Fulgrim (28 page)

E
VEN BEFORE THEY
reached the ruin on the other side of the valley, Solomon could tell that it was not a ruin after all, its structure intact and showing no signs of having been part of a larger building. However, having no better idea of what the unusual structure was, Solomon decided that ‘ruin’ was as good a word for it as any.

Shaped like the upper half of a bow stave, the curving structure reached to around twelve metres in height, its base set into an oval platform formed from the same smooth, porcelain-like substance as the ruin itself. The arch it described was graceful and alien, though it displayed none of the disturbingly excessive qualities of the Laer architecture.

In fact, thought Solomon, it was beautiful in its own way.

Once again, the Astartes spread out to surround their leaders as they approached the alien ruin. Solomon felt a curious apprehension at the sight of the structure, for it did not look like a building that had been abandoned for millennia.

For one thing, its surface was unblemished by so much as a single stain, moss or weathering, and the smooth stones that dotted its surface gleamed as though freshly polished.

‘What is it?’ asked Marius.

‘I don’t know,’ replied Solomon, ‘a marker perhaps?’

‘A marker for what?’

‘A boundary, maybe?’ suggested Saul Tarvitz to general nods. ‘But between whom?’

Solomon turned to see what Fulgrim made of it, and was shocked to see tears running down his primarch’s face. Julius stood next to the primarch, his own face also streaked with tears. He looked around to see what his fellow captain’s made of this, seeing that they were similarly stunned to see such a sight.

‘My lord?’ said Solomon. ‘Is… is something the matter?’

Fulgrim shook his head and said, ‘No, my son. Do not be alarmed, for I do not weep out of pain or anguish, but for beauty.’

‘For beauty?’

‘Yes, for beauty,’ said Fulgrim, turning and extending his arms to encompass the wondrous landscape around them. ‘This world is incomparable to anything we have thus far seen in our travels, is it not? Where else have we seen marvels laid out before us with such perfection? Nothing of this world is wanting and, were such things possible, I would believe that such a place could not come about by accident.’

Solomon followed his primarch’s gaze, seeing the same natural marvels laid out before him, but unable to feel as moved as his commander. Julius nodded in time with Fulgrim’s words, but of the four captains present, he alone appeared to have been affected in the same manner as the primarch.

Perhaps Marius had been correct to insist on the wearing of helmets, for surely there must be some undetected agent within the planet’s atmosphere that had affected them so. But any agent capable of affecting a primarch would have long since affected him.

‘My lord, perhaps we should return to the
Pride of the Emperor
,’ he suggested.

‘In time,’ nodded Fulgrim. ‘I wish to remain a little longer, for we shall not return here. We will enter the planet in our records and move on, leaving it untouched, for to despoil a place such as this would be a crime.’

‘My lord,’ said Solomon. ‘Move on?’

‘Indeed, my son,’ smiled Fulgrim. ‘We shall take our leave of this place and never return.’

‘But you have already designated this world as Twenty-Eight Four,’ Solomon pointed out. ‘It is a world of the Emperor and is subject to Imperial laws given to us by him to uphold without equivocation. To abandon it without leaving armed forces to impose compliance and defend it against enemies is contrary to our mission amongst the stars.’

Fulgrim rounded on Solomon and said, ‘I know our mission, Captain Demeter. You should not presume that I do not.’

‘No, my lord, but the fact remains that to leave this world unoccupied would be contrary to the word of the Emperor.’

‘And you have spoken with the Emperor on this?’ snapped Fulgrim, and Solomon felt his objections withering under the intensity of the primarch’s gaze. ‘You claim to know his will better than one of his sons? I stood with the Emperor and Horus on the surface of Altaneum as its inhabitants destroyed the planet’s ice caps and flooded their world beneath the oceans to destroy natural beauty that had taken billions of years to form, rather than allow us to take it from them. The Emperor told me that we must not make such mistakes again, for the galaxy will be worthless if we win it as a wasteland.’

‘The Lord Fulgrim is correct,’ said Julius. ‘We should leave this place.’

Solomon felt his resolve harden in the face of Julius’s support of the primarch, for he heard the tone of the sycophant in his friend’s words.

