Текст книги "Deliverance Lost"

Автор книги: Гэв Торп

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The bullying man reared up as his shattered hand flopped loosely at the end of his arm, bringing back the whip in the other. The barbed tip of the lash cracked forwards, but it was a simple enough matter to elude it and snatch up the end of the whip in his fist. The man laughed, partly in hysteria, and yanked, trying to unbalance him. The boy spread his legs and held firm, jarring the guard’s arm, before pulling back. Rather than release his grip, the guard was hauled from his feet, landing face first in the dust and rocks in front of the others.

Pacing forwards, the boy saw the look of surprise, terror and hope in the eyes of the workers. The little girl smiled at him, even as tears streaked the grime on her face. He wanted to make her happy, to give her something as a sign that everything would be all right.

‘What’s your name?’ she asked. ‘Mine is Nasturi. Nasturi Ephrenia.’

He grabbed the helmeted head of the guard, twisted and gave a pull, ripping it free. He offered it up to the girl, who laughed even as the adults started to cry out in panic. He saw himself reflected in the visor and realised the reason for the alarm he had caused.

He was nude, and clothed in the body of a child no older than Ephrenia. Blood was spattered across his snow-white skin, his crimson-splashed face framed with a shock of coal-black hair. His eyes were utterly black, darker than night.

He searched for an answer to the girl’s question as blood dribbled down his naked arms. Only one reply seemed appropriate, drawn up from the depths of embryonic memory.

‘Nineteen,’ he said. ‘I am number Nineteen.’

‘NOTHING DETECTED, LORD,’ Ephrenia reported. ‘A little background echo on the Therion frequencies, but nothing less than five days old.’

‘Enemy?’ asked Corax, one hand gripping the back of the command throne.

‘Six more frigate-sized vessels detected, lord,’ reported Ephrenia. ‘Two strike cruisers and one battle cruiser. All using Word Bearers protocols as far as we can determine. They are moving out-system.’

‘It’s too dangerous to remain here,’ Agapito said from the gallery. ‘That makes it thirty-eight vessels detected in proximity to Isstvan IV.’

‘The Therions are gone,’ said Solaro.

‘I have to concur.’ Valerius’s voice was quiet, his face pinched with emotion. He darted a sideways glance at Branne and then returned his gaze to the primarch. ‘I hope their sacrifice will be remembered. I will provide a list of ranks and names when we have returned to Deliverance.’

‘They will be lauded, have no worry in that regard,’ Corax assured him. The primarch’s dark eyes glittered in the glow of the screens that covered the walls and station panels of the strategium. ‘Their loss will not go unremembered. Nor will it go unavenged.’

‘My thanks, Lord Corax,’ Valerius said with a deep bow.

A dull tone sounded from one of the main speakers.

‘Reactor energy spike, lord,’ said Ephrenia.

‘Reduce scanning array output to navigational,’ the primarch replied quickly. ‘There is nothing more we will find here. Adjust course to shortest route to translation distance, evasion pattern three.’

The black– and white-clad serfs moved to their control stations without word and within a minute the warning tone fell quiet.

‘Augur sweeps being targeted to our vicinity, lord,’ said Ephrenia, her words quick but calm. ‘Three frigates have changed bearing, moving ahead of our position. Monitoring increase in closed communications traffic.’

‘The traitors smell something amiss,’ said Corax. He strode across the strategium to join the controller and looked at the display screens. ‘Keep to plotted course. Reflex shield status?’

Ephrenia consulted a sub-screen before replying.

‘Masking is at ninety-nine point three per cent, lord,’ she told the primarch. ‘Should we slow down?’

Corax performed some quick calculations in his head, factoring the scanner ranges of the enemy vessels and the time required to get away.

‘No change,’ he commanded. ‘A little more speed will serve us better than complete masking. When we are two hundred thousand kilometres from the enemy, increase speed by twenty per cent. We should be at the translation point in seven days.’

The primarch looked again at the displays, seeing in his mind’s eye the dispositions of the enemy fleet. They had quickly thrown up a blockade position around the inner planets, correctly expecting him to have headed in-system rather than directly out of the star’s gravity well. Corax reminded himself that his enemies were commanded by Horus, one of the greatest strategists of the Imperium.

His traitorous brother knew well the capabilities of the Raven Guard, having benefited greatly from their expertise during his campaigns. They would have to be careful and take nothing for granted. The Raven Guard might have been pulled from the trap on Isstvan V, but they were still far from safe.

