Lorgar’s image threw his hand forward. Psychic energy, so intensely golden it aborted direct sight, haloed and crowned his head with three aetheric horns. A wave of unseen force pounded into the Ultramarine liege, hurling him back through the fire and against the wall beyond.
Guilliman crashed to the deck, a twitching, ragged marionette with severed strings. And then, with his remaining hand, he reached for the fallen gladius again.
Lorgar crushed the hand beneath a crimson boot.
‘This, my brother, is for every life lost in the name of a lie.’ Lorgar hauled the Lord of Macragge up by the throat, smashing him back against the wall even as he strangled him. ‘Your fleet burns. Your astral kingdom dies next.’
Guilliman managed to smile.
LORGAR FACED THE twin-headed daemon again.
‘I must see more.’
‘You have seen all you need to see,’ both heads chorused.
‘I do not understand. At the last, he seemed amused.’ The primarch winced at the pain of his heart thudding against broken ribs. ‘How can that be?’
But he knew. At least, he could guess. He had seen that look in Guilliman’s cold, warlord’s eyes before. Not anger. Not wrath. Disappointment, bordering on disbelief. What have you done wrong this time?The accusation came in Guilliman’s arch, solemn voice, as if proclaimed by their father himself. What have you ruined now? What lives have been lost because of your foolishness?
Lorgar’s lip curled. ‘He knew something. Even as he died, he knew something.’
‘He hates you,’ said the daemon’s first head. ‘He was amused to learn he was right about you. That you were, as he always suspected, a traitor in waiting.’
The second head shook in dismissal. ‘No. He has never loathed you, Lorgar. You have always imagined his hatred. He does not respect you, for you are too different to find common ground, but your imagination has always been the source of the feud between you.’
The primarch cursed. ‘Which one of you is telling the truth?’
‘I am,’ they both said at once.
Lorgar swore again. ‘Enough. Tell me then, if I am not at Calth, where should I be? What path must I walk to enlighten my species?’
‘I am not your seer, Emperor’s son,’ the first head rasped. ‘I have given you the choice. You will make it in time.’
‘If,’ the second matched its tone completely, ‘you live that long.’
The creature spread its wings.
‘Wait, please.’
It didn’t wait. ‘All will be decided in Ultima Segmentum, Lorgar. Vengeance, or vision. Glory, or truth.’
The primarch raised his hand to plead for more time, but the daemon was gone in the time it had taken to blink.
HE FOUND HIS prey coiled upon itself, curled in some grotesque foetal parody of reptilian gestation.
But all rage had bled from him. He couldn’t help but see the young maiden shaman that had whored her life away to become this thing. Not for glory or gain, but for faith. He doubted she existed as more than an echo in the creature’s mind, but the idea itself was enough to bleed the anger from his body.
‘Ingethel,’ he said. ‘Do you live?’
Its fingers twitched, several of them, on all four of its hands. The sky was darkening now. With the night came the cold. Lorgar replaced his cracked helm, breathing deep of his internal air supply.
‘Ingethel,’ he said again.
The daemon’s bones creaked as it slowly rose. I live. Not for much longer. But for now, I live.It turned its monstrous face to his. Cataracts milked its abominable eyes. All is done. You have witnessed all that had to be seen.
‘How much was true?’ demanded Lorgar.
All of it, replied the daemon. Or none. Or perhaps something in between.
Lorgar nodded. ‘What if there was more I wished to see? You have shown me what the gods demanded I bear witness to. Now show me what I wish to see.’
The daemon curled its twiggish arms close against its broad, speckled chest. This is permitted. What would you have me show you, Emperor’s son?
He paused for a moment, seeking the right words. ‘I’ve seen what I must do to ensure victory. I’ve seen the fate of the galaxy if the Emperor’s lies are not challenged. Now, I wish to walk other worlds in this Great Eye. If this is the gateway to the heaven and hell of human myth, show me more of it. Show me the possibilities in these mutable worlds. Show me what the warp can offer humanity, if we concede to this merging of flesh and spirit.’
I can do all of this, Lorgar. As you wish.
The primarch hesitated. ‘And before I return to the Imperium, there is one thing I must see above any other.’
Name it.
Lorgar smiled behind the emotionless faceplate. ‘Show me what happens if we lose.’
PART FIVE
CRUSADE’S END
ELEVEN
COUNCIL
The Fidelitas Lex
Four days after Isstvan V
MAGNUS WAS SILENT for a long time. Lorgar continued his writing, pausing only to tap the quill into one of the nearby inkpots. The traditionalist in him adored Colchisian rusticism; he couldn’t shake the lingering notion that Holy Scripture should not be written upon a data-slate, unless no other implements presented themselves. In truth, he enjoyed the expression of recording his thoughts and prayers through flowing cursive lettering. There was more beauty in such creation, and gave his apostles something to copy in its entirety.
‘Brother,’ Magnus said at last. ‘I remember banishing that vision of you from my tower. It was mere days ago for me. Strange to think of the games time plays with us, is it not?’
Lorgar finally laid the quill to rest. When he turned to Magnus, it was with amusement in his eyes, and something more. It took his brother several moments to really see it, to truly understand what was different.
Few things in the galaxy could unnerve Magnus the Red, but the sight of absolute conviction burning in the embers of Lorgar’s eyes was suddenly revealed to be one of them. He’d seen that look before, in the eyes of madmen, prophets and fanatics of alien races and other human worlds. Above all, he had seen it in the eyes of his father, the Emperor, where it warred with a patient affection. But he had never seen it in the eyes of a brother – never in the eyes of a being who commanded enough power to reshape the galaxy against the codes of the Imperium.
‘The Great Crusade is over,’ Lorgar smiled. ‘The true holy war begins now.’
‘Will you face Guilliman?’
Lorgar’s smile didn’t fade, though it took on a kinder warmth, rather than the full and unhealthy heat of fervour. ‘My Legion leaves for the Calth system as soon as Horus’s council concludes.’
Magnus’s image wavered, affected by his own unease. ‘That does not answer my question.’
‘The Ultramarines must be crippled at Calth. Their backs need to be broken, lest they race ahead to Terra and bolster our father’s defences.’
Magnus struggled to equate the purred assurances of military tactics with his most scholarly brother’s soft voice. It all seemed somehow incongruous, yet Lorgar had never looked so bizarrely complete. Gone were the furtive, soulful glances and the hesitations before speaking.