Galaxy in Flames

'It sounds like battle,’

'It's all the same thing for the Dies Irae when the bullets are flying,’ said Aruken.

'This reminds me of why I was so proud,’ said Loken, looking at the speartip assembling on the Vengeful Spirit's embarkation deck. 'Joining the Mournival, and just to be a part of this,’

'I am still proud,’ said Torgaddon. 'This is my Legion. That hasn't changed,’

Loken and Torgaddon, fully armoured and ready for the drop, stood at the head of a host of Astartes. More than a third of the Legion was there, thouВ­sands of warriors arrayed for war. Loken saw veterans alongside newly inducted novices, assault warriors with chainswords and bulky jump packs, and devastators hefting heavy bolters and lascan-nons.

Sergeant Lachost was speaking with his commuВ­nications squad, making sure they understood the

importance of keeping a link with the Vengeful Spirit once they were down in the Choral City.

Apothecary Vaddon was checking and re-checking his medical gear, the narthecium gauntlet with its cluster of probes and the reductor that would harvest gene-seeds from the fallen.

Iacton Qruze, who had been a captain for so long that he was as old as an Astartes could be and still count himself a warrior, was lecturing some of the more recent inductees on the past glories of the Legion that they had to live up to.

'I'd be happier with the Tenth,’ said Loken, return­ing his attention to his friend.

'And I with the Second,' replied Torgaddon, 'but we can't always have what we want.' 'Garvi!' called a familiar voice. Loken turned and saw Nero Vipus approaching them, leaving the veterans of Locasta to continue their preparations for the drop. 'Nero,' said Loken, 'good to have you with us.' Vipus clapped Loken's shoulder guard with the augmetic hand that had replaced the organic one he'd lost on Sixty-Three Nineteen. 'I wouldn't have missed this,’ he said.

'I know what you mean,’ replied Loken. It had been a long time since they had lined up on the Vengeful Spirit as brothers, ready to fight the Emperor's good fight. Nero Vipus and Loken were the oldest of friends, back from the barely remem­bered blur of training, and it was reassuring to have another familiar face alongside him.

'Have you heard the reports from Isstvan Extremis?' asked Vipus, his eyes alight.

'Some of them,’

'They say the enemy has got some kind of psychic leadership caste and that their soldiers are fanatics. My choler's up just thinking about it,’

'Don't worry,’ said Torgaddon. 'I'm sure you'll kill them all,’

'It's like Davin again,’ said Vipus, baring his teeth in a grimace of anticipation.

'It's not like Davin,’ said Loken. 'It's nothing at all like Davin,’

'What do you mean?'

'It's not a bloody swamp, for a start,’ interjected Torgaddon.

'It would be an honour if you'd go into battle with Locasta, Garvi,’ said Vipus expectantly. 'I have a space in the drop-pod,’

The honour is mine,’ replied Loken, taking his friend's hand as a sudden thought occurred to him. 'Count me in,’

He nodded to his friends and made his way through the bustling Astartes towards the solitary figure of Iacton Qruze. The Half-heard watched the preparations for war with undisguised envy and Loken felt a stab of sympathy for the venerable warВ­rior. Qruze was an example of just how little even the Legion's apothecaries knew of an Astartes' physВ­iology. His face was as battered and gnarled as ancient oak, but his body was as wolf-tough, honed by years of fighting and not yet made weary by age.

me bore you with this before, but I feel in my bones that there's something big just over the horizon that we can't see. If these people help keep us honest, then that's good enough for me. Consider it done, Captain Loken,’

'Thank you, Iacton,' said Loken. 'It means a lot to me.'

'Don't mention it boy,’ grinned Qruze. 'Now get out of here and kill for the living.'

'I will,’ promised Loken, taking Qruze's wrist in the warrior's grip.

'Speartip units to posts,’ said the booming voice of the deck officer.

'Good hunting in the Sirenhold,’ said Qruze. 'Lupercal!'

'Lupercal!' echoed Loken.

As he jogged towards Locasta's drop-pod, it almost felt as if the events of Davin were forgotten and Loken was just a warrior again, fighting a cruВ­sade that had to be won and an enemy that deserved to die.

It took war to make him feel like one of the Sons of Horas again.

'To victory! ' shouted Lucius.

The Emperor's Children were so certain of the perfection of their way of war that it was traditional to salute the victory before it was won. Tarvitz was not surprised that Lucius led the salute; many senior officers attended the pre-battle celebration and Lucius was keen to be noticed. The Astartes

An Astartes was functionally immortal, meaning that only in death did duty end, and the thought sent a chill down Loken's spine.

'Loken,’ acknowledged Qruze as he saw him approach.

'You're not coming down to see the sights of the Sirenhold with us?' asked Loken.

'Alas, no,’ said Qruze. 'I am to stay and await orders. I haven't even got a place in the order of bat­tle for the pacification force,’

'If the Warmaster has no plans for you, Iacton, then I have something you could do for me,’ said Loken, 'if you would do me the honour?'

Qruze's eyes narrowed. 'What sort of a favour?'

'Nothing too arduous, I promise you.'

'Then ask,’

'There are some remembrancers aboard, you may have heard of them: Mersadie Oliton, Euphrati Keeler and Kyril Sindermann?'

"Yes, I know of them,’ confirmed Qruze. 'What of them?'

'They are… friends of mine and I would consider it an honour if you were to seek them out and ask after them. Check on them and make sure that they are well,’

'Why do these mortals matter to you, captain?'

'They keep me honest, Iacton,’ smiled Loken, 'and they remind me of everything we ought to be as Astartes,’

'That I can understand, Loken,’ replied Qruze. 'The Legion is changing, boy. I know you've heard

seated at the lavish banquet around him joined his salute, their cheers echoing from the alabaster walls of the banqueting hall. Captured banners, hon-oured weapons once carried by the Chosen of Fulgrim and murals of heroes despatching alien foes hung from the walls, glorious reminders of past victories.

The primarch himself was not present, thus it fell to Eidolon to take his place at the feast, exhorting his fellow Astartes to celebrate the coming victory. Lucius was equally vocal, leading his fellow warВ­riors in toasts from golden chalices of fine wine.

Tarvitz set down his goblet and rose from the table.

'Leaving already, Tarvitz?' sneered Eidolon.

'Yes!' chimed in Lucius. 'We've only just begun to celebrate!'

'I'm sure you will do enough celebrating for both of us, Lucius,’ said Tarvitz. 'I have matters to attend to before we make the drop,’

'Nonsense!' said Lucius. 'You need to stay with us and regale us with memories of Murder and how I helped you defeat the scourge of the megarachnids,’

The warriors cheered and called for Tarvitz to tell the story once more, but he held up his hands to quiet their demands.

'Why don't you tell it, Lucius?' asked Tarvitz. 'I don't think I build your part up enough for your liking anyway,’

'That's true,’ smiled Lucius. 'Very well, I'll tell

the tale,’

'Lord commander,’ said Tarvitz, bowing to

Eidolon and then turning to make his way through the golden door of the banquet hall. Appealing to Lucius's vanity was the surest way of deflecting his attention. Tarvitz would miss the camaraderie of the celebration, but he had other matters pressing on his thoughts.

He closed the door to the banqueting hall as Lucius began the tale of their ill-fated expedition to Murder, though its horrifying beginnings had somehow become a great triumph, largely thanks to Lucius, if past retellings were anything to go by.

The magnificent processional at the heart of the Andronius was quiet, the droning hum of the vessel reassuring in its constancy. The ship, like many in the Emperor's Children fleet, resembled some ancient palace of Terra, reflecting the Legion's desire to infuse everything with regal majesty.

Tarvitz made his way through the ship, passing wondrous spaces that would make the shipwrights of Jupiter weep with awe, until he reached the Hall of Rites, the circular chamber where the Emperor's Children underwent the oaths and ceremonies that tied them to their Legion. Compared to the rest of the ship, the hall was dark, but it was no less magВ­nificent: marble columns supporting a distant domed ceiling, and ritual altars of marble glittering in pools of shadow at its edges.

Fulgrim's Chosen had pledged themselves to the primarch's personal charge here, and he had accepted his appointment as captain before the

Altar of Service. The Hall of Rites replaced opulence with gravity, and seemed designed to intimidate with the promise of knowledge hidden from all but the Legion's most exalted officers.

Tarvitz paused on the threshold, seeing the unmistakable shape of Ancient Rylanor, his dreadВ­nought body standing before the Altar of Devotion.

'Enter,’ said Rylanor in his artificial voice.

Tarvitz cautiously approached the Ancient, his blocky outline resolving into a tank-like square sarВ­cophagus supported on powerful piston legs. The dreadnought's wide shoulders mounted an assault cannon on one arm and a huge hydraulic fist on the other. Rylanor's body rotated slowly on its central axis to face Tarvitz, turning from the Book of CereВ­monies that lay open on the altar.

'Captain Tarvitz, why are you not with your warВ­riors?' asked Rylanor. The vision slit that housed his ocular circuits regarded Tarvitz without emotion.

They can celebrate well enough without me,’ said Tarvitz. 'Besides, I have sat through one too many renditions of Lucius's tales to think I'll miss much.'

'It is not to my taste either,’ said Rylanor, a grating bark of electronic noise sounding from the dread­nought's vox-unit. At first Tarvitz thought the Ancient had developed a fault, until he realised that the sound was Rylanor's laughter.

Rylanor was the Legion's Ancient of Rites, and when not on the battlefield he oversaw the cereВ­monies that marked the gradual ascent of an Astartes from novice to Chosen of Fulgrim.

Decades before, Rylanor had been wounded beyond the skill of the Legion's apothecaries while fighting the duplicitous eldar, and had been interred in a dreadnought war machine that he might continue to serve. Along with Lucius and Tarvitz, Rylanor was one of the senior officers being sent down to take the Choral City's palace complex.

'I wish to speak with you, revered Ancient,’ said Tarvitz, 'about the drop,’

The drop is in a few hours,’ replied Rylanor. There is little time,’

Yes, I have left it too late and for that I apologise, but it concerns Captain Odovocar,’

'Captain Odovocar is dead, killed on Isstvan Extremis,’

'And the Legion lost a great warrior that day,’ nod­ded Tarvitz. 'Not only that, but he was to function as Eidolon's senior staff officer aboard the Andro-nius, relaying the commander's orders to the surface. With his death there is no one to fulfil that role,’

'Eidolon is aware of Odovocar's loss. He will have an alternative in place,’

'I request the honour of fulfilling that role,’ said Tarvitz solemnly. 'I knew Odovocar well and would consider it a fitting tribute to finish the work he began on this campaign,’

The dreadnought leaned close to Tarvitz, the cold metallic machine unreadable, as the crippled warВ­rior within decided Tarvitz's fate.

'You would renounce the honour of your place in the speartip to take over his duties?'

Tarvitz looked into Rylanor's vision slit, strugВ­gling to keep his expression neutral. Rylanor had seen everything the Legion had gone through since the beginning of the Great Crusade and was said to be able to perceive a lie the instant it was told.

His request to remain aboard the Andronius was highly unusual and Rylanor would surely be suspiВ­cious of his motives for not wanting to go into the fight. But when Tarvitz had learned that Eidolon was not leading the speartip personally, he knew there had to be a reason. The lord commander never passed up the opportunity to flaunt his marВ­tial prowess and for him to appoint another in his stead was unheard of.

Not only that, but the deployment orders Eidolon had issued made no sense.

Instead of the normal, rigorously regimented order of battle that was typical of an Emperor's Children assault, the units chosen to make the first attack appeared to have been picked at random. The only thing they had in common was that none were from Chapters led by Eidolon's favoured lord commanders. For Eidolon to sanction a drop withВ­out any of the warriors belonging to those lord commanders was unheard of and grossly insulting.

Something felt very wrong about this drop and Tarvitz couldn't shake the feeling that there was some grim purpose behind the selection of these units. He had to know what it was.

Rylanor straightened and said, 'I shall see to it that you are replaced. This is a great sacrifice you make, Captain Tarvitz. You do the memory of Odovocar much honour with it,’

Tarvitz fought to hide his relief, knowing that he had taken an unthinkable risk in lying to Rylanor. He nodded and said, 'My thanks, Ancient,’

'I shall join the troops of the speartip,’ said the dreadnought. Their feasting will soon be complete and I must ensure that they are ready for battle,’

'Bring perfection to the Choral City,’ said Tarvitz.

'Guide us well,’ replied Rylanor, his voice loaded with unspoken meaning. Tarvitz was suddenly cer­tain that the dreadnought wanted Tarvitz to remain on the ship.

'Do the Emperor's work, Captain Tarvitz,’ ordered Rylanor.

Tarvitz saluted and said, 'I will,’ as Rylanor set off across the Hall of Rites towards the banquet, his every step heavy and pounding.

Tarvitz watched him go, wondering if he would ever see the Ancient again.

The dormitories tucked into the thick walls running the length of the gantry were dark and hot, and from the doorway Mersadie could see down into the engine compartment where the crew were indistinguishable, sweating figures who worked in the infernal heat and ruddy glow of the plasma reactors. They hurried across gangways that stretched between the titanic reactors and

clambered along massive conduits that hung like spider webs in the hellish gloom.

She dabbed sweat from her brow at the heat and close confines of the engine space, unused to the searing air that stole away her breath and left her faint.

'Mersadie,’ said Sindermann coming to meet her along the gantry. The iterator had lost weight, his dirty robes hanging from his already spare frame, but his face was alight with the relief and joy of see­ing her. The two embraced in a heartfelt hug, both grateful beyond words to see each other. She felt tears pricking her eyes at the sight of the old man, unaware until this moment of how much she had missed him.

'Kyril, it's so good to see you again,’ she sobbed. 'You just vanished. I thought they'd got to you. I didn't know what had happened to you.'

'Hush, Mersadie,' said Sindermann, 'it's all right. I'm so sorry I couldn't send word to you at the time. You must understand that had I a choice, I would have done everything I could to keep you out of this, but I don't know what to do any more. We can't keep her down here forever,’

Mersadie looked through the doorway of the dor­mitory room they stood outside, wishing she had the courage to believe as Kyril did. 'Don't be ridicu­lous, Kyril. I'm glad you made contact, I thought… I thought Maloghurst or Maggard had killed you,’

'Maggard very nearly did,’ said Sindermann, 'but the saint saved us,’

'She saved you?' asked Mersadie. 'How?'

'I don't know exactly, but it was just like in the Archive Chamber. The power of the Emperor was in her. I saw it, Mersadie, just as sure as you're stand­ing here before me. I wish you could have seen it,’

'I wish that too,’ she said, surprised to find that she meant it.

She entered the dormitory and stared down at the still form of Euphrati Keeler on the thin cot bed, looking for all the world as if she was simply sleepВ­ing. The small room was cramped and dirty, with a thin blanket spread on the deck beside the bed.

Winking starlight streamed in through a small porthole vision block, something greatly prized this deep in the ship, and without asking, she knew that someone had happily volunteered to give up their prized room for the use of the 'saint' and her companion.

Even down here in the dark and the stink, faith flourished.

'I wish I could believe,’ said Mersadie, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of Euphrati's chest.

Sindermann said, 'You don't?'

'I don't know,’ she said, shaking her head. 'Tell me why I should? What does believing mean to you, Kyril?'

He smiled and took her hand. 'It gives me some­thing to hold on to. There are people on this ship who want to kill her, and somehow… don't ask me how, I just know that I need to keep her safe,’

'Are you're not afraid?' she asked.

'Afraid?' he said. 'I've never been more terrified in my life, my dear, but I have to hope that the Emperor is watching over me. That gives me strength and the will to face that fear.'

'You are a remarkable man, Kyril,’

'I'm not remarkable, Mersadie,’ said Sindermann, shaking his head. 'I was lucky. I saw what the saint did, so faith is easy for me. It's hardest for you, for you have seen nothing. You have to simply accept that the Emperor is working through Euphrati, but you don't believe, do you?'

Mersadie turned from Sindermann and pulled her hand from his, looking through the porthole at the void of space beyond. 'No. I can't. Not yet,’

A white streak shot across the porthole like a shooting star.

Another followed it, and then another.

'What's mat?' she asked.

Sindermann leaned over to get a better look through the porthole.

Even through his exhaustion, she could see the strength in him that she had previously taken for granted and she blink-clicked the image, capturВ­ing the defiance and bravery she saw in his features.

'Drop-pods,’ he said, pointing at a static gleaming object stark against the blackness and closer to Isst-van III. Tiny sparks began raining from its underside towards the planet below.

'I think that's the Andronius, Fulgrim's flagship,’ said Sindermann. 'Looks like the attack we've been

hearing about has begun. Imagine how it would be if we could watch it unfolding,’

Euphrati groaned and the attack on Isstvan III was forgotten as they slid across to sit beside her. Mersadie saw Sindermann's love for her clearly as he mopped her brow, her skin so clean that it pracВ­tically shone.

For the briefest moment, Mersadie saw how peo­ple could believe Euphrati was miraculous; her body so pale and fragile, yet untouched by the world around her. Mersadie had known Keeler as a gutsy woman, never afraid to speak her mind or bend the rules to get the magnificent picts for which she was rightly famed, but now she was something else entirely. 'Is she coming round?' asked Mersadie. 'No,’ said Sindermann sadly. 'She makes noises, but she never opens her eyes. It's such a waste. Sometimes I swear she's on the brink of waking, but then she sinks back down into whatever hell she's going through in her head,’ Mersadie sighed and looked back out into space. The pinpoints of light streaked in their hundreds towards Isstvan III.

As the speartip was driven home, she whispered, Token…'

The Choral City was magnificent.

Its design was a masterpiece of architecture, light and space so wondrous that Peeter Egon Momus had begged the Warmaster not to assault so

brutally. Older by millennia than the Imperium that had come to claim it in the name of the Emperor, its precincts and thoroughfares were soon to become blood-slick battlefields.

While the juggernaut of compliance had made the galaxy a sterile, secular place, the Choral City remained a city of the gods.

The Precentor's Palace, a dizzying creation of gleaming marble blades and arches that shone in the sun, opened like a vast stone orchid to the sky and the polished granite of the city's wealthiest disВ­tricts clustered around it like worshippers. Momus had described the palace as a hymn to power and glory, a symbol of the divine right by which Isstvan III would be ruled.

Further out from the palace and beyond the architectural perfection of the Choral City, vast multi-layered residential districts sprawled. ConВ­nected by countless walkways and bridges of glass and steel, the avenues between them were wide canyons of tree-lined boulevards in which the citiВ­zens of the Choral City lived.

The city's industrial heartland rose like climbing skeletons of steel against the eastern mountains, belching smoke as they churned out weapons to arm the planet's armies. War was coming and every Isstvanian had to be ready to fight.

But no sight in the Choral City compared to the Sirenhold.

Not even the magnificence of the palace outВ­shone the Sirenhold, its towering walls defining the

Choral City with their immensity. The brutal batВ­tlements diminished everything around them, and the sacred fortress of the Sirenhold humbled even the snow-capped peaks of the mountains. Within its walls, enormous tomb-spires reached for the skies, their walls encrusted with monumental sculptures that told the legends of Isstvan's mythiВ­cal past.

The legends told that Isstvan himself had sung the world into being with music that could still be heard by the blessed Warsingers, and that he had borne countless children with whom he populated the first ages of the world. They became night and day, ocean and mountain, a thousand legends whose breath could be felt in every moment of every day in the Choral City.

Darker carvings told of the Lost Children, the sons and daughters who had forsaken their father and been banished to the blasted wasteland of the fifth planet, where they became monsters that burned with jealousy and raised black fortresses from which to brood upon their expulsion from paradise.

War, treachery, revelation and death; all marched around the Sirenhold in endless cycles of myth, the weight of their meaning pinning the Choral City to the soil of Isstvan III and infusing its every inhabiВ­tant with their sacred purpose.

The gods of Isstvan III were said to sleep in the Sirenhold, whispering their murderous plots in the nightmares of children and ancients.

For a time, the myths and legends had remained as distant as they had always been, but now they walked among the people of the Choral City, and every breath of wind shrieked that the Lost ChilВ­dren had returned.

Without knowing why, the populace of Isstvan III had armed and unquestioningly followed the orders of Vardus Praal to defend their city. An army of well-equipped soldiers awaited the invasion they had long been promised was coming in the western marches of the city, where the Warsingers had sung a formidable web of trenches into being.

