Galaxy in Flames (30 page)

The loyalists had won this battle, but Lucius found that he didn’t care.

He had won his own battle, and pulling Charmosian’s head from the skull faced helmet and throwing it aside, he knew he had what he needed to ensure that the song of death kept playing for him.

T
HE
W
ARSINGERS
’ C
HAPEL
was quiet. Hundreds of new bodies lay around it, purple and gold armour scorched and split, runnels of blood gathering between the stained marble tiles. In some places they lay alongside the blackened armour of the World Eaters who had died in the initial assaults on the Choral City.

The palace entrance was heavily barricaded and in the closest dome of the palace, the few apothecaries in the loyalist force were patching up their wounded.

Tarvitz saw Lucius cleaning his sword, alternating between wiping the blade and using its tip to carve new scars on his face. A skull-faced helmet sat beside him.

‘Is that really necessary?’ asked Tarvitz.

Lucius looked up and said, ‘I want to remember killing Charmosian.’

Tarvitz knew he should discipline the swordsman, reprimand him for practices that might be considered barbaric and tribal, but here, amid this betrayal and death, such concerns seemed ridiculously petty.

He squatted on the ground next to Lucius, his limbs aching and his armour scarred and dented from the latest battle at the entrance to the palace.

‘Fair enough,’ he said, jerking his thumb in the direction of the enemy. ‘I saw you kill him. It was a fine strike.’

‘Fine?’ said Lucius. ‘It was better than fine. It was art. You never were much for finesse, Saul, so I’m not surprised you didn’t appreciate it.’

Lucius smiled as he spoke, but Tarvitz saw a very real flash of annoyance cross the swordsman’s features, a glimpse of hurt pride that he did not like the look of.

‘Any more movement?’ he asked, changing the subject.

‘No,’ said Lucius. ‘Eidolon won’t come back before he’s regrouped.’

‘Keep watching,’ ordered Tarvitz. ‘Eidolon could catch us unawares while our guard’s down.’

‘He won’t breach us,’ promised Lucius, ‘not while I’m here.’

‘He doesn’t have to,’ said Tarvitz, wanting to make sure Lucius understood the reality of their position. ‘Every time he attacks, we lose more warriors. If he strikes fast and pulls out, we’ll be whittled down until we can’t hold everywhere at once. The ambush from the temple cost him more than he’d like, but he still took too many of us down.’

‘We saw him off though,’ said Lucius.

‘Yes,’ agreed Tarvitz, ‘but it was a close run thing, so I’ll send a squad to help keep the watch.’

‘So you don’t trust me to keep watch now, is that it?’

Tarvitz was surprised at the venom in Lucius’s voice and said, ‘No, that’s not it at all. All I want is to make sure that you have enough warriors here to fend off another attack. Anyway, I need to attend to the western defences.’

‘Yes, off you go and lead the big fight, you’re the hero,’ snapped Lucius.

‘We will win this,’ said Tarvitz, placing his hand on the swordsman’s shoulder.

‘Yes,’ said Lucius, ‘we will. One way or another.’

L
UCIUS WATCHED
T
ARVITZ
go, feeling his anger at his assumption of command. Lucius had been the one earmarked for promotion and greatness, not Tarvitz. How could his own glorious accomplishments have been overshadowed by the plodding leadership of Saul Tarvitz? All the glories that he had earned in the crucible of combat were forgotten and he felt his bitterness rise up in a choking wave in his gullet.

He had felt a moment’s guilt as he had formed his plan, but remembering Tarvitz’s patronizing condescension, he felt that guilt vanish like snow in the sunshine.

The temple was quiet and Lucius checked to make sure that he was alone, moving to sit on one of the outcroppings of smooth grey-green stone and lifting Charmosian’s helmet.

He peered into the bloodstained helmet until he saw the glint of silver, and then reached in and pulled out the small metallic scrap that was Charmosian’s helmet communicator.

Once again he checked to see that he was alone before speaking into it.

‘Commander Eidolon?’ he said, his frustration growing as he received no answer.

‘Eidolon, this is Lucius,’ he said. ‘Charmosian is dead.’

There was a brief crackle of static, and then, ‘Lucius.’

He smiled as he recognized Eidolon’s voice. As one of the senior officers among the Emperor’s Children, Charmosian had been in direct contact with Eidolon, and, as Lucius had hoped, the channel had still been open when the chaplain had died.

