TWENTY
The breach
A midday clear
Plans
The visit of the Emperor's Children was painfully brief, the two primarchs sequestering themselves behind closed doors for its entirety, while their warriors sparred, drank and talked of war. Whatever passed between the Warmaster and Fulgrim appeared to satisfy the Primarch of the Emperor's Children that all was well, and three days later, an honour guard formed up at the upper transit dock as the Emperor's Children bade their farewells to the Sons of Horus.
Saul Tarvitz and Torgaddon said heartfelt goodbyes, while Lucius and Loken exchanged wry handshakes, each anticipating the next time they would cross blades. Eidolon nodded curtly to Torgaddon and Loken, as Apothecary Fabius made his exit without a word.
Fulgrim and Horus shared a brotherly embrace, whispering words only they could hear to one another. The wondrously perfect Primarch of the Emperor's Children turned with a flourish towards the pressure door and stepped from the Vengeful Spirit, his long, scale cloak billowing behind him.
Something glinted beneath the cloak, and Loken did a double take as he caught a fleeting glimpse of a horribly familiar golden sword belted at Fulgrim's waist.
Loken saw that the Iron Citadel was aptly named, its gleaming walls rearing from the rock like jagged metal teeth. The mid-morning light reflected from its shimmering walls, the air rippling in the haze of energy fields, and clouds of metal shavings raining down from self-repairing ramparts. The outer precincts of the fortress were in ruins, the result of a four-month siege waged by the warriors of Angron and the war machines of the Mechanicum.
The Dies Irae and her sister Titans bombarded the walls daily, hurling high explosive shells and crackling energy beams at the citadel, slowly but surely pushing the Brotherhood back to this, their last bastion.
The citadel itself was a colossal half moon in plan, set against the rock of a range of white mountains, its approach guarded by scores of horn-works and redoubts. Most of these fortifications were little more than smouldering rubble, the Mechanicum's Legio Reductor corps having expended a fearsome amount of ordnance to flatten them in preparation for the storm of the Iron Citadel.
After months of constant shelling, the walls of the citadel had finally been broken open and a half-kilometre wide breach had been torn in its shining walls. The citadel was ready to fall, but the Brotherhood would fight for it to the bitter end, and Loken knew that most of the warriors who were to climb that breach would die.
He waited for the order of battle with trepidation, knowing that an escalade was the surest way for a warrior to meet his end. Statistically, a man was almost certain to die when assaulting the walls of a well-defended fortress, and it was therefore beholden to him to make that death worthwhile.
'Will it be soon, do you think, Garvi?' asked Vipus, checking the action of his chainsword for the umpteenth time.
'I think so,' said Loken, 'but I imagine that the World Eaters will be first into the breach.'
'They're welcome to the honour,' grunted Torgaddon, and Loken was surprised at his comrade's sentiment. Torgaddon was normally the first to request a place in the speartip of any battle, though he had been withdrawn and sullen for some time now. He would not be drawn on the reasons why, but Loken knew it had to do with Aximand and Abaddon.
Their fellow Mournival members had barely spoken to them over the course of this war, except where operational necessity had demanded it. Neither had the four of them met with the Warmaster since Davin. For all intents and purposes, the Mournival was no more.
The Warmaster kept his own council, and Loken found himself in agreement with Iacton Qruze's sentiments that the Legion had lost its way. The words of the ''half-heard'' carried no real weight in the Sons of Horus, and the aged veteran's complaints were largely ignored.
Loken's growing suspicions had been fed by what Apothecary Vaddon had told him when he had rushed to the medicae deck after the departure of the Emperor's Children.
He had found the apothecary in the midst of surgery, ministering to the Legion's wounded, the tiled floor slick with Congealed blood.
Loken had known better than to disturb Vaddon's labours and only when the apothecary had finished did Loken speak to him.
'The anathame?' demanded Loken. 'Where is it?'
Vaddon looked up from washing his hands of blood. 'Captain Loken. The anathame? I don't have it any more. I thought you knew.'
'No,' said Loken. 'I didn't. What happened to it? I told you to tell no one that it was in your possession.'
'And nor did I,' said Vaddon angrily. 'He already knew I had it.'
'He?' asked Loken. 'Who are you talking about?'
'The apothecary of the Emperor's Children, Fabius,' said Vaddon. 'He came to the medicae deck a few hours ago and told me he had been authorised to remove it.'
A cold chill seized Loken as he asked, 'Authorised by whom?'
'By the Warmaster,' said Vaddon.
'And you just gave him it?' asked Loken. 'Just like that?'
'What was I supposed to do?' snarled Vaddon. 'This Fabius had the Warmaster's seal. I had to give it to him.'
Loken took a deep calming breath, knowing that the apothecary would have had no choice when presented with the seal of Horus. The months of research Vaddon had performed on the weapon had, thus far, yielded no results, and with its removal from the Vengeful Spirit, any chance of uncovering its secrets was lost forever.
A crackling voice in Loken's helmet shook him from his sour memory of the second theft of the anathame, and he focused on the order of battle streaming through his headset. Sure enough, the World Eaters were going in first, a full assault company led by Angron himself and supported by two companies of the Sons of Horus, the Tenth and the Second: Loken and Torgaddon's companies.
Torgaddon and Loken shared an uneasy glance. To be given the honour of going into the breach seemed at odds with their current status within the Legion, but the order was given and there was no changing it now. Army regiments would follow to secure the ground the Astartes won, and Hektor Varvarus himself would lead these detachments.
Loken shook hands with Torgaddon and said, 'See you on the inside, Tarik.'
'Try not to get yourself killed, Garvi,' said Torgaddon.
'Thanks for the reminder,' said Loken, 'and here was me thinking that was the point.'
'Don't joke, Garvi,' said Torgaddon. 'I'm serious. I think we're going to need each other's support before this campaign is over.'
'What do you mean?'
'Never mind,' said Torgaddon. 'We'll talk more once this citadel is ours, eh?'
'Yes, we'll share a bottle of victory wine in the rains of the Brotherhood's citadel.'
Torgaddon nodded and said, 'You're buying though.'
They shook hands once more and Torgaddon jogged away to rejoin his warriors and ready them for the bloody assault. Loken watched him go, wondering if he would see his friend alive again to share that drink. He pushed such defeatism aside as he made his way through his own company to pass out orders and offer words of encouragement.
He turned as a huge cheer erupted from further down the mountains, seeing a column of warriors clad in the blue and white armour of the World Eaters, marching towards the approaches to the breach. The assaulters of the World Eaters were hulking warriors equipped with mighty chain axes and heavy jump packs. They were brutality distilled and concentrated violence moulded them into the most fearsome close combat fighters Loken had ever seen. Leading them was the Primarch Angron.