Fulgrim- The Palatine Phoenix - Josh Reynolds

by Warhammer 40K

'You didn't accept.'

  'Why would I?'

  'Honour.'

  Fabius laughed. 'There is no honour in killing a fool.'

  Alkenex's fingers tapped at the hilt of his sword. "Which one of you is the fool?'

  Fabius turned away. 'Both. Him for making the challenge, and me for antagonising him.' He shook his head. 'It's so easy for you. All of you. Your enemy is across the field, always. But my enemy is harder to bring to battle. My enemy is in our very blood and bone, and strikes where I least suspect, at every turn.'

  'The blight is gone.'

  The blight was a story, for most of the new recruits. A thing that had happened, and might yet happen again. A cautionary tale. But they could see the reality of it, if they so chose. The lines of grief and despair, etched into the faces of the Two Hundred. Cracks in marble. Imperfections, visible only if you knew where to look.

  And Fabius could see nothing else.

  He laughed again, startling the huddled mutants. 'Is that what you believe? Then you are even more foolish than I thought.' He spun and slapped his vambrace. 'We are imperfect, Alkenex. Every one of us. Our genetic code is as rotten as that of these creatures you so casually dismiss as animals. But somehow, they survive, where we do not.' He advanced, forcing Alkenex back a step. 'Why are we so fragile, brother? A twist in the helix, and we break like twigs.' He snapped his fingers for emphasis. 'Answer me that, eh? Use that fancy sword of yours and carve me a path to the truth.'

  'Fabius.'

  Fulgrim's voice, echoing suddenly through the vox-link, cut through his anger like a knife. Fabius calmed immediately, before replying. 'Here, my lord.'

  'Return to Nova-Basilos immediately. The situation has escalated.' 'But-' Fabius began. Alkenex turned, head cocked.

  'Hear that?'

  Fabius did. The low-pitch whine of an etheric engine. The mutants scattered, moving swiftly. They knew what that sound meant. Alkenex cursed and lifted his bolter. Time to get back to the gunship, Spider.' He grabbed Fabius' arm. Fabius jerked free and started towards the Stormbird, Alkenex pacing after him. 'Fabius?'

  'Returning now, my lord. But - there's an airship incoming.'

  'Ah. Do as you see fit, my sons. Let nothing hinder you.’

  Fabius glanced at Alkenex. 'You heard the primarch?'

  Alkenex grunted. 'Move faster.'

  The airship swept south, punching through the clouds like an angry wasp. It was a small, narrow thing, big enough for only a single pilot and moving fast. Primitive turbines explained the speed. Fabius had known that the continental government had a few assault craft in their fleet, but he'd never thought to see them in action. 'He's flying low,' he said.

  'Piss-poor targeting systems,' Alkenex said. 'He has to be right on top of us, if he wants any chance of hitting us with those stub-cannons.' He gestured briskly. 'Keep going. I'll be along shortly.'

  'What are you planning?'

  'This is twice now that someone on this mud ball has tried to kill me. I intend to show them what I think of that.'

  'Don't be foolish. All it takes is one lucky shot...'

  'Then I'll have to make sure I get lucky first, eh?' Alkenex strode to meet the oncoming airship. Light flashed beneath its hull. Fabius heard the dull chatter of guns. The dead soil was churned into clouds of dust as the airship swooped towards them. Whoever was flying it was trying to cut them off before they got to the Stormbird.

  A good plan, if they had been dealing with the merely mortal. As it was, Fabius reached the gunship's embarkation ramp in time to see Alkenex's duel with the airship in full.

  The airship dove, guns spitting. Alkenex set his feet and took aim. He barely twitched as stray rounds plucked the paint from his ceramite. The bolter roared. The airship twitched, like a wounded animal. Alkenex stitched the hull with steady precision as the ship passed overhead, putting out one round after the next. The explosive rounds were meant to punch through armour, and they easily perforated the thin hull plating of the primitive craft. Muffled explosions sounded, and smoke boiled out of the stricken vessel. Alkenex followed it, still firing, intent on bringing the airship down.

  He turned away only when it had finally struck the ground in a burst of fire and noise. He reloaded as he strode back towards Fabius and the gunship. 'Well, that was easy enough.'

