of our brotherhood, and those we fight against. You are the enemy of all those who call Byzas home, whatever you profess.'
'Perhaps. But I do not have to be.'
'That is our hope as well.' The Sabazian who'd first greeted him descended a set of stone steps to the courtyard. 'Perhaps you would find the tenets of our brotherhood edifying,' he continued. 'They align closely with the values you espouse so vocally.' A hesitation. 'We would make fitting allies, Lord Fulgrim. More so than Pandion, at least.'
'I do not require allies.' Fulgrim tapped the pommel of his sword with a forefinger. 'And I know the doctrines you follow, likely better than you. I require an orderly society, here and now, not some impossible utopia.'
'And how will you achieve that, when you defend the very cause of this world's disorder?' The Sabazian spread his hands. 'Will you hunt us down? We have been hunted before. Outlaw us? We are outlaws even now.'
'I will dissolve the government. I will purge the ranks of the continental army and the patricians. I will burn away anyone who seeks to make themselves an obstacle to the progress I bring. That includes your brotherhood - as well as those who follow you - if you get in my way.' Fulgrim looked around. 'I will do what I must, to see this thing done. Even if it means I must put down every uprising personally.'
The Sabazians were silent for a moment. Then, one of them said, 'As will we, Lord-Phoenician. But we need not be enemies.'
Fulgrim looked up. He could hear the whine of approaching engines. The Firebird was nearing the designated landing zone, some distance down the mountain. 'You have a choice to make. I would make it quickly.'
It was a challenge, and a warning. He'd known before he even set foot in this place that he would find no common ground with these men. But they had been an unknown, and irritating in their ambiguity. He'd needed to know what he was facing. Now, he had their measure. Idealists and demagogues, more dangerous in their way than Bucepholos and his sort, if left to their own devices.
'And if we make the wrong choice?'
Fulgrim smiled. 'Don't. Accept your fate. Bow your heads, and take solace in knowing that I am sympathetic to your aims. For if you do not, you will find your brotherhood well and truly extinct.'
Thirteen
the perfect life
Chancellor Corynth lunged. His form was smooth, displaying no hesitation between thought and action. His blade thunked repeatedly against the slowly rotating practice mannequin. Gouges covered it, crossing over one another, creating an intricate pattern of bloodless wounds. He retreated, blade slashing out, as if to deflect a counter-attack.
Fulgrim approached, hands behind his back. 'Splendid form.' The training room was meant for the use of the Gubernatorial Guard, but Fulgrim had it on good authority that they rarely used it. Corynth, it seemed, was taking advantage of its abandonment.
Startled, Corynth whirled. Fulgrim's hand snapped up, easily swatting aside Corynth's blade. The chancellor leapt back with an oath. Fulgrim grinned. 'My apologies. I sometimes forget that un-augmented humans aren't as observant as one of my warriors.'
Corynth stared at him, blade still half extended. Slowly, he lowered it. 'No apologies necessary, my lord.'
'Fulgrim, Belleros. Remember? Fulgrim.'
'Given the current situation, I thought it best to err on the side of formality.'
'Belleros, I assure you, it is all for the best.'
'Thus speaks the tyrant.'
Fulgrim slapped the practice mannequin, causing it to spin creakily. 'I'm no tyrant. If I were, you would think twice before saying such things.' He paused. 'Most men would anyway.' He circled the practice mannequin, studying the newer marks. 'Ambidextrous?'
'What?'
Fulgrim held up a hand and waggled his fingers. 'Are you ambidextrous? An equal number of right- and left-handed cuts.' Corynth nodded slowly.'Yes. By training, rather than inclination.'
'Admirable.' Fulgrim leaned on the mannequin. 'Would you care to spar?'
Corynth's eyes widened. Fulgrim laughed. 'I assure you, you won't come to harm. I am quite careful of my opponents.' He paused. 'In practice, at least.'
The chancellor shook his head. 'I think I'll pass on the offer, kind as it is. I've had my fill of sword-play today.' He spoke curtly, with little of the warmth he'd previously displayed. Understandable, perhaps, given that the government he'd so loyally served had just been dissolved by Fulgrim's order. The city - and by extension, the planet - was under martial law in all but name. The bulk of the continental army was on its way back to Nova-Basilos, and the patricians were in an uproar, as their own careful manoeuvrings were thrown into chaos.
Fulgrim stopped him. 'You understand, don't you?'
Corynth looked away. 'I understand. But you are wrong. You are provoking a war for your own ends. The cost in lives alone will be enormous.'
'The ends justify the means.'
Corynth laughed. 'I'm sure Pandion's ancestor said much the same, when he created the Glass Waste. Or when he conquered the western provinces.' He shook his head. 'You bring us more of the same. I thought - I hoped you would change things for the better. Instead, you seem determined to hold Byzas in bondage of the worst sort.' He looked at Fulgrim. 'I asked you once what you would make of us. I have my answer.'
