‘Haven’t I been doing that for the last two centuries?’ asked Horus. ‘All the time we’ve been pushing out into space, hasn’t it been to push back the unknown? That’s what we’re here for, Garviel, to render that which is unknown known.’
Loken sensed the commander’s superlative skills of misdirection at work and kept himself focused on the point. The Warmaster had an easy way of steering conversations away from issues he didn’t want to talk about.
‘Sir, do you value the Mournival as counsel?’ asked Loken, taking a different tack.
Horus paused in his advance and turned to face Loken, his face serious. ‘You heard what I told that remembrancer in the embarkation deck didn’t you? I value your counsel above all things, Garviel. Why would you even ask such a question?’
‘Because so often you simply use us as your war dogs, always baying for blood. Having us play a role, instead of allowing us to keep you true to your course.’
‘Then say what you have to say, Garviel, and I swear I will listen,’ promised Horus.
‘With respect, sir, you should not be here leading this speartip and we should not be going into that vessel without proper reconnaissance. We have three of the Mechanicum’s greatest war machines behind us. Can we not at least let them soften up the target first with their cannons?’
Horus chuckled. ‘You have a thinker’s head on you, my son, but wars are not won by thinkers, they are won by men of action. It has been too long since I wielded a blade and fought in such a battle – against abominations that seek nothing more than our utter destruction. I told you on Murder that had I felt I could not take to the field of battle again, I would have refused the position of Warmaster.’
‘The Mournival would have done this thing for you, sir,’ said Loken. ‘We carry your honour now.’
‘You think my shoulders so narrow that I cannot bear it alone?’ asked Horus, and Loken was shocked to see genuine anger in his stare.
‘No, sir, all I mean is that you don’t need to bear it alone.’
Horus laughed and broke the tension. His anger quite forgotten, he said, ‘You’re right of course, my son, but my glory days are not over, for I have many laurels yet to earn.’
The Warmaster set off once more. ‘Mark my words, Garviel Loken, everything achieved thus far in this Crusade will pale into insignificance compared to what I am yet to do.’
D
ESPITE
THE
W
ARMASTER
’
S
insistence on leading the Astartes into the wreck, he consented to Loken’s plan of allowing the Titans of the Legio Mortis to engage the target first. All three mighty war engines braced themselves and, at a command from the Warmaster, unleashed a rippling salvo of missiles and cannon fire into the massive ship. Flaring blooms of light and smoke rippled across the ship’s immensity and it shuddered with each concussive impact. Fires caught throughout its hull, and thick plumes of acrid black smoke twisted skyward like signal beacons, as though the ship were trying to send a message to its former masters.
Once again, the Warmaster led from the front, the mist following them in like a smoggy cape of yellow. Loken could still hear noises from behind them, but with the thunderous footfalls of the Titans, the crackling of the burning ship and their own splashing steps, it was impossible to be sure what he was hearing.
‘Feels like a damned noose,’ said Torgaddon, looking over his shoulder and mirroring Loken’s thoughts perfectly.
‘I know what you mean.’
‘I don’t like the thought of going in there, I can tell you that.’
‘You’re not afraid are you?’ asked Loken, only half joking.
‘Don’t be flippant, Garvi,’ said Torgaddon. ‘For once I think you’re right. There’s something not right about this.’
Loken saw genuine concern in his friend’s face, unsettled at seeing the joker Torgaddon suddenly serious. For all his bluster and informality, Tarik had good instincts and they had saved Loken’s life on more than one occasion.
‘What’s on your mind?’ he asked.
‘I think this is a trap,’ said Torgaddon. ‘We’re being funnelled here and it feels like it’s to get us inside that ship.’
‘I said as much to the Warmaster.’
‘And what did he say?’
‘What do you think?’
‘Ah,’ nodded Torgaddon. ‘Well, you didn’t seriously expect to change the commander’s mind did you?’
‘I thought I might have given him pause, but it’s as if he’s not listening to us any more. Erebus has made the commander so angry at Temba, he won’t even consider any other option than going in and killing him with his bare hands.’
‘So what do we do?’ asked Torgaddon, and once again, Loken was surprised.
‘We watch our backs, my friend. We watch our backs.’
