Graham McNeill - False Gods

'My lord, its walls are designed to resist almost every weapon we have available, but I assure you the fortress will be ours within days,’ said Kharn.

Той mean mine,’ growled the Warmaster.

'Of course, Lord Warmaster,’ replied Kharn.

'And tell my brother Angron to get up here. I haven't seen hide nor hair of him in months. I'll not have him sulking in some muddy trench avoiding me just because he can't deliver on his promises,’

'If I may be so bold, my primarch told you that this batde would take time,’ explained Kharn. The citadel was built with the old technology and needs siege experts like the Iron Warriors to break it open,’

'And if I could contact Perturabo, I would have him here,’ said the Warmaster.

Regulus spoke from behind the Warmaster. The STC machines will be able to counter much of the Mechan-icum's arsenal. If the Dark Age texts are correct, they will adapt and react to changing circumstances, creating ever more cunning means of defence,’

'The citadel may be able to adapt,’ said Captain Kharn, angrily gripping the haft of his axe, 'but it will not be able to stand before the fury of the XII Legion. The sons of Angron will tear the beating heart from that fortress for you, Warmaster. Have no doubt of that,’

'Fine words, Captain Kharn,’ said Horas. 'Now storm that citadel for me. Kill everyone you find within,’

The World Eater bowed and turned on his heel, marching from the sanctum.

Once the doors slid shut behind Kharn, Horas said, 'That ought to light a fire under Angron's backside. This war is taking too damn long. There is other business to be upon,’

Regulus and Maloghurst came around from behind the Warmaster, the equerry taking a seat to ease his aching body.

'We must have those STC machines,’ said Regulus.

'Yes, thank you, adept, I had quite forgotten that,’ said Horas. 'I know very well what those machines rep­resent, even if the fools who control them do not,’

'My order will compensate you handsomely for them, my lord,’ said Regulus.

Horas smiled and said, At last we come to it, adept,’

'Come to what, my lord?'

'Do not think me a simpleton, Regulus,’ cautioned Horas. 'I know of the Mechanicum's quest for the ancient knowledge. Fully functional construct machines would be quite a prize, would they not?'

'Beyond imagining,' admitted Regulus. To rediscover the thinking engines that drove humanity into the stars and allowed the colonisation of the galaxy is a prize worth any price,’

'Any price?' asked Horas.

These machines will allow us to achieve the unimag­inable, to reach into the halo stars and perhaps even other galaxies,’ said Regulus. 'So yes, any price is worth paying,’

Then you shall have them,’ said Horas.

Regulus seemed taken aback by such a monumentally grand offer and said, 'I thank you, Warmaster. You can­not imagine the boon you grant the Mechanicum,’

Horas stood and circled behind Regulus, staring unabashedly at the remnants of flesh that clung to his metallic components. Shimmering fields contained the adept's organs, and a brass musculature gave him a mea­sure of mobility.

There is little of you that can still be called human, isn't there?' asked Horas. 'In that regard you are not so different from myself or Maloghurst,’

'My lord?' replied Regulus. 'I aspire to the perfection of the machine state, but would not presume to compare myself with the Astartes,’

As well you should not,’ said Horas, continuing to pace around the sanctum. 'I will give you these construct machines, but as we have established, there will be a price,’

'Name it, my lord. The Mechanicum will pay it,’

The Great Crusade is almost at an end, Regulus, but our efforts to secure the galaxy are only just beginning,’ said Horas, leaning over the table and planting his hands on its black surface. 'I am poised to embark on the greatest endeavour imaginable, but I need allies, or all will come to naught. Can I count on you and the Mechanicum?'

"What is this great endeavour?' asked Regulus.

Horus waved his hand and came around the table to stand next to the adept of the Mechanicum once more, placing a reassuring hand on his brass armature.

'No need to go into the details just now,’ he said. 'Just tell me that you and your brethren will support me when the time comes and the construct machines are yours.'

A whirring mechanical arm wrapped in gold mesh swung over the table and placed a polished machine-cog gently on its surface.

'As much of the Mechanicum as I command is yours Warmaster,’ promised Regulus, 'and as much strength as I can muster from those I do not.'

Horus smiled and said, 'Thank you, adept. That's all I wanted to hear.'

On the sixth day of the tenth month of the war against the Auretian Technocracy, the 63rd Expedition was thrown into panic when a group of vessels translated in-system behind it, in perfect attack formation.

Boas Comnenus attempted to turn his ships to face the new arrivals, but even as the manoeuvres began, he knew it would be too late. Only when the mysterious ships reached, and then passed, optimal firing range, did those aboard the Vengeful Spirit understand that the vessels had no hostile intent.

Relieved hails were sent from the Warmaster's flagship to be met with an amused voice that spoke with the cultured accent of Old Terra.

'Horus, my brother,’ said the voice. 'It seems I still have a thing or two to teach you.'

On the bridge of the Vengeful Spirit, Horus said, 'Fulgrim,’

Despite the hardships of the war, Loken was excited at the prospect of meeting the warriors of the Emperor's

Children once again. He had spent as much time as his duties allowed in repairing his armour, though he knew it was still in a sorry state. He and the Mournival stood behind the Warmaster as he waited proudly on the upper transit dock of the Vengeful Spirit, ready to receive the primarch of the III Legion.

Fulgrim had been one of the Warmaster's staunchest supporters since his elevation to Warmaster, easing the concerns of Angron, Perturabo and Curze when they raged against the honour done to Horus and not them. Fulgrim's voice had been the breath of calm that had stilled bellicose hearts and soothed raffled pride.

Without Fulgrim's wisdom, Loken knew that it was unlikely that the Warmaster would ever have been able to command the loyalty of the Legions so completely.

He heard metallic scrapes from beyond the pressure door.

Loken had seen Fulgrim once before at the Great Tri­umph on Ullanor, and even though it had been from a distance as he had marched past with tens of thou­sands of other Astartes warriors, Loken's impression of the primarch had never faded from his mind.

It was a palpable honour to stand once again in the presence of two such godlike beings as the primarchs.

The eagle-stamped pressure door slid open and the Primarch of the Emperor's Children stepped onto the Vengeful Spirit.

Loken's first impression was of the great golden eagle's wing that swept up over Fulgrim's left shoulder. The primarch's armour was brilliant purple, edged in bright gold and inlaid with the most exquisite carv­ings. Hooded bearers carried his long, scaled cloak, and trailing parchments hung from his shoulder guards.

A high collar of deepest purple framed a face that was pale to the point of albinism, the eyes so dark as to be

almost entirely pupil. The hint of a smile played around his lips and his hair was a shimmering white.

Loken had once called Hastur Sejanus a beautiful man, adored by all, but seeing the Primarch of the Emperor's Children up close for the first time, he knew that his paltry vocabulary was insufficient for the perfec­tion he saw in Fulgrim.