Branne nodded. ‘You called it Mark VI. What happened to Mark V?’
Noriz pointed at the Raven Guard legionaries.
‘With full production not yet begun on Mars, these are the only suits available. Our companion transport has another fifteen hundred of them, on top of the five hundred we are carrying. In the absence of reliable Legion supply lines, the Mechanicum have designated all non-standard or stop-gap designs as Mark V. Many of the improvisations made by your armourium after the dropsite massacre are being passed on to other Legions in the absence of replacement parts for Mark IV. Your legionaries already have Mark V, commander.’
‘Why us?’ said Branne. ‘I’m thankful for the help, but this is a long way to come to pay us a favour.’
‘In recognition of your part in testing the suits, and because you need them most. You have been honoured. The Mark VI is to be known as the Corvus suit.’
Branne laughed and jabbed a finger towards the conical faceplate in front of him.
‘Because we’re the Raven Guard and the armour has a beak?’ he said. ‘Some honour!’
‘It is named after your lord, as thanks for the part you have played and the losses you suffered when testing the prototypes,’ said Noriz, addressing his words to all of the Raven Guard. ‘Lord Corax is insistent that the Raven Guard will take the fight to Horus’s forces. Lord Dorn sends these gifts to your Legion as a mark of support and to assist in that endeavour.’
‘You think we don’t deserve them?’ said Branne, picking up on the captain’s tone. ‘They would be better used by the Imperial Fists on Terra?’
‘On the contrary,’ said Noriz. ‘If I were to put desire before duty, I would like just as much as you to strike back at the rebels. As it is, I must deliver this cargo and return to the Legion.’
Silence followed the captain’s remarks. He gestured for the group to return to the conveyor. Branne considered the Imperial Fist’s words, surprised by them. The doors to the elevator shut behind them and air hissed into the compartment. With a jolt, the conveyor began to ascend.
‘It must have taken quite a bit of effort to get to Deliverance,’ said Branne. ‘What with the warp storms and everything else.’
‘Navigation continues to be very difficult, yes,’ said Noriz. ‘In fact, the Seventh Legion fleet which Lord Dorn originally dispatched to–’
‘So it’s going to be a long journey back for you.’
‘It is, commander. I sense you are trying to imply something, but I do not know what it is.’
‘How many legionaries do you have with you?’ asked Branne, looking at the Imperial Fists squad.
‘One hundred and fifty,’ said Noriz. ‘I do not see how that would be relevant to our journey time.’
‘In your assessment, how many of your Legion are defending Terra?’
‘When I left, there were more than forty thousand Imperial Fists stationed at the palace,’ said Noriz. He grunted. ‘I think I understand your meaning, commander. One hundred and fifty legionaries would be a far more significant addition, relatively, to your force of a few thousand.’
‘I would have said that we need you more than Lord Dorn at the moment, but it comes to the same place,’ said Branne. ‘Communication is difficult though. We haven’t had more than a few scraps from Terra since the storms started. The astropaths are trying hard, but they can’t break through the disturbance. You won’t be able to confirm a change of orders from your Legion command.’
‘I know that you think we Imperial Fists are intractable, commander, but we do not abhor initiative as you suggest.’ Noriz extended his hand. ‘If Lord Corax agrees, I would be honoured to suborn my command to the Raven Guard for the moment.’
Branne looked down at the proffered hand and then took it in a firm grip.
‘Glad you agree, captain,’ said Branne. ‘Happily for you, you’ll be under the direction of Commander Agapito, not me.’
‘Despite our early issues and personal differences, Commander Branne, I would have no problem serving under you. Against overwhelming opposition, you rescued Lord Corax and the remains of your Legion from Isstvan. That is a feat worthy of respect and praise. You are a Hero of the Imperium, commander.’
‘I am?’ laughed Branne. There were chuckles from the other legionaries, both Raven Guard and Imperial Fists. Since Isstvan, the commander had felt as if he had failed. The most important battle in the Legion’s history and he missed it. He and his warriors had been apart from the others, isolated from the bond that had brought the rest of the Legion together, Terrans and those of Deliverance. To hear Noriz speak of his actions in such terms allowed him for the first time to think differently about the matter. ‘If that makes me a Hero of the Imperium, we’ll have to come up with a new title for whoever kills Horus.’
‘It’ll be Russ,’ said one of Branne’s honour guard. ‘Just you wait. Once the Space Wolves get involved, this’ll be over quick.’
‘Maybe we’ll get to him first,’ said another.
‘Sanguinius,’ said Noriz, silencing the debate. ‘The Sons of Fenris are far away, still likely dealing with the aftermath of Prospero. As much as I admire your enthusiasm, the Raven Guard cannot match the might of the Luna Wolves. No, when the Blood Angels hear of this treachery, there’ll be no stopping Sanguinius. Lord Dorn calls him the Angel of Death, and I can’t imagine Fulgrim, Perturabo, Lorgar or any of the others wanting to step between Horus and the Angel’s vengeance. It’ll be Sanguinius, mark my words.’
Branne reached into his belt and pulled out a ring with two large keys on it. They were dull, much scratched and slightly bent, the wear of decades plain to see.
‘I took these from the first man I killed during the liberation war,’ said Branne. ‘If Sanguinius kills Horus, they’re yours.’
‘A wager?’ said Noriz.
‘If you like,’ said Branne. ‘What do you offer up?’
Noriz glanced at his legionaries and received nods of encouragement.
‘All right,’ said Noriz. He unhooked a golden shield from the lanyard on his right shoulder plate and held it up to Branne. It was inscribed with a single word: ‘Narandia’. ‘My first battle honour, awarded for slaying an ork commander. If Russ gets to Horus first, you can have it.’
This was greeted with claps and a cheer from the Raven Guard.
‘I‘ll be watching your back, to make sure that you survive long enough to hand over that shiny medal,’ said Branne.
‘And I will be watching yours, commander,’ replied Noriz, slapping his hand against Branne’s breastplate. ‘I have always desired to own a rusty set of keys.’
Returning the keys to their pouch, Branne hoped that one of them would prove right. If Horus reached Terra, nothing would be certain.
THE SLOW DRUMMING of Agapito’s fingers sounded from the metal desk. He stared at the communications log, angered by the single highlighted line of data.
Someone had broken his personal cipher and endangered everything. He wondered who it might be, and narrowed his suspicions to a few individuals, legionaries that had caught his eye by their idiosyncratic behaviour. There was nothing solid on which to base his accusations though, just an uncertainty that nagged at him.
With Branne scrutinising everything he was doing, Agapito felt trapped. His questions had been off the mark, but they were unwelcome attention. Branne was stumbling around, searching for something but not knowing what it was. His careless investigation threatened to uncover everything by accident, and that couldn’t be allowed. Not before Agapito had a chance to make his move.