Текст книги "Deliverance Lost"

Автор книги: Гэв Торп

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

‘It was nice of the guards not to take your sculptures,’ said Corvus, bringing himself back to the present.

‘Nice, my arse,’ said Reqaui. ‘That corporal gave me a truncheon in the gut before he left. They’re all bastards, lad, never forget that.’

‘I won’t,’ said Corvus. ‘They’re all bastards. Don’t worry, Reqaui, one day we’ll be settling the score.’

Reqaui smiled and leaned forwards, gesturing for Corvus to sit beside him. He placed a wiry arm across the boy’s shoulders and gave him a hug.

‘Sure enough, lad,’ said the inmate. ‘A few more years, you’ll have to be patient. A few more years and you’ll be ready. You’ll make the bastards pay, no doubt about it.’

Corvus smiled at the thought.

TRUE TO HIS word, Corax met with the arriving Imperial Fists, accompanied by his senior officers and company captains. Noriz arrived with a full complement of legionaries, who disembarked from the Stormbirds in the docking bay and formed a guard of honour for their captain.

Noriz appeared last, crested helmet under one arm, a long cloak of scarlet trailing from his armour. He seemed very young for a captain to Corax’s eye, his head covered in a short-cropped nest of blond curls, bright blue eyes fixing immediately upon the primarch. The captain swallowed hard and continued to stare at Corax.

‘Is there something amiss, captain?’ asked the primarch.

‘No, not at all,’ said Noriz. ‘We thought… We did not expect to encounter Raven Guard, much less yourself, primarch.’

‘And why would that be?’

Noriz’s discomfort increased.

‘We have received word that you were all dead,’ he said quietly. ‘The Raven Guard, Salamanders and Iron Hands… We, that is Legion command, were told that there had been no survivors from Isstvan.’

‘I am pleased to contradict such rumours in person,’ said Corax. ‘As you can see, the Raven Guard continue to serve the Emperor.’

The captain said nothing in reply. Corax realised that Noriz had to consider an alternative explanation for the Raven Guard’s survival: that they were loyal to Horus.

‘I understand your suspicions, captain,’ said the primarch. ‘When so few have survived such treachery, it is hard to believe we did so without collusion. I would assuage your doubts in any way that I can. Whatever assurances you require, we will provide them.’

‘My apologies for this necessary inspection, primarch,’ said Noriz, eyes averted. ‘I am under standing orders to conduct a search of every vessel entering this quadrant without authorisation.’

‘The Raven Guard will cooperate in any way we can,’ replied Corax. ‘We understand well the need for security at this time. What do you require of us?’

Noriz looked along the line of Raven Guard officers: a row of scarred faces regarding him with distaste bordering on hostility. He sought sanctuary in the more welcoming expression of Corax.

‘We are ordered to conduct a thorough search of the ship and all personnel aboard, primarch.’ He glanced back at his legionaries. ‘We shall conduct our investigation in ten teams, if that is possible. If you would appoint a liaison officer, I can brief him on the details of the process.’

‘I do not wish to be delayed, captain,’ said Corax. ‘I am on my way to an audience with the Emperor.’

‘I am sure that, with your cooperation, we can be thorough and efficient, primarch,’ said Noriz. ‘It should take no longer than a couple of days.’

‘Very well,’ said Corax, though the thought of being kept here for any longer irked the primarch. He pointed to Branne. ‘Commander Branne is captain of this vessel, you may conduct all communication through him. He will make other officers available to assist your inspection. All holds, bays, storage areas, weapons lockers and barracks will be opened to your men. I shall have my Legion prepared for the inspection.’

‘Thank you, primarch,’ said Noriz. He looked as though he was about to say something else, but stopped himself. Corax was not sure, but he had the sense that Noriz had wanted to offer more than just gratitude: sympathy perhaps. ‘We will begin our inspection immediately.’

FIVE

Inspection and Appraisal

Arrival at Terra

Malcador

ALONG WITH THE rest of his company, Alpharius stood to attention in one of the primary cargo bays. The order had gone out across the Avengerfor all squads and crews to make ready for an inspection. In full armour, bearing their weapons, the Raven Guard had turned out en masse, filling the flight bays, storage areas, gun decks and mess chambers with rank upon rank of warriors.

The Alpha Legionnaire waited patiently while an officer in the livery of the Imperial Fists, introduced as Captain Noriz, prowled between the ranks, checking every legionary in turn. Every now and then he would ask a question, probing for some hint that the Raven Guard were traitors.

