Текст книги "Deliverance Lost"

Автор книги: Гэв Торп

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Текущая страница: 26 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

‘Aye, Lord Corax,’ said Navar, grimacing as he struggled to sit up.

Corax waved him to lie still. ‘I’m just happy that we could serve you.’

‘You still can,’ said Corax. He raised his voice to address the wounded across the ward. ‘Who among you thinks they are still battle-ready?’

There was a chorus of shouts and enthusiastic calls.

‘For the Emperor and the Raven Guard!’ said Agapito, raising his first.

‘For the Emperor and the Raven Guard!’ the Raptors replied as one.

Corax nodded and walked back into the inner sanctum, where he was met by Orlandriaz, who had been talking with Arcatus.

‘The Custodian tells me you wish to gene-test the whole Legion, lord,’ said the magos. ‘I can begin testing within a few hours.’

‘And it will root out any Raven Guard who is not what he seems?’ said Agapito.

‘I can assure you that no legionary will be able to hide his true nature, commander.’

RECALIBRATING HIS THERMAL regulator, Catho Juliaxis settled to his haunches with his back against the wall. He closed the metal shutters that served as eyelids in his altered face and wondered when he would be relieved of the tiresome duty of monitoring the herakli. The mute monstrosities were no company for a man of intellect.

His aural detector picked up the sound of one of his charges moving. Opening his eyes, he looked up to see one of the herakli standing over him. Gazing into the shadow beneath the construct’s hood, he was surprised to see intelligent eyes staring back at him.

‘Wh–’

The immense herakli rammed his cannon under Juliaxis’s chin, crushing his windpipe and snapping his neck with a single blow. The other beast looked on, confused by the behaviour of its companion.

Pulling down the shutter of the locker, the dead acolyte’s body concealed within, Omegon slipped the box of gene-data inside his robe. Affecting the lumbering gait of the herakli, he calmly walked out of the north corridor and headed for the gatehouse.

It had been so tempting to gun down Corax when he had walked past, but the triumph would have been fleeting. The Alpha Legion understood better than all others that the greatest victories were often those that were unheralded and unnoticed. Better to slip away with the mission accomplished than attract attention for a temporary thrill.

There were Mechanicum forces all about Ravendelve and it took Omegon only a few minutes to mingle with the other herakli. Soon he found himself being led out of the compound to join the hunt for the guilders. As the mists closed around the group of skitarii, a ticking started in the base of his skull, indicating that a gunship from the Betawas within five hundred metres. It was time to leave Kiavahr for good; he had what he came for.

There were shouts of panic as he opened fire, mowing down the other herakli and their skitarii minders in a few long bursts. Leaving their bodies to be swallowed by the fog, Omegon headed into the murk to make rendezvous with his transport.

EIGHTEEN

The Raven’s Wings

Horus Claims His Prize

Narsis

THE MOOD IN the Carnivalis was sombre, the assembled legionaries standing silently in ranks as Corax walked the length of the hall to the stage. Agapito, Branne, Aloni and the new commander of the Hawks, Nuran Tesk, flanked the raven-carved lectern. All of the Raven Guard were present, including the disfigured Raptors capable of fighting. The armourium had modified their prized suits of Mark VI, providing reinforcement where it was needed, cutting holes for horns and spinal growths, adjusting joints and seals for contorted limbs.

The ranks had been cleansed; as Orlandriaz had begun his gene-testing, those warriors pretending to be Raven Guard had attempted to flee or had ended their own lives. Drawing on what he knew of the meta-seed of the primarchs, Corax had been able to confirm that the infiltrators were from the Alpha Legion. The mark of Alpharius was in their blood and bones and flesh, and condemned them as certainly as their actions.

Mounting the stage, the primarch received nods of respect from his commanders. Corax turned to face the Legion. He was clad in full battle gear, one hand sheathed in the lightning claw that had survived the fight with Lorgar and Curze, the other holding the power whip he had wielded to such devastating effect in the retreat on Isstvan. He held up both hands, showing the armaments to the Raven Guard.

‘The Legiones Astartes conquered the galaxy for the Emperor,’ he began, but his voice faltered as he looked out at rank after rank of his warriors. Were these the last days of the Raven Guard? Was he about to lead them into their final campaign? He swallowed hard, remembering the adversities he had faced as guerrilla leader of the Lycaen rebels. The task then had seemed as insurmountable, but he had triumphed. He would not give in to fear, not of his enemies and not of what he might become.

He started again.