  Fabius pointed north. More lean wasp-shapes were arrowing through the clouds. Their attacker hadn't been alone. Alkenex grunted. 'Ah. My mistake.'

  'Get on board,' Fabius said acidly. 'I have a feeling that the Phoenician is going to require our services before the day is out.'

  'It's Bucepholos,' Pyke said. Her voice echoed through the cavernous confines of the palace situation room. Primitive cogitators and data-banks lined the walls, and view-screens that flickered with static showed scenes throughout the city. Staff - mostly Pyke's, though there were several clerks seconded from the Archite Palatines - moved to and fro, quietly going about the business of updating the hololithic data map Fulgrim had installed with up-to-date reports of the developing situation.

  'Of course it is.' Fulgrim leaned forward, tapping the map. He studied the scrolling data carefully. 'Who else?'

  'No one important,' she spoke crisply, no sign of distress or worry in her tone. The old woman was iron. 'Patricians Glabas, Makrembolytes and Axouche, for sure. A few dozen other, lesser patricians, mostly from the agri-circle. It looks like patrician Phokas is bringing his security forces - a few thousand men - down to join them. That'll be a substantial force, when it gets here. They've occupied the dosest major rail and air terminuses as well, meaning the army units we've called back are going to be late, if they arrive at all.'

  'Any sign of the Brotherhood?'

  'None, but that doesn't mean they're not there. My sources say that Bucepholos and his allies are acting out of desperation. Someone provoked them into launching a full-scale attack. That bombing raid on the shipyards was just a way of announcing hostilities. I've also had word from the western provinces, of uprisings against the patricians and the continental government both.'

  'They've attacked Fabius and Alkenex, as well,' Fulgrim said. 'They are moving, as I knew they would. I've made the city a target, and they are taking aim in a most obliging fashion.' He smiled, pleased. It always made for a satisfying feeling, when the enemy did exactly what was expected of them.

  The hololithic map of Chalkedon was divided up into sectors, each one highlighted in different colours. The patricians were mobilising, though few of them had yet to reveal their loyalties one way or another. That too he'd expected. The longer things took, the more likely they were to throw in with Bucepholos and his lot - or worse, strike out on their own. He needed to put an end to this, swiftly and decisively.

  Abdemon gestured to the map, illuminating several areas close to Nova-Basilos. 'There are forces moving from the north and the west, along the old trade roads. Infantry and artillery, with minimal air support - we saw some of that earlier today. The local patricians are moving to control all routes into and out of the city, before Bucepholos gets here. Probably so they can bargain with him over access.'

  'Lord commander?' Fulgrim asked, glancing at Frazer.

  The lord commander of the Archite Palatines frowned. The walls won't stand up to a concentrated barrage, but the outer emplacements will bloody the noses of anyone stupid enough to get that close.' He tapped the map, highlighting a section of the city walls. 'If it were me, I'd use the air support to get the infantry in close, under the range of the emplacements. Thanks to that bombing raid, we don't have much in the way of anything that can match their air power - I still don't understand how that was allowed to happen, by the way.' He glared at Pyke, who shrugged.

  'I'm not in charge, Herodotus. Don't look at me I was following orders.'

  'It was a necessary sacrifice, lord commander,' Fulgrim said smoothly. 'I want them to think that they have a chance. Otherwise, this will be no fun at all.'

  Frazer and Pyke shared a look as the assembled Space
Marines chuckled appreciatively. Frazer cleared his throat. 'You'd know best, my lord.' He turned his attention back to the map and continued his assessment. 'Once they have the emplacements under control, they can pound the city with its own outer defences. Or just sit tight, and wait for the ensuing panic to do their job for them.'

  Fulgrim nodded, pleased by the lord commander's assessment. It matched his own, quite closely. 'They won't wait,' he said. 'Remember - they are as much at the mercy of time as we are. It is in everyone's best interests to resolve this swiftly. If they can force the government - and by extension, us - to capitulate, they force us to deal with them on their own terms. If we hold out, there is every chance that their coalition will fracture under the weight of competing goals.'

  He studied the map. 'I have worked too hard to ensure that this particular hydra has only a single head. We need to remove it, before it can bifurcate once more. But that means teasing the beast fully into the open.' He looked at Quin. 'I need you to hold those emplacements. Can you do it?'