Artillery pieces parked in the gleaming canyons of the city pointed their barrels westwards, set to pound any invaders into the ground before they reached the trenches. The warriors of the Choral City would then slaughter any that survived in careВ­fully prepared crossfire.

The defences had been meticulously planned, protecting the city from attack from the west, the only direction in which an invasion could be launched.

Or so the soldiers manning the defences had been told.

The first omen was a fire in the sky that came with the dawn.

A scattering of falling stars streaked through the blood-red dawn, burning through the sky like fiery tears.

The sentries in the trenches saw them falling in bright spears of fire, the first burning object

smashing into the trenches amid a plume of mud and flame.

At the speed of thought, the word raced around the Choral City that the Lost Children had returned, that the prophecies of myth were coming true,

They were proven right when the drop-pods burst open and the Astartes of the Death Guard Legion emerged.

And the killing began.

PART TWO

THE CHORAL CITY

EIGHT

Soldiers from hell

Butchery

Betrayal

Thirty seconds!' yelled Vipus, his voice barely audible over the screaming jets as the drop-pod sliced through Isstvan Ill's atmosphere. The Astartes of Locasta were bathed in red light and for a moment Loken imagined what they would look like to the people of the Choral City when the assault began – warriors from another world, sol­diers from hell.

'What's our landing point looking like?' shouted Loken.

Vipus glanced at the readout on a pict-screen mounted above his head. 'Drifting! We'll hit the target, but off-centre. I hate these things. Give me a stormbird any day!'

Loken didn't bother replying, barely able to hear Nero as the atmosphere thickened beneath the

drop-pod and the jets on its underside kicked in. The drop-pod shuddered and began heating up as the enormous forces pushing against it turned to fire and noise.

He sat through the last few minutes while everyВ­thing around him was noise, unable to see the enemy he was about to fight and relinquishing conВ­trol over his fate until the drop-pod hit.

Nero had been right when he said he had preВ­ferred an assault delivered by stormbird, the precise, surgical nature of an airborne assault far preferable to a warrior than this hurtling descent from above.

But the Warmaster had decided that the speartip would be deployed by drop-pod, reasoning –rightly, Loken admitted – that thousands of Astartes smashing into the defenders' midst without warn­ing would be more psychologically devastating. Loken ran through the moment the drop-pod would hit in his mind, preparing himself for when the hatch charges would blow open.

He gripped his bolter tightly, and checked for the tenth time that his chainsword was in its scabbard at his side. Loken was ready.

'Ten seconds, Locasta,’ shouted Vipus.

Barely a second later, the drop-pod impacted with such force that Loken's head snapped back and sudВ­denly the noise was gone and everything went black.

sti

Lucius killed his first foe without even breaking stride.

The dead man's armour was like glass, shimmerВ­ing and iridescent, and his halberd's blade was fashioned from the same reflective substance. A mask of stained glass covered his face, the mouth represented by leading and filled with teeth of gemВ­like triangles.

Lucius slid his sword clear, blood smoking from its edge, as the soldier slumped to the floor. A curved arch of marble shone red in the dawn's early light above him and a swirl of dust and debris drifted around the drop-pod he had just leapt from.

The Precentor's Palace stood before him, vast and astonishing, a stone flower with the spire at its cenВ­tre like a spectacular twist of overlapping granite petals.

More drop-pods hammered into the ground behind him, the plaza around the palace's north entrances the main objective of the Emperor's ChilВ­dren. A nearby drop-pod blew open and Ancient Rylanor stepped from its red-lit interior, his assault cannon already cycling and tracking for targets. 'Nasicae!' yelled Lucius. To me!' Lucius saw a flash of coloured glass from inside the palace, movement beyond the sweeping stone panels of the entrance hall.

More palace guards reacted to the sudden, shockВ­ing assault, but contrary to what Lucius had been expecting, they weren't screaming or begging for

mercy. They weren't even fleeing, or standing stock still, numb with shock.

With a terrible war cry the palace guard charged and Lucius laughed, glad to be facing a foe with some backbone. He levelled his sword and ran towards them, Squad Nasicae following behind him, weapons at the ready.

A hundred palace guardians ran at them, resplenВ­dent in their glass armour. They formed a line before the Astartes, levelled their halberds, and opened fire.

Searing needles of silver filled the air around Lucius, gouging the armour of his shoulder guard and leg. Lucius lifted his sword arm to shield his head and the needles spat from the glowing blade of his sword. Where they hit the stone around the entrance it bubbled and hissed like acid.

One of Nasicae fell beside Lucius, one arm molten and his abdomen bubbling.

'Perfection and death!' cried Lucius, running through the white-hot silver needles. The Emperor's Children and the Palace Guard clashed with a sound like a million windows breaking the terrible screamВ­ing of the halberd-guns giving way to the clash of blade against armour and point-blank bolter fire

Lucius's first sword blow hacked through a halВ­berd shaft and tore through the throat of the man before him. Sightless glass eyes glared back at him, blood pumping from the guard's ruined throat, and Lucius tore the helm from his foe's head to better savour the sensation of his death.

A plasma pistol spat a tongue of liquid fire that wreathed an enemy soldier from head to foot, but the man kept fighting, sweeping his halberd down to cut deep into one of Lucius's men before another Astartes ripped off his head with a chainsword.

Lucius pivoted on one foot from a halberd strike and hammered the hilt of his sword into his oppoВ­nent's face, feeling a tight anger that the faceplate held. The guard staggered away from him and Lucius reversed his grip and thrust the blade through the gap between the glass plates at the guard's waist, feeling the blade's energy field burnВ­ing through abdomen and spine.

These guards were slowing the Emperor's ChilВ­dren down, buying precious moments with their lives for something deeper in the palace. As much as Lucius was revelling in the sensations of the slaughter, the smell of the blood, the searing stink of flesh as the heat of his blade scorched it and the pounding of blood in veins, he knew he could not afford to give the defenders such moments.

Lucius ran onwards, slicing his blade through limbs and throats as he ran. He fought as though following the steps of an elaborate dance, a dance where he played the part of the victor and the enemy were there only to die. The Palace Guard were dying around him and his armour was drenched with their blood. He laughed in sheer joy. Warriors still fought behind him, but Lucius had to press on before the palace guard was able to stall their advance with more men in front of them.

'Squad Quemondil! Rethaerin! Kill these and then follow me!'

Fire sawed from every direction as the Emperor's Children forced their way towards the junction Lucius had reached. The swordsman darted his head past the corner, seeing a vast indoor seascape. A plume of water cascaded through a hole in the centre of a colossal granite dome, and a shaft of pink light fell alongside the water, sending brilliant rainbows of colour between the arches formed by the petals of the dome's surface.

Islands rose from the indoor sea that took up most of the dome, each topped by picturesque folВ­lies of white and gold.

Thousands of palace guards massed in the dome, splashing towards them through the waist-deep sea and taking up positions among the follies. Most wore the glassy armour of the men still dying behind Lucius, but many others were clad in far more elaborate suits of bright silver. Others still were wrapped in long streamers of silk that rippled behind them like smoke as they

moved.

Rylanor emerged into the dome behind Lucius, his assault cannon smoking and the chisel-like grips of his power fist thick with blood.

'They're massing,' spat Lucius. 'Where are the damned World Eaters?'

'We shall have to win the palace by ourselves,' replied Rylanor, his voice grating from deep within his sarcophagus.

Lucius nodded, pleased that they would be able to shame the World Eaters. 'Ancient, cover us. Emperor's Children, break and cover fire! Nasicae, keep up this time!'

Ancient Rylanor stepped out from the junction and a spectacular wave of fire sheared through the air around him, a storm of heavy calibre shell casВ­ings and oil-soaked fumes streaming from the cannon mounted on his shoulder.

His explosive fire shredded the stone of the foreВ­most island's follies, broken and bloodied bodies tumbling from the shattered wreckage.

'Go!' shouted Lucius, but the Emperor's Children were already charging, their training so thorough that ever>' warrior already knew his place in the complex pattern of overlapping fire and movement that sent the strike force sweeping into the dome.

Savage joy lit up Lucius's face as he charged, the thrill of battle and the sensations of killing stimuВ­lating his body with wondrous excess.

In a swirling cacophony of noise, the perfection of death had come to the Choral City.

On the southern side of the palace, a strange organically formed building clung to the side of the palace like a parasite, its bulging, liquid shape more akin to something that had been grown than someВ­thing built. Its pale marble was threaded with dark veins and the masses of its battlements hung like ripened fruit. From the expanse of marble monuВ­ment slabs marking the passing of the city's finest

and most powerful citizens, it was clear that this was a sacred place.

Known as the Temple of the Song, it was a memoВ­rial to the music that Father Isstvan had sung to bring all things into existence. It was also the objective of the World Eaters. The word that the invasion had begun was already out by the time the first World Eaters' drop-pods crashed into the plaza, shattering gravestones and throwing slabs of marble into the air. Strange music keened through the morning air, calling the people of the Choral City from their homes and demanding that they take up arms. The soldiers from the nearby city barracks grabbed their guns as the Warsingers appeared on the battlements of the Temple to sing the song of death for the invaders.

Called by the Warsingers' laments, the people of the city gathered in the streets and streamed towards the battle.

The World Eaters' strike force was led by Captain Ehrlen, and as he emerged from his drop-pod, he was expecting the trained soldiers that Angron had briefed them on, not thousands of screaming citiВ­zens swarming onto the plaza. They came in a tide, armed with anything and everything they had in their homes, but it was not the weapons they carВ­ried but their sheer numbers and the terrible song that spoke of killing and murder that made them

deadly.

World Eaters, to me!' yelled Ehrlen, hefting his bolter and aiming it into the mass of charging people

The white-armoured warriors of the World Eaters formed a firing line around him, turning their bolters outwards.

'Fire!' shouted Ehrlen and the first ranks of the Choral City's inhabitants were cut down by the deadly volley, but the oncoming mass rose up like a spring tide as they clambered over the bodies of the dead.

As the gap between the two forces closed, the World Eaters put up their bolters and drew their chainswords.

Ehreln saw the unreasoning hatred in the eyes of his enemies and knew that this battle was soon to turn into a massacre.

If there was one thing at which the World Eaters excelled, it was massacre.

'Damn it,' spat Vipus. 'We must have hit something on the way in.'

Loken forced his eyes open. A slice of light where the drop-pod had broken open provided the only illumination, but it was enough for him to check that he was still in once piece.

He was battered, but could feel no evidence of anything more than that.

'Locasta, sound off!' ordered Vipus. The warriors of Locasta shouted their names, and Loken was relieved to hear that none appeared to have been injured in the impact. He undid the buckle of his grav-harness and rolled to his feet, the drop-pod canted at an unnatural angle. He pulled his bolter

from the rack and pushed his way through the narВ­row opening broken in the side of the drop-pod.

As he emerged into the bright sunshine, he saw that they had struck a projecting pier of stone on one of the towers, the rubble of its destruction scatВ­tered around the ruined drop-pod. He circled the wreckage, seeing that they were at least two hunВ­dred metres above the ground, wedged amongst the massive battlements of the Sirenhold.

To his left he saw spectacular tomb-spires encrusted with statues, while to his right was the Choral City itself, its magnificent structures bathed in the rosy glow of the sunrise. From this vantage point Loken could see the whole city, the extraordiВ­nary stone flower of the palace and the western defences like scars across the landscape.

Loken could hear gunfire from the direction of the palace and realised that the Emperor's Children and World Eaters were already fighting the enemy. Gunfire echoed from below, Sons of Horus units fighting in the tangle of shrines and statuary that filled the canyons between the tomb-spires.

'We need a way down,’ said Loken as Locasta pulled themselves from the wreckage of the drop-pod. Vipus jogged over with his gun at the ready.

'Bloody ground surveyors must have missed the projections,' he grumbled.

'That's what it looks like,’ agreed Loken, as he saw another drop-pod ricochet from the side of a tomb-spire and careen downwards in a shower of broken statues.

'Our warriors are dying,’ he said bitterly. 'Some­one's going to pay for this,’

"We look spread out,’ said Vipus, glancing down into the Sirenhold. Between the tomb-spires, smaller shrines and temples butted against one another in a complex jigsaw.

Plumes of black smoke and explosions were already rising from the fighting.

'We need a place to regroup,’ said Loken. He flicked to Torgaddon's vox-channel. Tarik? Loken here, where are you?' A burst of static was his only reply. He looked across the Sirenhold and saw one tomb-spire close to the wall, its many levels sup­ported by columns wrought into the shapes of monsters and its top sheared off by the impact of a drop-pod. 'Damn. If you can hear me, Tarik, make for the spire by the western wall, the one with the smashed top. Regroup there. I'm heading down to you,’ 'Anything?' asked Vipus.

'No. The vox is a mess. Something's interrupting it.

The spires?'

'It would take more than that,’ said Loken. 'Come on. Let's find a way off this damn wall,’

Vipus nodded and turned to his men. 'Locasta, start looking for a way down,’

Loken leaned over the battlements as Locasta fanned out to obey their leader's command. Beneath him he could^ee the diminutive figures of

Astartes fighting black-armoured warriors in streaming firefight. He turned away, desperate to find a way down. 'Here!' shouted Brother Casto, Locasta's flamer

bearer. 'A stairway'

'Good work,’ said Loken, making his way over to see what Casto had found. Sure enough, hidden behind a tall, eroded statue of an ancient warrior was a dark stairway cut into the sand-coloured stone.

The passageway looked rough and unfinished, the stone pitted and crumbling with age. 'Move,’ said Vipus. 'Casto, lead the way,’ "Yes, captain,’ replied Casto, plunging into the gloom of the passageway. Loken and Vipus fol­lowed him, the entrance barely wide enough for their armoured bodies. The stairs descended for roughly ten metres before opening into a wide, low-ceilinged gallery. 'The wall must be riddled,’ said Vipus. 'Catacombs,’ said Loken, pointing to niches cut into the walls that held the mouldering remains of skeletons, some still swaddled in tattered cloth.

Casto led them along the gallery, the bodies becoming more numerous the deeper they went, the skeletal remains piled two or three deep.

Vipus snapped around suddenly, bolter up and finger on the trigger. Vipus?'

'I thought I heard something,’ "We're clear behind,’ said Loken. 'Keep moving and focus. This could.

'Movement!' said Casto, sending a blast of

orange-yellow fire from his flamer into the darkness

ahead of him.

'Casto!' barked Vipus. 'Report! What do you see?'

Casto paused. 'I don't know. Whatever it was, it's

gone now,’

The niches ahead guttered with flames, hungrily devouring the bare bones. Loken could see that there was no enemy up ahead, only Isstvanian dead.

'There's nothing there now,’ said Vipus. 'Stay focused, Locasta, and no jumping at shadows! You are Sons of Horns!'

The squad picked up the pace, shaking thoughts of hidden enemies from their minds, as they moved rapidly past the burning grave-niches.

The gallery opened into a large chamber, Loken guessing that it must have filled the width of the wall. The only light was from the dancing flame at the end of Casto's flamer, the yellow light picking out the massive stone blocks of a tomb.

Loken saw a sarcophagus of black granite, surВ­rounded by statues of kneeling people with their heads bowed and hands chained before them. PanВ­els set into the walls were covered in carvings where human forms acted out ceremonial scenes of war.

'Casto, move up,’ said Vipus. 'Find us a way down,’

Loken approached the sarcophagus, running his hand down its vast length. Its lid was carved to repВ­resent a human figure, but he knew that it could

not be a literal portrait of the body inside; its face had no features save for a pair of triangular eyes fashioned from chips of coloured glass.

Loken could hear the song from the Sirenhold outside, even through the layers of stone, a single mournful tone that rose and fell, winding its way from the tomb-spires.

'Warsinger,’ said Loken bitterly. They're fighting back. We need to get down there,’

The silver-armoured palace guards started flying.

Surrounded by burning arcs of white energy, they leapt over the advancing Emperor's Children, gleaming, leaf shaped blades slicing downwards from wrist-mounted weapons.

Lucius rolled to avoid a hail of blades, the silver guard swooping low to behead two of Squad Que-mondil, the charged blades cutting through their armour with horrific ease.

He slid into the water, finding that it only reached his waist. Above him, the halberd-guns of the palace guard were spraying silver fire at the Emperor's Children, but the Astartes were moving and firing with their customary discipline Even the bizarre sight of the palace's defenders did not disВ­suade them from their patterns of movement and covering fire. A body fell into the water next to him, its head blasted away by bolter fire and blood pourВ­ing into the water in a scarlet bloom.

Lucius saw that the silver guards were too quick and turned too nimbly for conventional

engagement. He would just have to engage them unconventionally.

One of the silver guards dived towards him and Lucius could see the intricate filigree on the man's armour, the tiny gold threads like veins on the breastplate and greaves and the scrollwork that covВ­ered his face.

The guard dived like a seabird, firing a bright blade from his wrist.

Lucius turned the missile aside with his sword and leapt to meet his opponent. The guard twisted in the air, trying to avoid Lucius, but he was too close. Lucius swung his sword and sliced the guard's arm from his body, his crackling sword searing through the armour. Blood sprayed from the smouldering wound and the guard fell, twisting back towards the water.

Lucius fell with the dead man, splashing back into the lake as the Emperor's Children finally reached their enemy. Volleys of bolter fire scoured the islands and his warriors advanced relentlessly on the survivors. The palace guards were backing away, forming a tighter and tighter circle. Glass-armoured guards lay dead in heaps and the artificial lake was mddy pink and choked with bodies.

Rylanor's assault cannon sent fire tearing through the silk-clad guards, whose preternatural speed couldn't save them as the cannon shells turned the interior of the dome into a killing ground. Another silver guard fell, bolter fire ripВ­ping through his armour.

Squad Nasicae joined Lucius and he grinned wolfishly at them, elated at the prospect of fighting more of the silver guards.

They're running,’ said Lucius. 'Keep them on the back foot. Keep pressing on.'

'Squad Kaitheron's reporting from the plaza,’ said Brother Scetherin. The World Eaters are fighting around the temple on the north side,’

'Still?'

'Sounds like they're holding off half the city,’

'Ha! They can have them. It's what the World Eaters are good at,’ laughed Lucius, relishing the certain knowledge of his superiority.

Nothing in the galaxy could match that feeling, but already it was fading and he knew he would have to procure yet more opponents to satisfy his hunger for battle.

'We press on to the throne room,’ he said. 'Ancient Rylanor, secure our rear. The rest of you, we're going for Praal. Follow me. If you can't keep up, go and join the Death Guard!'

His warriors cheered as they followed Lucius into the heart of the palace.

Every one of them wanted to kill Praal and hold his head aloft on the palace battlements so the whole of the Choral City could see. Only Lucius was certain that Praal's head would

be his.

The Andronius was quiet and tense, its palatial rooms dark and its long, echoing corridors empty

of all but menials. The ship's engines pulsed dimly in the stern, only the rumble of directional thrusters shuddering through the ship. Every staВ­tion was manned, every blast door was sealed and Tarvitz knew a battle alert when he saw it.

What confused him was the fact that the Isstvani-ans had no fleet to fight.

The hull groaned and Tarvitz felt a deep rumbling through the metal deck, sensing the motion of the ship before the artificial gravity compensated. Ever since the first wave of the speartip had launched, the vessel had been moving, and Tarvitz knew that his suspicions of something amiss were well-founded.

According to the mission briefings he had read earlier, Fulgrim's flagship had been assigned the role of launching the second wave once the palace and the Sirenhold had been taken. There was no need to move.

The only reason to move a vessel after a launch was to move into low orbit in preparation for a bombardment. Though he told himself he was being paranoid, Tarvitz knew that he had to see for himself what was going on.

He made his way swiftly through the Andronius towards the gun decks, keeping clear of such grand chambers as the Tarselian Amphitheatre and the columned grandeur of the Monument Hall. He kept to the areas of the ship where his presence would go unchallenged, and where those who might recognise him were unlikely to see him.

He had told Rylanor that he wanted to renounce his position of honour in the speartip to replace Captain Odovocar as Eidolon's senior staff officer, relaying the commander's orders to the surface, but it would only be a matter of time before his subВ­terfuge was discovered.

Tarvitz descended into the lower reaches of the ship, far from where the Emperor's Children dwelt in the most magnificent parts of the Andronius. The rest of the ship, inhabited by servitors and menials, was more functional and Tarvitz knew he would pass without challenge here.

The darkness closed around Tarvitz and the yawnВ­ing chasms of the engine structures opened out many hundreds of metres below the gantry on which he stood. Above the engine spaces were the reeking gun decks, where mighty cannons, weapons that could level cities, were housed in massive, armoured revetments.