‘The Legiones Astartes conquered the galaxy for the Emperor. We were created by his hand, moulded in flesh by his will and given the best weapons and armour conceived by mankind. Yet it was not our guns or our bodies that made the Great Crusade possible. It was belief. Belief in our cause, in the spreading of the Imperial Truth, gave us conviction beyond the superstitions and raw courage of our foes. Trust in our commanders and in ourselves gave us the strength to overcome any obstacle set before us.

‘Belief and trust are just as much casualties of this war as the dead who fell on Isstvan and at Ravendelve. It is hard to comprehend that Horus, the Warmaster chosen by the Emperor, has turned renegade. It is difficult to accept that our brothers-in-arms, warriors of the Legiones Astartes, have defied the Imperial Truth and broken their oaths. Yet it is belief and trust that will remain our greatest weapons.

‘I have always taught you that hope is needless. There is only action and consequence. I still adhere to that creed. There is no hope for the Raven Guard. We will do as we see fit and the consequences will follow. We have suffered not one but two grave attacks. The first was cowardly, but open. The second daring, but hidden. Neither ambush on Isstvan nor corruption from within has destroyed us and so we learn and grow stronger. It is not in our nature to bow our heads to defeat. We will not be meek while traitors seek to overthrow the Emperor.

‘Today is the day that Horus and his treacherous allies learn that the Raven Guard cannot be dismissed. Today we set aboard our ships and take the war to our enemies, as we have done so many times before. Some of you were there at the beginning, when this hall was the site of bloody battles between men and women who yearned for freedom and the oppressors who would deny them. Some of you set out beside the Emperor, leaving Terra to forge a new empire across the stars. Some of you cannot claim such heritage, for you were fortunate to be raised into the Legion in later times. And some of you had your first taste of battle at Ravendelve.

‘It does not matter. We are all Raven Guard. We are all warriors. The Emperor will not judge you by your medals and diplomas but by your scars. That is not a platitude; it is the reality of what we are. We live to fight the Emperor’s battles, and we die to bring the Emperor victory.’

Corax paused and looked towards a group of yellow-armoured warriors who stood alongside the Raven Guard: Captain Noriz’s Imperial Fists. His gaze moved to the golden warriors of Custodian Arcatus.

‘Horus sets his eye on Terra and the palace of the Emperor. Many are those who will lay down their lives in its defence, and we salute them now for their sacrifice. Yet it is not for us to stand behind the walls, for we are the shadow that kills, the hidden death that none suspect.

‘Horus and his craven companions think themselves beyond retribution. The Raven Guard will prove them wrong. The accursed Warmaster and his confederates believe victory is inevitable and that the Imperium will bow to his will. The Raven Guard will prove them wrong. In our defiance we shall light the fires of battle that will burn across the length and breadth of the galaxy. The citizens of the Imperium will know that they have not been abandoned. We will show them that the torch of Enlightenment shines brightly. The Legiones Astartes will never be destroyed whilst one of us draws breath.

‘We do this because mankind needs to believe that Horus can be defeated. We do this because humanity must be shown that the Legiones Astartes can be trusted. We are few and our enemies are many, but every traitor we kill sends a message to our foes and allies alike: the Raven Guard will never surrender!’

A wordless shout erupted from more than four thousand throats, ringing around the vaulted ceiling of the Carnivalis. Energy fields crackled as the Custodians lifted their halberds in salute to the primarch.

An expectant hush settled as a small detachment of Raven Guard broke from the ranks. They were led by the Techmarine, Stradon Binalt, and carried with them a large object draped in one of the Legion’s black banners.

‘What’s this?’ asked Corax, turning to his commanders. They shook their heads and shrugged, as surprised as their primarch.

Binalt and his entourage mounted the steps to the stage and approached Corax. The primarch stepped away from the lectern to face them, and as one they each fell to one knee, except for Binalt who met his lord’s inquiring stare.

‘On Isstvan, the Raven Guard suffered a heavy blow,’ said the Techmarine, the precision of his words betraying a speech practised many times. ‘The raven had his wings clipped and our fortunes have suffered. It is fitting then that at a time when we must learn to soar once more, the raven should have his wings restored.’

Binalt tugged the banner away, revealing Corax’s ornate flight pack, long thought lost. Its newly enamelled finish now gleamed in the lights of the Carnivalis, the two graceful, newly-fashioned wings sweeping to either side of the apparatus.

‘I couldn’t quite match the original artificer in craft, but I hope it will suffice, lord,’ said Binalt, bowing his head.

