Dan Abnett - Know no fear. The Battle of Calth

‘What does it mean?’ asks Marius Gage.

‘It means…’ Guilliman begins. He takes the data-slate back, ponders it. ‘It means a precondition of malice.’

He looks out of the flagship’s vast crystalflex ports at the bombarded planet below.

‘Not that it‘s really in any doubt,’ he adds. ‘If this started as an accident or mistake, then it has truly passed beyond any limit of forgiveness. It is, however, salutary to know that my brother’s crime is entirely proven.’

Guilliman summons the Master of Vox with a quick gesture.

‘Rescind my previous looped broadcast,’ he says, taking the speaker horn. ‘Replace it with this.’

He hesitates, thinking, and then lifts his head and speaks cleanly and quickly into the device.

‘Lorgar of Colchis. You may consider the following. One: I entirely withdraw my previous offer of solemn ceasefire. It is cancelled, and will not be made again, to you or to any other of your motherless bastards. Two, you are no longer any brother of mine. I will find you, I will kill you, and I will hurl your toxic corpse into hell’s mouth.’

He hands the horn back to the vox-officer.

‘Put that on repeat immediately,’ he says.

Guilliman ushers Gage, Shipmaster Zedoff and a group of other senior executives towards the strategium.

‘In the absence of vox, we will need to use direct link laser comms and sealed orders physically carried by fast lighters to coordinate the fleet,’ he begins. ‘I have sketched a hasty tactical plan. Specific ship orders must be communicated to each master and captain by the most expedient means available. Within the hour – the hour, you understand – I want this fleet operating to purpose. We will deny that bombardment.’

‘That is our objective?’ asks Zedoff.

‘No,’ Guilliman admits. ‘I am going to put that trust in the Mlatus and the Solonim Woe. They will lead the formations against the planetary attack. Our specific objective will be the Fidelitas Lex.’

Zedoff raises his eyebrows.

‘A personal score, then,’ he says.

Guilliman doesn’t try to hide it.

‘I will kill him. I will literally kill him. With my bare hands.’

He looks at Gage.

‘Don’t say anything, Marius,’ he says. ‘You’ll be transferring to the Mlatus to lead the attack. With a sober head and a proper plan. I know that going after the enemy flag has serious demerits, tactically. I don’t care. This is the one battle of my career I’m going to fight with my heart rather than my head. The bastard will die. The bastard.’

‘I was merely going to object to being absent at the moment you kill him,’ says Gage.

‘My primarch!’

They turn. The Master of Vox is pale.

‘Lithocast, sir. Long-range signal from the Fidelitas Lex.’

Guilliman nods.

‘So he ignores my plea for ceasefire, but I tell him to go and screw himself and he makes contact immediately. Put it on.’

‘My primarch, I–’ Gage begins.

Guilliman pushes past him, heading for the lithocaster plate.

‘There is no way you will stop me having this conversation, Marius,’ he says.

Guilliman steps onto the hololithic platform. Light bends and bubbles in front of him. Images form and fade, re-form and decay, like scratches of light on film. Then Lorgar is standing there, life-size, facing Guilliman. His face is in shadow again, but the light construction makes him look utterly real. Other shapes crowd around him, sections and fragments of shadow, no longer recognisable as his minions and lieutenants.

‘Have you lost your temper, Roboute?’ Lorgar asks. They can hear the smile.

‘I am going to gut you,’ Guilliman replies softly.

‘You have lost your temper. The great and calm and level-headed Roboute Guilliman has finally succumbed to passion.’

‘I will gut you. I will skin you. I will behead you.’

‘Ah, Roboute,’ Lorgar murmurs. ‘Here, at the very end, I finally hear you talk in a way that actually makes me like you.’

‘Precondition of malice,’ says Guilliman, barely a whisper. ‘You took the Campanile. By my estimation, you took it at least a hundred and forty hours ago. You took the ship, and you staged this. You organised this atrocity, Lorgar, and you made it seem like a terrible accident so you could capitalise on our mercy. You made us stay our hand while you committed murder.’

‘It’s called treachery, Roboute. It works very well. How did you find out?’

‘We back-plotted the Campanile’s route once we’d worked out what had hit the yards. When you look at the plot, the notion that it was any kind of accident becomes laughable.’

‘As is the notion you can hurt me.’

‘We’re not going to debate it, you maggot, you treacherous bastard,’ says Guilliman. ‘I just wanted you to know that I will rip your living heart out. And I want to know why. Why? Why? If this is our puerile old feud, boiled to the surface, then you are the most pathetic soul in the cosmos. Pathetic. Our father should have left you out in the snow at birth. He should have fed you to Russ. You worm. You maggot.’

Lorgar raises his face slightly so that Guilliman can see a hint of his smile in the shadows of his face.

‘This has nothing to do with our enmity, Roboute… Except that it affords me the opportunity to avenge my honour on you and your ridiculous toy soldiers. That is just a delicious bonus. No, this is the Ushkul Thu. Calth is the Ushkul Thu. The offering. It is the sunrise of the new galaxy. A new order.’

‘You’re rambling, you bastard.’

‘The galaxy is changing, Roboute. It is turning upside down. Up will be down, and down will be up. Our father will be tossed out of his throne. He will fall down, and no one will put him back together again.’

‘Lorgar, you–’

‘Listen to me, Roboute. You think you’re so clever. So wise. So informed. But this has started already. It’s already under way. The galaxy is turning on its head. You will die, and our father will die, and so will all the others, because you are all too stupid to see the truth.’

Guilliman steps towards the lithocast phantom, as though he might strike it down or snap its neck.

‘Listen to me, Roboute,’ the light ghost hisses. ‘Listen to me. The Imperium is finished. It is falling. It is going to burn. Our father is done. His malicious dreams are over. Horus is rising.’

‘Horus?’

‘Horus Lupercal is rising, Roboute. You have no idea of his ability. He is above us all. We stand with him, or we perish entirely.’

‘You shit, Lorgar. Are you drugged? Are you mad? What kind of insanity is–’

‘Horus!’

‘Horus what?’

‘He’s rising! He’s coming! He will kill anyone who stands in his way! He will rule! He will be what the Emperor could never be!’

‘Horus would–’ Guilliman clears his throat. He swallows. He is dazed by the sheer extent of Lorgar’s dementia. ‘Horus would never turn. If any of us turned, the others would–’

‘Horus has risen against our cruel and abusive parent, Roboute,’ says Lorgar. ‘Accept that, and you will die with greater peace in your heart. Horus Lupercal has come to overthrow the Imperial corruption and punish the abuser. It is already happening. And Horus is not alone. I am with him, sworn and true. So is Fulgrim. Angron. Perturabo. Magnus. Mortarion. Curze. Alpharius. Your loyalty is air and paper, Roboute. Our loyalty is blood.’

‘You’re lying!’

‘You’re dying. Isstvan V burns. Brothers are dead already.’

‘Dead? Who are–’

‘Ferrus Manus. Corax. Vulkan. All dead and gone. Slaughtered like pigs.’

‘These are all lies!’

‘Look at me, Roboute. You know they are not. You know it. You have studied every one of us. You know our strengths and our failings. Theoretical, Roboute! Theoretical! You know this is possible. You know from the very facts that this is a possible outcome.’