Corvus nodded reluctantly. There was no other way.
‘Great,’ said Nathian. ‘Let’s get a move on, no time to waste.’
‘It has already been arranged,’ admitted Corvus. He sank down into the couch vacated by Nathian, long legs stretching out across the burnt carpet. ‘Turman and Wing One have loaded five atomic charges into drop-shuttles. Their guidance systems have been locked on to Nairhub, Toldrian Magna and Chaes. All I have to do is send them the order.’
Ephrenia pulled herself up with a grunt of pain and hobbled across the room. She lowered herself to the floor beside Corvus and rested her arm on his knee.
‘Time won’t make it any easier to give that command,’ she said, looking up at him with soft eyes.
With a sigh, Corvus gestured to Agapito, who pulled the radio from his jacket pocket and tossed it across the room. Catching it easily, Corvus flicked the switch to transmit.
‘Turman, this is Corvus,’ he said slowly. ‘Launch the shuttles.’
The guerrilla commander switched off the device and let it drop to the floor. He turned his head to look through the window. After a few minutes, the engines of the drop-shuttles could be seen moving away into the darkness that separated Lycaeus and Kiavahr.
‘Shit,’ said Nathian, flopping into a chair. He raised the decanter in Corvus’s direction. ‘We’re actually going to win, aren’t we?’
‘Branne, I want you on the main transmitter,’ Corvus said, staring at the ruddy orb of Kiavahr. The light of the system’s star was just starting to spread across the continent called Garrus. He pictured the thousands of people who were just waking to report for the first work shifts, thousands who would not finish those shifts. There was no point trying to hide from what he had done, though he knew the innocent would be incinerated along with the guilty. ‘I want you to make a general broadcast on every guild channel when the charges go off.’
‘No problem,’ said Branne. ‘What message should I send?’
‘Tell the guilders that over centuries of subjugation, they stockpiled one thousand three hundred and twenty atomic charges on Lycaeus. I have only used five.’
THE CLOUDS OF Kiavahr filled the view from the Stormbird, streaming past in vermillion tatters. Corax would be at Ravendelve in less than thirty minutes, but to the primarch it felt like it might as well be a century. He flexed his fingers in agitation, frustrated by the course of events that had overtaken the Raven Guard. Superstition was anathema to the Imperial Truth, and he had never been an irrational person, but it seemed as if his Legion had been cursed since they first made planetfall on Isstvan.
He corrected himself. They had survived Isstvan, when other Legions had not. Through determination and courage, the Raven Guard had endured, and would endure their current tribulations.
The chime of the communicator set into the head rest of his seat broke his thoughts, signalling a transmission on the command channel.
‘Establish contact,’ he said, leaning back from the port. ‘This is Corax.’
‘Lord Corax, this is Branne.’
‘Where in the Emperor’s name are you?’ snarled the primarch. ‘Ravendelve is in danger of being overrun.’
‘Lord Corax, you mustn’t land at Ra–’
Another chime interrupted Branne’s reply, and it was Ephrenia that Corax heard next.
‘Lord, we have registered a target signal directed at Ravendelve from orbit,’ the controller said hurriedly.
‘Source?’
‘It’s from the Avenger, lord!’
‘I can confirm that, lord,’ said Branne as the two channels merged.
‘How?’ said Corax.
‘Because I am aboard the Avengerand have four cyclotronic torpedoes loaded and aimed at Ravendelve, lord.’
Corax could scarcely believe what he was hearing. It took him several seconds to digest the information.
‘Why would you be doing that, commander?’ the primarch asked, his tone as cold as ice.
‘If there is any possibility of the guilders obtaining the gene-tech, I will vaporise the entire site,’ Branne said, his voice quiet. ‘Lord, we have made hard decisions before now to protect the Legion.’
‘There are Raven Guard on the surface, commander,’ Corax said, choosing his words carefully. ‘Why would you fire on your own Legion?’
‘Only out of necessity, lord,’ Branne replied evenly. ‘Please do not land at Ravendelve, that would complicate things.’
‘Are you trying to force my hand, commander?’ snapped Corax. ‘Is that a threat?’
‘No, lord, it is a plea,’ Branne replied. ‘If you land at Ravendelve, I will not open fire, but we may lose the gene-seed.’
Corax lashed out, his fist buckling the bulkhead beneath the port.
‘Why did you not wait for instruction from me?’ he demanded.
‘I feared you would overrule my decision, lord,’ Branne said. ‘Your desire to rebuild the Raven Guard has consumed you of late, and weighs on your ability to make clear judgement.’
Corax threw off his harness and stood up, seething.
‘Corvus, you have known me for many years and I have never been anything other than loyal to you,’ Branne’s voice continued through the speaker. ‘We will find another way to survive if we have to. Please do not land at Ravendelve. The Legion, the Emperor and the Imperium, need you to stay alive. I await your orders.’
The words cut through the primarch’s anger. It was the same voice that had been with him when Lycaeus was freed and Deliverance born. It was the voice that had calmly relayed his orders over a hundred battlefields. It was the voice that had welcomed him back after the nightmare of Isstvan.
It was a voice he trusted.
Corax was breathing heavily, blood surging through his body, his thoughts a whirlwind. A face appeared in his thoughts, contorted with hatred, black eyes filled with venom, the face of a creature prey to dark passion. The face of Konrad Curze, the Night Haunter, whom he should have slain.
He could not let love of his Legion destroy him, the way hatred had destroyed Curze.
‘Very well, commander,’ he said. ‘Remain on station and await my order. If Ravendelve is to be destroyed, it will be by my command.’
Caught between several courses of action, Sixx had begun the lockdown process but not finalised the protocols. He needed to secure some thermal charges from the armourium, but every squad seemed to be occupied in defending the curtain wall. Neither Solaro nor Agapito could be raised, leaving the Apothecary in a quandary: should he leave the infirmary to fetch the explosives himself?
He decided that the infirmary was not under immediate threat, so he would have to risk making the trip in person. Sealing the outer door with his command key, Sixx hurried along the corridor to the conveyor. It was not there and he urgently pulled the call lever.
He stepped back in surprise as the elevator doors slammed open just a few seconds later, leaving him standing face-to-face with Commander Solaro. He was flanked by a handful of legionaries, their black armour glinting in the blue glow of the commander’s drawn power sword.
‘A great mercy!’ said Sixx. ‘Commander, I need you t–’
Solaro lanced his blade through Sixx’s chest without a word. Blood bubbled up the throat of the Chief Apothecary, turning his exclamation of shock into a gargling flurry of crimson bubbles.
Solaro pulled the power sword free, leaving Sixx to drop face-first to the ground.
‘Get the digi-key,’ said Solaro, heading up the corridor.
Sixx could do nothing as one of the legionaries crouched down and tore the chain from around his neck. As blackness swept over him, Sixx’s last thought was of the terrible mistake he had made.