Corax took the flight pack in both hands and lifted it up, marvelling at its construction. He looked down at Binalt and smiled his thanks, but before he could say anything, the hall was filled again with a thunderous shouting, springing from the ranks of the Raven Guard.

‘Corax! Corax! Corax!’

THE WARMASTER’S CHAMBER was as gloomy as it had been during Alpharius’s last visit. As before, he was met by Horus, flanked by Abaddon and Erebus. There was another as well, lurking within the shadows behind the Warmaster’s throne. He was dressed in the armour of the Emperor’s Children, with a thin face and darting eyes.

‘You have something for the Warmaster?’ said Erebus, as the door slid shut behind Alpharius.

‘Why do you say that?’ Alpharius replied. ‘Am I to make tribute now to our glorious leader?’

‘Watch your tongue,’ snapped Abaddon. ‘We know that one of your vessels has just joined the fleet, though you attempted to hide its presence from us.’

‘I have done no such thing,’ said Alpharius, stretching out his hands in a gesture of mock innocence. ‘All of my vessels employ a certain amount of stealth. It is a central pillar of our security. No deception is intended.’

‘Then you admit that your mission regarding the Raven Guard is a success,’ said Erebus. ‘You have obtained that which you sought?’

Smiling, Alpharius produced a data crystal from his belt and held it out in the palm of his hand.

‘Not an unqualified success,’ said the primarch. ‘Some of the Raven Guard, Corax included, survived our attack. It is of little consequence. We have, as you assert, acquired our prize.’

Erebus took a few steps forwards and reached for the crystal, but Alpharius snatched away his hand.

‘It is for the Warmaster only,’ said Alpharius, his smile fading.

‘Watch your step, Alpharius,’ said Abaddon. ‘Your attitude will earn you the Warmaster’s displeasure.’

‘No words for your brother, Horus?’ said Alpharius, looking at the Warmaster, who had been fixing Alpharius with a neutral gaze throughout the exchange. ‘Do your minions do all of your talking for you now?’

Horus stood up and Alpharius thought for a moment that he had pushed things too far. His doubts were dispelled by Horus’s smile, as he beckoned the stranger to come out from behind the throne.

‘This is Apothecary Fabius,’ said the Warmaster. ‘You will entrust your prize to his care. On my behalf, of course.’

Alpharius tossed the data crystal to Fabius, who caught the glittering shard and looked down at it with a covetous smile.

‘We shall see what secrets Corax unearthed, for certain,’ said Fabius. He bowed to Horus and withdrew into the shadows.

‘Is there anything else, Warmaster?’ said Alpharius.

Horus’s eyes narrowed with suspicion as he regarded the Alpha Legion’s primarch.

‘You hand it over so easily, I suspect you are hiding something,’ said the Warmaster, stepping closer.

‘I do have another confession to make,’ said Alpharius. ‘I have retained the original gene-material for myself. I thought it wiser to share our fortune. You will find the research of Corax quite extensive. I do not understand much of it, but I am sure Apothecary Fabius is as talented as rumour would have us believe.’

‘Oh, he is,’ said Erebus. ‘He will unlock the primarch secrets, and with that information we will destroy the Emperor.’

‘A worthy use of such a thing, so hard-fought for,’ said Alpharius. He met his brother’s penetrating gaze with a stare of his own. ‘I believe we have concluded our business here. Unless there is anything else you wish to discuss, brother?’

Horus jerked his head towards the door to dismiss Alpharius, and returned to his throne.

‘Good,’ said the Alpha Legion primarch. ‘Now that this matter is settled, perhaps we could actually begin to prosecute this war. Even now, I am sure the Emperor is getting impatient for our visit.’

‘He will wait,’ said Horus. ‘The war is well under way already, Alpharius. Just because you have not been fighting it does not mean that others have been idle. The Ultramarines will be destroyed and the Blood Angels will join our cause. We will be ready to make our move soon.’

That seemed unlikely to Alpharius, but he said nothing and left without further comment.

THE COMMAND DECK of the Avengerwas filled with people. As well as the officers and functionaries of the Raven Guard, the battle-barge was hosting the command corps of the newly-arrived Therion Cohort. Sub-Caesari Valerius had shuttled across to the capital ship with a small army of notaries, praefectors, tribunes and vice-tribunes to compile the orders for his force.