‘Good plan,’ said Torgaddon. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. And here I was all set to walk into a potential trap with my guard down.’
That
was the Torgaddon that Loken knew and loved.
The rear quarter of the crashed
Glory of Terra
reared up before them, its command decks pitched upwards at an angle, blotting out the diseased sky. It enveloped them in its dark, cold shadow, and Loken saw that getting into the ship would not be difficult. The gunfire from the Titans had blasted huge tears in its hull, and piles of debris had spilled from inside, forming great ramps of buckled steel like the rocky slopes before the walls of a breached fortress.
The Warmaster called a halt and began issuing his orders.
‘Captain Sedirae, you and your assaulters will form the vanguard.’
Loken could practically feel Luc’s pride at such an honour.
‘Captain Moy, you will accompany me. Your flame and melta units will be invaluable in case we need to quickly cleanse an area or breach bulkheads.’
Verulam Moy nodded, his quiet reserve more dignified than Luc’s eagerness to impress the Warmaster with his ardour.
‘What are your orders, Warmaster?’ asked Erebus, his grey armoured Word Bearers at attention behind their first chaplain. ‘We stand ready to serve.’
‘Erebus, take your warriors over to the other side of the ship. Find a way in and then rendezvous with me in the middle. If that bastard Temba tries to run, I want him crushed between us.’
The first chaplain nodded his understanding and led his warriors off into the shadow of the mighty vessel. Then the Warmaster turned to the Mournival.
‘Ezekyle, use the signal locator on my armour to form overlapping echelons around my left. Little Horus, take my right. Torgaddon and Loken, form the rear. Secure this area and our line of withdrawal. Understood?’
The Warmaster delivered the orders with his trademark efficiency, but Loken was aghast at being left to cover the rear of their advance. He could see that the others of the Mournival, especially Torgaddon, were similarly surprised. Was this the Warmaster’s way of punishing him for daring to question his orders or for suggesting that he should not be leading the speartip? To be left behind?
‘Understood?’ repeated Horus and all four members of the Mournival nodded their assent.
‘Then let’s move out,’ snarled the Warmaster. ‘I have a traitor to kill.’
L
UC
S
EDIRAE
LED
the assaulters, the bulky back burners of their jump packs easily carrying them up towards the black tears in the side of the ship. As Loken expected, Luc was first inside, vanishing into the darkness with barely a pause. His warriors followed him and were soon lost to sight, as Abaddon and Aximand found other ways inside, clambering up the debris to reach the still smoking holes that the Titans had torn. Aximand gave him a quick shrug as he led his own squads upwards, and Loken watched them go, unable to believe that he would not be fighting alongside his brothers as they went into battle.
The Warmaster himself strode up the piled debris as easily as a man might ascend a gently sloping hill, Veralum Moy and his weapons specialists following in his wake.
Within moments, they were alone on the desolate mudflats, and Loken could sense the confusion in his warriors. They stood awkwardly, awaiting orders to send them into the fight, but he had none to give them.
Torgaddon saved him from his stupefaction, bellowing out commands and lighting a fire under the Astartes left behind. They spread out to form a cordon around their position, Nero Vipus’s scouts taking up position at the edge of the mist, and Brakespur climbing up the slopes to guard the entrances to the
Glory of Terra
.
‘Just what exactly did you say to the commander?’ asked Torgaddon, squelching back through the mud towards him.
Loken cast his mind back to the words that had passed between himself and the Warmaster since they had set foot on Davin’s moon, searching for some offence that he might have given. He could find nothing serious enough to warrant his and Torgaddon’s exclusion from the battle against Temba.
‘Nothing,’ he said, ‘just what I told you.’
‘This doesn’t make any sense,’ said Torgaddon, attempting to wipe some mud from his face, but only serving to spread it further across his features. ‘I mean, why leave us out of all the fun. I mean, come on, Moy?’
‘Verulam’s a competent officer,’ said Loken.
‘Competent?’ scoffed Torgaddon. ‘Don’t get me wrong, Garvi, I love Verulam like a brother, but he’s a file officer. You know it and I know it; and while there’s nothing wrong with that and Emperor knows we need good file officers, he’s not the sort the Warmaster should have at his side at a time like this.’