'Belleros, I will help Byzas, but there must always be bitter with the sweet.' He looked down at the chancellor. 'I cannot allow this world to fall to anarchy, no matter how beneficial it might seem. There must be strong foundations to build anything of note'
'And Pandion is one of those foundations?'
'He is what I have. He is a recognisable figurehead, a known quantity. He has shown a willingness to work with us, and an ability to adapt to a changing situation. Necessary qualities in a planetary governor.'
'Qualities you could find in a democratically elected council,' Corynth said, his voice growing heated. 'A representative government, chosen by the people-'
Fulgrim laughed. 'Which people? The tenant farmers in the agri-circle? The men and women being worked to death in the ore facilities?' He shook his head. 'No. I know who you mean, even if you don't. It would be men like Patrician Bucepholos and his ilk. A council of vipers, riven by in-fi
ghting and politicking. Or worse, a military junta.'
'You do us an injustice,' Corynth said, almost shouting. 'If we - if the people - were but given the chance...'
'They will be. But not yet. Not this way. There must be order - peace - so that what has been forgotten might flourish anew. It is a slow thing, saving a world. It cannot be done solely at the point of a sword, or with high-minded ideals alone. It must be done correctly, efficiently, else it will simply fall apart at the first sign of strain.'
'So you would condemn them to the status quo, in the name of efficiency.'
Fulgrim hesitated. 'That isn't what I meant.'
Corynth looked at him. 'Isn't it?' He swallowed thickly. 'This has never truly been about us, I think. We are nothing more than a - a test. A challenge. And you are determined to prove yourself correct, to prove your way is the best way, whatever the cost. Are we nothing more than game pieces to you and this Imperium of yours? If so, I am not sure I wish to live in it.'
'Belleros...'
Corynth slumped. 'There is nothing more to say. You are in control, after all, and I am chancellor in name only. Soon, I might not even be that.'
He slipped past Fulgrim, and the primarch let him go. Corynth stopped at the door. 'Why did you turn them down?' he asked. 'They could have been of help to you.'
Fulgrim didn't have to ask who he was referring to. 'They are children. And I have no time for children's games.' He frowned. 'Byzas must be brought into compliance.'
'That is your desire, not your purpose.'
'It is both.'
'That you think that, is proof that you don't understand anything.'
'A question for you then - why did you turn me down, that first night? All of this could have been avoided, had you seized the laurel.'
Corynth didn't answer. He left without a word. Fulgrim almost pursued him. He was shaking with anger. He wanted to destroy something. He spun, smashing his forearm through the practice dummy, shattering it.
He looked down at the broken mannequin. 'Damn it.'
Corynth was wrong. He understood perfectly. The way forward was clear. Pandion was the best choice of a bad lot. He provided stability - consistency - in an unstable time. A known quantity. To overthrow him, to replace him with a council of unknowns, or worse, a group of men the common people of Byzas hated, was to risk planet-wide upheaval. The patricians might have accepted Corynth as regent, but they would never accept an elected body of malcontents. Just as they would not suffer one of their own to rule over the rest. No, Pandion was the least offensive choice.
That Corynth couldn't see that was proof his idealism was outweighing his common sense. The changes he desired could be made within the existing system, if only he had the patience to do so. Fulgrim laughed harshly. And who was he, to fault another man's impatience?
How much had his impatience cost him already, in his life? How much might it yet cost him, if he wasn't careful? His hands curled into fists. It was hard. Mortals moved and thought so slowly. It took them an inordinately long time to come to blindingly obvious conclusions. To see what must be done. That was why he had to make the choices he made, to make up for their imperfections. To see that their flaws did not cause harm to them, or others. His fists tightened, and his knuckles popped beneath his gauntlets.
He had made the mistake of leaving mortals to find their own way once before, and they had proven themselves incapable of following the correct path. He closed his eyes, feeling again the crackle of the stun baton against the skin of his palm, and the crunch of the Caretaker's spine as Fulgrim seized him and shook the life from him. The Callax worker protests had shown him the consequences of disorder. Instability led to violence, and violence to death. Not the deaths of the rich or influential, but the deaths of the worker and the peasant. It was the duty of the strong to protect the weak, to see that they did not suffer from their own foolishness.
Corynth didn't understand that. He saw only oppression, instead of necessity. He saw enforced stability as a cage, preventing growth, rather than as a necessary evil. But he would learn. Fulgrim would teach him. Teach them. He was the Illuminator, and his light would guide them on the path ahead.
Despite his confidence, he felt a flicker of uncertainty. A skilful duellist forced his opponent to make the moves that benefitted him least, and the duellist the most. He had called the Sabazian Brotherhood's bluff. Only time would tell whether or not that was exactly what they'd wanted.