‘Do they think the rebels are just going to turn up and ask to see the Emperor?’ muttered Doril to his left.

‘Maybe they think we’re on some kind of scouting mission for Horus,’ replied Ordin, standing on Alpharius’s right. ‘They probably have no idea who is friend and foe.’

‘It’d be a pretty brazen Traitor to turn up with just one battle-barge,’ said Doril. ‘If that’s Horus’s strategy this’ll be over in a year. I don’t know why the primarch is allowing this.’

‘Because he has nothing to hide,’ said Alpharius. ‘Every Legion is under suspicion at the moment, and nobody, least of all Dorn, is going to take anyone’s loyalty for granted.’

‘Well, I’ve got a scar on my left arm from a World Eater chainaxe if this jumped-up policeman wants any proof of my loyalty,’ said Ordin.

‘Quiet!’ snapped Sergeant Dor.

They fell silent as Captain Noriz continued his tour through the lines. Alpharius stayed calm as the captain approached from the left and stopped in front of him. His helmet was on his belt, leaving him fully exposed to the scrutiny of the others, but there was nothing outward that would betray his true identity. He met the Imperial Fist’s gaze with an emotionless stare as the captain eyed him closely.

There were no questions. Noriz moved on further down the line. Alpharius quashed the urge to sigh with relief, realising how tense he had become, even though he had kept his exterior utterly placid.

Soon enough, the order to disperse was given and the company broke into squads.

‘What next, sergeant?’ Ordin asked as they filed out of the chamber.

‘The Imperial Palace,’ replied Dor with a grin.

DESPITE FINDING NO hint of suspicious activity on his inspection, Captain Noriz insisted that his orders required the Imperial Fists contingent to remain aboard the Avengeruntil it reached Terra. Not wishing to create more problems, Corax agreed, placing him under the stewardship of Branne. As ship’s captain, it was his responsibility to accommodate the visitor and Branne did his best to be helpful and cordial, if not outright friendly. Noriz did not make the task any easier; he was a tight-lipped warrior, monosyllabic for much of the time, unwilling to shake a certain distrust of his hosts.

The journey from the translation point to Terra would take eleven days, during which time Noriz was invited by the primarch to brief him and his command council on the current intelligence regarding Horus and the situation at Isstvan.

They convened in the command chamber beside the strategium, Corax choosing to stand while the others were sat around the table. As a courtesy, Noriz had brought over some personal stores from his strike cruiser before despatching it to continue on patrol, and so there were several bottles of wine, plates of fresh meat and bowls of ripe fruit for the council to enjoy. Branne would have been grateful for the gesture, had it not been performed in a manner that indicated Noriz believed it his honour-bound duty to offer this gift rather than acting out of genuine comradeship for his fellow legionaries. For all that, the commander showed no hesitation in consuming the fresh provisions with gusto, as did the other commanders.

‘You must be aware that I am not privy to high levels of intelligence,’ Noriz began, casting a worried glance at Corax, who stood a little apart from the rest of them, looming over the group like a shadowy statue.

‘Just tell us what you already know,’ said the primarch.

‘Details are scarce, as you might expect,’ said the Imperial Fist. His uncertainty continued, either from genuine lack of knowledge or reluctance to share what he knew with the Raven Guard. ‘Some of our Legion were sent to Isstvan and are still unaccounted for. The rest are garrisoning Terra and dealing with the Martian situation.’

‘What situation?’ said Solaro. ‘What is happening on Mars?’

‘Insurrection, bordering on civil war,’ replied the captain with a sour expression. ‘It seems Horus has allies within the Mechanicum as well as the Legiones Astartes and Imperial Army.’

‘There is fighting on Mars?’ Agapito’s incredulity was betrayed by his tone. ‘That puts the traitors within striking distance of Terra already!’

‘I expected as much,’ said Corax, leaning forwards to pick up a wine bottle in his giant hand. He delicately poured himself a glass of red, the crystal goblet seeming tiny in his fingers as he raised it to his lips. ‘Horus would not be able to launch a war against the Imperium without support from the tech-priests. That it reaches as far as Mars is worrying, but not a revelation.’

Corax sipped his drink and nodded to Noriz to continue. The captain cleared his throat and looked at the assembled commanders.

‘If you do not trust us now, Horus has struck an even keener blow than I had feared,’ said Corax, sensing the captain’s continuing reluctance. ‘Your reticence is starting to become tiresome, captain. Are we wasting our time here?’