Loken couldn’t argue with Tarik’s logic, having had the same reaction upon hearing the Warmaster’s orders. ‘I don’t know what to tell you, Tarik. You’re right, but the commander has given his orders and we are pledged to obey him.’
‘Even when we know those orders make no sense?’
Loken had no answer to that.
T
HE
W
ARMASTER
AND
Verulam Moy led the van of the speartip through the dark and oppressive interior of the
Glory of Terra
, its arched passageways canted at unnatural angles and its bulkheads warped and rusted with decay. Brackish water dripped through sections open to the elements, and a reeking wind gusted through the creaking hallways like a cadaver’s breath. Diseased streamers of black fungus and dangling fronds of rotted matter brushed against their heads and helmets, leaving slimy trails of sticky residue behind.
The perforated floors were treacherous and uneven, but the Astartes made good time, pushing ever upwards through the halls of putrefaction towards the command decks.
Regular, static-laced communication with Sedirae’s vanguard informed them of his progress ahead of them, the ship apparently lifeless and deserted. Even though the vanguard was relatively close, Sedirae’s voice was chopped with interference, every third word or so unintelligible.
The deeper into the ship they penetrated, the worse it got.
‘Ezekyle?’ said the Warmaster, opening the vox-mic on his gorget. ‘Progress report.’
Abaddon’s voice was barely recognisable, as crackling pops and wet hissing overlaid it with meaningless babble.
‘Moving… th… gh the lowe… rat… decks… keep… We have… flank… master.’
Horus tapped his gorget. ‘Ezekyle? Damn it.’
The Warmaster turned to Verulam Moy and said, ‘Try and raise Erebus,’ before returning to his own attempts at communication. ‘Little Horus, can you hear me?’
More static followed, uninterrupted save for a faint voice, ‘…ordnance deck… slow… shells. Making safe… but… make… gress.’
‘Nothing from Erebus,’ reported Moy, ‘but he may be on the other side of the ship by now. If the interference we are getting between our own warriors is anything to go by, it is unlikely our armour links will be able to reach him.’
‘Damn it,’ repeated the Warmaster. ‘Well, let’s keep going.’
‘Sir,’ ventured Moy. ‘Might I make a suggestion?’
‘If it’s that we turn back, forget it, Verulam. My honour and that of the Crusade has been impugned and I’ll not have it said that I turned my back on it.’
‘I know that, sir, but I believe Captain Loken is correct. We are taking a needless risk here.’
‘Life is a risk, my friend. Every day we spend away from Terra is a risk. Every decision I make is a risk. We cannot avoid risk, my friend, for if we do, we achieve nothing. If the highest aim of a captain were to preserve his ship, he would keep it in port forever. You are a fine officer, Verulam, but you do not see heroic opportunities as I do.’
‘But, sir,’ protested Moy, ‘we cannot maintain contact with our warriors and we have no idea what might be waiting for us in this ship. Forgive me if I speak out of turn, but delving into the unknown like this does not feel like heroism. It feels like guesswork.’
Horus leaned in close to Moy and said, ‘Captain, you know as well as I do that the whole art of war consists of guessing what is on the other side of the hill.’
‘I understand that, sir—’ began Moy, but Horus was in no mood for interruptions.
‘Ever since the Emperor appointed me in the role of Warmaster, people have been telling me what I can and cannot do, and I tell you I am sick and tired of it,’ snapped Horus. ‘If people don’t like my opinions, then that’s their problem. I am the Warmaster and I have made up my mind. We go on.’
A squealing shriek of static abruptly sliced through the darkness and Luc Sedirae’s voice came over the armour link as clearly as if he stood next to them.
‘Throne! They’re here!’ shouted Sedirae.
Then everything turned upside down.
L
OKEN
FELT
IT
through the soles of his boots as a tremendous rumbling that seemed to come from the very foundations of the moon. He turned in horror, hearing metal grind on metal with a deafening screech, and watching geysers of mud spout skyward as buried portions of the starship tore themselves free of the sucking mud. The upper sections of the vessel plummeted towards the ground and the entire ship began tipping over, the colossal rear section arcing downwards with a terrible inevitability.
‘Everyone get clear!’ bellowed Loken as the massive weight of metal gathered speed.