  Quin slammed his fist into his chest. 'Alone, if necessary, my lord.'

  Fulgrim smiled. 'Take Flavius with you, just in case.' He gestured to Frazer. 'You must hold the walls - the city, in fact - and keep the situation from becoming untenable. I don't care if we lose whole districts, but the palace must remain inviolate. So long as Pandion is in our custody, we hold the moral authority, and our position remains the stronger.'

  Frazer nodded. 'Easily done. Pandion was paranoid enough to bivouac a substantial number of troops in the city, even before things started to go wrong.' He paused, one finger tapping the laspistol holstered at his waist. 'We won't be able to count on all of them, of course. Even after your... demonstration a few days ago.'

  'Already taken care of,' Pyke said calmly. Frazer glanced at her. She smiled and raised a glass of wine. 'I winnowed out the last of the more unreliable members of the officer caste a few days ago. So many accidents. Unprecedented, I'm told.' She emptied her glass. 'But we'll soldier on in their absence, I'm sure.'

  Frazer laughed harshly. 'I think I'm beginning to like you, Lady Golconda.'

  'I knew you'd come around.'

  Fulgrim looked at Abdemon. 'Take Telmar and Thorn, and head off those patricians who are advancing towards the city, but haven't yet joined Bucepholos.'

  Abdemon frowned. 'How?'

  'Remind them of their loyalties. And what awaits those who spit on the Emperor's friendship.' Fulgrim hesitated. 'Don't kill all of them, if you can help it I need enough of them intact to throw at Bucepholos.'

  'Is that wise?' Pyke said, when Abdemon and the others had departed to see to their duties. 'If I were Bucepholos, I'd run at the first sniff of my former allies turning on me. We won't be able to catch him, or the others. Unless you intend a surgical strike, right into the heart of their army.'

  Fulgrim grinned. 'Something like that. But not yet. Bucepholos and the renegades aren't the only enemy we face, remember?' He gestured to the map. 'Amusing as this is, it's all just a preamble.'

  'You're talking about this Sabazian Brotherhood of yours.' Pyke frowned. 'You think they're going to - what? Pop out of the woodwork at the last moment? Obligingly reveal themselves for the chop?'

  'That is exactly what I think, Lady Golconda. They will have no choice. Especially given that I ordered the army units en route to turn around and return to the western provinces and the agri-circle the moment the first bombs fell on the shipyards.'

  Pyke nodded slowly. If she was annoyed that he hadn't informed her of the change of plans, she didn't show it. Then, iterators had to be adaptable. 'You wanted to draw them out, tempt them into taking advantage of the worsening situation.'

  'And now, I will bloody them. The army will be given orders to aid those patricians willing to declare for the continental government. Their commanders are to sanction anyone rebelling against the authority of the patricians and the Hereditary Governor with extreme prejudice. Crucifixions are, I believe, still popular here.'

  Pyke grimaced. 'Harsh measures.'

  'But necessary ones. The point must be made, and made firmly.' Fulgrim frowned. 'I must make myself an enemy of all Byzas, so that Byzas will unite to deal with me.' He smiled sadly. 'The Sabazian Brotherhood will have no choice but to meet with Bucepholos and the other patrician leaders, to propose an alliance, once this initial attack fails and the executions begin. The army units in the western provinces and the agri-circle will put pressure on Bucepholos, forcing him to meet with the Sabazians, or risk fighting a war on two fronts. And then, I will have them.'

  'And you know where this supposed meeting will take place?'

  'Oh, yes,' Fulgrim laughed. 'They showed me.'

  fourteen

  eight against byzas

  'You have mobilised,' Grythan Thorn murmured. The legionary knelt amid the coarse grasses, scrubbing gently at the wide, flat skull of a canid. The canid thumped its bushy tail, enjoying the attention. Thorn glanced up at its owner, sitting stiffly in the saddle of an equoid, a carbine resting across his legs.

  'We have,' Patrician Phokas said. He was tense. Thorn could see the sweat on his brow, and hear the thready hum of his pulse. His nervousness was matched by that of his followers. There were fifty of them - minor sons, cousins and the like Out for an evening's hunt, on the eve of battle. Thorn knew the type well enough. He was their type. The third-bom son of a minor executive clan, offered up to a superior in return for what? Influence, perhaps. Consideration.