'Stand by for ordnance,’ chimed an automated, metallic voice. Tarvitz felt the ship shift again, and this time he could hear the creak of the hull as the planet's upper atmosphere raised the temperature of the outer hull.

Tarvitz descended an iron staircase at the end of the dark gantry and the vast expanse of the gun deck sprawled before him, a titanic vault that ran the length of the vessel. Huge, hissing cranes fed the guns, lifting tank-sized shells from the magazine decks through blast proof doors. Gunners and loaders sweated with their riggers, each gun

serviced by a hundred men who hauled on thick chains and levers in preparation for their firing. Servitors distributed water to the gun crews and Mechanicum adepts maintained vigil on the weapons to ensure they were properly calibrated.

Tarvitz felt his resolve harden and his anger grow at the sight of the guns being made ready. Who were they planning to fire on? With thousands of Astartes on the planet's surface, bombarding the Choral City was absurd, yet here the guns were, loaded and ready to unleash hell.

He doubted that the men crewing these weapons knew which planet they were in orbit over or even who they would be shooting at. Entire communiВ­ties flourished below the decks of a starship and it was perfectly possible that these men had no idea who they were about to destroy.

He reached the end of the staircase and set foot on the deck, its high ceiling soaring above him like a mighty cathedral to destructive power. Tarvitz heard footsteps approaching and turned to see a robed adept in the livery of the Mechanicum.

'Captain,’ inquired the adept, 'is there something amiss?'

'No,’ said Tarvitz. 'I am just here to ensure that everything is proceeding normally,’

'I can assure you, lord, that preparations for the bombardment are proceeding exactly as planned. The warheads will be launched prior to the deploy­ment of the second wave,’

Warheads?' asked Tarvitz.

'Yes, captain,’ said the adept. 'All bombardment cannons are loaded with airbursting warheads loaded with virus bombs as specified in our order of battle,’

Virus bombs,’ said Tarvitz, fighting to hold back his revulsion at what the adept was telling him.

'Is everything all right, captain?' asked the adept, noticing the change in his expression.

'I'm fine,’ Tarvitz lied, feeling as if his legs would give way any second. 'You can return to your duties,’

The adept nodded and set off towards one of the guns.

Virus bombs…

Weapons so terrible and forbidden that only the Warmaster himself, and the Emperor before him, could ever sanction their use.

Each warhead would unleash the life eater virus, a rampant organism that destroyed life in all its forms and wiped out every shred of organic matter on the surface of a planet within hours. The magniВ­tude of this new knowledge, and its implications, staggered Tarvitz and he felt his breath coming in short, painful gasps as he attempted to reconcile what he knew with what he had just learned.

His Legion was preparing to kill the planet below and he knew with sudden clarity that it could not be alone in this. To saturate a planet with enough virus warheads to destroy all life would take many ships and with a sick jolt of horВ­ror, he knew that such an order could only have come from the Warmaster.

For reasons Tarvitz could not even begin to guess at the Warmaster had chosen to betray fully a third of his warriors, exterminating them in one fell swoop.

'I have to warn them,’ he hissed, turning and run­ning for the embarkation deck.

NINE

The power of a god

Regrouping

Honour brothers

The strategium was dark, lit only by braziers that burned with a flickering green flame. Where once the banners of the Legion's battle companies had hung from its walls, they were now replaced with those of the warrior lodge. The company banners had been taken down shortly after the speartip had been deployed and the message was clear: the lodge now had primacy within the Sons of Horus. The platform from which the Warmaster had addressed the officers of his fleet now held a lectern upon which rested the Book of Lorgar.

The Warmaster sat on the strategium throne, watching reports coming in from Isstvan III on the battery of pict-screens before him.

The emerald light picked out the edges of his armour and reflected from the amber gemstone

forming the eye upon his breastplate. Reams of combat statistics streamed past and pict-relays showed the unfolding battles in the Choral City. The World Eaters were in the centre of an epic strugВ­gle. Thousands of people were swarming into the plaza before the Precentor's Palace, and the streets flowed with rivers of blood as the Astartes slaughВ­tered wave after wave of Isstvanians that charged into their guns and chainblades.

The palace itself was intact, only a few palls of smoke indicating the battle raging through it as the Emperor's Children fought their way through its guards.

Vardus Praal would be dead soon, though Horus cared nothing for the fate of Isstvan Ill's rogue governor. His rebellion had simply given Horus the chance to rid himself of those he knew would never follow him on his great march to Terra.

Horus looked up as Erebus approached.

'First chaplain,' said Horus sternly. 'Matters are delicate. Do not disturb me needlessly'

'There is news from Prospero,’ said Erebus, unper­turbed. The shadow whisperers clung to him, darting around his feet and the crozius he wore at his waist.

'Magnus?' asked Horus, suddenly interested.

'He lives yet,’ said Erebus, 'but not for the lack of effort on the part of the Wolves of Fenris,’

'Magnus lives,’ snarled Horus. Then he may yet be a danger,’

'No,’ assured Erebus. 'The spires of Prospero have fallen and the warp echoes with the powerful sor­cery Magnus used to save his warriors and escape,’

'Always sorcery,’ said Horus. 'Where did he escape to?'

'I do not know yet,’ said Erebus, 'but wherever he goes, the Emperor's dogs will hunt him down,’

'And he will either join us or die alone in the wilderness,’ said Horus, thoughtfully. 'To think that so much depends on the personalities of so few. Magnus was nearly my deadliest enemy, perhaps as dangerous as the Emperor himself. Now he has no choice but to follow us until the very end. If Ful-grim brings Ferrus Magnus into the fold then we have as good as won,’

Horus waved dismissively at the viewscreens depicting the battle in the Choral City. 'The IsstvaВ­nians believe the gods have come to destroy them and in a way they are right. Life and death are mine to dispense. What is that if not the power of a god?'

'Captain Loken. Sergeant Vipus. It is good to see you both,’ said Sergeant Lachost, hunkered down in the shattered shell of a shrine to one of Isstvan Ill's ancestors. We've been trying to raise all the squads. They're all over the place. The speartip's shattered,’

Then we'll re-forge it here,’ replied Loken.

Sporadic fire rattled through the valley, so he took cover beside Lachost. The sergeant's command squad was arrayed around the shrine ruin, bolters trained and occasionally snapping off shots at the

shapes that darted through the shadows. Vipus and the survivors of Locasta huddled in the ruins with

them.

The enemy wore the armour of ancient Isstvan, tarnished bands of silver and black, and carried strange relic-weapons, rapid-firing crossbows that hurled bolts of molten silver.

Tales of heroism were emerging from the scores of individual battles among the tomb-spires as Sons of Horus units fought off the soldiers of the

Sirenhold.

'We've got good cover, and a position we can hold,’ said Vipus. We can gather the squads here and launch a thrust into the enemy.'

Loken nodded as Torgaddon ducked into cover beside them, the Sons of Horus he had brought with him joining Lachost's men at the walls.

He grinned at Loken and said, 'What kept you,

Garvi?'

"We had to come down from the top of the wall,' said Loken. 'Where are your warriors?'

'They're everywhere,’ said Torgaddon. 'They're making their way to this spire, but a lot of the squads are cut off. The Sirenhold was garrisoned by some… elites, I suppose. They had a hell of an armoury here, ancient things, looks like advanced

tech,’

Loken nodded as Torgaddon continued.

'Well, this spire is clear at least. I've got Vaddon and Lachost setting up a command post on the lower level and we can just hold this position for

now. There are three more Legions in the Choral City and the rest of the Sons of Horus in orbit. There's no need-'

The enemy has the field,’ replied Loken sharply. 'They can surround us. There are catacombs beneath our feet they could use to get around us. No, if we stay put they will find a way to get to us. This is their territory. We strike as soon as we can. This is a speartip and it is up to us to drive it home,’

'Where?' asked Torgaddon.

'The tomb-spires,’ said Loken. *We hit them one by one. Storm them, kill whatever we find and move on. We keep going and force them onto the back foot,’

'Most of our speartip is on its way, captain,’ said Lachost.

'Good,’ replied Loken, looking up at the spires around the shrine.

The shrine was in a valley formed by the spire they had come down and the next spire along, a brutal cylinder of stone with glowering faces carved into its surface. Dozens of arches around its base offered entrance and cover, their darkness occasionВ­ally lit by a brief flash of gunfire.

A tangle of shrines littered the ground between the towers, statues of the Choral City's notable dead jutting from piles of ornate architecture or the ruins of temples.

Loken pointed to the tomb-spire across the valley. As soon as we have enough warriors for a full thrust, that's what we hit. Lachost, start securing the shrines

around us to give us a good jumping-off point, and get some men up on the first levels of this spire to proВ­vide covering fire. Heavy weapons if you've got them.'

Gunfire echoed from the east and Loken saw the forms of Astartes moving towards them: Sons of Horns in the livery of Eskhalen Squad. More warВ­riors were converging on their position, each fighting their own running battles among the shrines as they sought to regroup.

This is more than a burial ground,' said Loken. 'Whatever happened to Isstvan III, it started here. This force is religious and this is their church.'

'No wonder they're crazy,’ replied Torgaddon scornfully 'Madmen love their gods.'

The controls of the Thunderhawk were loose, the ship trying to flip away from Tarvitz and go tumВ­bling through space. He had only the most rudimentary training on these newer additions to the Astartes armoury, and most of that had been in atmosphere, skimming low over battlefields to drop troops or add fire support.

Tarvitz could see Isstvan III through the armoured glass of the viewing bay, a crescent of sunlight creeping across its surface. Somewhere near the edge of the shining crescent was the city where his battle-brothers, and those of three other Legions, were fighting unaware that they had already been betrayed.

Thunderhawk, identify yourself,’ said a voice through the gunship's vox. He must have entered the engagement envelope of the Andronius and the

defence turrets had acquired him as a target. If he was lucky, he would have a few moments before the turrets locked on, moments when he could put as much distance between his stolen Thunderhawk and the Andronius.

Thunderhawk, identify yourself,’ repeated the voice and he knew that he had to stall in order to give himself time to get clear of the defence turrets.

'Captain Saul Tarvitz, travelling to the Endurance on liaison duty,’

Wait for authorisation,’

He knew he wouldn't get authorisation, but each second took him further from the Andronius and closer to the planet's surface.

He pushed the Thunderhawk as hard as he dared, listening to the hiss of static coming from the vox, hoping against hope that somehow they would believe him and allow him to go on his way.

'Stand down, Thunderhawk,’ said the voice. 'Return to the Andronius immediately,’

'Negative, Andronius,' replied Tarvitz. Transmis­sion is breaking up,’

It was a cheap ploy, but one that might give him a few seconds more.

'I repeat, stand-'

'Go to hell,’ replied Tarvitz.

Tarvitz checked the navigational pict for signs of pursuit, pleased to see that there were none yet, and wenched the Thunderhawk down towards Isstvan III.

* * *

'The Pride of the Emperor is in transit,’ announced Saeverin, senior deck officer of the Andronius. 'Though the vessel's Navigator claims to be encoun­tering difficulties. Lord Fulgrim will not be with us any time soon.'

'Does he send any word of his mission?' asked Eidolon, standing at his shoulder.

'Communications are still very poor,’ said Saev­erin hesitantly, 'but what we have does not sound encouraging,’

Then we will have to compensate with the excel­lence of our conduct and the perfection of our Legion,’ said Eidolon. The other Legions may be more savage or resilient or stealthy but none of them approaches the perfection of the Emperor's Children. No matter what lies ahead, we must never let go of that,’

'Of course, commander,’ said Saeverin, as his con­sole lit up with a series of warning lights. His hands danced over the console and he turned to face

Eidolon. 'Lord commander,’ he said. 'We may have a

problem,’

'Do not speak to me of problems,’ said Eidolon.

'Defence control has just informed me that they have picked up a Thunderhawk heading for the planet's surface,’

'One of ours?'

'It appears so,’ confirmed Saeverin, bending over his console; 'Getting confirmation now,’

'Who's piloting it?' demanded Eidolon. 'No one is authorised to travel to the surface,’

The last communication with the Thunderhawk indicates that it is Captain Saul Tarvitz,’

Tarvitz?' said Eidolon. 'Damn him, but he is a thorn in my side,’

'It's certainly him,’ said Captain Saeverin. 'It looks like he took one of the Thunderhawks from the planetside embarkation deck,’

Where is he heading?' asked Eidolon, 'exactly,’

The Choral City,’ replied Saeverin.

Eidolon smiled. 'He's trying to warn them. He thinks he can make a difference. I thought we could use him, but he's too damn stubborn and now he's got it into his head that he's a hero. Saeverin, get some fighters out there and shoot him down. We don't need any complications now,’

'Aye, sir,’ nodded Saeverin. 'Fighters launching in two minutes,’

Mersadie wrang out the cloth and draped it over Euphrati's forehead. Euphrati moaned and shook, her arms thrashing as if she was throwing a fit. She looked as pale and thin as a corpse.

'I'm here,’ said Mersadie, even though she sus­pected the comatose imagist couldn't hear her. She didn't understand what Euphrati was going through, and it made her feel so useless.

For reasons she didn't quite understand, she had stayed with Kyril Sindermann and Euphrati as they moved around the ship. The Vengeful Spirit was the size of a city and it had plenty of places in which to hide.

Word of their coming went ahead of them and wherever they went, grime-streaked engine crewВ­men or boiler-suited maintenance workers were there to show them to safety, supply them with food and water and catch a glimpse of the saint. At present, they sheltered inside one of the engine housings, a massive hollow tube that was normally full of burning plasma and great thrusting pistons. Now the engine was decommissioned for mainteВ­nance and it made for a good bolt-hole, hidden and secret despite its vast dimensions.

Sindermann slept on a thin blanket beside Euphrati and the old man had never looked more exhausted. His thin limbs were spotted and bony, his cheeks sunken and hollow.

One of the engine crew hurried up to the nook where Keeler lay on a bundle of blankets and clothes. He was stripped to the waist and covered in grease, a huge and muscular man who was moved to kneel meekly a short distance from the bed of his saint.

'Miss Oliton,' he said reverentially. 'Is there anyВ­thing you or the saint need?'

'Water,’ said Mersadie. 'Clean water, and Kyril asked for more paper, too.'

The crewman's eyes lit up. 'He's writing someВ­thing?' Mersadie wished she hadn't mentioned it. 'He's collecting his thoughts for a speech,' she said. 'He's still an iterator, after all. If you can find some medical supplies as well, that would be useВ­ful, she's dehydrated.'

'The Emperor will preserve her,’ said the crew­man, worry in his voice.

'I'm sure he will, but we have to give him all the help we can,’ replied Mersadie, trying not to sound as condescending as she felt.

The effect the comatose Euphrati had on the crew was extraordinary, a miracle in itself. Her very presВ­ence seemed to focus the doubts and wishes of so many people into an iron-strong faith in a distant Emperor.

We'll get what we can,’ said the crewman. We have people in the commissary and medical suites,’ He reached forward to touch Euphrati's blanket and murmured a quiet prayer to his Emperor. As the crewman left she whispered her own perfunctory prayer. After all, the Emperor was more real than any of the so-called gods the Crusade had come across.

'Deliver us, Emperor,’ she said quietly, 'from all of this,’

She looked down sadly and caught her breath as Euphrati stirred and opened her eyes, like someone awakening from a deep sleep. Mersadie reached down slowly, afraid that if she moved too quickly she might shatter this brittle miracle, and took the imagists hand in hers. 'Euphrati,’ she whispered softly. 'Can you hear me?' Euphrati Keeler's mouth fell open and she screamed in terror.

'Are you sure?' asked Captain Garro of the Death Guard, limping on his newly replaced augmetic leg.

The gyros had not yet meshed with his nervous sysВ­tem and, much to his fury, he had been denied a place in the Death Guard speartip. The bridge of the Eisenstein was open to the workings of the ship, as was typical with the Death Guard fleet, since Mortarion despised ornamentation of any kind.

The bridge was a skeletal framework suspended among the ship's guts with massive coolant pipes looming overhead like knots of metallic entrails. The bridge crew bent over a platform inset with cogitator banks, their faces illuminated in harsh greens and blues.

Very sure, captain,’ replied the communications officer, reading from the data-slate in his hand. 'An Emperor's Children Thunderhawk is passing through our engagement zone.'

Garro took the data-slate from the officer and sure enough, there was a Thunderhawk gunship passing close to the Eisenstein, a pack of fighters at its heels.

'Smells like trouble,' said Garro. 'Put us on an intercept course.'

'Yes, captain,’ said the deck officer, turning smartly and heading for the helm.

Within moments the engines flared into life, vast pistons pumping through the oily shadows that surrounded the bridge. The Eisenstein tilted as it began a ponderous turn towards the approaching Thunderhawk.

* * *

The scream hurled Kyril Sindermann from sleep with the force of a thunderbolt and he felt his heart thudding against his ribs in fright.

'What?' he managed before seeing Euphrati sitВ­ting bolt upright in bed and screaming fit to burst her lungs. He scrambled to his feet as Mersadie tried to put her arms around the screaming imagist. Keeler thrashed like a madwoman and Sindermann rushed over to help, putting his arms out as if to embrace them both.

The moment his fingers touched Euphrati he felt the heat radiating from her, wanting to recoil in pain, but feeling as though his hands were locked to her flesh. His eyes met Mersadie's and he knew from the terror he saw there that she felt the same thing.

He whimpered as his vision blurred and darkВ­ened, as though he were having a heart attack. Images tumbled through his brain, dark and monВ­strous, and he fought to hold onto his sanity as visions of pure evil assailed him.

Death, like a black seething mantle, hung over everything. Sinderman saw Mersadie's delicate, coal dark face overcome with it, her features sinking in corruption.

Tendrils of darkness wound through the air, destroying whatever they touched. He screamed as he saw the flesh sloughing from Mersadie's bones, looking down at his hands to see them rotting away before his eyes. His skin peeled back, the bones maggot-white.

Then it was gone, the black, rotting death lifted from him and Sindermann could see their hiding place once again, unchanged since he had laid down to catch a few fitful hours of sleep. He stum­bled away from Euphrati and with one look saw that Mersadie had experienced the same thing –horrendous, concentrated decay.

Sindermann put a hand to his chest, feeling his old heart working overtime.

'Oh, no…' Mersadie was moaning. 'Please…

what is…?'

'This is betrayal,' said Keeler, her voice suddenly strong as she turned towards Sindermann, 'and it is happening now. You need to tell them. Tell them all, Kyril!'

Keeler's eyes closed and she slumped against MerВ­sadie, who held her as she sobbed.

Tarvitz wrestled with the Thunderhawk controls. Streaks of bright crimson sheared past the cockpit –the fighter craft were on his tail, spraying ruby-red lances of gunfire at him.

Isstvan HI wheeled in front of him as the gunship spun in the viewscreen.

Impacts thudded into the back of the Thunder-hawk and he felt the controls lurch in his hands. He answered by ripping his craft upwards, hearing the engines shriek in complaint beneath him as they flipped the gunship's mass out of the enemy lines of fire. Loud juddering noises from behind him spoke of something giving way in one of the

engines. Red warning lights and crisis telltales lit up the cockpit.

The angry blips of the fighters loomed large in the tactical display.

The vox-unit sparked again and he reached to turn it off, not wanting to hear gloating taunts as he was destroyed and any hope of warning was lost. His hand paused as he heard a familiar voice say, Thunderhawk on a closing course with the Eisen-stein, identify yourself,’

Tarvitz wanted to cry in relief as he recognised the voice of his honour brother.

'Nathaniel?' he cried. 'It's Saul. It's good to hear your voice, my brother!'

'Saul?' asked Garro. 'What in the name of the Emperor is going on? Are those fighters trying to shoot you down?'

'Yes!' shouted Tarvitz, tearing the Thunderhawk around again, Isstvan III spinning below him. The Death Guard fleet was a speckling of glittering streaks against the blackness, crisscrossed by red laser blasts.

Tarvitz gunned the stormbird's remaining engine as Garro said, 'Why? And be quick, Saul. They almost have you!'

This is treachery?' shouted Tarvitz. All of this! We are betrayed. The fleet is going to bombard the planet's surface with virus bombs.'

What?' spluttered Garro, disbelief plain in his voice, That's insane,’

Trust me,' said Tarvitz, 'I know how it sounds, but as my honour brother I ask you to trust me like you

have never trusted me before. On my life I swear I do not lie to you, Nathaniel.'

