Dan Abnett - The Horus Heresy - Horus Rising

Sanguinius kept his counsel, waiting for the Warmas-ter's decision, understanding that Horns needed his brother primarch's unequivocal support.

The argument, best summarised by Maloghurst, ran as follows: the people of the interex are of our blood and we descend from common ancestry, so they are lost kin. But they differ from us in fundamental ways, and these are so profound, so inescapable, that they are cause for legitimate war. They contradict absolutely the essential tenets of Imperial culture as expressed by the Emperor, and such contradictions cannot be tolerated.

For the while, Horus tolerated them well enough. Loken could understand why. The warriors of the interex were easy to admire, easy to like. They were gracious and noble, and once the misunderstanding had been explained, utterly without hostility.

It took a strange incident for Loken to learn the truth behind the Warmaster's thinking. It took place during the voyage, the nine-week voyage from Murder to the nearest outpost world of the interex, the mingled ships of the expedition and its hangers-on trailing the sleek vessels of the interex flotilla.

The Mournival had come to Horus's private staterooms, and a bitter row had erupted. Abaddon had been swayed by the arguments for war. Both Mal-oghurst and Sedirae had been whispering in his ear. He was convinced enough to face the Warmaster and not back down. Voices had been raised. Loken had watched in growing amazement as Abaddon and the Warmaster bellowed at each other. Loken had seen Abaddon wrathful before, in the heat of combat, but he had never seen the commander so ill-tempered. Horus's fury startled him a little, almost scared him.

As ever, Torgaddon was trying to diffuse the confrontation with levity. Loken could see that even Tarik was dismayed by the anger on show.

'You have no choice!' Abaddon snarled. 'We have seen enough already to know that their ways are in opposition to ours! You must-'

'Must?' Horus roared. 'Must I? You are Mournival, Abaddon! You advise and you counsel, and that is your place! Do not imagine you can tell me what to do!'

'I don't have to! There is no choice, and you know what must be done!'

'Get out!'

'You know it in your heart!'

'Get out!' Horus yelled, and cast aside his drinking cup with such force it shattered on the steel deck. He glared at Abaddon, teeth clenched. 'Get out, Ezekyle, before I look to find another first captain!'

Abaddon glowered back for a moment, spat on the floor and stormed from the chamber. The others stood in stunned silence.

Horus turned, his head bowed. Torgaddon?' he said quietly.

'Lord, yes?'

'Go after him, please. Calm him down. Tell him if he craves my forgiveness in an hour or two, I might soften enough to hear him, but he'd better be on his knees when he does it, and his voice had better not rise above a whisper.’

Torgaddon bowed and left the chamber immediately. Loken and Aximand glanced at one another, made an awkward salute, and turned to follow him out.

You two stay.’ Horus growled.

They stopped in their tracks. When they turned back, they saw the Warmaster was shaking his head, wiping a hand across his mouth. A kind of smile informed his wide-set eyes. 'Throne, my sons. How the molten core of Cthonia burns in us sometimes.’

Horus sat down on one of the long, cushioned couches, and waved to them with a casual flick of his hand. 'Hard as a rock, Cthonia, hot as hell in the heart. Volcanic. We've all known the heat of the deep mines. We all know how the lava spurts up sometimes, without warning. It's in us all, and it wrought us all. Hard as rock with a burning heart. Sit, sit. Take wine. Forgive my outburst. I'd have you close. Half a Mournival is better than nothing.’

They sat on the couch facing him. Horus took up a fresh cup, and poured wine from a silver ewer. The wise one and the quiet one.’ he said. Loken wasn't sure which

the Warmaster thought he was. 'Counsel me, then. You were both entirely too silent during that debate.'

Aximand cleared his throat. 'Ezekyle had... a point.’ he began. He stiffened as he saw the Warmaster raise his eyebrows.

'Go on, little one.’

4ve... that is to say... we prosecute this crusade according to certain doctrines. For two centuries, we have done so. Laws of life, laws on which the Imperium is founded. They are not arbitrary. They were given to us, to uphold, by the Emperor himself.’