The floor trembled. He turned, listening. He heard a distant boom. Muffled shouts. An alarm began to sound, its piercing wail cutting across his eardrums. Fulgrim raced to the window and flung it open. Streaks of orange and red striated the sky. The shapes of low-altitude airships spun in a slow, stately duel beneath the sun, and the chatter of stub-cannons ratcheted through the air. As he watched, an airship banked, expelling its explosive cargo.
Airships. They were bombing the army shipyards, destroying the few airships that weren't otherwise deployed. Bucepholos was smart. The city would be well and truly cut off once the enemy arrived to encircle it.
Fulgrim stepped back, a smile of anticipation stretching across his face. All doubt was forgotten as the Illuminator receded, and the Phoenician readied himself.
It had begun.
The mutant grunted as Fabius took a sample from the back of its neck. It was a stunted thing, covered in tumours beneath its robes and bandoliers of antique ammunition. More of them waited nearby, watching the process with something approaching awe.
'That's it. It's all right. I'm not here to hurt you.' The words came out in a steady monotone, repeated at regular intervals. Fabius wasn't sure whether or not the creatures understood his words. So long as they found his tone soothing, it didn't matter.
The sludgy oasis sat along the northernmost border of the Glass Waste, where the fens of the border country gave way to the grasslands of the Chalkedonian lowlands. A few barren trees hunkered over a wide pool of dark water, where the scabby steeds of the mutants were thirstily gulping their fill. The long-limbed equoids were only distantly reminiscent of Terran equines, being more related to ungulates. They had stiff patches of iridescent hair covering their muscular, leathery forms, and their splayed hooves reminded him of hands.
Toxicity warnings crawled across the interior of his helmet, alerting him to the high levels of radiation in the air. The Glass Waste was saturated with it - it was in the water, the air, the soil, even in the few living things that had managed to survive. The inhabitants of the Waste were on a slow, inevitable slide to complete genetic dissolution. Each generation more mutated - and smaller - than the last. But those who remained were better adapted to survive the various ailments that afflicted them.
The continental government had limited contact with the few inhabitants of the wastes, save when the more desperate groups of mutants would raid the outer rim of the agri-circle, looking for food. It had taken their people weeks to convince one of the more civilised groups to meet with the newcomers. Time well spent, in Fabius' opinion. They might have wasted months trying to track them down, otherwise.
When he'd finished, the mutant rubbed its neck and looked up at him with milky eyes. It mumbled something in its slurred tongue; and he nodded. The dialect was as degraded as the speaker, but he understood it nonetheless. The children, next,' Fabius said. 'Males only.'
'Why do you waste time talking to them?'
An ident-rune gave a ping, identifying the speaker. Alkenex, Flavius. A crawl of information followed, but Fabius ignored it. He barely cared about the fool's name. But ignorance was to be challenged. 'Bedside manner,' he voxed flady.
Alkenex laughed. Alkenex was always laughing. The sound made the mutants twitch, and clutch their weapons more tightly. Fabius hissed in annoyance.
'Is that what you call it?' Alkenex continued. He seemed to think they were having a conversation.
Fabius turned. Alkenex stopped laughing. Fabius studied his brother-legionary, dissecting him with his eyes. Insti
nctively, Alkenex's hand fell to the hilt of his blade. Fabius smiled and turned back to his work. The first of the children were brought forward by a shuffling thing he assumed was a parent.
'Yes. It is important that they do not fear us, or this procedure.' The children whimpered as he took his samples, but that was to be expected. 'Fear leads to resentment, and resentment to resistance. If they resist, there is a significant danger of waste.'
'Waste of what?'
'Genetic material,' Fabius said, as if talking to an infant. The cogitation units in his vambrace whirred softly, calculating. The samples would be compared to those taken from the rest of the populace, to better develop a baseline. Once the average had been established, he could begin weeding out the exceptional from the inferior. A long, thankless task, but one he performed with all due diligence. To falter, even for a moment, was to risk wasting a valuable resource.
'Genetic-? Are you serious?' Alkenex spat. These creatures are walking cancers!'
'That they are walking at all implies a certain hardiness, wouldn't you say?' Fabius gestured for the next group to come forward. 'And that is what we need.'
'We need nothing from these... animals'
Fabius closed his eyes. He felt his temper fraying, with every word out of the other legionary's mouth. They didn't understand. None of them. They saw, but refused to comprehend. Even those like Abdemon, who had witnessed the blight first-hand, did not truly grasp the enormity of it. 'You are not here to dictate what we do or do not need, brother. You are here only to see to it that I return to Nova-Basilos in one piece. And you can do that without talking, I think. In fact, why not go wait in the Stormbird? I won't be long.' He gestured towards the gunship, some distance away.
Alkenex turned away. 'Suit yourself, Spider.'
Fabius froze. A child whimpered, more shrilly than the others. He looked down and released the boy, letting him scamper away. He turned. “What did you call me?'
Alkenex glanced at him, his pose lazy. 'Kasperos challenged you.'
'And so?'
Fulgrim- The Palatine Phoenix - Josh Reynolds Page 15