'I don't know, Saul,’ said Garro.

'Nathaniel!' screamed Tarvitz in frustration. 'Ship to surface vox has been shut off, so unless I can get a warning down there, every Astartes on Isstvan III is going to die!'

Captain Nathaniel Garro could not tear his eyes from the hissing vox-unit, as if seeking to discern the truth of what Saul Tarvitz was saying just by staring hard enough. Beside him, the tactical plot displayed the weaving blips that represented Tarvitz's Thunderhawk and the pursuing fighters. His experienced eye told him that he had seconds at best to make a decision and his every instinct screamed that what he was hearing could not posВ­sibly be true.

Yet Saul Tarvitz was his sworn honour brother, an oath sworn on the bloody fields of the Preaixor Campaign, when they had shed blood and stood shoulder to shoulder through the entirety of a bloody, ill-fated war that had seen many of their most beloved brothers killed.

Such a friendship and bond of honour forged in the hell of combat was a powerful thing and Garro knew Saul Tarvitz well enough to know that he never exagВ­gerated and never, ever lied. To imagine that his honour brother was lying to him now was beyond imagining, but to hear that the fleet was set to bomВ­bard their battle-brothers was equally unthinkable..

His thoughts tumbled like a whirlwind in his head and he cursed his indecision. He looked down at the eagle Tarvitz had carved into his vam-brace so long ago and knew what he had to do.

Tarvitz pulled the Thunderhawk into a shallow dive, preparing to chop back the throttle and deploy his air brakes, hoping that he had descended far enough to allow the atmosphere of the planet below to slow him down sufficiently for what he planned…

He glanced down at the tactical display, seeing the fighters moving to either side of him, preparing to bracket him as his speed bled off. Judging the moment was crucial.

Tarvitz hauled back the throttle and hit the air brakes.

The grav seat harness pulled tight on his chest as he was hurled forwards and the cockpit was sudВ­denly lit by brilliant flashes and a terrific juddering seized the gunship. He heard impacts on the hull and felt the Thunderhawk tumble away from his control.

He yelled in anger as he realised that those who sought to betray the Astartes had won, that his defiВ­ance of their treachery had been in vain. Blooms of fire surged past the cockpit and Tarvitz waited for the inevitable explosion of his death.

But it never came.

Amazed, he took hold of the gunship's controls and wrestled with them as he fought to level out his

flight. The tactical display was a mess of interferВ­ence, electromagnetic hash and radioactive debris clogging it with an impenetrable fog of a massive detonation. He couldn't see the fighters, but with such interference they could still be out there, even now drawing a bead on him.

What had just happened?

'Saul,’ said a voice, heavy with sadness and Tarvitz knew that his honour brother had not let him down. 'Ease down, the fighters are gone.'

'Gone? How?'

The Eisenstein shot them down on my orders,’ said Garro. Tell me, Saul, was I right to do so, for if you speak falsely, then I have condemned myself alongside you,’

Tarvitz wanted to laugh and wished his old friend was standing next to him so he could throw his arms around him and thank him for his trust, knowing that Nathaniel Garro had made the most monumental decision in his life on nothing but what had passed between them moments ago. The depth of trust and the honour Garro had done him was immeasurable.

'Yes,’ he said. 'You were right to trust me, my friend,’

Tell me why?' asked Garro.

Tarvitz tried to think of something reassuring to tell his old friend, but knew that nothing he could say would soften the blow of this treachery. Instead, he said, 'Do you remember what you once told me of Terra?'

Yes, my friend,’ sighed Garro. 'I told you it was old, even back in the day,’

You told me of what the Emperor built there,’ said Tarvitz. 'A whole world, where before there had been nothing, just barbarians and death. You spoke of the scars of the Age of Strife, whole glaciers burned away and mountains levelled,’

Yes,’ agreed Garro. 'I remember. The Emperor took that blasted planet and he founded the Imperium there. That's what I fight for, to stand against the darkness and build an empire for the human race to inherit,’

That's what is being betrayed, my friend,’ said Tarvitz. 'I will not allow that to happen, Saul,’ 'Nor I, my friend,’ swore Tarvitz. What will you do now?'

Garro paused, the question of what to do, now that he had chosen a side, uppermost in his mind. 'I'll tell the Andronius that I shot you down. The flare of the explosion and the fact that you're in the upper atmosphere should cover you long enough to get to the surface,’ 'And after that?'

'The other Legions must be warned of what is going on. Only the Warmaster would have the daring to conceive of such betrayal and he would not have begun an endeavour of this magnitude without swaying some of his brother primarchs to join him. Rogal Dorn or Magnus would never forsake the Emperor and if I can get the Eisenstein

out of the Isstvan system, I can bring them here: all of them.'

'Can you do it?' asked Tarvitz. 'The Warmaster will soon realise what you attempt.'

'I have some time before they will suspect, but then the whole fleet will be after me. Why is it that men have to die every time any of us tries to do what is right?'

'Because that's the Imperial Truth,’ said Tarvitz. 'Can you keep control of the Eisenstein once this gets out?

'Yes,’ said Garro. 'It will be messy, but enough of the crew are staunch Terrans, and they will side with me. Those who do not will die,’

The port engine juddered and Tarvitz knew that he didn't have much time before the gunship gave out beneath him.

'I have to make for the surface, Nathaniel,’ said Tarvitz. 'I don't know how much longer this ship will stay in the air,’

'Then this is where we part,’ said Garro, an awful note of finality in his voice.

'The next time we see one another, it'll be on Terra,’ said Tarvitz.

'If we meet again, my brother,’

'We will, Nathaniel,’ promised Tarvitz. 'By the Emperor, I swear it,’

'May the luck of Terra be with you,’ said Garro and the vox went dead.

Moments ago, he had been on the brink of death, but now he had hope that he might

succeed in preventing the Warmaster's treachery from unfolding.

That was what the Imperial Truth meant, he realised at last.

It meant hope: hope for the galaxy; hope for humanity.

Tarvitz gunned the Thunderhawk's engine, fixed its course towards the Precentor's Palace and arrowed it towards the heart of the Choral City.

TEN

The most precious truth

Praal

Death's tomb

The sub-deck was packed with people come to hear the words of the saint's apostle. Apostle: that was what they called him now, thought Sindermann, and it gave him comfort to know that even in these turbulent times, he was still a person that others looked up to. Vanity, he knew, but still… one takes what one can when circumstances change beyond one's control.

Word had spread quickly through the Vengeful Spirit that he was to speak and he glanced nervously around the edges of the sub-deck for any sign that word had reached beyond the civilians and rememВ­brancers. Armed guards protected the approaches to the sub-deck, but he knew that if the Astartes or Maggard and his soldiers came in force, then not all В°f them would escape alive.

They were taking a terrible risk, but Euphrati had made it very clear that he needed to speak to the masses, to spread the word of the Emperor and to tell of the imminent treachery that she

had seen.

Thousands of people stared expectantly at him and he cleared his throat, glancing over his shoulВ­der to where Mersadie and Euphrati watched him standing at the lectern raised on a makeshift platВ­form of packing crates. A portable vox-link had been rigged up to carry his words to the very back of the sub-deck, though he knew his iterator trained voice could be heard without any mechaniВ­cal help. The vox-link was there to carry his words to those who could not attend this gathering, faithВ­ful among the technical staff of the ship having spliced the portable unit into the ship's principal vox-caster network.

Sindermann's words would be heard throughout the Expedition fleet.

He smiled at the crowd and took a sip of water from the glass beside him.

A sea of expectant faces stared back at him, desВ­perate to hear his words of wisdom. What would he tell them, he wondered? He looked down at the scribbled notes he had taken over the time he had been sequestered in the bowels of the ship. He looked back over his shoulder at Euphrati and her smile lifted his heart.

He turned back to his notes, the words seeming trite and contrived.

He screwed the paper into a ball and dropped it by his side, feeling Euphrati's approval like a tonic in his veins.

'My friends,' he began. We live in strange times and there are events in motion that will shock many of you as they have shocked me. You have come to hear the words of the saint, but she has asked me to speak to you, that I may tell you of what she has seen and what all men and women of faith must do,’

His iterator's voice carried the precise amount of gravitas mixed with a tone that spoke to them of his regret at the terrible words of doom he was about to impart.

The Warmaster has betrayed the Emperor,’ he said, pausing to allow the inevitable howls of denial and outrage to fill the chamber. Shouted voices rose and fell like waves on the sea and Sin-dermann let them wash over him, knowing the exact moment when he should speak.

'I know, I know,’ he said. You think that such a thing is unthinkable and only a short time ago, I would have agreed, but it is true. I have seen it with my own eyes. The saint showed me her vision and it chilled my very soul to see it: war-tilled fields of the dead, winds that carry a cruel dust of bone and the sky-turned eyes of men who saw wonders and only dreamed of their children and friendship. I tasted the air and it was heavy with blood, my friends, its stink reeking on the bodies of men we have learned to call the enemy. And for what? That

they decided they did not want to be part of our warmongering Imperium? Perhaps they saw more than we? Perhaps it takes the fresh eyes of an outВ­sider to see what we have become blind to.'

The crowd quietened, but he could see that most people still thought him mad. Many here were of the Faithful, but many others were not. While almost all of them could embrace the Emperor as divine, few of them could countenance the War-master betraying such a wondrous being.

AVhen we embarked on this so-called "Great CruВ­sade" it was to bring enlightenment and reason to the galaxy, and for a time that was what we did. But look at us now, my friends, when was the last time we approached a world with anything but murder in our hearts? We bring so many forms of warfare with us, the tension of sieges and the battlefield of trenches soaked in mud and misery while the sky is ripped with gunfire. And the men who lead us are no better! What do we expect from cultures who are met by men named "Warmaster", "Widowmaker" and "the Twisted"? They see the Astartes, clad in their insect carapaces of plate armour, marching to the grim sounds of cocking bolters and roaring chainswords. What culture would not try to resist us?'

Sindermann could feel the mood of the crowd shifting and knew he had stoked their interest. Now he had to hook their emotions.

'Look to what we leave behind us! So many memorials to our slaughters! Look to the Lupercal's

Court, where we house the bloody weapons of war in bright halls and wonder at their cruel beauty as they hang waiting for their time to come again. We look at these weapons as curios, but we forget the actuality of the lives these savage instruments took. The dead cannot speak to us, they cannot plead with us to seek peace while the remembrance of them fades and they are forgotten. Despite the ranks of graves, the triumphal arches and eternal flames, we forget them, for we are afraid to look at what they did lest we see it in ourselves.'

Sindermann felt a wondrous energy filling him as he spoke, the words flowing from him in an unstopВ­pable torrent, each word seeming to spring from his lips of its own volition, as though each one came from somewhere else, somewhere more eloquent than his poor, mortal talent could ever reach.

We have made war in the stars for two centuries, yet there are so many lessons we have never learned. The dead should be our teachers, for they are the true witnesses. Only they know the horror and the ever repeating failure that is war; the sickВ­ness we return to generation after generation because we fail to hear the testament of those who were sacrificed to martial pride, greed or twisted ideology.'

Thunderous applause spread from the people directly in front of Sindermann, spreading rapidly through the chamber and he wondered if such scenes were being repeated on any of the other ships of the fleet that could hear his words.

Tears sprang to his eyes as he spoke, his hands gripping the lectern tightly as his voice trembled with emotion. 'Let the battlefield dead take our hands in theirs and illuminate us with the most precious truth we can ever learn, that there must be peace instead of war!'

Lucius skidded то the floor of what appeared to be some kind of throne room. Inlaid with impossibly intricate mosaic designs, the floor was covered in scrollwork so tightly wound that it seemed to ripple with movement. Bolter fire stitched through the room, showering him with broken pieces of mosaic as he rolled into the cover of an enormous harpsi­chord.

Music from the dawn of creation boomed around him, filling the central spire of the Precentor's Palace. Crystal chandeliers hung from the petals at the centre of the great granite flower, shimmering and vibrating in time with the cacophony of battle far below. Instruments filled the room, each one played by a servitor refitted to play the holy music of the Warsingers. Huge organs with pipes that reached up through the shafts of milky morning light stood next to banks of gilded bells and rank upon rank of bronze cages held shaven-headed choristers who sang with blind adulation.

Harp strings snapped and twanged in time with the gunfire and discordant notes boomed as bolter shots ripped through the side of the organ. Storms of weapons' fire flew, filling the air with hot metal

and death, the battle and the music competing to make the loudest din.

Lucius felt his limbs become energised just listenВ­ing to the crashing volume of the noise, each blaring note and booming shot filling his senses with the desire to do violence.

He glanced round the side of the harpsichord, exhausted and elated to have reached so far, so quickly. They had fought their way through the palace, killing thousands of the black– and silver-armoured guards, before finally reaching the throne room.

From his position of cover, Lucius saw that he was in the second ring of instruments, beyond which lay the Precentor's Dais. A mighty throne with its back to him sat upon the dais, a confecВ­tion of gold and emerald set in a ring of lecterns that each held a massive volume of musical notaВ­tions.

Gunfire blew one book apart and a blizzard of sheet music fluttered around the throne.

The palace guard massed on the opposite side of the throne room, surrounding a tall figure in gold armour with a collection of tubes and what looked like loudspeakers fanning out from his back. A storm of silver fire flew and Lucius saw yet more guards charging in from the other entrances, a feroВ­cious struggle erupting as these new arrivals charged the Emperor's Children.

They have courage, I'll give them that,’ he mut­tered to himself.

Chainblades and bolt pistols rang from armour and storms of silver fire ripped between the patches of cover offered by the gilded instruments. Each volley tore up the hardwood frames and sawed through servitors as they sat at the ornate keyВ­boards or plucked at strings with metal fingers.

And still the music played.

Lucius glanced behind him. One of Nasicae fell as he ran to join Lucius, silver filaments punched through his skull. The body clattered to the floor beside Lucius. Only three of Nasicae remained, and they were cut off from their leader.

'Ancient Rylanor, engage!' yelled Lucius into the vox. 'Get me cover! Tactical squads, converge on the throne and draw the palace guard in! Purity and death!'

'Purity and Death!' echoed the Emperor's ChilВ­dren, and with exemplary co-ordination they surged forward. A silver-armoured guard was shredВ­ded by bolter fire and flopped, broken, to the ground. Glass-armoured bodies lay shattered and bloody over bullet-scarred instruments. Servitors moved jerkily, still trying to play even though their hands were smoking ruins of bone and wire.

The Emperor's Children moved squad by squad, volley by volley, advancing through the fire as only the most perfect of Legions could.

Lucius broke cover and ran into the whirlwind of fire. Silver shards shattered against him.

Behind him, Rylanor's dreadnought body smashed through a titanic bank of drums and bells,

the noise of its destruction appalling as Rylanor opened fire on the enemy. Acrobatic guards, clad in armour wound with long streamers of silk, darted and leapt away from chainblades and bolts like dancers, slashing limbs with monofilament wire-blades.

Glass-armoured guards charged forward in solid ranks, stabbing with their halberds, yet none of the foes was a match for the disciplined counterВ­charges of the Emperor's Children. The slick perfection of their pattern-perfect warfare kept its edge even amid the storm of fire and death that filled the throne room.

Lucius ducked and wove through the fire towards the gold armoured figure, shrapnel flashing against the energised edge of his sword blade.

The man's armour was ancient, yet gloriously ornate, the equal in finery of a lord commander of the Emperor's Children. He carried a long spear, its shaft terminated at both ends by a howling ripple of lethal harmonies. Lucius ducked under a swipe of the weapon, stepping nimbly to the side and bringing his sword up towards his opponent's midriff.

Faster than he would have believed possible, the spear reversed and a tremendous blast of noise batВ­tered his sword away before it struck. Lucius danced back as a killing wave of sound blared from the tubes and speakers mounted on the golden warВ­rior's back, a whole section of the mosaic floor ploughed in a torn gouge by the sound.

One of the palace guards fell at Lucius's feet, his chest blown open by Rylanor's fire, and another toppled as one of Nasicae sliced off his leg.

The Emperor's Children surged forwards to help him, but he waved them back – this was to be his kill. He leapt onto the throne pedestal, the golden warrior silhouetted in the light streaming from the distant ceiling.

The screaming spear came down and Lucius ducked to avoid it, pushing himself forwards. He stabbed with his sword, but a pitch perfect note sent his sword plunging towards the floor of the dais instead of its intended target. Lucius hauled his sword clear as the spear stabbed for him again, the musical edge shearВ­ing past him and blistering the purple and gilt of his armour. The battle raged ferociously around him, but it was an irrelevance, for Lucius knew that he must surely be fighting the leader of this rebellion.

Only Vardus Praal would surround himself with such fearsome bodyguards.

Lucius pivoted away from another strike, spinВ­ning around behind Praal and shearing his sword through the speaker tubes and loudspeakers upon his back. He felt a glorious surge of satisfaction as the glowing edge cut through the metal with ease. A terrific, booming noise blared from the severed pipes and Lucius was hurled from the dais by the force of the blast.

His armour cracked with the force, and the music leapt in clarity as he felt its power surge around his body in a glorious wash of pure, unadulterated

sensation. The music sang in his blood, promising yet more glories, and the unfettered excess of music, light and hedonistic indulgence.

Lucius felt the music in his soul and knew that he wanted it, wanted it more than he had wanted anyВ­thing in his life.

He looked up as the golden warrior leapt lightly from the throne, seeing the music as swirling lines of power and promise that flowed like water in the air.

'Now you die,’ said Lucius as the song of death took hold of him.

In later moments they would name it Death's Tomb, and Loken had never felt such disgust at the sights he saw within it. Even Davin's moon, where the swamps had vomited up the living dead to attack the Sons of Horus, had not been this bad.

The sound of battle was a hellish music of screaming, rising in terrible crescendos, and the sight was horrendous. Death's Tomb was brimming with corpses, festering in charnel heaps and bubВ­bling with corruption.

The tomb-spire Loken and the Sons of Horus fought within was larger inside than out, the floor sunken into a pit where the dead had been thrown. The tomb was that of Death itself. A mausoleum of bloodstained black iron carved into swirls and scrollwork dominated the pit, topped with a sculpВ­ture of Father Isstvan himself, a massive bearded sky-god who took away the souls of the faithful and

cast the rest into the sky to languish with his Lost Children.

A Warsinger perched on Father Isstvan's black shoulder, screaming a song of death that jarred at Loken's nerves and sent jangling pain along his limbs. Hundreds of Isstvanian soldiers surrounded the pit, firing from the hip as they ran towards the Astartes, driven forward by the shrieking death

song.

At them!' yelled Loken, and before he could draw breath again the enemy was upon them. The Astartes of the spearhead streamed through the many archways leading into the tomb-spire, guns blazing as soon as they saw the enemy swarming towards them. Loken fired a fusillade of shots before the two sides clashed.

More than two thousand Sons of Horus charged into battle and Death's Tomb became a vast amphitheatre for a great and terrible slaughter, like the arenas of the ancient Romanii.

'Stay close! Back to back, and advance!' cried Loken, but he could only hope that his fellow warВ­riors could hear him over the vox. The screaming was deafening, every Isstvanian soldier's mouth jammed open and howling in the shrieking cadences of the Warsinger's music.

Loken cut a gory crescent through the bodies pressing in on him, Vipus matching him stroke for stroke with his long chainsword. Strategy and weapons meant nothing now. The battle was simВ­ply a brutal close quarters fight to the death.

Such a contest could have only one outcome. Loathing filled Loken. Not at the blood and death around him, he had seen much worse before, but at the sheer waste of this war. The people he was killing… their lives could have meant something. They could have accepted the Imperial Truth and helped forge a galaxy where the human race was united and the wisdom of the Emperor ushered them towards a future filled with wonders. Instead they had been betrayed and turned into fanatical killers by a corrupt leader, destined to die for a cause that was a lie.

Good lives wasted. Nothing could be further from the purpose of the Imperium.

Torgaddon! Bring the line forwards. Force them back and give the guns some room,’

'Easier said than done, Garvi!' replied Torgaddon, his voice punctuated with the sharp crack of breakВ­ing bones.

Loken glanced around, saw one of Lachost's squad dragged down by the mass of enemy warriors and tried to bring his bolter to bear. Bloodied, mined hands forced his aim down and the battle-brother was lost. He dropped his shoulder and barged forwards, bodies breaking beneath him, but others were on top of him, blades and bullets beating at his armour.

