Galaxy in Flames (22 page)

‘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.

‘I
T
’
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, Maggard, 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 authorizing 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 Sindermann. ‘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 Sindermann. ‘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.’

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

ELEVEN

Warning

Death of a World

The Last Cthonian

S
AUL
T
ARVITZ
’
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 the swordsman’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 my 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 towering form of the
Dies Irae
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 virus 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 not 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 Fulgrim’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.’

‘I’ll 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.

‘Yes,’ 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, and find Captain Ehrlen. I’ll raise the other Legions and get our warriors 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 followed, 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 billions of people would die.

A
MONG 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 Cassar 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 Turnet 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 shattering 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 leveler 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-caliber 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 quadrant,’ 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 Turnet. ‘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 Isstvanian 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 aim at a booming artillery position some five hundred metres away, as it belched tongues of flame and 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 something 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.’