IN A DARKENED chamber close to the strategium of the Vengeful Spirit, a meeting was being held. The room was large, big enough for several dozen occupants to be seated, the light of the single great lantern hanging from the centre of the ceiling barely reaching the banner-hung walls. A few data stations blinked with ruddy lights on the far wall, beneath an embroidered standard depicting the Eye of Horus in gold on burgundy. The floor was plain plasteel mesh, scuffed to a dull grey by the countless footfalls of booted feet.

As the door closed behind Alpharius, the primarch’s eyes instantly adjusted to the gloom. The space seemed cavernous, occupied by only three others. Alpharius was surprised; he had been expecting several of his brother primarchs to be attending the council. As he stepped forwards he realised that this was not a war council, it was an impromptu interrogation. Perhaps even a trial.

The thought did not sit comfortably with him as he regarded the chambers’ other occupants with what he hoped was an impassive expression. Alpharius knew that he tested the patience of the Warmaster, and here at the heart of his lair there was no telling what he might do.

Horus, Warmaster, Primarch of the Luna Wolves – the Sons of Horus, Alpharius corrected himself – sat on a broad, high-backed throne, robed in heavy black and purple, hands on his knees. His face was heavily shadowed, eyes hooded with darkness with just a glint at their core. Even seated, the Warmaster’s presence dominated the room. Alpharius had spent time with Horus before – when loyal to the Emperor and since – and never before had he felt threatened. This time was different. Horus seemed bigger than ever.

Alpharius was the smallest of the primarchs, but had not allowed this to undermine his confidence. Now that he looked at Horus, tree-trunk-thick arms stretching the fabric of his robes, Alpharius realised that his fellow primarch could crush him, tear him limb from limb, without warning.

Their relationship had changed, that much was clear. The primarchs had once been brothers, equals. When Horus had been made Warmaster he had been treated as the first amongst equals. Looking at Horus now, Alpharius was left with no doubt that Horus considered himself master, a lord to whom fealty was owed. The obedience of his co-conspirators was no longer demanded, it was expected.

There was also no mistaking the Warmaster’s perception of his role in the coming meeting. He was the judge at a trial. His eyes remained fixed on Alpharius as the primarch walked to the centre of the room. The gloomy surrounds, the half-lit shapes at the edge of vision, were a crude trick, Alpharius told himself, only capable of intimidating lesser individuals. For all that, the primarch of the Alpha Legion felt a cold trickle of uncertainty creeping through his gut.

At the Warmaster’s right shoulder stood First Captain Abaddon, fully armoured and with a power sword at his hip. He had a look that matched his reputation: his hard eyes were those of a stone-hearted killer. At the Warmaster’s left was the Word Bearer Erebus, his armour painted a lavish crimson, adorned with golden sigils and hung with fluttering pieces of parchment covered with tiny scrawls of Lorgar’s meandering litanies. The Word Bearer leaned closer and whispered something in Horus’s ear, so quiet even Alpharius’s superhuman hearing could not detect it. The Warmaster looked sharply at the primarch of the Alpha Legion, eyes narrowing.

‘It would be unwise to take my name in vain, Alpharius,’ said Horus, fingers tightening with anger. ‘You claimed my authority and misled Angron and his World Eaters, allowing Corax and his Legion to escape.’

‘Perhaps your conversion to our cause is less than complete,’ added Erebus, before Alpharius could reply.

The Alpha Legion’s primarch held his tongue for the moment, quickly adjusting his demeanour in the face of Horus’s hostility. He stood in front of the Warmaster, helm under one arm, head bowed in obeisance, the picture of the diffident servant.

Abaddon put his hand to the hilt of his sword and growled.

‘Your duplicitous nature is well known,’ said the captain, teeth bared in anger. ‘The Warmaster saw fit to bring you into the light of his plans, I hope you have not made a mockery of his fair judgement.’

‘I seek to place Horus on the throne of Terra, the same as you,’ replied Alpharius, lowering to one knee in deference. It was an instinctive reaction, though such submission grated at the primarch’s pride. ‘If I acted out of turn it is only because circumstance forced me to make a decision quickly.’

‘I have not yet heard an explanation for your actions,’ said Horus.

The Warmaster’s gaze was piercing, as if trying to bore into the primarch’s mind to see his thoughts. Alpharius matched the stare without fear. Horus knew nothing of the Alpha Legion’s true aims. If he had any inkling of the part made out for him by the Cabal, Alpharius would already be dead. ‘I consider it a grave crime to usurp my authority, a crime compounded by the severity of the consequences.’