With a roar of anger, Loken ripped his chainsword through an armoured warrior before him, forcing the enemy back for the split second he needed to open up with his bolter. A full-throated

volley sent a magazine's worth of shells into the mass, blasting them apart in a red ruin of shattered faces and broken armour.

He rapidly swapped in a new bolter magazine and fired among the warriors trying to swamp his fellow Sons of Horus. The Astartes used the openВ­ings to forge onwards or open up spaces to bring their own weapons up. Others lent their gunfire to the battle-brothers fighting behind them.

The tone of the Warsinger's screaming changed and Loken felt as though rusty nails were being torn up his spine. He staggered and the enemy were upon him.

'Torgaddon!' he shouted over the din. 'Get the Warsinger!'

'My apologies, Warmaster,’ began Maloghurst, nervous at interrupting the Warmaster's concentra­tion on the battle below. 'There has been a development.' 'In the city?' asked Horus without looking up. 'On the ship,’ replied Maloghurst. Horus looked up in irritation. 'Explain yourself.' 'The Prime Iterator, Kyril Sindermann…' 'Old Kyril?' said Horus. "What of him.' 'It appears we have misjudged the man's charac­ter, my lord,’

'In what way, Mai?' asked Horus. 'He's just an old man,’

'That he is, but he may be a greater threat than anything we have yet faced, my lord,’ said

Maloghurst. 'He is a leader now, an apostle they call him– He-' 'A leader?' interrupted Horus, 'of whom?' 'Of the people of the fleet, civilians, ships' crew, and the Lectitio Divinitatus. He has just finished a speech to the fleet calling on them to resist the Legion, saying that we are warmongers and seek to betray the Emperor. We are trying to trace where the signal came from, but it is likely he will be long gone before we find him,’

'I see,’ said Horus. 'This problem should have been dealt with before Isstvan,’

'And we have failed you in this,’ said Maloghurst. The iterator mixed calls for peace with a potent brew of religion and faith,’

This should not surprise us,’ said Horus. 'Sinder­mann was selected for duty with my fleet precisely because he could convince even the most fractious rabble to do anything. Mix that skill with religious fervour and he is indeed a dangerous man,’ –They believe the Emperor is divine,’ said Mal­oghurst, 'and that we commit blasphemy,’

'It must be an intoxicating faith,’ mused Horus, 'and faith can be a very powerful weapon. It appears, Maloghurst, that we have underestimated the potential that even a civilian possesses so long as he has genuine faith in something,’ 'What would you have me do, my lord?' 'We did not deal with this threat properly,’ said Horus. 'It should have ceased to exist when Var-y arus and those troublesome remembrancers were

illuminated. Now it takes my attention when our plan is at its most sensitive stage. The bombardВ­ment is imminent.'

Maloghurst bowed his head. 'Warmaster, Sinder-mann and his kind will be destroyed,’

The next I hear of this will be that they are all dead,’ ordered Horus.

'It will be done,’ promised Maloghurst.

'Fool!' spat Praal, his voice a disgusted rasp. 'Have you not seen this world? The wonders you would destroy? This is a city of the gods!'

Lucius rolled to his feet, still stunned from the sonic Shockwave that had hurled him from the throne dais, but knowing that the song of death was being sung for him and him alone. He lunged, but Praal batted aside his attack, bringing his spear up in a neat guard.

This is the city of my enemies,’ laughed Lucius. 'That is all that matters to me,’

'You are deaf to the music of the galaxy. I have heard far more than you,’ said Praal. 'Perhaps you are to be pitied, for I have listened to the sound of the gods. I have heard their song and they damn this galaxy in their wisdom!'

Lucius laughed in Praal's face. 'You think I care? All I want to do is kill you,’

The gods have sung what your Imperial Truth will bring to the galaxy,’ shrieked Praal, his musical voice heavy with disdain. 'It is a future of fear and hatred. I was deaf to the music before they opened

me to their song of oblivion. It is my duty to end your Crusade!'

'You can try,’ said Lucius, 'but even if you kill us a ll, more will come: a hundred thousand more, a million, until this planet is dust. Your little rebel­lion is over; you just don't know it yet,’

'No, Astartes,' replied Praal. 'I have fulfilled my duty and brought you here, to this cauldron of fates. My work is done! All that remains is to blood myself in the name of Father Isstvan,’

Lucius danced away as Praal attacked once more with the razor-sharp feints of a master warrior, but the swordsman had faced better opponents than this and prevailed. The song of death rippled behind his eyes and he could see every move Praal made before he made it, the song speaking to him on a level he didn't understand, but instinctively knew was power beyond anything he had touched before.

He launched a flurry of blows at Praal, driving him back with each attack and no matter how skilВ­fully Praal parried his strikes, each one came that little bit closer to wounding him.

The flicker of fear he saw in Praal's eyes filled him with brutal triumph. The shrieking, musical spear blared one last atonal scream before it finally shatВ­tered under the energised edge of Lucius's sword.

The swordsman pivoted smoothly on his heel and drove his blade, two-handed, into Praal's golden chest, the sword burning through his armour, ribs and internal organs.

Praal dropped to his knees, still alive, his mouth working dumbly as blood sprayed from the massive wound. Lucius twisted the blade, relishing the cracks as Praal's ribs snapped.

He put a foot on Praal's body and pulled the sword clear, standing triumphant over the body of his fallen enemy.

Around him, the Emperor's Children slew the remaining palace guards, but with Praal dead, the song in his blood diminished and his interest in the fight faded. Lucius turned to the throne itself, already aching for the music to surge through his body once again.

The throne's back was to him and he couldn't see who was seated there. A control panel worked furiВ­ously before it, like a monstrously complicated clockwork keyboard.

Lucius stepped around the throne and looked into the glassy eyes of a servitor.

Its head was mounted on a skinny body of metal armatures, the complex innards stripped out and replaced with brass clockwork. Chattering metal tines reached from the chest cavity to read the music printed in the books mounted around the throne and the servitor's hands, elaborate, twenty-fingered constructions of metal and wire, flickered over the control panel.

Without Praal, the music was out of tune and time, its syncopated rhythms falling apart, Lucius knew that this was a poor substitute for what had fuelled his battle with Praal.

Suddenly angry beyond words, Lucius brought his blade down in a glittering arc, shattering the control panel in a shower of orange sparks. The hideous music transformed into a howling death shriek, shakВ­ing the stone petals of the palace with its terrible deafening wail before fading like a forgotten dream.

The music of creation ended and all across Isst-van the voices of the gods were silenced.

Рґ volley of gunfire caught Loken's attention as he desperately fought the dozens of guards who stabbed at him with their gleaming halberds. Behind him, Torgaddon brought the speartip up into a firing line, and bolter fire battered against the black iron of Death's mausoleum. The Warsinger was broken like a dying bird against the statue of Father Isstvan.

The Warsinger fell, her final scream tailing off as her shattered form cracked against the ornate carvВ­ings of Death's mausoleum.

'She's down!' said Torgaddon's voice over the vox, sounding surprised at the ease with which she had been killed.

'Who have we lost?' asked Loken, as. the enemy soldiers fell back at the Warsinger's death, suspectВ­ing that there was more to this withdrawal than simply her death. Something fundamental had changed on Isstvan, but he didn't yet know what.

'Most of Squad Chaggrat,’ replied Torgaddon, and plenty of others. We won't know until we get °ut of here, but there's something else…'

'What?' asked Loken.'

'Lachost says we've lost contact with orbit,’ said Torgaddon. 'There's no signal. It's as if the Vengeful Spirit isn't even up there,’

That's impossible,’ said Loken, looking around for the familiar sight of Sergeant Lachost.

He saw him at the edge of the charnel pit and marched over to him. Torgaddon and Vipus fol­lowed him and Torgaddon said, 'Impossible or not, it's what he tells me,’

'What about the rest of the strike force?' asked Loken, crouching beside Lachost. 'What about the palace?'

'We're having more luck with them,’ replied Lachost. 'I managed to get through to Captain Ehrlen of the World Eaters. It sounds like they're outside the palace. It's an absolute massacre over there –, thousands of civilians dead,’

'In the name of Terra!' said Loken, imagining the World Eaters' predilection for massacre and the rivers of blood that would be flowing through the streets of the Choral City. 'Have they managed to contact anyone in orbit?'

They've got their hands full, captain,’ replied Lachost. 'Even if they've managed to raise the Con­queror, they're in no position to relay anything from us. I could barely get anything out of Ehrlen other than that he was killing them with his bare hands,’ 'And the palace?'

'Nothing, I can't get through to Captain Lucius of the Emperor's Children. The palace has been

playing hell with communications ever since they went in. There was some kind of music, but nothing else,’

Then try the Death Guard. They've got the Dies Irae with them, we can use it to relay for us,’ 'I'll try, sir, but it's not looking hopeful,’ This was supposed to be over by now,’ spat Loken. 'The Choral City isn't just going to collapse with their leaders dead. Maybe the World Eaters have the right idea. We're going to have to kill them all. We need the second wave down here now and if we can't even speak to the Warmaster this is going to be a very long campaign,’ 'I'll keep trying,’ said Lachost. We need to link up with the rest of the strike force,’ said Loken. 'We're cut off here. We need to make for the palace and find the World Eaters or the Emperor's Children. We're not doing any good sitting here. All we're doing is giving the Isstvanians a chance to surround us,’

'There're a lot of soldiers between us and the rest of the strike force,’ Torgaddon pointed out.

Then we advance in force. We won't take this city by waiting to be attacked,’

'Agreed. I saw the main gates along the western walls. We can get into the city proper there, but it'll be a tough slog,’ 'Good,’ said Loken.

'It's a trap,' said Mersadie. 'It has to be,’ 'You're probably right,’ agreed Sindermann.

'Of course I'm right,’ said Mersadie. 'Maloghurst tried to have Euphrati killed. His pet monster, Mag-gard, almost killed you too, remember?'

'I remember very well,’ said Sindermann, 'but think of the opportunity. There will be thousands there and they couldn't possibly try anything with that many people around. They probably won't even notice we're there,’

Mersadie looked down her nose at Sindermann, unable to believe that the old iterator was being so dense. Had he not spoken to hundreds of people only hours before of the Warmaster's perfidy? And now he wanted to gather in a room with him?

They had been woken from their slumbers by one of the engineering crew who pressed a rolled leaflet into Sindermann's shaking hand. Sharing a worried glance with Mersadie, Sindermann had read it. It was a decree from the Warmaster authorising all remembrancers to gather in the Vengeful Spirit's main audience chamber to bear witness to the final triumph on Isstvan III. It spoke of the gulf that had, much to the Warmaster's great sorrow, opened between the Astartes and the remembrancers. With this one, grand gesture, the Warmaster hoped to allay any fears that such a gulf had been engineered deliberately

'He must think we are stupid,’ said Mersadie. 'Does he really think we would fall for this?'

'Maloghurst is a very cunning man,’ said Sinder­mann, rolling up the leaflet and placing it on the bed. 'You'd hardly take him for a warrior any more.

He's trying to flush the three of us out, hoping that no remembrancer could resist such an offer. If I were a less moral man I might admire him,’

'All the more reason not to fall into his trap!' exclaimed Mersadie.

'Ah, but what if it's genuine, my dear?' asked SinВ­dermann. 'Imagine what we'd see on the surface of Isstvan III!'

'Kyril, this is a big ship and we can hide out for a long time. When Loken comes back he can protect us,’

'Like he protected Ignace?'

That's not fair, Kyril,’ said Mersadie. 'Loken can help us get off the ship once we leave the Isstvan system,’

'No,’ said a voice behind Mersadie and they both turned to see Euphrati Keeler. She was awake again, and her voice was stronger than Mersadie had heard it for a long time. She looked healthier than she had been since the terror in the archive. To see her standing, walking and talking after so long was still a novelty for Mersadie and she smiled to see her friend once again.

'We go,’ she said.

'Euphrati?' said Mersadie. 'Do you really…'

Yes, Mersadie,’ she said. 'I mean it. And yes, I am sure,’

'It's a trap,’

'I don't need a vision from the Emperor to see that,’ laughed Euphrati, and Mersadie thought there was something a little sinister and forced to it.

'But they'll kill us.'

Euphrati smiled. 'Yes they will. If we stay here, they'll hunt us down eventually. We have faithful among the crew, but we have enemies, too. I will not have the Church of the Emperor die like that. This will not end in shadows and murder.'

'Now, Miss Keeler,’ said Sindermann with a forced lightness of tone. 'You're starting to sound like me.'

'Maybe they will find us eventually, Euphrati,' said Mersadie, 'but there's no reason to make it easy for them. Why let the Warmaster have his way when we can live a little longer?'

'Because you have to see,’ said Euphrati. You have to see it. This fate, this treachery, it's too great for any of us to understand without witnessing it. Have faith that I am right about this, my friends.'

'It's not a question of faith now, is it?' said SinВ­dermann. 'It's a-'

'It is time for us to stop thinking like remembrancers,’ said Euphrati, and Mersadie saw a light in her eyes that seemed to grow brighter with every word she spoke. 'The Imperial Truth is dying. We have watched it wither ever since Sixty-Three Nineteen. You either die with it or you follow the Emperor. This galaxy is too simple for us to hide in its complexity any more and the Emperor cannot work His will through those who do not know if they even believe at all,’

1 will follow you,’ said Sindermann, and Mer­sadie found herself nodding in agreement.

ELEVEN

Warning

Death of a World

The Last Cthonian

SaulTarvitz's first sight of the Choral City was the magnificent stone orchid of the Precentor's Palace. He stepped from the battered Thunderhawk onto the roof of one of the palace wings, the spectacular dome soaring above him. Smoke coiled in the air from the battles within the palace and the terrible sound of screaming came from the square to the north, along with the powerful stench of freshly-spilled blood.

Tarvitz took it in at a glance, the thought hitting him hard that at any moment it would all be gone. He saw Astartes moving along the roof towards him, Emperor's Children, and his heart leapt to see Nasicae Squad with Lucius at its head, his sword smoking from the battle.

Tarvitz!' called Lucius, and Tarvitz thought he detected even more of a swagger to die swordsВ­man's stride. 'I thought you'd never make it! Jealous of the kills?'

'Lucius, what's the situation?' asked Tarvitz.

'The palace is ours and Praal is dead, killed by rny own hand! No doubt you can smell the World Eaters; they're just not at home unless everything stinks of blood. The rest of the city's cut off. We can't raise anyone.'

Lucius indicated the city's far west, where the towВ­ering form of the Dies lrae blazed fire upon the hapless Isstvanians out of sight below. 'Though it looks like the Death Guard will soon run out of things to kill.'

We have to contact the rest of the strike force, now,’ said Tarvitz, 'the Sons of Horus and the Death Guard. Get a squad on it. Get someone up to higher

ground,’

Why?' asked Lucius. 'Saul, what's happening?'

We're going to be hit. Something big. A vims strike,’

'The Isstvanians?'

'No,’ said Tarvitz sadly. We are betrayed by our

own,’ Lucius hesitated. The Warmaster? Saul, what are

you-'

We've been sent down here to die, Lucius. Fulgrim chose those who were not part of their grand plan,’

'Saul, that's insane!' cried Lucius. Why would our primarch do such a thing?'

'I do not know, but he would not have done this without the Warmaster's command,’ said Tarvitz. This is but the first stage in some larger plan. I do n ot know its purpose, but we have to try and stop

it-Lucius shook his head, his features twisted in petulant bitterness. 'No. The primarch wouldn't send me to die, not after all the battles I fought for him. Look at what I've become. I was one of Ful-grim's chosen! I've never faltered, never questioned! I would have followed Fulgrim into hell!'

'But I wouldn't, Lucius,’ said Tarvitz, 'and you are my friend. I'm sorry, but we don't have time for this. We have to get the warning out and then find shelter. I'll take word to the World Eaters, you raise the Sons of Horus and Death Guard. Don't go into the details, just tell them that there is a virus strike inbound and to find whatever shelter they can,’

Tarvitz looked at the reassuring solidity of the Precentor's Palace and said, 'There must be cata­combs or deep places beneath the palace. If we can reach them we may survive this. This city is going to die, Lucius, but I'll be damned if I am going to die with it,’

Til get a vox-officer up here,’ said Lucius, a steel anger in his voice.

'Good. We don't have much time, Lucius, the bombs will be launched any moment,’

This is rebellion,’ said Lucius.

'Ves,’ said Tarvitz, 'it is,’

Beneath his ritualistic scars, Lucius was still the perfect soldier he had always been, a talisman whose confidence could infect the men around him, and Tarvitz knew he could rely on him. The swordsman nodded and said, 'Go, find Captain Ehrlen. I'll raise the other Legions and get our warВ­riors into cover. I will speak with you again.'

'Until then,’ said Tarvitz.

Lucius turned to Nasicae, barked an order, and ran back towards the palace dome. Tarvitz folВ­lowed, looking down on the northern plaza and glimpsing the seething battle there, hearing the screams and the sound of chainblades.

He looked up at the late morning sky. Clouds were gathering.

Any moment, falling virus bombs would bore through those clouds.

The bombs would fall all over Isstvan III and bilВ­lions of people would die.

Among the trenches and bunkers that sprawled to the west of the Choral City, men and Astartes died in storms of mud and fire. The Dies Irae shuddered with the weight of fire it laid down. Moderati Cas-sar felt it all, as though the immense, multi-barrelled Vulcan bolter were in his own hand. The Titan had suffered many wounds, its legs scarred by missile detonations and furrows scored in its mighty torso by bunker-mounted cannons.

Cassar felt them all, but a multitude of wounds could not slow down the Dies Irae or turn it from its

course. Destruction was its purpose and death was the punishment it brought down on the heads of the Emperor's enemies.

Cassar's heart swelled. He had never felt so close to his Emperor, at one with the God-Machine, a fragment of the Emperor's own strength instilled in the Dies Irae.

Aruken, pull to starboard!' ordered Princeps Tur-net from the command chair. Avoid those bunkers or they'll foul the port leg.'

The Dies Irae swung to the side, its immense foot taking the roofs from a tangle of bunkers and shatВ­tering artillery emplacements as it crashed forwards. A scrum of Isstvanian soldiers scrambled from the ruins, setting up heavy weapons to pour fire into the Titan as it towered over them.

The Isstvanians were well-drilled and well-armed, and though the majority of their weapons weren't the equal of a lasgun, trenches were a great leveller and a man with a rifle was a man with a rifle when the gunfire started.

The Death Guard slaughtered thousands of them as they bludgeoned their way through the trenches, but the Isstvanians were more numerous and they hadn't run. Instead they had fallen back trench by trench, rolling away from the relentless advance of the Death Guard.

The Isstvanians, with their drab green-grey helmets and mud-spattered flak-suits, were hard to pick out against the mud and rabble with the naked eye, but the sensors on the Dies Irae

projected a sharp-edged image onto Cassar's retina that picked them out in wondrously clear detail.

Cassar fired a blast of massive-calibre shells, watching as columns of mud and bodies sprayed into the air like splashes in water. The Isstvanians disappeared, destroyed by the hand of the Emperor. 'Enemy forces massing to the port forward quadВ­rant,' said Moderati Aruken.

To Cassar his voice felt distant, though he was just across the command bridge of the Titan.

The Death Guard can handle them,’ replied Tur-net. 'Concentrate on the artillery. That can hurt us.' Below Cassar, the gunmetal forms of the Death Guard glinted around the bunkers as two squads of them threw grenades through the gun ports and kicked down the doors, spraying the Isstvani­ans who still lived inside with bolter fire or incinerating them with sheets of fire from their flamers. From the head of the Dies Irae, the Death Guard looked like a swarm of beetles, with the carapaces of their power armour scuttling through the trenches.

A few Death Guard lay where they had fallen, cut down by artillery fire or the massed guns of the Isst-vanian troops, but they were few compared to the Isstvanian corpses strewn at every intersection of trenches. Metre by metre the defenders were being driven towards the northernmost extent of the trenches, and when they reached the white marble of a tall Basilica with a spire shaped like a trident, they would be trapped and slaughtered.

Cassar shifted the weapon arm of the Dies Irae to a im at a booming artillery position some five hunВ­dred metres away, as it belched tongues of flame a nd threw explosive shells towards the Death Guard lines.

'Princeps!' called Cassar. 'Enemy artillery moving up on the eastern quadrant.'

Turnet didn't answer him, too intent on someВ­thing being said to him on his personal command channel. The princeps nodded at whatever order he had just received and shouted, 'Halt! Aruken, cease the stride pattern. Cassar, shut off the ammunition feed.'