It had been a tortuous journey from Therion, negotiating the storms that still raged across the warp. Several ships had been lost entirely and more than a dozen more had been waylaid or forced to translate, scattering the fleet over light years of space. Despite the problems, Valerius had managed to hold the vanguard intact, and as per Corax’s instructions had redirected while en route to Deliverance to rendezvous with the Raven Guard in Taurion, a system neighbouring Narsis.

His previous encounters with Corax had left Valerius awestruck, but as sub-Caesari he felt his station better suited his position within the command council. His promotion had not, however, done anything to quash his amazement at the primarch’s strategic abilities. While Valerius needed his contingent of advisors and adjutants to keep everything in order, Corax was able to control the whole council with nothing more than a few notes on a data-slab. The dispositions of dozens of ships and thousands of warriors, their armaments and their commanders were all locked inside the primarch’s mind and even the smallest detail was retrieved effortlessly.

The order of battle and general approach had already been agreed, with the Therions forming the first wave, the reflex-shielded Raven Guard vessels following behind. So far it had been as Valerius expected, having fought alongside the Raven Guard for several years during the latter stages of the Great Crusade.

The final approach and landing was giving him a lot of trouble.

‘If I understand you correctly, Lord Corax, there is to be no preparatory bombardment?’ said Valerius. Pelon appeared at his shoulder with a glass of water, which Valerius took without comment. He took a sip to calm his agitation. ‘Our drop-ships will be shot out of the air.’

‘Orbital defences will be eliminated as normal,’ replied the primarch. As was his habit, he stood to one side while the commanders were crowded around the central table. ‘Once orbital supremacy has been established you will have to conduct a landing under fire.’

‘I have three battleship-class vessels, lord, each quite capable of eliminating any ground defences. There will be no need for your Legion to reveal its presence at the onset, I guarantee that. Isn’t that right, Captain Willhelms?’

The commander of the battleship Resolutenodded.

‘Torpedoes and lances will do the job,’ said Willhelms,

‘Can you guarantee the lives of the ten million people living in that city?’ asked Branne.

‘We will endeavour to avoid any civilian casualties, of course.’ Valerius glanced at Praefector Antonius, who made some quick calculations on his data-slate and handed it to the sub-Caesari. ‘Perhaps no more than five thousand?’

‘This is not an ordinary city,’ said Corax. ‘Fulgrim was not idly boasting when he named it the Perfect Fortress. My brother declared that it was not enough for a fortification to house a garrison, it had to protect the population. The Perfect Fortress is not an area within the city, it isthe city. Fulgrim reasoned, quite rightly, that the populace was best protected if they were integral to the fortress’s design.

‘He decided to use the civilians as shields?’ said Valerius, horrified by the thought.

‘That was not his argument at the time,’ replied Corax. ‘In the case of an invasion, they would spontaneously form a militia to help with the defence. That is of no matter. There is no separation of defence and civilian construction. Habitat towers house defence lasers. Factories are protected by bunkers and concealed trench lines. The layout of the roads was the work of Perturabo, to allow swift response from the defenders whilst hindering attack.’

‘To destroy the fortress we have to destroy the city,’ said Branne.

‘Which we will not do,’ said Corax. ‘The people of Narsis are innocent in this. We are here to act as messengers for the Emperor’s cause, not to kill his followers. We cannot spread our message by obliterating the populace.’

‘A thorny problem,’ admitted Valerius. He finished his water and absent-mindedly handed the glass back to Pelon while he pondered. He gave up with a shrug. ‘I cannot see a landing without orbital support being anything but a disaster. We will be dropping right onto their guns.’

‘There is a potential landing site,’ said Aloni, bringing up a schematic of the area surrounding the Perfect Fortress. He pressed a key and a crosshair appeared on the map. ‘Here, in the hills to the north-east.’

‘That is at least twenty kilometres away!’ said Valerius, standing up to examine the diagram. ‘We do not have that many tanks and transports.’

‘Twenty-eight, actually,’ said Agapito. Valerius did not like the hint of amusement in the commander’s tone.

‘You will attack on foot,’ said Corax. ‘You will land under cover of night, though do not expect that to be much of an advantage because the enemy will have scanners and thermal imaging.’

‘March nearly thirty kilometres overnight to attack a city-fortress?’ Valerius had a sinking feeling about this whole endeavour and felt it was his place to be honest. ‘That is a strategy doomed to failure.’

‘Exactly,’ said Corax. The primarch’s smile was unsettling. ‘I don’t expect you to take the Perfect Fortress by yourselves. That’s why we’re here.’