‘Our primary focus is the fortification of Terra and the defence of the Sol system,’ Noriz told them, pouring himself a drink. He looked long at Corax and the commanders and then gave a single, unconscious nod, indicating that he was willing to trust them. ‘The turncoats on Mars are contained, their defection destabilising our efforts rather than directly threatening them. With the loyal Mechanicum occupied with the enemy within their ranks, they can provide little support for our growing war effort.’

‘Which is all very interesting, but we want to know what happened to other Legions on Isstvan. Who is left to fight Horus?’ This was from Agapito.

‘I was hoping that you might know more than me on that account,’ confessed Noriz. ‘There has been scattered traffic returning from the system, a ship or two bearing survivors, but little else. We’re not really sure what happened out there. As I said before, we had heard that the Raven Guard had been eliminated.’

‘Though the news has proven false in that case, we must still assume for the moment that the Salamanders and Iron Hands have been wiped out,’ said Corax. ‘Ferrus Manus was slain, I saw as much myself, and nothing has been seen of Vulkan. It is likely that their Legions were also destroyed. What of other loyal forces? How far has the taint spread to the Imperial Army? Any news from Guilliman, or Jonson, or the Khan?’

‘I do not know,’ Noriz said with a shrug. ‘Nothing has been passed down to me from Legion command, you will have to speak to Lord Dorn about that.’

‘The Emperor, what is the Emperor doing?’ asked Aloni. ‘Surely he will lead the fight against Horus.’

A pained look crossed the face of Noriz.

‘We have heard nothing directly,’ said the captain, placing his cup on the table in front of him. ‘Lord Dorn has been placed in charge of the Sol defence and the fortification of the Imperial Palace. Malcador appears to be acting as regent on Terra, with the authority of the Emperor alongside the primarch. We have been told that the Emperor is engaged fully in his own endeavours to defeat the traitors, though what that means I have no clue.’

The Raven Guard commanders muttered shock and disapproval at this revelation, until Corax stepped up to the table.

‘Quiet,’ said the primarch. He cast a stern look at the legionaries. ‘If the Emperor is embroiled in some unseen effort, we must trust that it is the surest road to victory. Did you think he would come out of the Imperial Palace, sword in hand, and cast down these traitors with a single blow? The Emperor created us to be his warriors, and we will bring him victory.’

With further questioning it became clear that Noriz could furnish them with little more information other than the ongoing defensive measures being undertaken. Jaghatai Khan and his White Scars were presumably en route to Terra, having been recalled from Chondax by Dorn himself, but no other communication had been received from them for some time. The First Legion, the Dark Angels under Lion El’Jonson, had not been heard from and were likely unaware of the recent treachery of Horus. Leman Russ and his Space Wolves were equally incommunicado, having been despatched by the Emperor to deal with the problem of the Thousand Sons and their continuing sorceries many months before. The Ultramarines, largest of the Legions, had been sent to the opposite side of the galaxy by Horus prior to the massacre, and were unlikely to be able to intervene any time soon. For the moment, the only Legions that could be accounted for and depended upon were the Raven Guard and the Imperial Fists.

The council ended with little learnt, but what small amount of intelligence Noriz had passed on was far from comforting. The warp storms were, as Corax had suspected, widespread; perhaps the whole galaxy was engulfed. Certainly the region around Isstvan was cloaked in a massive tempest that blocked navigation and communication.

It seemed increasingly likely that the warp disruption was part of Horus’s strategy. The last time warp storms had raged like this, the worlds of mankind had been divided and isolated, leading to the onset of Old Night and the dissolving of the original human empire. Unable to unite properly, prevented from coordinating their strategy or enforcing loyalty to the Emperor, the disparate planets of the Imperium would be much easier pickings for the traitors. With a swift strike to secure power on Terra, Horus could emerge as a new uniter of humanity, sweeping away the rule of the Emperor at a stroke.

THE PREPARATIONS FOR Terra’s defence became more evident as the Avengermoved in-system towards Terra. The Sol battlefleet, the largest single armada in the Imperium, was gathering in strength. Dozens of warships blockaded Mars, while hundreds of other vessels took station in orbital positions over the other planets, their sensors turned outwards in readiness for the arrival of Horus’s fleet.

The communications networks were overloaded with activity, the strat-net frequencies used by the Legiones Astartes and Imperial Army sometimes so clogged with data that it took many hours for messages to be relayed. There was a tangible aura of desperation amidst the turmoil, as though any day would see the warp tearing apart with the arrival of hundreds of traitor ships.

