The Lion’s murmur of agreement sounded closer to a feral growl. ‘To bait us with mockery, using words Curze likely believes are apt. The beacon was set to transmit coordinates in addition to this message. It appears my beloved brother wishes to meet at last.’
‘This can only be a trap,’ said Alajos.
‘Of course,’ the Lion agreed easily. ‘And yet we will sail into the beast’s jaws this once. We cannot spend eternity butchering one another’s warriors the way we have these last years. If this crusade is ever to end, my brother and I must face one another.’
‘Then continue the hunt,’ Alajos insisted. ‘We catch their fleets–’
‘As often as they catch ours.’ The Lion spoke through closed teeth, his armoured shoulders rising and falling with his heavy breath. ‘For twenty-six months I have chased him. For twenty-six months, he has fled from me, burning worlds before we arrive, crippling supply routes, annihilating Mechanicum outposts. Every ambush we plan, he slips from our fingers, wriggling away unseen. For every victory we claim, Curze gifts us with a loss in return. It is not a hunt, Alajos. If a primarch does not fall, this will be war without end. And neither he nor I will fall without death bestowed by a brother’s hand.’
‘But, my liege–’
‘Be silent, Ninth Captain.’ The Lion’s voice remained measured and low, but cold passion, almost feverish in its intensity, burned in his eyes. ‘We are one of the last loyal Legions left at full strength in the Imperium, and we are alone in the void, seeking to hold the entire kingdom together while all other eyes turn to Terra. Do you think I have no desire to stand with Dorn on the battlements of my father’s palace? Do you believe I wish to linger here in the silence of space, piecing together the shards of this shattered empire? We cannot reach Terra.We tried. We failed. That war is denied to us by the warp’s treacherous tides. But the rest of the galaxy is falling dark, and we may be the only living Legion that bears the Emperor’s light out here among the stars.’
The Lion straightened again, his eyes still fierce with suppressed emotion. ‘That is our duty, Alajos of the Ninth Order. And our Legion has always done its duty. We must win this war. An entire subsector with its forge-worlds bleeding their genius and materiel into surviving, rather than supplying other Imperial forces. The knight worlds do the same, as do the harvest worlds, the host worlds, the ore worlds. The sooner we complete this crusade, the sooner every Imperial sector is bolstered by its efforts, and the sooner we sail to join forces with Guilliman.’ He sighed at this last declaration. ‘Wherever he may be.’
Corswain remained silent throughout all of this. When the Lion’s last words trailed off, leaving the promise hanging in the air, the knight cleared his throat to speak.
‘I understand why you will rise to Primarch Curze’s bait, my liege. But why did you summon us?’
The Lion exhaled slowly, indicating a world on the hololith at the edge of the Eastern Fringe. ‘The coordinates mark this system. I cannot risk the entire Legion fleet abstaining from the crusade on a fraternal whim.’ Here, he grinned – a smile nothing like his subtle, sincere smirk. This was a tiger baring its fangs. ‘I will take a single company and a handful of warships, with a small support fleet. Enough to repel and evade treachery if it strikes, but not enough to risk losing any ground in this pitiful, eternal deadlock if it is all nothing more than a false trail.’
Alajos saluted immediately. ‘The Ninth Order will be honoured to serve as your personal guard, my liege.’
‘And I am honoured to be served by them.’ The Lion nodded in acknowledgement. ‘Cor. You seem thoughtful, little brother.’
‘What is this world’s name?’ Corswain asked.
The Lion consulted the data-screen mounted on his side of the table. ‘Tsagualsa. Listed as barren and unsuitable for colonisation, with no evidence of settlement during Old Night.’
‘So we are summoned by a blood enemy to a dead rock at the galaxy’s edge.’ Corswain glanced at Alajos. ‘If the entire Night Lord fleet is there, you may cross blades with Sevatar a second time.’
The captain lowered his hood, revealing his devastated face. Most of his ruined visage was marred by lumpen scar tissue and discoloured synthetic flesh that hadn’t healed cleanly at the seams. His teeth were blunt steel pegs affixed into reconstructed gums.
‘Good.’ Alajos narrowed his eyes – practically the only unflawed feature on his face. ‘I owe him for this.’
IV
THE STRIKE CRUISER Vehemencetranslated in-system alone. It burst into the silence of realspace on grinding, protesting engines, braking as it slowed from the warp rupture in its wake. Momentum desistors fired along the ship’s prow and central spine, lesser brake-engines howling to slow the warship’s forward flight.
In space, it came to a slow crawl in noiseless elegance. On board, the shaking hull coupled with the screaming engines made for a scene altogether less graceful. Hundreds of sweating crew members in the enginarium chambers worked to maintain the immense plasma furnaces, while uniformed officers on the command deck called and demanded status reports from every section of the ship. The Lion’s throne on board the Invincible Reasonwas a grander affair than anything on the bridge of the Vehemence,and rather than take the captain’s position, the Lion allowed Captain Kellendra Vray to ostensibly remain in command of her vessel. While she sat in her smaller throne, her greying hair bound in a severe ponytail, the Lion stood to the side with his arms crossed over his breastplate as he stared at the oculus screen.
Tsagualsa turned in the void before them: grey, bare, granted only the thinnest cloud cover over its visible hemisphere.
Corswain and Alajos stood away from their lord, watching the world themselves. ‘Permission to speak freely, my liege.’
The Lion nodded, not taking his eyes from the oculus. ‘Granted, Cor.’
‘The enemy has summoned us to a purgatorial shithole.’
The Lion’s lips curled. To the humans nearby, it was a cold sneer. To his warriors, it was the ghost of amusement. ‘I will be sure to include that in the rolls of honour for this campaign. Auspex?’
An officer by the auspex station conferred with the three robed servitors hardwired to the console. He called over to the Lion a moment later. ‘The planet reads as lifeless, my lord – a thin atmosphere, tolerable but devoid of any mass life trace. The soil appears to be faintly irradiated, a natural phenomenon. A fleet with Legiones Astartes code returns is stationed in high geocentric orbit on the planet’s sunless side.’
‘Such literal creatures,’ the Lion growled. ‘Fleet size? Disposition?’
‘Counting for long-range auspex unreliability and warp echoes, it looks like seven vessels. One cruiser and six support ships, all in abeyance of standard formation protocols.’
The Lion rested his hand on the pommel of his sheathed blade. ‘When our support translates in-system, hold a loose formation on approach. Master of vox-officers, when we are in range, hail the enemy cruiser.’
The Angel fleet, modest as it was, arrived piecemeal over the course of the next three hours. When the final destroyer, Seventh Son, drifted into formation with the gathered ships, the Vehemencepowered up its engines and guided the flotilla closer to the dead world.
‘We’re already being hailed,’ the master of vox-operators called out. ‘Audio only.’
The Lion inclined his head at the man. A moment later, a soft voice breathed over the bridge speakers, flawed by vox-crackle.
‘Well, well, well. Look what stumbled into our system.’
‘I know that voice.’ The Lion’s tone was ice itself. ‘Cease your barking, dog, and tell me where I will find the master that holds your leash.’
‘Is that any way to greet a beloved nephew?’ The soft voice broke away into short chuckle. ‘My master makes ready to walk the surface of the world below, for he expects you to meet with him. To prove our good intentions, our fleet will move out of orbit, beyond the range necessary to fire on the surface. Meanwhile, scan the world yourself. In the northern reaches of the largest western continental plate, you will find the foundations of a fortress. My primarch will meet you there.’