THE HOLOLITHIC DISPLAY showed just how hopeless the situation was for the fools. Captain Hasten Luthris Armanitan of the Emperor’s Children prowled the command chamber of his tower, watching every data report and scan relay like a hawk. The natural topography to the north-east would funnel the attackers towards the Eighth Avenue gate, beyond which lay a broad thoroughfare dominated by three cannon batteries located at one-hundred-metre intervals along the road’s length. To either side, the city became a maze of interlocking corridors of fire overlooked by bunker positions and sally ports.

‘Their foolishness shall be the cause of their defeat,’ he said, speaking more to himself than the Legion serfs at the consoles. ‘So typically weak, to assault without prior bombardment. What do they hope to achieve?’

‘Cordon Two has been overrun, captain,’ reported one of the serfs. ‘Last report was of a massed infantry assault. Enemy casualties heavy.’

‘I suppose there is a little wisdom in leaving behind their armour,’ said Luthris. ‘All of those anti-tank rocket batteries are going to waste. Have their crews stand down at Cordon One and get them to man the line.’

‘Affirmative, captain,’ said the attendant.

Luthris checked the time display. There was a little over three hours, Terran-standard, until dawn. The first wave of attackers would have barely reached the wall before his troops had full visibility. Then the carnage would really begin.

THE OUTSKIRTS OF the Perfect Fortress had an appearance utterly at odds with their purpose. Elaborate hanging gardens sprawled from the roofs and walls of the white buildings, the scent of their flowers filling the air. Colonnaded frontages and overhanging galleries provided cover for the Therions as they advanced towards the gate tower looming over the buildings ahead. The Emperor’s Children had sacrificed nothing of their aesthetic sense in the city’s design, so that colonnaded, alabaster buildings might equally serve as administration offices or tank depots, it was impossible to tell from the outside.

Valerius marched with his men, determined that they would push home the attack with every last iota of strength, even if they were doomed to failure. He had been forced to swallow the ignominy of sacrificing his last command at Isstvan for a diversion, and was determined that his next would not end so ingloriously. The Therions would give a good account of themselves, whatever Corax expected.

A few Sentinel walkers had survived the hours of missile and shell bombardment on the approach to the city. They were several hundred metres ahead, scouting for the three-hundred-strong advance guard. Valerius only knew of this from the constant commentary being fed to him by Tribune Calorium, who followed the sub-Caesari a few steps behind.

‘Sir, lead squadron encountering another defence line,’ Calorium reported, the cup-like vox-receiver clamped to one ear. ‘Taking fire from overhead balconies.’

Valerius glanced up at this news, seeing anew the lines of galleries over overhangs above him. It had been the same ever since entering the city: seemingly innocuous architectural features revealing their true purpose as killing sites, weapons platforms and minefields.

Sensing their commander’s nervousness, Valerius’s bodyguard closed ranks around him, their golden carapace armour and white fatigues stained and muddied by the advance from the landing zone.

‘Perhaps we should move into cover, sub-Caesari,’ suggested vice-Tribune Callista.

‘And where is that, exactly?’ Valerius snapped in return. He had already lost four men from his command section when they sheltered in a flower bed that turned out to have been laced with trip-mines.

Callista looked around uncertainly.

‘Never mind,’ said Valerius, continuing to stride along the middle of the road. It had been frustrating, fighting against unseen enemies, coming face-to-face with his foes only when he saw them retreating to the next defence line.

Not that he was in a mood for such a confrontation. The purple-and-gold-armoured warriors would no doubt take an even heavier toll once they decided to stand and fight. There was small comfort in reaching the city proper; the shelling from towers deep in the fortress’s heart had stopped, no doubt to avoid fire falling on their own warriors.

‘Advance teams are suffering badly,’ announced Calorium. ‘Requesting reinforcement.’

Glancing at the tribune, Valerius’s heart sank.

‘Have Third and Fourth Companies move up in support. See if they can outflank the enemy position. Order Fifth and Sixth to move up from the rearguard. How is Praefector Magellius proceeding?’

The tribune spoke for a short while and then sorrowfully shook his head.

‘Second Phalanx is being pushed back, they’ve lost a third of their men,’ said Calorium. ‘Sir, Third Phalanx is also reporting a stalled advance. They are being cut down by the gate defences.’

An explosion less than two hundred metres ahead sent a plume of ash and smoke into the sky. A few seconds later, debris showered down on Valerius and his men.

‘What was that?’ he demanded, though Calorium was already talking quickly on the vox.