‘I agree with Captain Demeter,’ added Saul Tarvitz, and Solomon had never been so glad to hear another’s voice. ‘A planet’s beauty should have no bearing on whether or not we render it compliant.’

‘Whether you agree or not is irrelevant,’ growled Marius. ‘Lord Fulgrim has spoken and we must obey his will. That is our chain of command.’

Julius nodded, but Solomon couldn’t believe how easily they were going along with what was tantamount to disobeying the word of the Emperor.

O
VER THE COURSE
of the next two weeks, the 28th Expedition came upon another five worlds of a similar nature to Twenty-Eight Four, but each time, the fleet moved on without claiming it in the name of the Emperor. Solomon Demeter’s frustration grew daily at the expedition’s apparent unwillingness to enforce the Emperor’s will upon these empty worlds, and no one other than he and Saul Tarvitz appeared to find it unusual to find such paradisiacal worlds unoccupied.

Indeed, the longer the expedition spent in the Perdus Region, the greater Solomon’s conviction became that these worlds had not been abandoned but were, in fact
awaiting
their inhabitants. He had no facts upon which to base this supposition, save a feeling that the worlds they had seen thus far were too perfect, as though they had been deliberately fashioned rather than allowed to develop on a natural path.

He spoke less and less to Julius over the course of their travels through the Perdus Region, the Captain of the First spending much of his time either in the archive chambers or with the primarch. Marius appeared to have earned back his favour in the eyes of Fulgrim, for more and more, it was the warriors of the First and Third who accompanied him to the surface of each newly discovered world.

Saul Tarvitz had become a newfound ally, and Solomon had spent a great deal of time in the training halls with him. The man believed himself to be a line officer through and through, but Solomon could see the seed of greatness within him, even if he could not. Throughout their training sessions, he would encourage him to see his potential and stoke the fires of his ambition. Saul Tarvitz could be a great leader of men, given the chance, but Eidolon was his lord commander, and it was for him to say whether Tarvitz would advance beyond his current station. Solomon had despatched numerous communications to Eidolon on Tarvitz’s behalf, but thus far the lord commander had replied to none of his messages.

After the fourth world had been passed by without an Imperial presence despatched or a planetary governor put in place, Solomon had sought out Lord Commander Vespasian. They had met in the Gallery of Swords, a mighty processional hallway where marble likenesses of long dead heroes of the Legion looked down upon their successors.

The Gallery formed part of the central spine of the
Andronius
, a strike cruiser that Fulgrim favoured as his second flagship, and was a place where a warrior could find solitude and inspiration from the presence of the dead heroes of his Legion.

Vespasian stood before the graven image of Lord Commander Illios, a warrior who had fought with Fulgrim against rival tribes of Chemos, and who helped in the transformation of their home from a hellish world of death and misery to one of culture and learning.

The two warriors clasped hands, and Solomon said, ‘It is good to see a friendly face.’

Vespasian nodded and said, ‘You’ve been making waves, my friend.’

‘I’ve been honest,’ countered Solomon.

‘Not always the best way these days,’ said Vespasian.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know what I mean,’ said Vespasian, ‘so let us not fence with words, but simply share the truth, eh?’

‘Suits me,’ said Solomon. ‘I never did have much time for fancy words.’

‘Then I will speak plainly and believe that you are a warrior I can trust, for I fear that something terrible has happened to our Legion. It has become decadent and arrogant.’

Solomon nodded and said, ‘I agree. There’s a new superiority come over the Legion. It’s a word I’ve heard from too many throats not to notice. I’ve already heard some of what happened on Murder from Saul Tarvitz, and if what he tells me is even half true, then we are already earning enmity among the other Legions for our high handedness.’

‘Do you have any idea what might have begun this?’

Solomon shrugged. ‘I’m not sure, but it was after the Laeran campaign that things changed.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Vespasian, turning and walking along the length of the gallery and passing a grand staircase that led to one of the ship’s apothecarions. ‘I believe that to be the case, though I do not know what could have engendered such a dramatic transformation.’