Cassar instinctively switched off the cycling of the weapon that thundered from the Titan's arm and the shock forced his consciousness back to the command bridge. He no longer looked through the eyes of the Dies Irae, but was back with his fellow officers.

'Princeps?' asked Cassar, scanning the readouts. 'Is there a malfunction? If there is, I'm not seeing it. The primary systems are reading fine.'

'It's not a malfunction,’ replied Turnet sharply. Cassar looked up from information scrolling across his vision in unfocused columns.

'Moderati Cassar,’ barked Turnet. 'How's our weapon temperature?'

'Acceptable,’ said Cassar. 'I was going to push it on that artillery,’

'Close up the coolant ducts and seal the magazine feeds as soon as possible,’

'Princeps?' said Cassar in confusion. 'That will leave us unarmed,’

'I know that,’ replied Turnet, as though to a sim­pleton. 'Do it. Aruken, I need us sealed,’

'Sealed, sir?' asked Aruken, sounding as confused as Cassar felt.

'Yes, sealed. We have to be airtight from top to bottom,’ said Turnet, opening a channel to the rest of the mighty war machine's crew.

'All crew, this is Princeps Turnet. Adopt emer­gency biohazard posts, right now. The bulkheads are being sealed. Shut off the reactor vents and be prepared for power down,’

'Princeps,’ said Aruken urgently. 'Is it a biological weapon? Atomics?'

'The Isstvanians have a weapon we didn't know about,’ replied Turnet, but Cassar could tell he was lying. They're launching it soon. We have to lock down or we'll be caught in it,’

Cassar looked down at the trenches through the Titan's eyes. The Death Guard were still advancing through the trenches and bunker ruins. 'But prinВ­ceps, the Astartes-'

'You have your orders, Moderati Cassar,’ shouted Turnet, 'and you will follow them. Seal us up, every vent, every hatch or we die,’

Cassar willed the Dies Irae to shut its hatches and seal all its entranceways, his reluctance making the procedures sluggish.

On the ground below, he watched the Death Guard continue to grind their way through the

Choral City's defences, apparently unconcerned that the Isstvanians were about to launch Throne knew what at them, or unaware. As the battle raged on, the Dies Irae fell silent.

The маш audience chamber of the Vengeful Spirit was a colossal, columned chamber with walls of marble and pilasters of solid gold. Its magnificence was like nothing Sindermann had ever seen, and the thousands of remembrancers who filled the chamber wore the expressions of awed children who had been shown some new, unheard of won­der. Seeing many familiar faces, Sindermann guessed that the fleet's entire complement of remembrancers was present for the Warmaster's announcement.

The Warmaster and Maloghurst stood on a raised podium at the far end of the hall, too far away for either of them to recognise Sindermann, Mersadie or Euphrati.

Or at least he hoped so. Who knew how sharp an Astartes eyesight was, let alone a primarch's?

Both Astartes were wrapped in cream robes edged in gold and silver and a detail of warriors stood beside them. A number of large pict screens nad been hung from the walls.

'It looks like an iterators' rally on a compliant world, said Mersadie, echoing his own thoughts So similar was it that he began to wonder what mesВ­sage was to be imparted and how it would be reinforced. He looked around for plants in the

audience who would clap and cheer at precise points to direct the crowd in the desired manner. Each of the screens displayed a slice of Isstvan Р©, set against a black backdrop scattered with bright silver specks of the Warmaster's fleet.

'Euphrati,' said Mersadie as they made their way through the crowds of remembrancers. 'Remember how I said that this was a bad idea?'

'Yes?' said Euphrati, her face creased in a wide, innocent smile.

'Well, now I think that this was a really bad idea. I mean, look at the number of Astartes here.'

Sindermann followed Mersadie's gaze, already starting to sweat at the sight of so many armed warВ­riors surrounding them. If even one of them recognised their faces, it was all over.

'We have to see,’ said Euphrati, turning and grab­bing his sleeve. 'You have to see.'

Sindermann felt the heat of her touch and saw the fire behind her eyes, like thunder before a storm and he realised with a start, that he was a litde afraid of Euphrati. The crowd milled in eager impatience and Sindermann kept his face turned from the Astartes staring into the middle of the audience chamber.

Euphrati squeezed Mersadie's hand as the pict screens leapt to life and a gasp went up from the assembled remembrancers as they saw the bloody streets of the Choral City. Clearly shot from an airВ­craft, the images filled the giant pict screens and Sindermann felt his gorge rise at the sight of so much butchery.

He remembered the carnage of the Whisperheads a nd reminded himself that this was what the Astartes had been created to do, but the sheer visВ­ceral nature of that reality was something he knew he would never get used to. Bodies filled the streets and arterial gore covered almost every surface as though the heavens had rained blood.

'You remembrancers say you want to see war,’ said Horus, his voice easily carrying to the furthest cor­ners of the hall. 'Well, this is it,’

Sindermann watched as the image shifted on the screen, pulling back and panning up through the sky and into the dark, star-spattered heavens above.

Burning spears of light fell towards the battle below.

What are those?' asked Mersadie.

They're bombs,’ said Sindermann in horrified disbelief. 'The planet is being bombarded,’

'And so it begins,’ said Euphrati.

The plaza was a truly horrendous sight, ankle-deep in blood and strewn with thousands upon thouВ­sands of bodies. Most were blown open by bolter rounds, but many had been hacked down with chainblades or otherwise torn limb from limb.

Tarvitz hurried towards the makeshift strongpoint at its centre, the battlements formed from carved up bodies heaped between the battered forms of fallen drop-pods.

A World Eater with blood-soaked armour and a scarred face nodded to him as he climbed the

gruesome ramp of bodies. The warrior's armour was so drenched in blood that Tarvitz wondered for a moment why he hadn't just painted himself red to begin with. 'Captain Ehrlen,’ said Tarvitz. ^Vhere is he?' The warrior wasted no breath on words and simply jerked a thumb in the direction of a warrior with dozens of fluttering oath papers hanging from his breastplate. Tarvitz nodded his thanks and set off through the sttongpoint. He passed wounded Astartes who were tended by an apothecary who looked as if he had fought as hard as any of his patients. Beside him lay two fallen World Eaters, their bodies uncere­moniously dumped out of the way.

Ehrlen looked up as Tarvitz approached. The capВ­tain's face had been badly burned in some previous battle and his axe was clotted with so much blood that it better resembled a club.

'Looks like the Emperor's Children have sent us reinforcements!' shouted Ehrlen, to grunts of laughter from his fellow World Eaters. 'One whole warrior! We are blessed, the enemy will run away for sure.'

'Captain,’ said Tarvitz, joining Ehrlen at the barri­cade of Isstvanian dead. 'My name is Captain Saul Tarvitz and I'm here to warn you that you have to get your squads into cover,’

'Into cover? Unacceptable,’ said Ehrlen, nodding towards the far side of the plaza. Shapes moved in their windows and between the mansions. They're regrouping. If we move now they will overwhelm us.'

'The Isstvanians have a bio-weapon,’ said Tarvitz, knowing a lie was the only way to con­vince the World Eaters. 'They're going to fire it. It'll kill everyone and everything in the Choral City,’

They're going to destroy their own capital? I thought this place was some kind of church? Holy to them?'

They've shown how much they value their own,’ replied Tarvitz quickly, indicating the heaps of dead in front of them. They'll sacrifice this city to kill us. Driving us from their planet is worth more to them than this city,’

'So you would have us abandon this position?' demanded Ehrlen, as if Tarvitz had personally insulted his honour. 'How do you know all this?'

'I just got here from orbit. The weapon has already been unleashed. If you're above ground when the virus strike hits you will die. If you believe nothing else, believe that,’ Then where do you suggest we move to?' 'Just to the west of this position, captain,’ said Tarvitz, stealing a glance at the sky. The edge of the trench system is thick with bunkers, blast proof shelters. If you get your men into them, they should be safe,’

'Should be?' snapped Ehrlen. 'That's the best you can offer me?'

Ehrlen stared at Tarvitz for a moment. 'If you are wrong the blood of my warriors will be on your hands and I will kill you for their deaths,’

'I understand that, captain,’ urged Tarvitz, 'but we don't have much time.'

Very well, Captain Tarvitz,' said Ehrlen. 'Sergeant Fleiste, left flank! Sergeant Wronde, right! World Eaters, general advance to the west, blades out!'

The World Eaters drew their chainaxes and swords. The bloodstained assault units hurried to the front and stepped over the makeshift barricades of corpses.

'Are you coming, Tarvitz?' asked Ehrlen.

Tarvitz nodded, drawing his broadsword and folВ­lowing the World Eaters into the plaza.

Although they were fellow Astartes, he knew he was a stranger among them as they ran, spitting battle curses and splashing through the dead towards the potential safety of the bunkers.

Tarvitz glanced up at the gathering clouds and felt his chest tighten.

The first burning streaks were falling towards the

city.

It's started,' said Loken.

Lachost looked up from the field vox. Fire was streaking through the sky towards the Choral City. Loken tried to judge the angle and speed of the falling darts of fire – some of them would come down between the spires of the Sirenhold, just like the Sons of Horus's own drop-pods had done hours earlier, and they would hit in a matter of minutes.

'Did Lucius say anything else?'

'No,’ said Lachost. 'Some bio-weapon. That was all. It sounded like he ran into a fire fight.'

Tarik,’ shouted Loken. 'We need to get into cover, now. Beneath the Sirenhold,’

'Will that be enough?'

'If they dug their catacombs deep enough, then maybe,’

'And if not?'

'From what Lucius said, we'll die,’

'Then we'd better get a move on,’

Loken turned to the Sons of Horns advancing around him. 'Incoming! Get to the Sirenhold and head down! Now!'

The closest spire of the Sirenhold was a towering monstrosity of grotesque writhing figures and leerВ­ing gargoyle faces, a vision taken from some ancient hell of Isstvan's myths. The Sons of Horas broke their advance formation and ran towards it.

Loken heard the distinctive boom of an airborne detonation high above the city and pushed himself harder as he entered the darkness of the tomb-spire. Inside, it was dark and ugly, the floor paved with tortured, half-human figures who reached up with stone hands, as if through the bars of a cage.

There's a way down,’ said Torgaddon. Loken fol­lowed as Astartes ran towards the catacomb entrance, a huge monstrous stone head with a pas­sageway leading down its throat.

As the darkness closed around him, Loken heard a familiar sound drifting from beyond the walls of the Sirenhold.

It was screaming.

It was the song of the Choral City's death.

The first virus bombs detonated high above the Choral City, the huge explosions spreading the deadly payloads far and wide into the atmosphere. Designed to kill every living thing on the surface of a planet, the viral strains released on Isstvan Р© were the most efficient killers in the Warmaster's arsenal. The bombs had a high enough yield to murder the planet a hundred times over and were set to burst at numerous differing altitudes and locations across the surface of the planet.

The virus leapt through forests and plains, sweepВ­ing along algal blooms and riding air currents across the globe. It crossed mountains, forded rivers, burrowed through glaciers. The Imperium's deadliest weapons, the Emperor himself had been loath to use them.

The bombs fell all across Isstvan III, but most of all, they fell on the Choral City.

The World Eaters were the furthest from cover and suffered the worst of the initial bombardВ­ment. Some had reached the safety of the bunkers, but many more had not. Warriors fell to their knees as the virus penetrated their armoured bodВ­ies, deadly corrosive agents laced into the viral structure of the weapons dissolving exposed pipes and armour joints, or finding their way inside through battle damage.

Astartes screamed. The sound was all the more shocking for its very existence rather than for the horror of its tone. The virus broke down cellular bonds at the molecular level and its victims literally dissolved into a soup of rancid meat within minВ­utes of exposure, leaving little but sloshing suits of rotted armour. Even many of those who reached the safety of the sealed bunkers died in agony as they shut the doors only to find they had brought the lethal virus inside with them.

The virus spread through the civilian populace of Isstvan III at the speed of thought, leaping from vicВ­tim to victim in the time it took to breathe in its foul contagion. People dropped where they stood, the flesh sloughing from their skeletons as their nervous systems collapsed and their bones turned to the consistency of jelly.

Bright explosions fed the viral feast, perpetuating the fatal reactions of corruption. The very lethality of the virus was its own worst enemy, for without a host organism to carry it from victim to victim, the virus quickly consumed itself.

However, the bombardment from orbit was unreВ­lenting, smothering the entire planet in a precisely targeted array of overlapping fire plans that ensured that nothing would escape the virus.

Entire kingdoms and vassal states across the surВ­face were obliterated in minutes. Ancient cultures that had survived Old Night and endured the horВ­ror of invasion a dozen times over fell without even knowing why, millions dying in screaming agony as

their bodies betrayed them and fell apart, reducing them to rotted, decaying matter.

Sindermann watched the bloom of darkness spread across the slice of the planet visible on the giant pict screens. It spread in a wide black ring, eating its way across the surface of the planet with astonishing speed, leaving grey desolation behind it. Another wave of corruption crept in from another part of the surface, the two dark masses meeting and continuing to spread like the symptom of a horrible disease. 'What… what is it?' whispered Mersadie. 'You have already seen it,’ said Euphrati. 'The Emperor showed you, through me. It is death.'

Sindermann's stomach lurched as he rememВ­bered the hideous vision of decay, his flesh disintegrating before him and black corruption consuming everything around him. That was what was happening on Isstvan HI. This was the betrayal.

Sindermann felt as though the blood had drained from him. An entire world was bathed in the immensity of death. He felt an echo of the fear it brought to the people of Isstvan III, and that fear, multiplied across all those billions of people was beyond his comprehension.

'You are remembrancers,' said Keeler, a quiet sad­ness in her voice. 'Both of you. Remember this and pass it on. Someone must know,’

He nodded dumbly, too numbed by what he was seeing to say anything.

'Come on,’ said Euphrati. 'We have to go,’ 'Go?' sobbed Mersadie, her eyes still fixed on the death of a world. 'Go where?'

'Away,’ smiled Euphrati, taking their hands and lead­ing them through the immobile, horrified throng of remembrancers towards the edge of the chamber.

At first, Sindermann let her lead him, his limbs unable to do more than simply place one foot in front of another, but as he saw she was taking them towards the Astartes at the edge of the chamber, he began to pull back in alarm.

'Euphrati!' he hissed. 'What are you doing? If those Astartes recognise us-' Trust me, Kyril,’ she said. 'I'm counting on that,’ Euphrati led them towards a hulking warrior who stood apart from the others, and Sindermann knew enough of body language to know that this man was as horrified as they were at what was happening.

The Astartes turned to face them, his face craggy and ancient, worn like old leather.

Euphrati stopped in front of him and said, 'lac-ton. I need your help,’

Iacton Qruze. Sindermann had heard Loken speak of him. The 'half-heard'.

He was a warrior of the old days, whose voice car­ried no weight amongst the higher echelons of command. A warrior of the old days…

You need my help?' asked Qruze. Who are you?'

'My name is Euphrati Keeler and this is Mersadie

Oliton,’ said Euphrati, as if her introductions in the

midst of such carnage were the most normal thing in the world, 'and this is Kyril Sindermann,’

Sindermann could see the recognition in Qruze's face and he closed his eyes as he awaited the inevitable shout that would see them revealed.

'Loken asked me to look out for you,’ said Qruze.

Token?' asked Mersadie. 'Have you heard from

him?'

Qruze shook his head, but said, 'He asked me to keep you safe while he was gone. I think I know what he meant now.'

'What do you mean?' asked Sindermann, not likВ­ing the way Qruze kept casting wary glances at the armed warriors that lined the walls of the chamber.

'Never mind,’ said Qruze.

'Iacton,’ commanded Euphrati, her voice laden with quiet authority. 'Look at me,’

The craggy-featured Astartes looked down at the slight form of Euphrati, and Sindermann could feel the power and determination that flowed from her.

'You are the half-heard no longer,’ said Euphrati. 'Now your voice will be heard louder than any other in your Legion. You cling to the old ways and wish them to return with the fond nostalgia of the venerable. Those days are dying here, Iacton, but with your help we can bring them back again,’ 'What are you talking about, woman?' snarled

Qruze.

'I want you to remember Cthonia,’ said Euphrati, and Sindermann recoiled as he felt an electric surge

of energy spark from her, as if her very skin was charged.

What do you know of the planet of my birth?' 'Only what I see inside you, Iacton,’ said Euphrati, a soft glow building behind her eyes and filling her words with promise and seduction. The honour and the valour from which the Luna Wolves were forged. You are the only one who remembers, Iac­ton. You're the only one left that still embodies what it is to be an Astartes,’

You know nothing of me,’ he said, though Sin­dermann could see her words were reaching him, breaking down the barriers the Astartes erected between themselves and mortals.

Your brothers called you the Half-heard, but you do not take them to task for it. I know this is because a Cthonian warrior is honourable and cares not for petty insults. I also know that your counsel is not heard because yours is the voice of a past age, when the Great Crusade was a noble thing, done not for gain, but for the good of all humankind,’

Sindermann watched as Qruze's face spoke volВ­umes of the conflict raging within his soul.

Loyalty to his Legion vied with loyalty to the ideals that had forged it.

At last he smiled ruefully and said, '"Nothing too arduous" he said,’

He looked over towards the Warmaster and Mal-oghurst. 'Come,’ he said. 'Follow me,’

Where to?' asked Sindermann.

To safety,' replied Qruze. 'Loken asked me to look out for you and that's what I'm going to do. Now be silent and follow me.'

Qruze turned on his heel and marched towards one of the many doors that led out of the audience chamber. Euphrati followed the warrior and Sin­dermann and Mersadie trotted along after her, unsure as to where they were going or why. Qruze reached the door, a large portal of polished bronze guarded by two warriors, moving them aside with a chopping wave of his hand. 'I'm taking these ones below,’ he said. 'Our orders are that no one is to leave,' said one

of the guards.

'And I am issuing you new orders,’ said Qruze, a steely determination that Sindermann had not noticed earlier underpinning his words. 'Move aside, or are you disobeying the order of a superior

officer?' 'No, sir,’ said the warriors, bowing and hauling

open the bronze door.

Qruze nodded to the guards and gestured that the four of them should pass through.

Sindermann, Euphrati and Mersadie left the audiВ­ence chamber, the door slamming behind them with an awful finality. With the sounds of the dying planet and the gasps of shock suddenly cut off, the silence that enveloped them was positively unnervВ­ing.

'Now what do we do?' asked Mersadie.

'I get us as far away from the Vengeful Spirit as pos­sible,’ answered Qruze.

'Off the ship?' asked Sindermann.

Yes,’ said Qruze. 'It is not safe for your kind now. Not safe at all,’

TWELVE

Cleansing

Let the galaxy burn

God Machine

The screaming of the Choral City's death throes came in tremendous waves, battering against the Precentor's Palace like a tsunami. In the streets below and throughout the palace, the people of the Choral City were decaying where they stood, bodies coming apart in torrents of disintegrating flesh.

The people thronged in the streets to die, keening their hatred and fear up at the sky, imploring their gods to deliver them. Millions of people screamed at once and the result was a terrible black-stained gale of death. A Warsinger soared overhead, trying to ease the agony and terror of their deaths with her songs, but the virus found her too, and instead of singing the praises of Isstvan's gods she coughed out black plumes as the virus tore through her

insides. She fell like a shot bird, twirling towards the dying below.

A bulky shape appeared on the roof of the PreВ­centor's Palace. Ancient Rylanor strode to the edge of the roof, overlooking the scenes of horror below, the viral carnage seething between the buildings. Rylanor's dreadnought body was sealed against the world outside, sealed far more effectively than any Astartes armour, and the deathly wind swirled harmlessly around him as he watched the city's death unfold.

Rylanor looked up towards the sky, where far above, the Warmaster's fleet was still emptying the last of its deathly payload onto Isstvan III. The ancient dreadnought stood alone, the only note of peace in the screaming horror of the Choral City's death.

'Good job we built these bunkers tough,' said CapВ­tain Ehrlen.

The darkness of the sealed bunker was only compounded by the sounds of death from beyond its thick walls. Pitifully few of the World Eaters had made it into the network of bunkers that fringed the edge of the trench network and barricaded themselves inside. They waited in the dark, listening to the virus killing off the city's population more efficiently than even their chainaxes could.

Tarvitz waited amongst them, listening to the deaths of millions of people in mute horror. The

World Eaters appeared to be unmoved, the deaths of civilians meaning nothing to them.