As they neared their destination, the Raven Guard encountered increasing numbers of security screens. Warship patrols hailed them frequently, while massive star forts locked their guns upon the arriving vessel, keeping watch until it had passed out of range. Passing further and further into the heart of the Sol system, the Avengerwas subjected to constant scrutiny, though its passage was never barred outright.

Gaining orbit over Terra was an expedition in itself, despite the assurances and assistance of Captain Noriz. After three days entangled in the security protocols of half a dozen different military jurisdictions and organisations, Corax finally lost patience. Dismissing the communications attendants from their posts, he keyed in a failsafe code for the most secure channel: an ultra-secret frequency used by only the primarchs and, before his self-seclusion on Terra, the Emperor himself.

There was no reply for half an hour, as Corax paced back and forth across the strategium. Finally the vox crackled into life, with a voice that was deep and thoughtful, every word carefully enunciated, every syllable spoken with crisp authority.

‘Is that you, Corax? It is about time you contacted me, brother. I was wondering if the news that you were still alive had been yet another breakdown in communication.’

‘Brother Rogal, yes it is Corax,’ replied the primarch. ‘If you do not find me an orbital station in the next five minutes, I’m going to use my weapons batteries to make a space for myself.’

There was a short but hearty laugh over the vox.

‘That would not be a good idea!’ said Rogal Dorn. ‘I heard that you had arrived, but then I must admit that your whereabouts were washed away in all of the other clutter. Do you want to berth at a platform or take up an independent orbit?’

‘We need to resupply,’ said Corax. ‘I’ll shuttle down with an advance guard.’

‘I will send you the coordinates of Beta-Styx platform. It has a fully-stocked victualling yard. You can come down to Lion’s Gate port and I will despatch a delegation to meet you.’

‘A delegation? Too busy to greet your brother in person?’

‘Yes. I will be back at the Imperial Palace within the day.’

‘Understood, brother. I wish our reunion was in much lighter times.’

‘It is not for our kind to meet in peace, brother, you should know that. We will talk more tomorrow; I have something I must attend to urgently.’

With that, the frequency devolved into static once more. A data screen flickered into life, a list of spatial coordinates scrolling across it in yellow lettering and signed with the insignia of the Imperial Fists.

‘Prepare for docking manoeuvres,’ Corax announced. ‘And ready me a Stormbird. Agapito, choose a company to act as honour guard. Branne, you have command.’

A series of affirmatives chorused across the strategium as the primarch walked towards the doors. Corax stopped as they slid open and turned his head.

‘Branne?’

The commander froze, halfway into the control throne. He stood and looked back at the primarch and saw a lopsided smile on Corax’s face.

‘Yes, lord?’

‘As much as I appreciate your arrival at Isstvan, please stay where I put you this time.’

‘Aye, lord. I will.’

AS THE AVENGERpowered towards the orbital dock, preparations were made for Corax and a small entourage to descend to the surface of Terra. Branne found Agapito on the launch deck, with a company of his legionaries. The clatter of a heavy servitor’s tracks echoed from the metal walls, blotting out the dormant whine of a Stormbird’s engines. Branne thought he sensed some anxiety in his brother’s demeanour.

‘Relax, brother, this is not a combat mission,’ said Branne.

‘And all the more dangerous for it,’ replied Agapito. ‘Suspicion surrounds us like a cloud. You saw how Captain Noriz treated us. I expect no warm welcome on the surface.’

‘So it will be up to you to assure our allies that we can be trusted,’ said Branne.

Agapito hesitated, and glanced over Branne’s shoulder. Corax entered the flight bay, nodded to the two commanders and strode up the Stormbird’s boarding ramp without a word.

‘I’m not the only one that feels it,’ said Agapito, his gaze on the drop-ship, his thoughts clearly on the primarch now aboard. ‘Now is not the time for rash displays of loyalty. I’m worried Lord Corax will promise more than we can currently deliver.’

‘We can’t afford to let the traitors make their preparations without pause,’ said Branne. ‘Would you want us simply to let them proceed as they wish?’

Leaning closer, Agapito’s voice dropped to a whisper.

‘We were nearly wiped out, brother,’ he said. ‘If we do not tread carefully, the execution Horus planned for us at Isstvan will be carried out at another place. You know that we lack the strength to fight at the moment.’

Concerned by his brother’s words, Branne slapped a hand to Agapito’s shoulder guard.

‘What happened on Isstvan is over,’ said Branne, guessing the source of Agapito’s hesitance. ‘We lost most of the Legion, but we survived.’

‘“We” survived, brother? I don’t remember you at the dropsite.’