‘Commander!’ said Lucius, his voice full amusement. ‘It is good to hear your voice.’

‘I have no interest in listening to your taunts, Lucius,’ snarled Eidolon. ‘You must know we will kill you all eventually.’

‘Indeed you will,’ agreed Lucius, ‘but it will take a very long time. A great many Emperor’s Children will die before the palace falls. Sons of Horus and World Eaters, too. And Terra knows how many of Mortarion’s Death Guard have died already in the trenches. You will suffer for this, Eidolon. The Warmaster’s whole force will suffer. By the time the other Legions get here he may have lost too many on Isstvan III to win through.’

‘Keep telling yourself that, Lucius, if it makes it easier.’

‘No, commander,’ he said. ‘You misunderstand me. I am saying that I wish to make a deal with you.’

‘A deal?’ asked Eidolon. ‘What kind of deal?’

Lucius’s scars tightened as he smiled. ‘I will give you Tarvitz and the Precentor’s Palace.’

FIFTEEN

No shortage of wonders

Old friends

Perfect failure

T
HE STRATEGIUM WAS
dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the flickering pict screens gathered like supplicants around the Warmaster’s throne and a handful of torches that burned low with a fragrant aroma of sandalwood. The back wall of the strategium had been removed during the fighting on Isstvan III, revealing a fully fashioned temple adjoining the
Vengeful Spirit
’s bridge.

The Warmaster sat alone. None dared disturb his bitter reveries as he sat brooding on the conflict raging below. What should have been a massacre had turned into a war – a war he could ill afford the time to wage.

Despite his brave words to his brother primarchs, the battle on Isstvan III worried him. Not for any fear that his warriors would lose, but for the fact that they were engaged at all. The virus bombing should have killed every one of those he believed would not support him in his campaign to topple the Emperor from the Golden Throne of Terra.

Instead, the first cracks had appeared in what should have been a faultless plan.

Saul Tarvitz of the Emperor’s Children had taken a warning to the surface…

And the
Eisenstein
…

He remembered Maloghurst’s fear as he had come to tell him of the debacle with the remembrancers, the fear that the Warmaster’s wrath would prove his undoing.

Maloghurst had limped towards the throne with his hooded head cast down.

‘What is it Maloghurst?’ Horus had demanded.

‘They are gone,’ said Maloghurst. ‘Sindermann, Oliton and Keeler.’

‘What do you. mean?’

‘They are not amongst the dead in the Audience Chamber,’ explained Maloghurst. ‘I checked every corpse myself.’

‘You say they are gone?’ asked the Warmaster at last. ‘That implies you know where they have gone. Is that the case?’

‘I believe so, my lord,’ nodded Maloghurst. ‘It appears they boarded a Thunderhawk and flew to the
Eisenstein
.’

‘They stole a Thunderhawk,’ repeated Horus. ‘We are going to have to review our security procedures regarding these new craft. First Saul Tarvitz and now these remembrancers; it seems anyone can steal one of our ships with impunity.’

‘They did not steal it on their own,’ explained Maloghurst. ‘They had help.’

‘Help? From whom?’

‘I believe it was Iacton Qruze. There was a struggle and Maggard was killed.’

‘Iacton Qruze?’ laughed Horus mirthlessly. ‘We have seen no shortage of wonders, but perhaps this is the greatest of them. The Half-heard growing a conscience.’

‘I have failed in this, Warmaster.’

‘It is not a question of failure, Maloghurst! Mistakes like this should never occur. More and more of my efforts are distracted from this battle. Tell me, where is the
Eisenstein
now?’

‘It attempted to break through our blockade to reach the system jump point.’

‘You say “attempted”,’ noted Horus. ‘It did not succeed?’

Maloghurst paused before answering. ‘Several of our ships intercepted the
Eisenstein
and heavily damaged it.’

‘But they did not destroy it?’

‘No, my lord, before they could do so, the
Eisenstein
’s commander made an emergency jump into the warp, but the ship was so badly damaged that we do not believe it could survive such a translation.’

‘If it does, then the whole timetable of my designs will be disrupted.’

‘The warp is dark, Warmaster. It is unlikely that—’

‘Do not be so sure of yourself, Maloghurst,’ warned Horus. ‘The Isstvan V phase is critical to our success and if the
Eisenstein
carries word of our plans to Terra, then all may be lost.’