The screaming was dying down, replaced by a dull moaning. Pain and fear mingled in a distant roar of slow death.

'How much longer must we hide like rats in the dark?' demanded Ehrlen.

The virus will burn itself out quickly,' said Tarvitz. That's what it's designed to do: eat away anything living and leave a battlefield for the enemy to take.' 'How do you know?' asked Ehrlen. Tarvitz looked at him. He could tell Ehrlen the truth, and he knew that he deserved it, but what good would it do? The World Eaters might kill him for even saying it. After all, their own primarch was part of the Warmaster's conspiracy.

'I have seen such weapons employed before,’ said Tarvitz.

You had better be right,’ snarled Ehrlen, sound­ing far from satisfied with Tarvitz's answer. 'I won't cower here for much longer!'

The World Eater looked over his warriors, their bloodstained armoured bodies packed close together in the darkness of the bunker. He raised his axe and called, Wrathe! Have you raised the Sons of Horus?'

'Not yet,’ replied Wrathe. Tarvitz could see he was a veteran, with numerous cortical implants blis­tered across his scalp. There's chatter, but nothing direct,’

'So they're still alive?'

'Maybe,’

Ehrlen shook his head. They got us. We thought we'd taken this city and they got us.'

'None of us could have known,’ said Tarvitz.

'No. There are no excuses,’ Ehrlen's face hardened. 'The World Eaters must always go further than the enemy. Wheivthey attack, we charge right back at them. When they dig in, we dig them out. When they kill our warriors, we kill their cities, but this time, the enemy went further than we did. We attacked their city, and they destroyed it to take us with them,’

"We were all caught out, captain,’ said Tarvitz. The Emperor's Children, too,’

'No, Tarvitz, this was our fight. The Emperor's Children and the Sons of Horus were to behead the beast, but we were sent to cut its heart out. This was an enemy that could not be scared away or thrown into confusion. The Isstvanians had to be killed. Whether the other Legions acknowledge it or not, the World Eaters were the ones who had to win this city, and we take responsibility for our failures,’ 'It's not your responsibility,’ said Tarvitz. 'A lesser soldier pretends that his failures are those of his commanders,’ said Ehrlen. 'An Astartes realises they are his alone,’ 'No, captain, said Tarvitz. You don't understand. I

mean-' 'Got something,’ said Wrathe from the corner of

the bunker. The Sons of Horus?' asked Ehrlen.

Wrathe shook his head. 'Death Guard. They took cover in the bunkers further west,’

'What do they say?'

That the virus is dying down,’

Then we could be out there again soon,’ said Ehrlen with relish. 'If the Isstvanians come to take their city back, they'll find us waiting for them,’

'No,’ said Tarvitz. There's one more stage of the viral attack still to come,’

What's that?' demanded Ehrlen.

The firestorm,’ said Tarvitz.

'You see now,' said Horus to the assembled remembrancers. This is war. This is cruelty and death. This is what we do for you and yet you turn your face from it,’

Weeping men and women clung to one another in the wake of such monstrous genocide, unable to comprehend the scale of the slaughter that had just been enacted in the name of the Imperium.

You have come to my ship to chronicle the Great Cmsade and there is much to be said for what you have achieved, but things change and times move on,’ continued Horus as the Astartes warriors along the flanks of the chamber closed the doors and stood before them with their bolters held across their chests.

The Great Crusade is over,’ said Horus, his voice booming with power and strength. The ideals it once stood for are dead and all we have fought for has been a lie. Until now. Now I will bring the

Crusade back to its rightful path and rescue the galaxy from its abandonment at the hands of the Emperor.'

Astonished gasps and wails spread around the chamber at Horus's words and he relished the freeВ­dom he felt in saying them out loud. The need for secrecy and misdirection was no more. Now he could unveil the grandeur of his designs for the galaxy and cast aside his false facade to reveal his true purpose.

'You cry out, but mere mortals cannot hope to comprehend the scale of my plans,’ said Horus, savouring the looks of panic that began to spread around the audience chamber.

No iterator could ever have had a crowd so comВ­pletely in the palm of his hand.

'Unfortunately, this means that there is no place for the likes of you in this new crusade. I am to embark on the greatest war ever unleashed on the galaxy, and I cannot be swayed from my course by those who harbour disloyalty.' Horus smiled.

The smile of an angelic executioner. 'Kill them,’ he said. 'All of them,’ • Bolter fire stabbed into the crowd at the Warmas-ter's order. Flesh burst in wet explosions and a hundred bodies fell in the first fusillade. The screaming began as the crowd surged away from the Astartes who marched into their midst. But there was no escape. Guns blazed and roaring chainswords rose and fell.

The slaughter took less than a minute and Horus turned away from the killing to watch the final death throes of Isstvan III. Abaddon emerged from the shadows where he and Maloghurst had watched the slaughter of the remembrancers.

'My lord,’ said Abaddon, bowing low.

'What is it, my son?'

'Ship surveyors report that the virus has mostly burned out,’

And the gaseous levels?'

'Off the scale, my lord,’ smiled Abaddon. The gunners await your orders,’

Horus watched the swirling, noxious clouds enveloping the planet below.

All it would take was a single spark.

He imagined the planet as the frayed end of a fuse, a fuse that would ignite the galaxy in a searing conflagration and would lead to an inexorable conВ­clusion on Terra.

'Order the guns to fire,’ said Horus, his voice cold. 'Let the galaxy burn!'

'Emperor preserve us,' whispered Moderati Cassar, unable to hide his horror and not caring who heard him. The miasma of rancid, putrid gasses still hung thickly around the Titan and he could only dimly see the trenches again, along with the Death Guard emerging from the bunkers. Shortly after the order to seal the Titan had been given, the Death Guard had taken cover, clearly in receipt of the same order as the Dies Irae.

The Isstvanians had received no such order. The Death Guard's withdrawal had drawn the Isstvan-ian soldiers forwards and they had borne the full brunt of the bio-weapon.

Masses of mucus-like flesh choked the trenches, half-formed human corpses looming from them, faces melted and rot-bloated bodies split open. Thousands upon thousands of Isstvanians lay in rotting heaps and thick streams of sluggish black corruption ran the length of the trenches.

Beyond the battlefield, death had consumed the forests that lay just outside the Choral City's limits, now resembling endless graveyards of blackened trunks, like scorched skeletal hands. The earth beneath was saturated with biological death and the air was thick with foul gasses released by the oceans of decaying matter.

'Report,’ said Princeps Turnet, re-entering the cockpit from the Titan's main dorsal cavity.

'We're sealed,’ said Moderati Aruken on the other side of the bridge. 'The crew's fine and I have a zero reading of contaminants,’

'The virus has burned itself out,’ said Turnet. 'Cas-sar, what's out there?'

Cassar took a moment to gather his thoughts, still struggling with the hideous magnitude of death that he couldn't have even imagined had he not seen it through the eyes of the Dies Irae.

'The Isstvanians are… gone,’ he said. He peered through the swirling clouds of gas at the mass of the city to one side of the Titan. 'All of them,’

The Death Guard?'

Cassar looked closer, seeing segments of gun-metal armour partially buried in gory chokepoints, marking where Astartes had fallen.

'Some of them were caught out there,’ he said. 'A lot of them are dead, but the order must have got to most of them in time,’

The order?'

Yes, princeps. The order to take cover,’

Turnet peered through the Titan's eye on Aruken's side of the bridge, seeing Death Guard warriors through the greenish haze securing the trenches around their bunkers and treading through the foul remains of the Isstvanians.

'Damn,’ said Turnet.

We are blessed,’ said Cassar. They could so easily have been-'

Watch your mouth, Moderati! That religious filth is a crime by the order of-'

Tumet's voice cut off as movement caught his eyes.

Cassar followed his gaze in time to see the clouds of gas lit up by a brilliant beam of light as a blazing lance strike slashed through the clouds of noxious, highly flammable gasses.

All it took was a single spark.

An entire planet's worth of decaying matter wreathed the atmosphere of Isstvan III in a thick shawl of combustible gasses. The lance strike from the Vengeful Spirit burned through the upper

atmosphere into the choking miasma and its searing beam ignited the gas with a dull whoosh that seemed to suck the oxygen from the air.

In a second, the air itself caught light, ripping across the landscape in a howling maelstrom of fire and noise. Entire continents were laid bare, their landscapes seared to bare rock, their decayed popuВ­lations vaporised in seconds as winds of fire swept across their surfaces in a deadly gale of blazing destruction.

Cities exploded as gas lines went up, blazing towers of fire whipping madly in the deadly firestorm. NothВ­ing could survive and flesh, stone and metal were vitrified or melted in the unimaginable temperatures. Entire sprawls of buildings collapsed, the bodies of their former occupants reduced to ashen waste on the wind, palaces of marble and industrial heartlands destroyed in gigantic mushroom clouds as the storm of destruction swept around Isstvan III with relentless, mindless destruction until it seemed as though the entire globe was ablaze.

Those Astartes who had survived the viral attack found themselves consumed in flames as they desВ­perately sought to find cover once more.

But against this firestorm there could be no cover for those who had dared to brave the elements.

By the time the echoes of the recoil had faded on the Warmaster's flagship, billions had died on IsstВ­van III.

*Р¤*

Moderati Cassar hung on for dear life as the temВ­pestuous firestorm raged around the Dies Irae. The colossal Titan swayed like a reed in the wind, and he just hoped that the new stabilising gyros the Mechanicum had installed held firm in the face of the onslaught.

Across from him, Aruken gripped the rails surВ­rounding his chair with white knuckled hands, staring in awed terror at the blazing vortices spinВ­ning beyond the command bridge.

'Emperor save us. Emperor save us. Emperor save us,’ he whispered over and over as the flames bil­lowed and surged for what seemed like an eternity. The heat in the command bridge was intolerable since the coolant units had been shut down when the Titan was sealed off from the outside world.

Like a gigantic pressure cooker, the temperature inside the Titan climbed rapidly until Cassar felt as if he could no longer draw breath without searing the interior of his lungs. He closed his eyes and saw the ghostly green scroll of data flash through his retinas. Sweat poured from him in a torrent and he knew that this was it, this was how he would die: not in battle, not saying the Lectitio Divinitatus, but cooked to death inside his beloved Dies Irae.

He had lost track of how long they had been bathed in fire when the professional core of his mind saw that the temperature readings, which had been rising rapidly since the firestorm had hit, were beginning to flatten out. Cassar opened his eyes and saw the madly churning mass of flame through

the viewing bays of the Titan's head, but РџРµ also saw spots of sky, burned blue as the fire incinerated the last of the combustible gasses released by the dead of Isstvan.

'Temperature dropping,’ he said, amazed that they were still alive.

Aruken laughed as he too realised they were going to live.

Princeps Turnet slid back into his command chair and began bringing the Titan's systems back on line. Cassar slid back into his own chair, the leather soaking wet where his sweat had collected. He saw the readouts of the external surveyors come to life as the princeps once again opened their systems to the outside world. 'Systems check,’ ordered Turnet. Aruken nodded, mopping his sweat-streaked brow with his sleeve. "Weapons fine, though we'll need to watch our rate of fire, since they're already pretty hot,’

'Confirmed,’ said Cassar. We won't be able to fire the plasma weapons any time soon either. We'll probably blow our arm off if we try,’

'Understood,’ said Turnet. 'Initiate emergency coolant procedures. I want those guns ready to fire as soon as possible,’

Cassar nodded, though he was unsure as to the cause of the princeps's urgency. Surely there could be nothing out there that would have surВ­vived the firestorm? Certainly nothing that could threaten a Titan.

'Incoming!' called Aruken, and Cassar looked up to see a flock of black specks descending rapidly through the crystal sky, flying low towards the blackened ruins of the burned city.

'Aruken, track them,’ snapped Turnet.

'Gunships,’ said Aruken. They're heading for the centre of the city, what's left of the palace,’

'Whose are they?'

'Can't tell yet,’

Cassar sat back in the cockpit seat and let the filaments of the Titan's command systems come to the fore of his mind once again. He engaged the Titan's targeting systems and his vision plunged into the target reticule, zooming in on the formation of gunships disappearing among the crumbling, fire-blackened ruins of the Choral City. He saw bone-white colours trimmed with blue and the symbol of fanged jaws closing over a planet.

'World Eaters,’ he said out loud. They're the World Eaters. It must be the second wave,’

There is no second wave,’ said Turnet, as if to himself. Aruken, get the vox-mast up and connect me to the Vengeful Spirit.' 'Fleet command?' asked Aruken. 'No,’ said Turnet, 'the Warmaster,’

Iacton Qruze led them through the corridors of the Vengeful Spirit, past the Training Halls, past the Lupercal's Court and down through twisting pasВ­sageways none of them had traversed before, even

when they had been hiding from Maggard and Mal-oghurst.

Sindermann's heart beat a rapid tattoo on his ribs, and he felt a curious mix of elation and sorrow fill him as he realised what Qruze had saved them from. There could be little doubt as to what must have happened to those remembrancers in the Audience Chamber and the thought of so many wonderful creative people sacrificed to serve the interests of those with no understanding of art or the creative process galled him and saddened him in equal measure.

He glanced at Euphrati Keeler, who appeared to have become stronger since their escape from death. Her hair was golden and her eyes bright, and though her skin was still pallid, it only served to highlight the power within her.

Mersadie Oliton, by contrast, was visibly weakenВ­ing.

'They will come after us soon,’ said Keeler, 'if they

are not already,’

'Can we escape?' Mersadie asked, hoarsely.

Qruze only shrugged. 'We will or we won't,’

'Then this is it?' asked Sindermann.

Keeler shot him an amused glance. 'No, you should know better than that, Kyril. It is never "it", not for a believer. There's always more, something to look forward to when it's all over,’

They passed a number of observation domes that looked out into the cold void of space, the sight only serving to remind Sindermann of just how

tiny they were in the context of the galaxy. Even the faintest speck of light that he could see was actually a star, perhaps surrounded by its own worlds, its own people and entire civilisations.

'How is it that we find ourselves at the centre of such momentous events and yet we never saw them coming?' he whispered.

After a while, Sindermann began to recognise his surroundings, seeing familiar signs scraped into bulkheads, and insignia he recognised, telling him that they were approaching the embarkation decks. Qruze led the way unerringly, his stride sure and confident, a far cry from the wretched sycophant he had heard described.

The blast doors to the embarkation deck were closed, the tattered remnants of the votive papers and offerings made to the Warmaster when his sons took him to the Delphos still fixed to the surВ­rounding structure.

'In here,’ said Qruze. 'If we're lucky, there will be a gunship we can take,’

And go where?' demanded Mersadie. 'Where can we go that the Warmaster won't find us?'

Keeler reached out and placed her hand on Mer-sadie's arm. 'Don't worry. We have more friends than you know, Sadie. The Emperor will show me the way,’

The doors rumbled open and Qruze marched confidently onto the embarkation deck. Sinder­mann smiled in relief when the warrior said, 'There. Thunderhawk Nine Delta,’

But the smile fell from his face as he saw the gold-armoured form of Maggard standing before the machine.

Saul Tarvitz watched the look of utter disbelief on Captain Ehrlen's face as he took in the scale of the destruction wrought by the firestorm. Nothing remained of the Choral City as they had known it. Every scrap of living tissue was gone, burned to atoms by the flames that roared and howled in the wake of the virus attack.

Every building was black, burned and collapsed so that Isstvan HI resembled a vision of hell, its tumbled buildings still ablaze as the last comВ­bustible materials burned away. Tall plumes of fire poured skyward in defiance of gravity, fuel lines and refineries that would continue to burn until their reserves were exhausted. The stench of scorched metal and meat was pungent and the vista before them was unrecognisable as that which they had fought across only minutes before.

'Why?' was all Ehrlen could ask.

'I don't know,’ said Tarvitz, wishing he had more to tell the World Eater.

This wasn't the Isstvanians, was it?' asked Ehrlen.

Tarvitz wanted to lie, but he knew that the World Eater would see through him instantly.

'No,’ he said. 'It wasn't.'

*We are betrayed?'

Tarvitz nodded.

'Why?' repeated Ehrlen.

'I have no answers for you, brother, but if they hoped to kill us all in one fell swoop, then they have failed,’

'And the World Eaters will make them pay for that failure,’ swore Ehrlen, as a new sound rose over the crackle of burning buildings and tumbling masonry.

Tarvitz heard it too and looked up in time to see a flock of World Eaters' gunships streaking towards their position from the outskirts of the city. Gunfire came down in a burning spray, punching through the ruins around them, boring holes in the black marble of the ground.

'Hold!' shouted Ehrlen.

Heavy fire thudded down among the World Eaters as the gunships roared overhead. Tarvitz crouched at a smashed window opening beside Ehrlen, hearing one of the World Eaters grunt in pain as a shell found its mark.

The gunships passed and soared up into the sky, looping around above the shattered palace before angling down for another run.

'Heavy weapons! Get some fire up there!' yelled Ehrlen.

Gunfire stuttered up from the gaps in partially collapsed roofs, chattering heavy bolters and the occasional ruby flare of a lascannon blast. Tarvitz ducked back from the window as return fire thunВ­dered down, stitching lines of explosions through the World Eaters. More of them fell, blown off their feet or blasted apart.

One World Eater slumped down beside Tarvitz, the back of his head a pulsing red mass.

The gunships banked, spraying fire down at their position.

Tarvitz could see the World Eaters zeroing in on them as they flew back towards their position. Return fire lanced upwards and one gunship fell, its engine spewing flames, to smash to pieces against a burning ruin.

Tarvitz could see dozens of gunships, surely the whole of the World Eaters' arsenal.

The lead Thunderhawk dropped through the ruins, hovering a few metres above the ground with its assault ramp down and bolter fire sparking around the opening.

Ehrlen turned towards Tarvitz.

'This isn't your fight,’ he yelled over the gunfire. 'Get out of here!'

'Emperor's Children never run!' replied Tarvitz, drawing his sword.

'They do from this!'

No Space Marine could have survived the storm of fire that blazed away at the interior of the gun-ship, but it was no ordinary Space Marine that was borne within it.

With a roar like a hunting animal, Angron leapt from the gunship and landed with a terrible crash in the midst of the ruined city.

He was a monster of legend, huge and terrible. The primarch's hideous face was twisted in hatred, his huge chainaxes battered and stained with

decades of bloodshed. As the mighty primarch landed, World Eaters dropped from the other gunВ­ships.

Thousands of World Eaters loyal to the Warmas-ter followed their primarch into the Choral City, accompanied by the war cries that echoed Angron's own bestial howl as he charged into his former brethren.

Horus put his fist through the pict-screen that showed the transmission from the Dies Irae. The image of the World Eaters' gunships splintered under the assault as his anger at Angron's defiance boiled over. One of his allies – no, one of his sub­ordinates – had disobeyed his direct order.

Aximand, Abaddon, Erebus and Maloghurst eyed him warily and Horus could imagine their trepidaВ­tion at the news of Angron's impetuous attack on the survivors of the virus bombing.

That there were survivors at all was galling, but Angron's actions put a whole new spin on the Isst-van campaign.

'And yet,’ he said, choking back his rage, 'I am sur­prised at this,’ Warmaster,’ said Aximand, 'what do you-' Angron is a killer!' snapped Horus, rounding on his Mournival son. 'He solves every problem with raw violence. He attacks first and thinks later, if he thinks at all. And yet I never saw this! What else would he do when he saw the survivors of his Legion in the Choral City? Would he sit back and

watch the rest of the fleet bombard them from orbit? Never! And yet I did nothing!'

Horus glanced at the smashed remains of the pict-display. 'I will never be caught out like this again. There will be no twists of fate I do not see coming,’

The questions remains,’ said Aximand. 'What shall we do about Angron?'

'Destroy him with the rest of the city,’ said Abad­don without a pause. 'If he cannot be trusted to obey his Warmaster then he is a liability,’

The World Eaters are an exceptionally effective weapon of terror,’ retorted Aximand. 'Why destroy them when they can wreak so much havoc among those loyal to the Emperor?'

There are always more soldiers,’ said Abaddon. 'Many will beg to join the Warmaster. There is no room for those who can't follow orders,’

'Angron is a killer, yes, but he is predictable,’ put in Erebus, and Horus bristled at the implicit insult in the first chaplain's words. 'He can be kept obedi­ent by letting him off the leash every now and again,’

The Word Bearers may live by treachery and lies,’ snarled Abaddon, 'but in the Sons of Horus you are loyal or you are dead!'