‘I’ve heard a lot of talk about that temple Lord Fulgrim captured,’ said Solomon. ‘Perhaps there was something inside that affected those who entered, some sickness or weapon that altered their minds. What if the Laer had some unknown power in that temple, some collective corruption in their consciousness that was passed to the Legion?’

‘That sounds farfetched to me, Solomon.’

‘Maybe it is and maybe it isn’t, but have you seen the renovations Lord Fulgrim has ordered to be carried out in
La Fenice
?’

‘No.’

‘Well, I never saw the inside of the Laer temple, but from what I’ve heard, it sounds as though
La Fenice
is being turned into a replica of it.’

‘Why would Lord Fulgrim replicate an alien temple on board the
Pride of the Emperor
?’

‘Why don’t you ask him?’ said Solomon. ‘You are a lord commander, it is your right to speak to Fulgrim.’

‘I will indeed, Solomon, though I still don’t understand what relevance the Laer temple has.’

‘Perhaps that it’s a temple is what’s relevant.’

Vespasian looked sceptical. ‘Are you suggesting that the power of their gods somehow affected our warriors? I won’t suffer any talk of unclean spirits in this place of heroes.’

‘No,’ said Solomon hurriedly, ‘not gods as such, but we know that there are foul things that can pour through the gates of the empyrean from the warp, do we not? Perhaps the temple was a place where such things could more easily pass between worlds. What if the power that filled the Laer came with us when we left?’

The two warriors stared at one another for long seconds before Vespasian said, ‘If you are right then what can we do about it?’

‘I don’t know,’ admitted Solomon. ‘You should talk to Lord Fulgrim,’

‘I will try to,’ replied Vespasian. ‘What will you do?’ Solomon chuckled and said, ‘Stand firm and act with honour in all things.’

‘That isn’t much of a plan.’

‘It’s all I have,’ said Solomon.

S
ERENA D
’A
NGELUS WATCHED
with amazement as the work on
La Fenice
continued with wondrous speed and boundless creativity. Colours leapt off the walls, and music that felt as though it knew her very heart filled the once drab and seedy theatre. Artists of all description had worked on the decor, and the splendour all but took her breath away.

To be surrounded by such an embarrassment of talent made her realise just how much she still had to work on her own paintings, and how worthless her pathetic skills were. The mighty portraits of the Lord Fulgrim and Lucius still sat mockingly unfinished in her studio, both canvases torturing her with their incompleteness. To have beings of such wondrous, unimaginable beauty sitting before her, and yet be unable to blend the precise tones she needed had driven her to fresh heights of self-loathing and mutilation. The flesh of her arms and legs was scarred with cuts from a sharpened palette knife, her blood mixing with her paints to enrich the colours.

But it hadn’t been enough.

Each droplet of blood held its vibrancy for only a short time, and Serena’s mind had filled with dark terrors of what would befall her if she didn’t finish her work or if it was ridiculed for being found wanting or somehow lacking in sensation.

She closed her eyes as she tried to picture the light and colour that had filled the temple on the floating atoll, but the memory flitted beyond her, elusive and forever out of sight. Her blood had enhanced the colours of her paints, and she had turned to ever more esoteric fluids and substances of her own flesh to improve it yet further.

Her tears rendered her whites luminous, her blood, the reds to fire, while her waste gave her shades of deep darkness she had not previously imagined possible. Each colour had awakened new sensations and passions she had, until now, been unaware of. That such things would have repulsed her only a few months previously never entered her head, for her all-consuming passion was in reaching the next high, the next level of sensation, for as each one was experienced it was soon forgotten like an ephemeral dream.

Weeping with frustration, Serena had smashed yet another painting, the crack of timber, the tear of the canvas and the pain of the jarring impact giving her a moment’s pleasure, but even that had faded within seconds.

She had nothing more to give, her flesh was spent and had exhausted the limit of sensation it could give, but even as the realisation came to her, so too did the solution.

Serena made her way through
La Fenice
towards the bar area, which, though it was late, was still home to a great many remembrancers without the wit to retire for the night. She recognised a few souls, but avoided them, seeking out one who would be least likely to object to her attentions.