James Swallow - Nemesis

arm.

Sedirae watched the helot perish with the slow, indolent air of one who had seen

many manners of death. He watched out of interest to see if this ending would show

him something different from all the other kills he had witnessed— and it did, to

some small degree.

Korda placed a hand over the man’s mouth to muffle his screams as the helot’s

body twitched and drew into itself. On the Caslon Moon during the Great Crusade,

the captain of the 13th had drowned a mutant in a freezing lake, holding the freakthing

down beneath the surface of the murky waters until it had perished. He was

reminded of that kill now, watching the helot go to his end from the poison. The

hooded servile was drowning dry, if such a thing were possible. Where he could see

bare skin, Sedirae saw the pallid and rad-burned meat of the man first turn corpsegrey,

then lose all definition and become papery, pulling tight over bones and muscle

bunches that atrophied as the moments passed. Even the blood that had spilled onto

the dark earth became cloudy and then evaporated, leaving cracked deposits bereft of

any moisture. Korda eventually took his hand away and shook it, sending a rain of

powder from his fingertips off on the winds.

“A painful death,” remarked the sergeant, examining his fingers. “See here?” He

showed off a tiny scratch on the ceramite of the knuckle joint. “He bit me in his last

agonies, not that it mattered.”

Sedirae threw a look at the command tent. No one had emerged to see what was

going on outside. He doubted Horus and the rest of his Mournival were even aware

of the killing taking place. They had so much to occupy them, after all. So many

plans and great schemes to helm…

“I’ll inform the Warmaster,” he heard himself say.

Erebus took a step closer. “Do you think that is necessary?”

Sedirae glanced at the Chaplain. The Word Bearer had a way of drawing attention

directly when he wished it, almost as if he could drag a gaze towards him like a black

sun would pull in light and matter in order to consume it; and by turns he could do

the opposite, making himself a ghost in a room full of people, allowing sight to slide

off him as if he were not there. In his more honest moments, Luc Sedirae would

admit that the presence of Erebus left him unsettled. The captain of the 13th could

not quite shake the disquiet that clouded his thoughts every time the Word Bearer

chose to speak. Not for the first time, despite all the fealty he had sworn to the Luna

Wolves—now the Sons of Horus in name and banner—Sedirae asked himself why

the Warmaster needed Erebus so close in order to prosecute his just and right

insurrection against the Emperor. It was one of many doubts that he carried, these

days. The burden of them seemed to grow ever greater with each passing month that

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the Warmaster’s forces dallied out here in the deeps, while the prize of Terra herself

remained out of reach.

He gave a low snort and gestured at the corpse. “Someone just tried to kill him.

Yes, cousin, I think Horus Lupercal might consider that of interest.”

“Tell me you are not so naive as to imagine that this pitiful attempt was the first

such act against the Warmaster?”

Sedirae narrowed his eyes at Erebus’ light, almost dismissive tone. “The first to

come so close, I would warrant.”

“A few steps more and he would have been inside the tent,” muttered Korda.

“Distance is relative,” Erebus replied. “Lethality is the key factor.”

Korda stood up. “I wonder who sent him.”

“The Warmaster’s father,” said Erebus immediately. “Or, if not by the Emperor’s

direct decree, then by that of his lackeys.”

“You seem very certain,” Sedirae noted. “But Horus has made many enemies.”

The Word Bearer gave a slight smile and shook his head. “None of concern on

this day.” He took a breath. “We three ended this threat before it became an issue. It

need not become one after the fact.” Erebus nodded towards the tent. “The

Warmaster has a galaxy to conquer. He has more than enough to absorb his attention

as it is. Would you wish to distract your primarch with this triviality, Sedirae?” He

prodded the corpse with the tip of his boot.

“I believe the Warmaster should make that choice for himself.” Irritation flared in

Sedirae’s manner and his lip curled. “Perhaps—” He caught himself and fell silent,

arresting the train of thought even as it formed.

“Perhaps?” echoed Erebus, immediately seizing on the word as if he knew what

would have followed it. “Speak your mind, captain. We are all kinsmen here. All

brothers of the lodge.”

He deliberated for a long moment on the words pushing at his lips, and then

finally gave them leave. “Perhaps, Word Bearer, if matters such as these were not

kept from Horus, then he might wish to move along a swifter path. Perhaps, if he

were not kept ignorant of the threats to our campaign, he might—”

“Push on to the Segmentum Solar, and to Earth?” Erebus seemed to close the

distance between them without actually moving. “That is the root of it, am I right?

You feel that the measured pace of our advance is too slow. You wish to lay siege to

the Imperial Palace tomorrow.”

“My captain is not alone in that regard,” said Korda, with feeling.

“A month would be enough,” retorted Sedirae, showing teeth. “It could be done.

We all know it.”

Erebus’ smile lengthened. “I am sure that from where the warriors of the 13th

Company stand, it doubtless seems that simple. But let me assure you, it is not.

There’s still so much to be done, Luc Sedirae. So many pieces to be placed, so many

factors not yet ready.”

The captain gave an angry snort. “What are you saying? That we must wait for

the stars to be right?”

The smile faded and the Word Bearer became grim. “Exactly that, cousin.

Exactly that.”

13

The sudden coldness in Erebus’ words gave Sedirae a moment’s pause. “Clearly I

lack your insight, then,” he grated. “As I fail to see the merit in this leisurely

strategy.”

“As long as we follow the Warmaster, all will be as it should,” Erebus told him.

“Victory will come soon enough.” He paused over the corpse, which had begun to

disintegrate into dust, pulled away by the winds. “Perhaps even sooner than any of us

might expect.”

“What do you mean?” said Korda.

“A truism of warfare.” Erebus did not look up from his examination of the dead

assassin. “If a tactic can be used against us, then it can be used by us.”

Dawn brought with it the clouds, and under the mellow amber glow of the rising sun,

the bright jewels of the Taebian Stars began to fade away as pure blue washed in to

lighten the darkness of lost night. Pressed to one window of the coleopter’s cramped

cabin, Yosef Sabrat took a moment to pull the collar of his greatcoat a little tighter

around his neck. The long summer season of Iesta Veracrux was well and truly over,

and the new autuwinter was on the horizon, coming in slow and careful. Up here, in

the cold morning sky, he could feel it. In a matter of weeks, the rains would come in