  The army they led was small. A few thousand men, mostly agri-labourers pressed into service. Some artillery, antique even by the standards of this world. Several heavy, tracked haulers, carrying supplies and ammunition. Unimpressive, but potentially useful, in the right hands. Thorn flexed his sword arm, loosening the muscles.

  He gave the canid a last scratch and stood, servos humming. The patrician's steed snorted and backed away. The steeds of the others shifted, stamping the ground in agitation. He had surprised them, appearing as if out of nowhere. It was inconceivable to them that one so large could move so quietly, so gracefully. In truth, he had been waiting for some time, after having calculated likely routes they would take.

  They were a day's march from Nova-Basilos, as mortals judged such things. Close enough that messengers were riding back and forth between the converging armies on a regular basis. The renegade patricians were negotiating, bartering their loyalties to one another in return for future consideration. Any of them might try to seize the capital for themselves, if they were of a mind. But they all knew that to do so would provoke a response from the others. So, they were attempting to decide among themselves who would be king, in order to avoid such a quagmire. It was almost civilised.

  'For whom?' Thorn said.

  Phokas seemed taken aback by the question. Thorn smiled. He had a pleasant smile, or so he was told. He had practised it with the same devotion Kasperos and Cyrius did their blade-work. A good smile was like a sharp blade - always useful. But when the one failed, it was good to have the other handy. He draped his hand over the hilt of the Charnabal sabre he wore. One of only six, and a gift from the Phoenician, as a sign of his esteem. Thorn had spent every day since ensuring that he never failed to deserve that honour.

  'Well?' Thorn pressed. Phokas said nothing. Thorn's smile widened. Lord Fulgrim had been right. Not that Thorn had ever doubted him. From the moment of their arrival, the Phoenician had orchestrated this moment, and all those yet to come. A grand conductor, a maestro, of the old school. 'Come, come, we're all friends here'

  'We are not friends,' Phokas spat. You are - I don't know what you are But you're no friends of Byzas.'

  Thorn sighed. 'Well, that makes two of us, doesn't it?' He drew his sabre and planted it point first in the ground. 'You have two choices, my friend. With one, your story ends here. With the other... Well.'

  The same choice was even now being offered to the other patricians approaching the city, from the east and the south, by Lord Commander Abde
mon and Kasperos. Three armies, defeated by nothing more than the art of gentle persuasion and the implication of sudden, horrific violence. What more perfect way to defeat an enemy, than with the mere promise of what you might do to them?

  Still, some were harder to convince than others. Phokas swallowed, nervous. 'I have an army.'

  'Only a small one.' Thorn left his sabre standing upright and unhooked his helmet from his belt. As he pulled it on and the seals snapped into place, targeting displays blinked to life. The men around Phokas drew back, stinking of fear.

  Word had spread, and even the dullest, backcountry aristocrat was aware of what a single Space Marine was capable of. True, their reputation was somewhat overblown by this point. Even Thorn couldn't kill a thousand men by himself. Some of them would get away, while he was busy with the others.

  'I won't kill them all, of course. I'll need some of them alive.' He rested his hands on the pommel of his sabre and looked at Phokas.

  'Time to choose whose side you're on, patrician. But choose wisely.'

  Nova-Basilos shuddered beneath the hammer of war.

  The armies of the renegade patricians had mobilised swiftly, and launched their assault within hours of the initial bombardment. Their airships cleared the roads and bridges of all obstacles, allowing for the steady advance of their warriors towards the artillery emplacements of the outer districts.

  With most of the continental army still en route or diverted elsewhere, the renegade commanders were confident of facing minimal resistance. Nonetheless, the emplacements themselves were fully crewed, and they cried a deadly greeting. Radium beams glittered in the dark, and pneumatic bombards thumped out a crushing rhythm. Hypervelocity cannon cycled to life and emitted thunderous shrieks. Men died in their hundreds, scythed from the field by weapons that had waited in silence for this moment for centuries.

  But not enough. Advances faltered, retreated, recovered. Like waves lapping at the shore The aerial bombardment was unceasing, and though the occasional airship plunged to the earth in a shroud of flames, there were still almost too many to count.