‘Macro-cannon, sir,’ the tribune said. ‘Sited at the junction ahead, concealed on the third floor of a tenement.’

There was shakiness to the tribune’s voice, and looking at the other soldiers around him Valerius could sense their fear. If he continued to push them forwards, they would break and rout. That would not be at all to his liking.

‘All right, send to all command sections,’ he snarled. ‘Company-by-company withdrawal. Establish a perimeter at the edge of the city. This is to be an orderly retreat. We will have no running away and no panic.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Calorium’s manner and tone betrayed his gratitude for the sub-Caesari’s decision.

Valerius stopped where he was and stood with hands on hips, glaring at the distant towers. He had reached the city, an achievement it itself, but even his reconnaissance forces were more than two kilometres from the inner defence line.

It did not matter what Corax intended, it still tasted bitterly of defeat.

‘THE ENEMY ARE withdrawing en masse, captain.’

‘Ridiculous,’ Luthris replied. ‘They have not even begun to test our defences.’

‘Visual confirmation of scanner data, captain. The enemy are pulling back into the outer reaches.’

The Emperor’s Children officer made a slow lap of the command centre, examining every data stream and display. The evidence was incontrovertible: the attackers were giving up ground on all fronts. It seemed a disappointing end to a lacklustre attack.

‘Any sign of low orbit vessels?’ he asked, settling in his chair.

‘None, captain,’ came the reply. ‘All enemy ships are keeping out of ground defence range. No sign of drop-craft.’

It made little sense to Luthris as he returned to his command throne, but it was foolish to consider the motivations of lesser warriors. No doubt they had been ordered to attack and had complied without knowing the full extent of the opponent they faced. He was not about to be forgiving of the error.

‘Assemble counter-attack companies at gates three and four,’ he ordered, his finger on the comm-switch set into the arm of his chair. ‘Prepare the armourium for mobile columns to make a swift encircling move via the undercity ramps. These fools do not attack our city without retort. Mission objective is the total destruction of all enemy forces. Counter-attack to commence in fifteen minutes.’

He released the comm-switch and leaned back, the chair adjusting to the movement. He looked over his shoulder to Sergeant Turan, who stood by the doorway, plumed helm under one arm.

‘Prepare the assault force, sergeant, I shall personally lead them into battle.’

‘As you will it, captain,’ Turan replied with a bow of his head. He fixed on his helm and banged a fist against his chestplate in salute. ‘We will murder these dogs wherever they try to hide.’

A LASCANNON BLAST burst through the edge of the balcony, obliterating the man to Valerius’s right. Showered with dust and blood, the sub-Caesari crawled back from the parapet to hunker down in the ruins of the window behind. Calorium was still by his side, one arm in a sling, the communications pack on the floor next to him. He looked at Valerius with bloodshot eyes and shook his head.

‘No reply from Praefector Tigurian, sir. I think our left flank has broken.’

‘Two thousand men, tribune, two thousand men!’ said Valerius, slumping against the frame of the window. ‘None of them are left?’

Calorium shrugged in reply.

For an hour the Therions had retreated, and for another they had held against the counter-attack of the Emperor’s Children. Marcus had done all he could, cajoling and encouraging his commanders to stay and fight, to hold the line at all costs, but there was little time left. He risked standing up, snatching his magnoculars from his belt. Training them to the south-west he could see several dozen armoured figures advancing along the road, no more than half a kilometre away.

‘Please leave!’

Valerius turned and glared at the old man whose chambers he had commandeered as a temporary command post.

‘And go where?’ the sub-Caesari snarled.

‘My wife, she wants you to leave…’

‘Really? Perhaps she thinks that Horus would be better suited as leader of the Imperium?’

‘I wouldn’t know anything about that, sir. I just know that when the legionaries get here, they’ll not leave any of us alive if we’re sheltering you.’

Valerius said nothing more. He could not blame the elderly couple for their fear. He had been fearful before, then desperate, and now had emerged into a state of strange calm about the situation. Nearly ten thousand Therions had lost their lives in the last eight hours, but he felt sanguine about the losses. A sense of numbness had filled him since losing contact with Second Phalanx, an acceptance of the inevitable.

He looked again at the Emperor’s Children. They were taking their time, checking every building along the road. Overhead, Thunderhawks prowled, seeking targets for their cannons and heavy bolters. The streets had become a bloodbath from their initial strafing runs, forcing every Therion to take shelter inside. To their credit, what little it counted for, the Emperor’s Children had not fired on the buildings; perhaps they still believed they were protecting these people.