‘The Raven Guard have not yet been apprehended,’ said Erebus, a sneer twisting his lips. ‘Though but a shadow of their former strength, it was foolish to allow them to escape.’

‘You must trust me,’ said Alpharius, ignoring the two legionaries, his attention focused on his brother primarch. It was the Warmaster’s will, or whim, that needed to be swayed to Alpharius’s cause. ‘The military potential of the Raven Guard has been expended, they are no physical threat. Their survival, Corax’s escape, will play a greater role in this war we have unleashed.’

‘Will it?’ Abaddon spat the words, his scorn etched into the creases in his brow. ‘What greater role?’

Alpharius kept his gaze on the Warmaster, noting that his displeasure did not seem so deep. It was clear that he did not have Horus’s full trust, but Alpharius did not care for that. His brothers had always been wary of the Alpha Legion, always suspicious of their methods, if not their motives. Horus was no different. He had consistently underestimated the power of subterfuge, eschewing the subtler weapons of espionage and misdirection in favour of overt action. Alpharius had not answered the Warmaster’s summons to excuse his actions, he had come to persuade Horus of their merit. That he could do so without the interference of the other Legion commanders was an advantage.

‘The Alpha Legion have infiltrated the Raven Guard,’ Alpharius said bluntly.

He saw Horus’s eyes widen slightly with surprise, and suppressed an expression of pleasure at the Warmaster’s nonplussed moment. Far from an admission of guilt, it was a declaration of strength; the unveiling of a weapon that the Alpha Legion kept hidden.

Alpharius could see the calculation behind the Warmaster’s eyes. If the Alpha Legion could infiltrate the Raven Guard, they could have done the same to any Legion. The Warmaster cocked his head to one side, momentarily perturbed, his eyes flicking away from Alpharius for the first time since he had entered, glancing at Abaddon.

‘To what purpose?’ asked Horus, recovering his composure, his stare returning to its previous intensity. ‘Had they been destroyed, what would be the point of spying on corpses?’

‘You allowed Corax to get away from the World Eaters to protect your operatives.’ Erebus levelled the accusation with a pointed finger, pushing Alpharius’s patience beyond its limit.

‘I am a primarch, genetor of the Alpha Legion, and you will show me due respect!’ snapped Alpharius, standing up.

He took two steps towards Erebus, eyes glittering. Abaddon moved to intercept him, half-drawing his blade.

‘Don’t make the mistake of letting that sword leave its scabbard,’ said Alpharius, fixing Abaddon with a venomous glare. ‘I may prefer to work in subtle ways, but if you continue to insult me, I will slay you here and now.’

Horus held out a hand, waving Abaddon back, a thin smile on the Warmaster’s face. He seemed pleased at Alpharius’s anger. ‘You are somewhat defensive, my brother,’ he said, gesturing for Alpharius to seat himself on one of the chairs arranged around the throne. ‘Please explain to me the benefits of allowing Corax to escape.’

Alpharius sat down, reluctantly accepting the Warmaster’s invitation, darting a warning look at Erebus just as the Word Bearer opened his mouth to speak.

‘Save your posturing for those that are swayed by it,’ said Alpharius. ‘Your change of loyalty proves the vacuity of your proselytising. You are privileged to stand in the presence of your betters, and should know not to speak until spoken to.’

The primarch enjoyed the contortions of anger that wracked the First Chaplain’s face, but Erebus heeded the warning and said nothing.

‘I have good information that Corax will attempt to return to Terra,’ Alpharius said, turning his attention back to Horus. ‘He will entreat the aid of the Emperor, and be given access to some secret of Old Night that we can use to our advantage.’

‘From where does this “good information” come?’ asked Horus, affecting disinterest though Alpharius could see that the Warmaster was intrigued.

‘We each have our own means and sources,’ replied Alpharius, flicking a meaningful gaze towards Erebus. The Alpha Legion had made it their business to know as much as possible about their fellow conspirators, and Alpharius was well aware of the strange rituals that Lorgar and his Word Bearers now indulged in. The Alpha Legion’s allies in the Cabal had furnished them with much information concerning the Primordial Annihilator, the Power of Chaos. It would not hurt to pretend that the Word Bearers were not the only Legion who had influence with the powers of the warp. ‘I am not of a mind to share mine with you at the moment.’