'Beloved of all.’ Horus said.

The Emperor's doctrines have guided us since the start. We have never disobeyed them.’ Aximand paused, then added, 'Before.’

"You think this is disobedience, little one?' Horus asked. Aximand shrugged. 'What about you, Garviel?' Horus asked. 'Are you with Aximand on this?'

Loken looked back into the Warmaster's eyes. 'I know why we ought to make war upon the interex, sir.’ he said. 'What interests me is why you think we shouldn't.’

Horus smiled. 'At last, a thinking man.’ He rose to his feet and, carrying his cup carefully, walked across to the right-hand wall of the stateroom, a section of which had been richly decorated with a mural. The painting showed the Emperor, ascendant above all, catching the spinning constellations in his outstretched hand. The stars.’ Horus said. 'See, there? How he scoops them up? The zodiacs swirl into his grasp like fireflies. The stars are mankind's birthright. That's what he told me. That's one of the first things he told me when we met. I was like a child then, raised up from nothing. He set me at his side, and pointed to the heavens. Those points of light, he said, are what we have been waiting generations to master. Imagine, Horus, every one a human culture, every one a realm of beauty and magnificence,

free from strife, free from war, free from bloodshed and the tyrannous oppression of alien overlords. Make no mistake, he said, and they will be ours.’

Horus slowly traced his fingers across the whorl of painted stars until his hand met the image of the Emperor's hand. He took his touch away and looked back at Aximand and Loken. As a foundling, on Ctho-nia, I saw the stars very infrequently. The sky was so often thick with foundry smoke and ash, but you remember, of course.’ Yes.’ said Loken. Litde Horus nodded. 'On those few nights when the stars were visible, I wondered at them. Wondered what they were and what they meant. Little, mysterious sparks of light, they had to have some purpose in being there. I wondered such things every day of my life until the Emperor came. I was not surprised when he told me how important they were.’

'I'll tell you a thing,' said Horus, walking back to them and resuming his seat. The first thing my father gave me was an astrological text. It was a simple thing, a child's primer. I have it here somewhere. He noted my wonder in the stars, and wished me to leam and understand.’

He paused. Loken was always captivated whenever Horus began to refer to the Emperor as 'my father'. It had happened a few times since Loken had been part of the inner circle, and on every occasion it had led to unguarded revelations.

There were zodiac charts in it. In the text.’ Horus took a sip of his wine and smiled at the memory. 'I learned them all. In one evening. Not just the names, but the patterns, the associations, the structure. All twenty signs. The next day, my father laughed at my appetite for knowledge. He told me the zodiac signs were old and unreliable models, now that the explorator fleets had begun detailed cosmological mapping. He told me that

the twenty signs in the heavens would one day be matched by twenty sons like me. Each son would embody the character and notion of a particular zodiac group. He asked me which one I liked the best.’ AVhat did you answer?' Loken asked. Horns sat back, and chuckled. 'I told him I liked all the patterns they made. I told him I was glad to finally have names for the sparks of light in the sky. I told him I liked Leos, naturally for his regal fury and Skorpos, for his armour and warlike blade. I told him that Tauromach appealed to my sense of stubbornness, and Arbitos to my sense of fairness and balance.’ The Warmaster shook his head, sadly. 'My father said he admired my choices, but was surprised I had not picked another in particular. He showed me again the horseman with the bow, the galloping warrior. The dreadful Sagittary he said. Most warlike of all. Strong, relentless, unbridled, swift and sure of his mark. In ancient times, he told me, this was the greatest sign of all. The centaur, the horse-man, the hunter-warrior, had been beloved in the old ages. In Anatoly in his own childhood, the centaur had been a revered symbol. A rider upon a horse, so he said, armed with a bow. The most potent martial instrument of its age, conquering all before it. Over time, myth had blended horseman and steed into one form. The perfect synthesis of man and war machine. That is what you must learn to be, he told me. That is what you must master. One day, you must command my armies, my instruments of war, as if they were an extension of your own person. Man and horse, as one, galloping the heavens, submitting to no foe. At Ullanor, he gave me this.’