False Gods

'Looks like someone's already tried to cut your throat,' hissed Torgaddon. 'They didn't do a very good job of it, but don't worry, I won't make the same mistake.'

'Tarik!' cried Serghar Targost. 'You brought a weapon? You know they are forbidden.'

'Erebus owes us all an explanation,' said Torgaddon, pressing the knife against Erebus's jaw. 'This snake stole a kinebrach weapon from the Hall of Devices on Xenobia. He's the reason the negotiations with the interex failed. He's the reason the Warmaster was injured.'

'No, Tarik,' said Abaddon, moving to stand next to him and placing a hand on his wrist. 'The negotiations with the interex failed because they were meant to. The interex consorted with xenos breeds. They integrated with them. We could never have made peace with such people.'

'Ezekyle speaks the truth,' said Erebus.

'Shut your mouth,' snapped Torgaddon.

'Torgaddon, put the knife down,' said Horus Aximand. 'Please.'

Reluctantly, Torgaddon lowered his arm, the pleading tone of his Mournival brother making him realise the enormity of what he was doing in holding a knife to the throat of another Astartes, even one as untrustworthy as Erebus.

'We are not finished,' warned Torgaddon, pointing the blade at Erebus.

'I will be ready,' promised the Word Bearer.

'Both of you be silent,' said Targost. 'We have urgent matters to discuss that require you to listen. These last few months of war have been hard on everyone and no one fails to see the great tragedy inherent in fighting brother humans who look so very like us. Tensions are high, but we must remember that our purpose among the stars is to kill those who will not join with us.'

Torgaddon frowned at such a blunt mission statement, but said nothing as Targost continued his speech. 'We are Astartes and we were created to kill and conquer the galaxy. We have done all that has been asked of us and more, fighting for over two centuries to forge the new Imperium from the ashes of Old Night. We have destroyed planets, torn down cultures and wiped out entire species all because we were so ordered. We are killers, pure and simple, and we take pride in being the best at what we do!'

Cheering broke out at Targost's pronouncements, fists punching the air and hammering bulkheads, but Torgaddon had seen the iterators in action enough times to recognise cued applause. This speech was for his benefit and his alone, of that he was now certain.

'Now, as the Great Crusade draws to a close, we are lambasted for our ability to kill. Malcontents and agitators stir up trouble in our wake with bleating cries that we are too brutal, too savage and too violent. Our very own Lord Commander of the Army, Hektor Varvarus, demands blood for the actions of our grief-stricken brothers who returned the Warmaster to us while he lay dying. The traitor Varvarus demands that we be called to account for these regrettable deaths, and that we be punished for trying to save the Warmaster.'

Torgaddon flinched at the word ''traitor'', shocked that Targost would openly use such an incendiary word to describe an officer as respected as Varvarus. But, as Torgaddon looked at the faces of the warriors around him, he saw only agreement with Targost's sentiment.

'Even civilians now feel they have the right to call us to account,' said Horus Aximand, taking up where Targost had left off and holding up a handful of parchments. 'Dissenters and conspirators amongst the remembrancers spread lies and propaganda that paint us as little better than barbarians.'

Aximand circled amongst die gathering, passing out the pamphlets as he spoke, This One is called The Truth is all We Have and it calls us murderers and savages. This turbulent poet mocks us in verse, brothers! These lies circulate amongst the fleet every day.'

Torgaddon took a pamphlet from Aximand and quickly scanned the paper, already knowing who had written it. Its contents were scathing, but hardly amounted to sedition.

'And this one!' cried Aximand. 'The Lectitio Divinitatus speaks of the Emperor as a god. A god! Can you imagine anything so ridiculous? These lies fill the heads of those we are fighting for. We fight and die for them and this is our reward: vilification and hate. I tell you this, my brothers, if we do not act now, the ship of me Imperium, which has weathered all storms, will sink through the mutiny of those onboard.'

Shouts of anger and calls for action echoed from the armoury walls, and Torgaddon did not like the ugly desire for reciprocity that he saw on the faces of his fellow warriors.

'Nice speech,' said Torgaddon when the roars of anger had diminished, 'but why don't you get to the point? I have a company to make ready for a combat drop.'

'Always the straight talker, eh, Tarik?' said Aximand. 'That is why you are respected and valued. That is why we need you with us, brother.'

'With you? What are you talking about?'

'Have you not heard a word that was said?' asked Maloghurst, limping over to where Torgaddon stood. 'We are under threat from within our own ranks. The enemy within, Tarik, it is the most insidious foe we have yet faced.'

'You'll need to speak plainly, Mal,' said Abaddon. 'Tarik needs it spelled out for him.'

'Up yours, Ezekyle,' said Torgaddon.

'I have learned that the remembrancer who writes these treasonous missives is called Ignace Karkasy,' said Maloghurst. 'He must be silenced.'

'Silenced? What do you mean by that?' asked Torgaddon. 'Given a slap on the wrist? Told not to be such a naughty boy? Something like that?'

'You know what I mean, Tarik,' stated Maloghurst.

'I do, but I want to hear you say it.'

'Very well, if you wish me to be direct, then I will be. Karkasy must die.'

'You're crazy, Mal, do you know that? You're talking about murder,' said Torgaddon.

'It's not murder when you kill your enemy, Tarik,' said Abaddon. 'It's war.'

'You want to make war on a poet?' laughed Torgaddon. 'Oh, they'll tell tales of that for centuries, Ezekyle. Can't you hear what you're saying? Anyway, the remembrancer is under Garviel's protection. You touch Karkasy and he'll hand your head to the Warmaster himself.'

A guilty silence enveloped the group at the mention of Loken's name, and the lodge members in front of Torgaddon shared an uneasy look.

Finally, Maloghurst said, 'I had hoped it would not come to this, but you leave us no choice, Tarik.'

Torgaddon gripped the hilt of his combat knife tightly, wondering if he would need to fight his way clear of his brothers.

'Put up your knife, we're not about to attack you,' snapped Maloghurst, seeing the tension in his eyes.

'Go on,' said Torgaddon, keeping a grip on the knife anyway. 'What did you hope it would not come to?'

'Hektor Varvarus claims to have spoken with the Council of Terra about events surrounding the Warmaster's injury, and it is certain that if he has not yet informed Malcador the Sigillite of the deaths on the embarkation deck, he soon will. He petitions the Warmaster daily with demands that there be justice.'

'And what has the Warmaster told him? I was there too. So was Ezekyle. You too Little Horus.'

'And so was Loken,' finished Erebus, joining the others. 'He led you onto the embarkation deck and he led the way through the crowd.'

Torgaddon took a step towards Erebus. 'I told you to be quiet!'

He turned from Erebus, and despair filled him as he saw acquiescent looks on his brothers' faces. They had already accepted the idea of throwing Garviel Loken to the wolves.

'You can't seriously be considering this, Mal,' protested Torgaddon. 'Ezekyle? Horus? You would betray your sworn Mournival brother?'

'He already betrays us by allowing this remembrancer to spread lies,' said Aximand.