‘Perhaps, Warmaster, if we were to withdraw from the Choral City and blockade the planet, we could ensure that the Isstvan V phase proceeds as planned.’

‘I am the Warmaster and I do not back down from a battle!’ shouted Horus. ‘There are goals to be won in the Choral City that you cannot comprehend.’

Horus was shaken from his memories by the chiming of the communications array fitted into the arm of his throne. ‘This is the Warmaster.’

A holomat installed beneath the floor projected a large square plane on which swirled an image, high above the Warmaster’s temple. The image resolved into the face of Lord Commander Eidolon, evidently inside his command Land Raider. The sound of distant explosions washed through the static.

‘Warmaster,’ said Eidolon. ‘I bring news that I feel you should hear.’

‘Tell me,’ said Horus, ‘and it had better be good news.’

‘Oh, it is, my lord,’ said Eidolon. ‘Well, don’t drag this out, Eidolon,’ warned Horus. ‘Tell me!’

‘We have an ally inside the palace.’

‘An ally? Who?’

‘Lucius.’

T
HE AFTERMATH OF
a battle was the worst part.

An Astartes warrior was used to the tension of waiting for an attack to come, and even the din and pain of battle itself. But Loken never wished for a time without war more than when he saw what was left after the battle had finished. He didn’t experience fear or despair in the manner of a mortal man, but he felt sorrow and guilt as they did.

Angron’s latest attack had been one of the fiercest yet, the primarch himself leading it, charging through the ruins of the palace dome towards Loken’s defences. Thousands of blood covered World Eaters had followed him and many of those warriors still lay where they had fallen.

Once this place had been part of the palace, a handsome garden with summer-houses, ornamental lakes and a roof that opened up to the sun. Now it was a rubble-strewn ruin, its roof collapsed and only an incongruous decorated post or the splintered remains of an ornamental bridge remaining of its finery.

The bodies of the World Eaters were concentrated on the forward barricade, a line of heaped rubble and metal spikes constructed by the Luna Wolves. Angron had attacked it in force and Torgaddon had relinquished it, letting the World Eaters die for it before his Astartes fell back to the defences at the entrance of the palace’s central dome. The ruse had worked and the World Eaters had been strung out as they charged at Loken’s position. Many had died to the guns Tarvitz had stationed above the barricades, and by the time Loken’s sword had left its sheath it was only momentum that kept the World Eaters fighting – victory was beyond them.

Luna Wolves were mixed in with the World Eaters’ dead, warriors Loken had known for years. Although the sounds of battle had faded, Loken fancied he could still hear echoes of the fighting, chainblades ripping through armour and volleys of bolter rounds splitting the air.

‘It was a close run thing, Garviel,’ said a voice from behind Loken, ‘but we did it.’

Loken glanced round to see Saul Tarvitz emerging from the central dome. Loken smiled as he saw his friend and battle-brother, a man who had come a long way from the line officer he had been back on Murder to command the survivors of Horus’s treachery.

‘Angron will be back,’ said Loken.

‘Their ruse failed, though,’ said Tarvitz.

‘They don’t need to break in, Saul,’ said Loken. ‘Horus will whittle us down until there’s no one left. Then Eidolon and Angron can just roll over us.’

‘Not forgetting the Warmaster’s Sons of Horus,’ said Tarvitz.

Loken shrugged. ‘There’s no need for them to get involved yet. Eidolon wants the glory and the World Eaters are hungry for blood. The Warmaster will happily let the other Legions wear us down before they strike.’

‘That’s changed,’ said Tarvitz.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ve just had word from Lucius,’ explained Tarvitz. ‘He tells me that his communications specialists have broken the Sons of Horus communiqués. Some old friends of yours are coming down from the
Vengeful Spirit
to lead the Legion.’

Loken turned from the battlefield, suddenly interested. ‘Who?’

‘Ezekyle Abaddon and Horus Aximand,’ said Tarvitz. ‘Apparently they are to bring the Warmaster’s own wrath down upon the city. The Sons of Horus will be playing their hand soon enough, I think.’

Abaddon and Aximand, the arch-traitors, men Loken had admired for so long and the heart of the Mournival. Both warriors stood at Horus’s right hand and possibilities flashed through Loken’s mind. Deprived of the last of its Mournival, a crucial part of the Legion would die and it would start unraveling without such inspirational figureheads. ‘Saul, are you certain?’ asked Loken urgently. ‘As sure as I can be, but Lucius seemed pretty excited by the news.’