‘Through no fault of my own!’ snapped Branne, snatching back his hand. He was infuriated that of all his comrades, it was Agapito who had given voice to the accusation Branne had suspected lingered in the minds of his battle-brothers. ‘How can I be held responsible for the drawing of lots that left me as garrison commander?’

‘You misunderstand me, brother,’ said Agapito, with a sorrowful shake of the head. ‘It is not personal, but you can never understand what it was like to be there. I don’t begrudge your absence, I envy it.’

‘You haven’t talked about the dropsite at all, to me or the primarch,’ said Branne, his anger punctured by Agapito’s confession. ‘Some of the others, they have found it helpful to discuss what they saw, to share their stories. Tell me, what happened to you at the dropsite?’

‘No,’ said Agapito, stepping away. He signalled to his warriors to begin boarding as the launch bay lights dimmed in readiness for the main doors to open. Overhead, klaxons sounded the five-minute warning. ‘Some stories are best left untold. You do not want to know what I did at the dropsite.’

Branne said nothing as his brother turned away, confused by the change he had seen in Agapito. His fellow commander had once been the first to swap war stories on the ship back to Deliverance, taking great delight in recounting his kills and close calls with death. Even as young boys, when they had fought for the liberty of Deliverance, before the Emperor had come and brought the Legion, Agapito would rouse the flagging spirits of the freedom fighters with tales of his daring and their victories over the Kiavahran enslavers.

He watched as Agapito stood at the bottom of the ramp, counting off the squads as they ran into the Stormbird amid the thunderous falls of boots on metal. As the last of the legionaries passed him, Branne noticed something on their shoulder guards, a small device painted under the Legion symbol. It was a grey skull, almost as dark as the black of their armour. Now that he noticed it, Branne saw it in the insignia of all the company’s warriors. He waved aside one of the squad leaders as he jogged past.

‘Sergeant Nestil, a word,’ said the commander.

‘Yes, captain,’ said Nestil, coming to attention in front of Branne.

‘What does this mean?’ asked Branne, prodding a finger towards the small sigil.

‘Isstvan veteran, captain,’ replied the sergeant with no hint of reluctance. ‘There was no official campaign badge or honours issued, captain. We thought it would be good to remember the fallen.’

‘You have all taken this on?’ said Branne.

‘All of us that fought there, yes, captain, at least in the Talons,’ said Nestil. He glanced towards Agapito, and Branne took his meaning.

‘Whose idea was this?’ asked Branne.

‘I’m not sure, captain,’ admitted Nestil. He looked away, glancing again at Agapito. ‘It was just one of those ideas that seemed to catch on.’

‘Sorry to delay you, sergeant,’ said Branne, waving Nestil to carry on.

Not good, thought Branne as he watched Agapito follow Nestil up the ramp onto the Stormbird. A commander being close-lipped about what he had done and legionaries giving themselves honours. The dropsite massacre had caused serious damage to the Raven Guard, even more than the seventy-five thousand dead legionaries.

STRAPPED INTO HIS berth beside one of the viewing ports, Alpharius had a good view of Terra as the Stormbird dipped away from the Avenger. It had been a fortunate turn to be included in Corax’s honour guard and would provide, he hoped, a good opportunity to see the defences being prepared to welcome Horus. Aside from whatever else he might be asked to do, his role in the Raven Guard was to gather intelligence for the final, inevitable assault on the Emperor’s stronghold. Everything he could learn now would give the Warmaster and his allies a valuable warning of what to expect.

‘What is that?’ one of the legionaries asked from further down the compartment. Alpharius turned to see the other Raven Guard straining at their harnesses to look out of the starboard windows. ‘It’s bigger than a star fort!’

Alpharius could not see clearly from his position but glimpsed a massive vessel in low orbit. It seemed to stretch on and on, a gilded construction shaped like an eagle with outstretched wings, bedecked with fortified gun towers, lance batteries, missile tubes and bombardment cannons. So vast was the orbiting station, its faint shadow could be seen on the cloud layer wreathing Terra. The flicker of void shields surrounded the immense floating edifice, dappling the gold of its heavily-buttressed superstructure with purple and red. Smaller ships – some of them mighty battleships in their own right – were dwarfed by its presence, its turret-encrusted docks large enough for cruisers several kilometres long.

‘That’s Phalanx,’ said Sergeant Nestil. ‘Base ship of the Imperial Fists. Impressive, isn’t it? Never mind a battle-barge, that’s what we should’ve taken to Isstvan.’

