And at the same time as Corvus saw this, he also witnessed the arrival of a demigod, wreathed in golden light and dressed in white finery that burned with its own light. He saw a stern face set with two golden orbs for eyes, piercing in their intensity, searing into the core of his being. The stranger seemed to tower over the kneeling men, borne forwards upon a carpet of undulating flames.
It was impossible to reconcile the two images. The supreme, grandiose king of men approached Corvus, but all the while the slight, unimposing man flickered within. Finally Corvus’s mind could fight no longer against the glamour and he saw the new arrival as his followers did, and was filled by an overwhelming urge to pay obeisance to this stranger.
He fought that instinct. He had waged a war so that his people would not bow before another man. The newcomer’s effect on Corvus’s men unsettled the rebel leader. He stared with narrowed eyes, unable to discern which image was true and which was illusion as the stranger paced slowly and confidently across the ferrocrete.
‘Who are you?’ Corvus demanded. ‘What have you done to my men?’
The stranger looked around at the guerrilla fighters regarding him with adoration, seeming to Corvus slightly nonplussed at the scene. His blond hair fell in waves across his shoulders as he turned his head, spilling like fiery liquid. Another wave of majesty swept over Corvus and again the guerrilla commander had to make a physical effort not to fall to his knees.
‘An occupational hazard,’ said the man, returning his attention to Corvus. He fixed the rebel leader with a stare, his eyes now permanently golden like bottomless wells of light. There was a glow of power beneath his skin, as if the stranger’s flesh were embers masked behind thin paper. Corvus experienced a momentary fluttering in his breast and a knot of anxiety in his gut, a fraction of the effect the man was having on his warriors. ‘I am the Emperor of Mankind. I created you.’
Hearing these words was like a veil lifting from Corvus’s eyes. He saw the Emperor as he had seen him before, watching the growing infant through the canopy of an incubator. His face had been distorted by curved plates of glass, but the features were unmistakeable. The guerrilla leader had long pondered the face from his earliest memories, wondering to whom it belonged. Now vague recollections became sharp memory. Corvus recalled the noise and lights and booming voices that had engulfed him, remembered the surge of power and disorientation as unnatural forces had borne him away from the place of his creation.
Now he saw and knew for certain the face of his father, the only individual worthy of Corvus’s unwavering obedience. He lowered himself to one knee in deference, understanding that the stranger spoke the truth. Here was the Master of Mankind.
‘What do you call this place?’ the Emperor asked.
‘It used to be called Lycaeus,’ Corvus replied. ‘Now we know it as Deliverance.’
‘A good name,’ said the Emperor. ‘Please, rise, my son. We have much to talk about.’
And they did. Corvus withdrew from his men and took the Emperor to his quarters, an old guard station in the mid-levels of the Black Tower. Corvus sought out food and drink for his guest, ashamed at the meagre fare he could offer his father. The Emperor waved away his concerns, sitting on the rough bunk that served as a chair for the massive rebel commander.
‘Do you recognise me?’ the Emperor asked. His expression was hard to read, but Corvus thought he detected a hint of surprise behind the question. Whatever glamour had befallen the guerrillas had a lesser effect on Corvus, and the man before him was definitely the same as from his old memories.
‘As if from a dream,’ he replied.
‘Interesting,’ said the Emperor, with a smile and a nod.
They spoke about many things. Though Corvus was bursting with questions, about the Emperor, himself and the wider galaxy, he found that he did most of the talking, answering constant queries from the Emperor concerning what had taken place on Deliverance and Kiavahr. Corvus furnished him with all the information he could concerning the history of the star system and the war for freedom he had waged over recent years.
Corvus paced the room while he spoke, animated and energised. The Emperor sat on the bunk and nodded occasionally, in understanding rather than approval. In fact he showed no judgement of any kind: no condemnation or endorsement of Corvus’s actions. He listened intently to everything Corvus told him, sometimes asking exceptionally pertinent questions about the tiniest of details, wishing to absorb everything about Corvus’s life.
‘But there is one piece missing that I cannot answer,’ Corvus said, finally voicing what his heart had yearned to know since his first discovery. ‘How is it that I came to be here?’
The Emperor’s mood darkened and his face grew grim. For the first time, he took a sip from the glass of water Corvus had given to him hours earlier, eyes haunted.
‘There is another universe,’ he said. ‘It lies alongside ours, part of it but also separated. It is called the warp.’
‘I know of it,’ said Corvus. ‘Though I have not seen it, I hear that ships can use it to travel to distant stars. Some of the machines of Kiavahr are said to harness the energy of the warp.’
‘It is a universe of boundless power, and can be accessed as you say, by ships and by the minds of special men that we call psykers,’ the Emperor continued. ‘Like our galaxy, the warp is inhabited, by creatures not of flesh but thought. Sometimes they hunger for our material lives, wishing to feast on our mortality. You and your brothers were taken from me by denizens of the warp before you were ready.’
‘Brothers?’ Corvus was excited by the prospect, pushing aside the questions that the Emperor’s answer had prompted. Though he had made many friends amongst the prisoners of Lycaeus, always Corvus had been aware of his otherness, and when they had started to call him Saviour any hope of normal relationships had ended. That there were others like him filled Corvus with hope again.
‘Yes, you have brothers,’ said the Emperor, smiling at his son’s delight. ‘Seventeen of them. You are the primarchs, my finest creations.’
‘Seventeen?’ Corvus asked, confused. ‘I remember that I was number nineteen. How can that be so?’
The Emperor’s expression grew bleak, filled with deep sorrow. He looked away as he replied.
‘The other two,’ he said. ‘That is a conversation for another day.’
‘Where are my brothers now? Are they with you?’
‘You and the other primarchs were snatched from me by strange powers of the warp, thrown across the galaxy on unnatural tides. That is how you came to rest beneath a glacier on this moon. Yes, I have seen what befell you, learning your life the moment I laid eyes upon you. The rumour of you, of a magnificent being who led a rebellion here, has travelled farther than you realise, and it was word of this that attracted my attention. Your brothers, those I have found, were similarly scattered to far-flung worlds. Like you, they are all great warriors and leaders. That was my gift to you. You are supreme commanders, with intellect and physical ability unmatched by anything in the mass of humanity. I engineered you from my own genetic structure, to be my sons and my lieutenants in the Great Crusade.’