What do you know of my Legion?' asked Erebus, rising to meet the first captain's ire, his mask of smirking calm slipping. 'I know secrets that would destroy your mind! How dare you speak to me of deceit? This, this reality, all you know, this is the lie!'

'Erebus!' roared Horus, ending the confrontation instantly. 'This is not the place to evangelise your Legion. I have made my decision and these are wasted words,’

Then Angron will be destroyed in the bombard­ment?' asked Maloghurst. 'No,’ replied Horus. 'He will not,’ 'But Warmaster, even if Angron prevails he could be down there for weeks,’ said Aximand.

'And he will not fight alone. Do you know, my sons, why the Emperor appointed me Warmaster?' 'Because you were his favoured son,’ replied Mal­oghurst. 'You are the greatest warrior and tactician of the Great Crusade. Whole worlds have fallen at the mention of your name,’ 'I did not ask for flattery,’ snarled Horus. 'Because you never lose,’ said Abaddon levelly. 'I never lose,’ nodded Horus, glaring between the four Astartes, 'because I see only victory. I have never seen a situation that cannot be turned into triumph, no disadvantage that cannot be turned to an advantage. That is why I was made Warmaster. On Davin I fell, yet came through that ordeal stronger. Against the Auretian Technocracy we faced dissent from within our own fleet, so I used the conflict to rid us of those fomenting rebellion. There is no failing I cannot turn to a component in my victories. Angron has decided to turn Isstvan III into a ground assault – I can consider this a failure and limit its impact by bombing Angron and his World Eaters into dust along with the rest of the

planet, or I can forge a triumph from it that will send echoes far into the future,’

Maloghurst broke the silence that followed. 'What would you have us do, Warmaster?'

'Inform the other Legions that they are to prepare for a full assault on the loyalists in the Choral City. Ezekyle, assemble the Legion. Have them ready to launch the attack in two hours,’

'I shall be proud to lead my Legion,’ said Abad­don.

You will not lead them. That honour will go to Sedirae and Targhost,’

Anger flared in Abaddon. 'But I am the first capВ­tain. This battle, where resolve and brutality are qualities required for victory, is tailor-made for me!'

'You are a captain of the Mournival, Ezekyle,’ said Horus. 'I have another role in mind for you and Lit­tle Horus in this fight. One I feel sure you will relish,’

Yes, Warmaster,’ said Abaddon, the frustration disappearing from his face.

As for you, Erebus…'

ЛУагтаз1ег?'

'Stay out of our way. To your duties, Sons of Horus,’

THIRTEEN

Maggard

Factions

Luna Wolves

Princeps Turnet listened intently as the orders came through, though Cassar couldn't hear the orders piped into the princeps's ear and he didn't want to – it was all he could do to keep from vomiting. Every time he let his mind wander out­side the systems of the Dies Irae, he saw nothing but the tangles of charred ruins. His conscious­ness retreated within the machine, pulling his perception back into the massive form of the Titan.

The Dies Irae was coming back to life around him; he could sense the god-machine's limbs flood with power and could feel the weapons reloading. The plasma reactor at its heart was beating in time with his own, a ball of nuclear flame that burned with the Emperor's own righteous strength.

Even here, among all this death and horror, the Emperor was with him. The god-machine was the instrument of His will, standing firm among the destruction. That thought comforted Cassar and helped him focus. If the Emperor was here, then the Emperor would protect.

'Orders in from the Vengeful Spirit,' said Turnet briskly. 'Moderati, open fire.'

'Open fire?' said Aruken. 'Sir? The Isstvanians are gone. They're dead.'

To Cassar, Aruken's voice sounded distant, for he was subsumed in the systems of the Titan, but he heard Tumet's voice as clearly as if he had spoken in his own ear.

'Not at the Isstvanians,’ replied Turnet, 'at the Death Guard.'

'Princeps?' said Aruken. 'Fire on the Death Guard?'

'I am not in the habit of repeating my orders, moderati,’ replied Turnet, 'and they are to fire on the Death Guard. They have defied the Warmaster.'

Cassar froze. As if there wasn't enough death on Isstvan III, now the Dies lrae was to fire on the Death Guard, the very force they had been sent to support.

'Sir,’ he said. 'This doesn't make any sense,’

'It doesn't need to!' shouted Turnet, his patience finally at an end. 'Just do as I order,’

Looking straight into Tumet's eyes, the truth hit Titus Cassar as though the Emperor had reached out from Terra and filled him with the light of truth.

The Isstvanians didn't do this, did they?' he asked. The Warmaster did,’

Turnet's face creased in a slow smile and Cassar saw his hand reaching towards his holstered sidearm.

Cassar didn't give him the chance to get there first and snatched for his own autopistol.

Both men drew their pistols and fired.

Maggard took a step forwards, drawing his golden Kirlian blade and unholstering his pistol. His bulk was even more massive than Sindermann rememВ­bered, grossly swollen to proportions beyond human and more reminiscent of an Astartes. Had that been Maggard's reward for his services to the Warmaster?

Without wasting words of preamble, Qruze raised his bolter and fired, but Maggard's armour was the equal of Astartes plate and the shot simply sigВ­nalled the beginning of a duel.

Sindermann and Mersadie ducked as Maggard's pistol spat fire, the noise appalling as the two warВ­riors ran towards one another with their guns blazing.

Keeler watched calmly as Maggard's gunfire blew chunks from Qruze's armour, but before he could fire any more, Qruze was upon him.

Qruze smashed his fist into Maggard's midriff, but the silent killer rode the punch and swung his sword for the Astartes's head. Qruze ducked back from the great slash of Maggard's sword, the blade

slicing though the armour at the Astartes warrior's stomach.

Blood sprayed briefly from the wound and Qruze dropped to his knees in sudden pain before drawВ­ing his combat knife, the blade as long as a mortal warrior's sword.

Maggard leapt towards him and his sword hacked a deep gouge in Qruze's side. Yet more blood spilled from the venerable Astartes's body. Another killing strike slashed towards Qruze, but this time combat knife and Kirlian blade met in a shower of fiery sparks. Qruze recovered first and stabbed his blade through the gap between Maggard's greaves. The assassin stumbled backwards and Qruze rose unsteadily to his feet.

The assassin stepped in close and lunged with his sword. Maggard was almost the equal of Qruze in physique and had youth on his side, but even Sin-dermann could see he was slower, as if his new form was unfamiliar, not yet worn in.

Qruze sidestepped a huge arcing strike of MagВ­gard's sword and swung inside his opponent's defence, reaching around to lock his head in the crook of his elbow.

His other arm snapped round to plunge the knife into Maggard's throat, but a fist seized Qruze's hand in an iron grip, halting the blade inches from the man's pulsing jugular.

Qruze fought to force the blade upwards, but Maggard's newly enhanced strength was the greater and he began to force the blade to one side. Beads

of sweat popped on Qruze's face, and Sindermann knew that this was a struggle he could not win alone.

He pushed himself to his feet and ran towards Maggard's fallen pistol, its matt black finish cold and lethal-looking. Though designed for a mortal grip, the pistol still felt absurdly huge in his hands. Sindermann held the heavy pistol outstretched and marched towards the struggling warriors. He couldn't risk a shot from any kind of distance, he was no marksman and was as likely to hit their deliverer as their killer.

He walked up to the fight and placed the muzzle of the pistol directly on the bleeding wound where Qruze had stabbed Maggard. He pulled the trigger and the recoil of the shot almost shattered his wrist, but the effect of his intervention more than made up for the trauma.

Maggard opened his mouth in a silent scream and his entire body flinched in sudden agony. MagВ­gard's grip on the knife weakened and, with a roar of anger, Qruze punched it into the base of his opponent's jaw and through the roof of his mouth. Maggard buckled and fell to the side with the force of a falling tree. The golden armoured assasВ­sin and the Astartes rolled and Qruze was on top of his enemy, still gripping the knife.

Face to face for a moment, Maggard spat a mouthful of blood into Qruze's face. Qruze pushed the knife deeper into Maggard's jaw, plunging it into his opponent's brain.

Maggard spasmed, his huge bulk thrashing briefly, and when he stopped Qruze was looking into a pair of blank, dead eyes. Qruze pushed himself from Maggard's body. 'Face to face,’ said Qruze, breathing heavily with the exertion of killing Maggard. 'Not with treachery, from a thousand miles up. Face to face.'

He looked at Sindermann and nodded his thanks. The warrior was wounded and exhausted, but there was a calm serenity to him.

'I remember how it used to be,' he said. 'We were brothers on Cthonia. Not just among ourselves, but with our enemies, too. That was what the Emperor saw in us when he came to the hives. We were gangs of killers as existed on a thousand other worlds, but we believed in a code that was more precious than life. That was what he wrought into the Luna Wolves. I thought that even if none of the rest of us remembered, the Warmaster would, because he was the one the Emperor chose to lead us.' 'No,’ said Keeler, 'you are the last one,’ 'And when I realised that I just… told them what they wanted to hear. I tried to be one of them, and I succeeded. I almost forgot everything, until… until now,’

The music of the spheres,’ said Sindermann qui­etly.

Qruze's eyes focused again on Keeler and his face

hardened.

'I did nothing, Half-heard,’ said Keeler, answering his unasked question. 'You said so yourself. The

ways of Cthonia were the reason the Emperor chose you and your brothers for the Luna Wolves. Perhaps it was the Emperor who reminded you,’

'I saw this coming for so long, but I let it, because I thought that was my code now, but nothing changed, not really. The enemy just moved from out there to amongst us,’

'Look, as profound as this all is, can we get the hell out of here?' asked Mersadie.

Qruze nodded and beckoned them towards the Thunderhawk gunship. 'You're right, Miss Oliton, let's get off this ship. It is dead to me now,’

We're with you, captain,’ said Sindermann as he gingerly picked his way over Maggard's body after Qruze. The years seemed to have dropped from him, as if the energy lost in the fight was returning with interest. Sindermann saw a light in his eyes he hadn't seen before.

Watching the light of understanding rekindled in Iacton Qruze reminded Sindermann that there was still hope.

And there was nothing so dangerous in the galaxy as a litde hope.

Turnet's shot went high, and Cassar's went wide. Jonah Aruken ducked for cover as the rounds ricoВ­cheted on the curved ceiling of the bridge. Turnet rolled down behind the command chair as Cassar pulled himself from his own chair, set deep into the cockpit floor and level with the Titan's eye. Cassar fired again and sparks showered as the autopistol

round hit the electronics arrayed around Turner's chair.

Turnet fired back and Cassar dropped into the cover of the depression formed by his own seat. The connectors had torn free from his scalp as he moved and tears of blood streaked his face, metalВ­lic monofilament wires clinging wetly to the back of his neck.

His mind throbbed with the suddenness of being ripped away from the god-machine. Titus!' yelled Aruken. "What are you doing?' 'Moderati, surrender or you will die here!' shouted Turnet. 'Throw down your weapon and surrender.'

This is treachery!' shouted Cassar. 'Jonah, you know I am right. The Warmaster did this. He brought death to this city to kill the believers!'

Turnet fired blindly from behind the elaborate machinery of the command seat. 'Believe? You would betray your Warmaster because of this reliВ­gion? You're diseased, do you know that? Religion is a sickness, and I should have put you down a long time ago.'

Cassar thought rapidly. There was only one way out of the cockpit – the doorway that led into the Titan's dorsal cavity where the plasma generator was located along with the detail of engineer crew­men who operated it. He couldn't run, for fear of Turnet shooting him dead as he broke from cover. But the same was true of Turnet. They were both trapped.

You knew,’ said Cassar, 'about the bombard­ment.'

'Of course I knew. How can you be so ignorant? Don't you even know what's happening on this planet?' The Emperor is being betrayed,’ said Cassar. There is no Emperor,’ shouted Turnet. 'He aban­doned us. He left the Imperium that men died to conquer for him. He doesn't care. But the Warmas­ter cares. He conquered this galaxy and it is his to rule, but there are fools who don't understand that. They are the ones who have forced the Warmaster into this so that he can do what must be done,’

Cassar's mind reeled. Turnet had betrayed everyВ­thing the Emperor had built, and the combat within the command bridge struck Cassar as repreВ­sentative of what was happening in the wider conflict.

Turnet rose and fired wildly as he ran for the door, both shots smacking into the bridge wall behind Cassar.

'I won't let you do this!' yelled Cassar, returning fire. His first shot went wide, but now Princeps TurВ­net was struggling with the wheel lock of the door. Cassar lined up his shot on Turnet's back. Titus! Don't do it!' shouted Aruken, wrenching the Titan's primary motor controls around. The Titan lurched madly, the whole bridge tipping like the deck of a ship in a storm. Cassar was thrown back against the wall, the opportunity to take his shot gone. Turnet hauled the door open, throwing

himself from the Titan's bridge and out of Cassar's firing line.

Cassar scrambled to his feet again as the Titan rocked upright. A shape moved in front of him and he almost fired before realising it was Jonah Aruken.

'Titus, come on,' said Aruken. 'Don't do this.'

'I don't have a choice. This is treachery.'

'You don't have to die.'

Cassar jerked his head towards the Titan's eye, through which they could still see the Death Guard moving through the death-slicked trenches. 'NeiВ­ther do they. You know I am right, Aruken. You know the Warmaster has betrayed the Imperium. If we have the Dies Irae then we can do something about it.'

Aruken looked from Cassar's face to the gun in his hand. 'It's over, Cassar. Just… just give this up.'

'With me or against me, Jonah,’ said Cassar lev-elly. 'The Emperor's faithful or His enemy? Your choice.'

It had often been said that a Space Marine knew no fear.

Such a statement was not literally true, a Space Marine could know fear, but he had the training and discipline to deal with it and not let it affect him in battle. Captain Saul Tarvitz was no exception, he had faced storms of gunfire and monstrous aliens and even glimpsed the insane predators of the warp, but when Angron charged, he ran.

The primarch smashed through the ruins like a juggernaut. He bellowed insanely and with one sweep of his chainaxe carved two loyal World Eaters in two, bringing his off-hand axe down to bite through the torso of a third. His traitor World Eaters dived over the rubble, blasting with pistols or stabbing with chainblades.

'Die!' bellowed Captain Ehrlen as the loyalists counter-charged, throwing themselves into the enemy as one. Tarvitz was used to Astartes who fought in feints and counter-charges, overlapping fields of fire, picking the enemy apart or sweeping through his ranks with grace and precision. The World Eaters did not fight with the perfection of the Emperor's Children. They fought with anger and hatred, with brutality and the lust for destruction.

And they fought with more hatred than ever before against their own, against the battle-brothers they had warred alongside for years.

Tarvitz scrambled back from the carnage. World Eaters shouldered past him as they charged at Angron, but the butchered bodies lying around showed what fate awaited them. Tarvitz put his shoulder down and hammered through a ruined wall, sprawling into a courtyard where statues stood scarred and beheaded by the day's earlier battles.

He glanced behind him. Thousands of World Eaters were locked in a terrible hurricane of carВ­nage, scrambling to get at one another. At the centre of the bloody hurricane was Angron, massive and terrible as he laid about him with his axes.

Captain Ehrlen crashed down a short distance from him and the World Eater's eyes flickered over Tarvitz before he rolled onto his back and pulled himself to his feet. Ehrlen's face was torn open, a red mask of blood with his eyes the only recognisable feature. A pack of World Eaters descended on him, piling him to the ground and working at him as though they were carving up a side of meat.

Volleys of bolter shots thudded through the walls and the battle spilled into the courtyard, World Eaters wrestling with one another and forcing bolters up to fire point blank or disembowelling their battle-brothers with chainaxes. Tarvitz kicked himself to his feet and ran as a wall collapsed and a dozen traitors surged forward.

He threw himself behind a pillar, bolt shells blasting chunks of marble from it in concussive impacts. The sound of battle followed him and Tarvitz knew that he had to try' and find the Emperor's Children. Only with his fellow warriors alongside him could he impose some form of order on this chaotic fight.

Tarvitz ran, realising that gunfire was directed at him from all angles. He charged through the ruins of a grand dining hall and into a cavernous stoneВ­walled kitchen,

He kept running and smashed his way through the ruins until he found himself in the streets of the Choral City. A burning gunship streaked overhead and crashed into a building in an orange plume of

flame as gunfire stuttered throughout the ruins he had just vacated and Angron's roaring cut through the din of battle.

The magnificent dome of the Precentor's Palace rose above the battle unfolding across the blackВ­ened remains of the city.

As Tarvitz made his way through the carnage towards his beloved Emperor's Children, he promised that if he was to meet his death on this blasted world, then he would meet it amongst his battle-brothers, and in death defy the hatred the Warmaster had sown amongst them.

Loken watched the Sons of Horus landing on the far side of the Sirenhold. His Space Marines – he couldn't think of them as 'Sons of Horus' any more – were arrayed around the closest tomb-spire in a formidable defensive formation.

His heavy weapons commanded the valley of shrines through which attackers would have to advance and the Tactical Marines held hard points of rains where they would fight on their own terms.

But the enemy was not the Isstvanian army, they were his brothers.

'I thought they'd bomb us,’ said Torgaddon.

They should have done,’ replied Loken. 'Some­thing went wrong,’

'It'll be Abaddon' said Torgaddon. 'He must have been itching for a chance to take us on face-to-face Horus couldn't have held him back,’

'Or Sedirae,’ echoed Loken, distaste in his voice. The afternoon sun hung in veils between the shad­ows cast by the walls and the tomb-spires.

'I never thought it would end like this, Tarik,’ said Loken. 'Maybe storming some alien citadel or defending… defending Terra, like something from the epic poems, something romantic, something the remembrancers could get their teeth into. I never thought it could end defending a hole like this against my own battle-brothers,’

'Yes, but then you always were an idealist.'

The Sons of Horns were coming down on the far side of the tomb-spire across the valley, the optimal point to strike from, and Loken knew that this would be the hardest battle he would ever have to fight.

'We don't have to die here,’ said Torgaddon.

Loken looked at him. 'I know, we can win. We can throw everything we have at them. I'll lead them in from the front and then there's a chance that-'

'No,' said Torgaddon. 'I mean we don't have to hold them here. We know we can get through the main gates into the city. If we strike for the Precentor's Palace we could link up with the Emperor's Children or the World Eaters. Lucius said the warning came from Saul Tarvitz so they know we are betrayed.'

'Saul Tarvitz is on Isstvan III?' asked Loken, sudВ­den hope flaring in his heart.

'Apparently so,’ nodded Torgaddon. 'We could help them. Fortify the palace,’

Loken looked back across at the tangle of shrines and tomb-spires. 'You would retreat?'

'I would when there's no chance of victory and we can fight on better terms elsewhere,’

'We'll never have another chance to face them on our own terms, Tarik. The Choral City is gone, this whole damn planet is dead. It's about punishing them for their betrayal and the brothers we have lost,’

We all lost brothers here, Garvi, but dying need­lessly won't bring them back. I will have my vengeance, too, but I'm not throwing away the few warriors I have left in a knee jerk act of defiance. Think about this, Loken. Really think, about why you want to fight them here,’

Loken could hear the first bursts of gunfire and knew Torgaddon was right. They were still the best trained, most disciplined of the Legions and he knew that if he wanted to fight those who had betrayed him, he had to fight with his head and not his heart.

'You're right, Tarik,’ said Loken. We should link up with Tarvitz. We need to get organised to launch a counter-attack,’

We can really make them suffer, Garvi, we can force them into a battle and delay them. If Tarvitz got the warning out here, who's to say that there aren't others carrying a warning to Terra? Maybe the other Legions already know what's happened. Someone underestimated us, they thought this would be a massacre, but we'll go one better. We'll turn Isstvan III into a war,’ 'Do you think we can?'

"We're the Luna Wolves, Garvi. We can do any­thing,’

Loken took his friend's hand, accepting the truth of his words. He turned to the squads arrayed behind him, scanning the valley through their gun-sights.

'Astartes!' he shouted. 'You all know what has happened and I share your pain and outrage, but I need you to focus on what we must now do and not let passion blind you to the cold facts of war. Bonds of brotherhood have been shattered and we are no longer the Sons of Horus, that name has no meaning for us now. We are once again the Luna Wolves, soldiers of the Emperor!'

A deafening cheer greeted his words as Loken continued, *We are giving the enemy this position and will break through the gates to strike for the palace. Captain Torgaddon and I will take the assault units and lead the speartip.'