Aaron Dembski-Bowden - The First Heretic

A ripple of unease shivered through him as he bore witness. Those ancient words of the Emperor came to him, that first creed of the Legiones Astartes: And they shall know no fear.

Argel Tal was one of those who took the creed in its most literal sense, believing the sensitivity to feel fear was rewritten out of him at the genetic level. But even so, watching these brotherless cousins fight chilled him to his core. They lacked so much, despite their individual perfection.

‘In standing free of brotherhood,’ he said, ‘they also sacrifice its strengths. The tactics of a pack. The trust in those who fight by your side. I suspect the secrets woven into their body and blood gene-bind them to a higher loyalty – perhaps their only brother is the Emperor himself.’

Torgal was as perceptive as ever. ‘You no longer admire them,’ he said. ‘I hear it in your voice.’

Argel Tal smiled, choosing to let his silence answer for him.

Beneath them, the Custodians fought on. ‘That looks like trouble,’ one of the assault squad gestured down the road. They watched as a glass construct stalked into the avenue from a side street, and began to make its way down the thoroughfare towards the golden warriors.

Now Argel Tal rose to his feet. ‘Come, brothers. Let’s see how the wolves hunt with the lions.’

‘By your word,’ they chorused in perfect unity, and ten sets of thrusters howled as one.

Aquillon’s greeting was cautious. He made the sign of the aquila across his breastplate, where the Emperor’s two-headed eagle symbol was already in ornate evidence.

‘Hail, captain.’

Argel Tal returned the salute, crashing a fist against his chestpiece over his heart – the sign of Imperial allegiance in the Terran Unification Wars.

‘Custodian. A pleasure to be of service,’ Argel Tal gestured one of his blades at the ruined construct. It lay dead in the road, cut and battered, surrounded by slain militia.

‘A curious greeting, captain, to use a salute that fell out of favour before the Great Crusade even began.’

The Word Bearers formed up behind and around Argel Tal, just as the Custodians came to Aquillon’s side. It wasn’t quite a standoff, but none of the warriors were blind to the spectre of tension between them.

Argel Tal didn’t rise to the bait. ‘You seemed to need the help. I’m just glad we were here to assist you.’

Aquillon chuckled and walked away, saying nothing more. The Custodes formed up in imprecise formation and marched ahead. Evidently, their leader wasn’t rising to any bait, either.

‘Sir?’ asked Torgal. ‘Should we go with them?’

Argel Tal was smiling despite himself.

‘Yes. For what little there is left to do, we’ll fight with them.’

By dawn, the glass city’s death-throes were over.

The place chosen for the Legion’s gathering was expansive out of necessity, but still deep within the urban sprawl. Crystal towers, purged of life by the Terminator elite, stood unburned around an immense park. The earth was soon churned to mud under the grinding treads of tanks and the boots of a hundred thousand Astartes. The park itself reached for kilometres in all directions. In better times, it had served as a place of peace and celebration for the people of the city; now it was being used to celebrate their annihilation, and Argel Tal found a quiet pleasure in that little slice of irony.

Seventh Company trickled in – not first, but far from last – and took their appointed places. Xi-Nu 73 and his four robotic warriors knew their place, and made no attempt to approach the assembling rows of Word Bearers. The captain and his squad leaders bid the tech-adept farewell at the edges of the Legion’s formation, and the last sight Argel Tal had of the Mechanicum priest was with Incarnadine , the Conqueror Primus. The robot stood slightly hunched at its master’s side, still towering above the augmetic human, its unliving eye lenses tracking left and right with a camera’s patience. Xi-Nu 73 absently stroked its armour plating, as if it were a pet to have its fur patted.

While they stood separate from the Astartes, they were far from alone. Carthage Cohort was comprised of dozens of maniples, of which Xi-Nu’s four wards were just one. It looked as though many advancing squads had summoned aid from the Legio Cybernetica forces allied to the XVII Legion, for over a hundred robots stood proud in their black and scarlet livery.

A few rare units had oath parchments and scrolls of scripture bound to their armour plating, marking them as particularly accomplished in battle. These robots, from a variety of classes and designs, were enrolled in the Fidelitas Lex’s archives as honorary members of the Word Bearers Legion.

Incarnadine was one of them. The robot bore the serrated sun icon, plated in gold upon its forehead.

Aquillon and the Custodians broke away as Argel Tal and his brothers began to form ranks.

‘Be well, captain,’ said the leader, and offered another salute.

Argel Tal acknowledged the warrior with a nod. ‘And you, Occuli Imperator.’

With that, the Custodes made their way through the gathered Legion to stand apart in a small cluster. Hundreds of grey helms followed the warriors’ movements, watching, judging, hating.

Argel Tal and Xaphen moved to the front ranks alongside Chapter Master Deumos and the other commanders of the Serrated Sun. Considering their victory here, the greetings were oddly subdued. It took a moment for Argel Tal to realise why.

‘How long were you with them?’ Deumos asked, just short of a demand.

Argel Tal glanced at the chron display counting up on the edge of his visor display. ‘Eight hours, forty-one minutes.’

Deumos was bareheaded, and his time-cracked face was set in an expectant glower.

‘Well?’

‘Well, what?’ asked Argel Tal. ‘Have I erred?’

‘Of course not. You have nothing to report?’

‘I do, sir.’ Argel Tal faced forward. ‘But it can wait.’

‘Look at them, brother.’ Deumos was too careful to gesture, but his meaning was clear nevertheless. ‘See how they stand away from us, yet still expect to hear the primarch’s words.’

The Custodes stood spear-straight in two lines of ten, horsehair crests blowing in the wind. Halberds held at attention, just as they would be in the Emperor’s presence. Products of a refined process, where the Astartes were mass-produced – it was easy to imagine these gilded knights hailed as humanity’s finest, beneath only the primarchs themselves in grandeur. It was the natural instinct of the untrained and inexperienced to presume such a thing. For those who perceived their flaws, matters were less cut and dried.

Argel Tal still hadn’t decided how he felt about them. They were stunning in battle, yet deeply flawed. Aquillon was appointed to watch over the Legion and report its actions to the Emperor, yet he had – irritatingly enough – been likable during the hours they’d battled together, and a demonstrably focused warrior.

The Word Bearers stood beneath the scripture-laden banner of Seventh Company and the icon of the serrated sun, as they waited for their brothers to take position.

‘Carthage stands apart from us, yet they will hear the primarch,’ said Argel Tal.

‘That’s different,’ Deumos growled. ‘The Carthage Primacy was signed and oathed over a century ago. Almost a dozen of their war machines have been inducted as honorary Legionnaires since then. Aurelian will order them to leave, mark my words, but at least they have earned the right to stand with us.’

‘Given time, Aquillon might earn the same.’

Deumos laughed, the sudden sound turning nearby heads in his direction. ‘Do you actually believe that, captain?’