It certainly was impressive, but no surprise. Everyone had heard of Phalanxand its presence in the Sol system was to be expected. Horus was well aware of the star fortress’s capabilities and defences already, and no doubt had devised a way to counter them. This was not the object of Alpharius’s mission. Of more interest to the Alpha Legionnaire was a golden-hulled cruiser rising out of the dock neighbouring the Avenger. Though he was not sure, it looked like a vessel belonging to the Legio Custodes, the Emperor’s elite protectors. He wondered where they were going, when all other effort was being directed towards the defence of the Master of Mankind.

And then everything outside turned white as the Stormbird dropped into the thickening Terran atmosphere, enveloping the craft in bright flames. As they descended, the visibility momentarily cleared, revealing a vista that sent a thrill through Alpharius.

Large platforms could be half-seen amongst the dense cloud, drifting serenely through the air surrounded by swarms of shuttles and cargo-lifters. The closest floating city, its name unknown to Alpharius, was glimpsed between breaks in the whiteness, a mass of towering buildings, winding roadways and landing aprons. Sunlight glittered from coiling spires made of multicoloured glass and dazzled across the mirrored plates of photo-receptors and vapour condensers.

The splendour of graceful lines and arcing bridges was marred by blocky aberrations: gun towers and bunkers surrounded by scaffolding that was thick with workers. As the Stormbird banked onto its final course, Alpharius’s augmented eyes could see flashes of yellow armour amongst the robes and overalls of the work teams: Imperial Fists supervising the construction of the defences.

The nose of the Stormbird dipped and cloud again swathed Alpharius’s view, blotting out the vision of the hovering city. The engines whined as the craft slowed for its landing, and banked once more, circling over the Lion’s Gate starport that spread darkly across the bare rock of Terra’s surface in a vast maze of ferrocrete and plasteel. Alpharius had a glimpse of landing platforms that stretched for kilometres, shadowed beneath control towers and defence laser turrets.

The Alpha Legionnaire was glad that his arrival was in the guise of a friend and wondered if, at some point of the future, he would be returning here as a foe. He had made dozens of combat drops during his long years of service, but seeing the immense barrels of the orbital defence cannons and the flicker of power fields, he knew that whichever Legion ultimately had the task of securing Lion’s Gate would suffer heavy casualties.

Even as he thought of the assault that was sure to come, Alpharius’s mind was analysing the growing defences. Any insights he could glean from this opportunity to examine Dorn’s fortifications first-hand might prove invaluable to Horus, and so in turn were of significant worth to the Alpha Legion. His eye caught the telltale capacitors and conduits of power field generators, while he calculated the zones of fire of the smaller rings of protective pillboxes and automated lascannon mounts.

With a thud and a hiss of hydraulics, the Stormbird extended its landing gear, breaking Alpharius’s thoughts. So engrossed had he been in his intelligence-gathering, he had quite forgotten where he was. Alpharius took a deep breath as the Stormbird touched down, rocking slightly on its gear, clouds of smoke and plasma-wash billowing around the craft.

He was on Terra, the capital of the Imperium, home to the Emperor.

AS PROMISED, THERE was a contingent waiting for the arrival of Corax. As the primarch descended the Stormbird’s ramp, he saw a group of thirty gold-armoured Custodians. In height and size, they were the match of the Legiones Astartes, if not bigger, though Corax was taller still. Every warrior of the Custodian Guard was armoured uniquely, their heavy gorgets decorated with eagle devices, winged skulls and other icons, their high, conical helms topped with flowing scarlet crests. Clusters of studded red leather pteruges hung from their belts and high shoulder guards, tipped with pointed gold weights, and their wide greaves and heavy vambraces were chased with intricate designs that matched the rest of their armour. They held guardian spears with red power field-clad blades held across their chests, carried behind tall shields emblazoned with designs of the Imperial aquila and laurel-crowned skulls.

With them stood an ageing man Corax recognised immediately: Malcador the Sigillite. The Regent of Terra wore a voluminous robe, unadorned in stark contrast to the ornamentation of his guard of honour. His weathered, ancient face was half-hidden behind the fold of his hood. The gusts of wind blowing across the open landing apron tugged at the rim of the hood, showing glimpses of reinforced pipes connected to a collar around the Sigillite’s throat that disappeared into the swathe of his garments. In his hands he held a black marble staff taller than himself, its head a soaring eagle shaped in gold, wreathed in flames that sprang from the rod itself. The Emperor’s regent leaned heavily on his staff of office but nonetheless managed to maintain an air of statesmanlike authority.