‘Are you not?’ said Horus, irritated. ‘Why would you keep secrets from me?’

‘Perhaps it is just my nature to do so. Secrecy is my best weapon.’ Alpharius smiled apologetically and gave a slight shrug. ‘Also, I do not believe myself or my Legion indispensable in your endeavours, so it would be unwise to surrender the few small advantages I possess. I know that my behaviour in the past and in recent times does not engender trust, but I assure you that this information is not only legitimate, but accurate.’

‘I will accept your assurances,’ said Horus, ‘for the moment.’ He leaned back in his throne, visibly relaxing as if to back up his words. Alpharius knew not to be lured into a sense of security. The Warmaster’s temper might change at a wrong answer from him or a sly word from Erebus. ‘What is your intent?’

‘We will allow Corax to obtain whatever it is he seeks, and then take it from him, turning it to our purpose.’

‘How do you think your operatives will remain undetected?’ Abaddon asked. ‘Our reports show that less than four thousand Raven Guard fled from Angron. New faces will be easily spotted, your legionaries exposed.’

‘That is why they wear old faces,’ Alpharius told him. He smiled and explained further when the others’ frowns deepened. ‘The Raven Guard were scattered as they fled the massacre at the dropsite. It was several days before they convened their strength again, during which time many were cut down in pursuit and anarchy reigned through their organisation. It was no simple matter for my Apothecaries to transplant the facial features of several fallen Raven Guard onto volunteers from my Legion, but they have had a lot of practice. As you may have heard, such facial surgery is not uncommon in the ranks of the Alpha Legion. My warriors are skilled and experienced, able to blend in without attracting attention. Even now they are with the Raven Guard, waiting for the opportunity to report.’

‘You stole their faces?’ Abaddon’s expression was a mixture of incredulity and disgust.

Alpharius nodded and looked for Horus’s reaction. For a moment the Warmaster had the same guarded look as earlier, but his aggression swept it aside as he leaned forwards, brow furrowing.

‘You are sure of their success?’ asked Horus, the words laden with accusation. ‘You have heard from them since they began their infiltration?’

Alpharius hesitated at this question, not sure of his reply. There was no point lying at this stage, even though the truth might upset the Warmaster further.

‘They have not yet been in contact,’ Alpharius admitted. ‘It is possible that they have been discovered, or perhaps slain in the fighting, but it is unlikely. They will send word when there is something of note to report.’

‘That will be a feat in itself, considering how far away they might be,’ said Abaddon.

‘As I said before, I have my means.’

Saying nothing, Horus regarded Alpharius for some time, his shadow-hidden eyes never leaving the face of the Alpha Legion primarch. Erebus bent down to say something but the Warmaster held up a hand to stop him.

‘You should have come to me with this intelligence before you interfered with the World Eaters,’ Horus said, his voice quiet. Alpharius chose not to repeat his point that he had had no such time to seek the Warmaster’s authority, and certainly didn’t voice his view that permission would not have been given. The judge was about to pronounce his judgement and Alpharius could not tell which humours held sway over the Warmaster. He held his breath, trying not to tense lest his anxiety was seen as guilt. ‘Angron has been given further cause to doubt my commands, and he is not shy in voicing his displeasure. I do not appreciate your scheming, brother, and I will be watching you closely.’

Which meant that no action more imminent would be taken against the Alpha Legion. Alpharius breathed out slowly, still on his guard.

‘We have a possible contact with a Raven Guard vessel heading out-system from Isstvan IV, Warmaster,’ said Abaddon. ‘Should we call off the pursuit, if it is your desire to let them escape?’

Horus looked to Alpharius, one eyebrow raised, seeking his opinion, though Alpharius sensed he was still being tested.

‘I would humbly suggest that the pursuit continues as normal for the moment,’ said the primarch. ‘Corax may already be suspicious of the events that allowed him to elude the World Eaters, any further deficiency in our attempts to bring him to battle might cause him to act with greater caution and ultimately thwart the reasons for allowing the Raven Guard their freedom.’

‘I concur,’ said Horus. ‘I have every confidence in Corax’s ability to escape my clutches without further help, and it will cause further consternation and questions amongst our allies if I am seen to interfere again.’

‘A wise decision,’ said Alpharius, bowing his head. ‘If there is nothing more to discuss, I must return to my Legion and continue the operation.’

Horus signalled for Alpharius to depart and the primarch felt the Warmaster’s heavy gaze on his back as he walked towards the door. The hydraulically-locked doorway remained closed to him, but Alpharius did not turn around.

