James Swallow - The Flight of the Eisenstein

His chest on fire, Garro couldn't speak, so he nod­ded. The primarch laughed in a low chug of amusement. Mortarion's cup could have contained water for all the apparent effect it had upon him. He placed his hand on the battle-captain's back. 'Come, Nathaniel. Let's walk it off.'

As they came to the ramp that led to the balcony above the grand armoury chamber, Typhon bowed to his liege lord and made his excuses, walking away towards the alcoves where Commander Grulgor and the Second Company made their station. Garro cast back to see the Deathshroud following them in lockstep, moving with such flawless precision that they appeared to be automata and not actually men.

'Don't worry, Nathaniel/ said Mortarion, 'I have no plans to replace my guardians just yet. I am not about to recruit you into the secret dead.'

'As you wish, lord,' Garro replied, getting the use of his throat back.

'I know you frown on such things as the cups, but you must understand that honours and citations are sometimes necessary.' He nodded to himself. "War­riors must know that they are valued. Praise… praise from one's peers must be given when the moment is right. Without it, even the most steadfast man will eventually feel unvalued.' There was an edge of melancholy that flickered through the primarch's voice so quickly that Garro decided he had imagined it.

Mortarion brought them to the edge of the balcony and they looked down at the large assemblage of men. Although Endurance was not large enough to hold the entire Legion, many of the Death Guard's seven companies were represented below, in whole or in part. Garro caught sight of Ullis Temeter and his comrade threw him a salute. Garro nodded back.

'You are a respected man, Nathaniel/ said the pri-march. 'There's not a captain in the whole of the Legion who would not acknowledge your combat prowess.' He smiled slightly again. 'Even Commander Grulgor, although he may hate to admit it.'

'Thank you, lord.'

And the men. The men trust you. They look to you for strength of character, for leadership, and you give it.'

'I do only what the Emperor commands of me, sir.' Garro shifted uncomfortably. As honoured as he was to have a private moment with his master, it troubled him in equal measure. This was not the direct, clear

arena of warfare where Garro understood what was expected of him. He was in rarefied air here, loitering with a son of the Emperor himself.

If Mortarion sensed this, he gave no sign. 'It is important to me to have unity of purpose within my Legion. Just as it is important for my brother, Horus, to have unity across the entirety of the Astartes.'

The Warmaster/ breathed Garro. There had been rumours aboard the Endurance for some time that ele­ments of the Death Guard's flotilla would be sent on a new task after the jorgall interception. At the fore­front of this talk was the possibility that they would join the 63rd Expeditionary Fleet of the Great Cru­sade, commanded by none other than the chosen son of the Emperor himself, Horus the Warmaster. It was clearly more than rumour, he now realised. Garro had fought side by side with the warriors of Horus's XVI Legion in the past, and had only admiration for men like Maloghurst, Garviel Loken and Tarik Tor-gaddon. 'I have served with the Luna Wolves in the past, lord/

They are the Sons of Horus now/ Mortarion cor­rected gently, 'just as the Death Guard were once the Dusk Raiders. My brother expects great things of our Legion, captain. A battle is coming that will test all of us, from the Warmaster to your lowly housecarl.'

'I will be ready'

The primarch nodded. 'I have no doubt of that, but it is not enough to be ready, Nathaniel.' His fingers knitted together over the iron balustrade. 'The Death Guard must be of one mind. We must have singular purpose or we will falter.'

Garro's discomfort deepened and he wondered if the after-effects of the cup's contents were not still upon him. 'I… I am not sure I understand you, lord.'

'Our men find solace in the lines of command with their superiors and inferiors, but it is important that they also have a place in which the barriers created by rank can be ignored. They must have freedom to speak and think unfettered.'

All at once, the insight Garro had been lacking came to him in a cold rush. 'My lord refers to the lodges'

'I have been told that you have always eschewed membership. Why, Nathaniel?'

Garro stared at the deck plates. 'Am I being ordered to join, lord?'

'I can no more command the workings of the lodge than I can the motion of the stars,' Mortarion said eas­ily. 'No, captain, I do not order you. I only ask why. Illuminate me.'

It was a long moment before he spoke again. 'We are Astartes, sir, set on our path by the Master of Mankind, tasked to regather the lost fragments of humanity to the fold of the Imperium, to illuminate the lost, casti­gate the fallen and the invader. We can only do so if we have truth on our side. If we do it in the open, under the harsh light of the universe, then I have no doubt that we will eventually expunge the fallacies of gods and deities… but we cannot bring the secular truth to bear if any of it is hidden, even the smallest part. Only the Emperor can show the way forward.' He took a shuddering breath, intently aware of the primarch's unblinking stare upon him. 'These lodges, though they have their worth, are predicated on the act of conceal­ment, and I will have no part of that.'

Mortarion accepted this with a careful nod. 'What of your battle-brothers who feel differently?'

'That is their choice, lord. I have no right to make it for them.'

The primarch drew himself up once more. 'Thank you for your candour, battle-captain. I expected noth­ing le ss –' He paused. 'I have one more request of you, Nathaniel, and this, I'm afraid, is indeed an order.'

'Sir?' Garro felt an odd flutter in his chest.

'Once we are done here, this fleet will make space for the Isstvan system to rendezvous with the War-master's command ship, the Vengeful Spirit. Horns will be holding a war council with representatives of the World Eaters and the Emperor's Children, and I will have need of an equerry to join me there. First Captain Typhon will be engaged in other duties, so I have chosen you to accompany my party.'

Garro was speechless. To extend such a privilege to a battle-captain was unprecedented, and the thought of it made his chest tighten. To stand in Mortarion's presence was heady enough, but to be close at hand before an assembly of the Emperor's sons led by the Warmaster…

It would be glorious.

FOUR

Two Faces

A Scream in the Darkness

Gathering of Legends

The pict screen was a flexible thing, like cloth, and it hung from the eaves of the armoury chamber alcove in the manner of a tapestry. Cables trailed away to shining brass sockets in the walls, streams of data feeding images from the ship-to-ship vox network. The view was a live signal, attenuated by interference from the Horologii star, and although it appeared to be instantaneous, it was actually a few minutes behind the real events, the transmission slowed by relativistic physics, not that such a fact seemed to con­cern the Astartes gathered to watch.

The display came from remote scrying picters on the bow plane of Barbarus's Sting, a light frigate that had been tasked to follow the jorgall world-ship on its last journey. The images were being recorded for posterity. The better views would doubtless be worked into stirring newsreels for distribution across Imperial space.

The world ship's drives flashed red and tongues of fusion flame erupted from their nozzles, each one as long as the Sting. At the edges of the picture, it was possible to see the glints of smaller craft – shuttles and Thunderhawks – escaping the world-ship with the last of the Imperial forces on board. The picters rotated to follow the monolithic craft and smoked fil­ters faded in as the Iotan sun hove into view.