The murmur of Erebus hovered on the edge of Alpharius’s hearing as the primarch waited for the portal to open.

‘If I thought for a moment, brother, that you were working against me, I would destroy you and your Legion,’ Horus declared.

Alpharius looked over his shoulder at the Warmaster and his two advisors.

‘I have never doubted that, brother.’

The door hissed open in front of Alpharius and he stepped out of the star chamber, trembling at the experience.

WHEN ALPHARIUS HAD left, Abaddon asked leave of his Warmaster.

‘Wait a moment, Ezekyle,’ said Horus. His gaze moved between Abaddon and Erebus. ‘If the Alpha Legion have managed to infiltrate the Raven Guard, I believe they will have no compunction about doing the same to their allies. We have already suffered from disloyalty, I will allow no further disruption. Erebus, send word to Lorgar before he leaves for Calth. I want more of his Apostles spread through our forces. Ezekyle, conduct a thorough security review of our protocols, and report anything directly to me. Conduct any further purges as required.’

‘What of Alpharius?’ asked Erebus. ‘He plays a game with us, of that I am sure.’

‘He follows his own agenda, that much is certain,’ replied the Warmaster. He stood up, dwarfing the two legionaries. ‘I am equally certain that we will never have definitive proof of treachery. What is the current position of his battle-barge?’

‘The Alphais in orbit over Isstvan III,’ said Abaddon. ‘Should I assign a ship or two to watch them?’

‘Yes,’ said Horus. ‘And pass on my command that the Alphais to join my fleet when we leave the system. Let us keep Alpharius on a tight leash for the moment, until we see how his scheme plays out.’

WHEN HE HAD returned to the Alpha, Alpharius headed straight for his personal chambers. The meeting with Horus had unsettled him, more than he had expected. He wondered if it would be simpler to reveal the existence of the Cabal to the Warmaster. If Horus knew of the ancient pan-alien conglomeration that had persuaded Alpharius to side against the Emperor, the loyalty of the Alpha Legion would not be in doubt and they would have more freedom to pursue their goals.

In the longer term, that knowledge raised other questions, questions whose answers would be counterproductive, and Alpharius always took the long view. The Cabal had shown him Horus’s self-destruction after the Warmaster’s victory over the Emperor, ultimately sparing the galaxy from the eternal threat of the Primordial Annihilator. This outcome had to remain a secret. If that knowledge were to be revealed, Horus would be forewarned and it would not come to pass, meaning the Alpha Legion’s treason against the Emperor would be for nothing.

As they had done so many times before, Alpharius and his Legion had stepped upon a narrow path, playing a part to two opposing sides to achieve a third, more desirable outcome. One distraction, one wrong step, would see them utterly isolated and most likely destroyed.

These thoughts occupied Alpharius as he made his way along the dimly-lit corridors of his battle-barge. The massive vessel seemed empty and he passed only a few of the Legion’s human serfs and half-mechanical servitors. They bowed their heads in deference to their master, as befitted one of the Alpha Legion, but were unaware that he was the primarch. His appearance was nondescript and his movements, like those of all of his warriors, were ever masked in distraction and diversion, so that his whereabouts were never certain even to those under his command.

Most of the Alpha Legion was still on Isstvan V, where they had taken part in the massacre at the dropsite, destroying the Iron Hands, Salamanders and Raven Guard, fighting alongside the other Legions who had thrown in their lot with Horus.

It had been a subterfuge worthy of Alpharius’s twisted schemes, but there had been survivors, and news of Horus’s great betrayal was surely spreading. The Alpha Legion would act as the Warmaster’s eyes and ears across the galaxy, keeping watch not only on those remnants that still backed the Emperor, but also on those Legions that had sworn loyalty to Horus. According to the Cabal, there was a balance to be achieved. Horus must be victorious, but his hold on power precarious enough to precipitate the implosion of the traitor forces after the victory. This would result in the destruction of the traitors that Alpharius had already begun to engineer.

In keeping with Alpharius’s usual appearance as a normal legionary, his chambers were just one of the many assigned to the Legion captains normally aboard the Alpha. A nondescript metal door in a side passage marked the entrance to his personal chambers. According to the small nameplate beside the door they were the rooms assigned to Captain Niming; a conceit of an ancient, dead Terran language that Alpharius found as amusing as it was useful. When more of his Legion was on board, several different individuals would use the quarters, according to secret rota, and there were other such ‘blind’ chambers on the other ships of the fleet. With such methods, Alpharius could move amongst his Legion without drawing attention to his presence.

Alpharius punched in the lock code and the door slid open, revealing a small, wood-panelled antechamber just a few strides across, leading to another sealed portal. He locked the outer door behind him and checked the security log terminal hidden behind one of the timbers, assuring himself that none of the chamber’s other pseudo-captains had returned to the battle-barge yet.

Entering the cipher for the second door, Alpharius entered the quarters proper: three linked rooms furnished sparingly with old Terran cabinets, chairs and tables of nondescript origin. The floor was carpeted with a dark red, the plascrete bulkheads obscured behind more wooden panelling. In the main chamber were three high-backed couches, reinforced to support the weight of several legionaries. The archway to the right led to the sleeping chambers, but it was to the left that Alpharius turned first, to the arming room.

The primarch did not divest himself fully of his armour; such a thing required the attendance of several serfs and he was not prepared to let anyone else into the chambers while he still had his secret visitor on board. The room was plain save for the weapons racks on the walls and the steel stand for his armour. An alcove in one wall contained two automated, mechanical arms. He backed into this space and activated the backpack removal system. With a hiss of disengaging cables and crackle of detaching power conduits, his backpack was lifted from his armour, turned one hundred and eighty degrees and plugged into a recharging port at the back of the alcove, linked to the Alpha’s energy grid.

With this completed, Alpharius took off his helm and shoulder guards and placed them on the armour stand. He removed his gauntlets, vambraces and elbow guards and locked them in place too, before removing the outer greaves protecting his lower legs.

He had eschewed his more formal ceremonial garb for the audience with Horus. This particular suit of armour was the same as that issued to many of his legionaries, bearing no symbols that would mark out Alpharius as anything other than an ordinary warrior of the Alpha Legion. Painted with several coats of blue over the bare ceramite, it was the third such suit Alpharius had possessed on board the Alpha, though he had others on several different vessels, each identical to this. The first had been abandoned on Thiatchin after anti-compliance forces had compromised Alpharius’s desert bunker complex and the primarch had been forced to retreat without it. The second had been half-destroyed during fighting against orks on Actur Three-Eighteen and the battle damage had rendered it easily identifiable. This suit had lasted for twelve years so far, but Alpharius’s meticulous maintenance and attention to the replenishment of the livery and insignia meant that it was as flawless as the day the artificers had created it. There was not a scratch, burr, mark, dent or even brushstroke that marked it out as exceptional, not a detail that might be used to identify Alpharius amongst the other warriors of the Legion.

+I sense a presence.+

The clipped, false tones of his guest’s translating device sounded from the sleeping chamber. Alpharius, now divested of much of his armour, crossed the main room quickly and entered the bunkroom.

The Cabal’s emissary hovered at the foot of the low bunk. At first glance it appearance to be a glass sphere no larger than his palm, filled with swirling yellow and green gases, several digital devices attached to the globe without any obvious pattern. Looking more closely, one could see the creature itself inside its artificial habitat. It looked like a tiny skeletal hand, with seven fingers and no thumb, its sensory organs dark, shimmering lines against the brittle, pale flesh of its body.

Its true name was unpronounceable, its gender uncertain, but Alpharius thought of the alien as a ‘him’ due to the thin, reedy voice emitted by the translator, and referred to the creature by the approximate name of Athithirtir.

Bubbles formed in the gas, though from what orifice Alpharius was not sure, and the translator emitter set at the bottom of the globe rattled into life.

+I sense you have met the Warmaster.+

‘Horus has allowed us to continue with the infiltration of the Raven Guard,’ said the primarch. ‘Everything will proceed as we have discussed.’

+I sense that you are not being forthright.+

Alpharius suppressed a growl of annoyance. Athithirtir had some kind of empathic ability which even his primarch mind could not block. The envoy had introduced itself as an antedil, and mentioned a gas giant homeworld somewhere on the rim in the galactic north. Its psychic sense had developed under the crushing pressure and intense gravity of such a planet, where normal senses and limbs would have been inadequate.

‘Horus is suspicious, that is all,’ said Alpharius. ‘He will need to be handled carefully.’

+I sense reticence. Your role is clear. Horus must win this war outright. The Primordial Annihilator gathers strength. It is linked to the Warmaster now. Rituals are being performed and creatures summoned from the–+