Good lives wasted. Nothing could be further from the purpose of the Imperium.
Torgaddon! Bring the line forwards. Force them back and give the guns some room,’
'Easier said than done, Garvi!' replied Torgaddon, his voice punctuated with the sharp crack of breakВing bones.
Loken glanced around, saw one of Lachost's squad dragged down by the mass of enemy warriors and tried to bring his bolter to bear. Bloodied, mined hands forced his aim down and the battle-brother was lost. He dropped his shoulder and barged forwards, bodies breaking beneath him, but others were on top of him, blades and bullets beating at his armour.
With a roar of anger, Loken ripped his chainsword through an armoured warrior before him, forcing the enemy back for the split second he needed to open up with his bolter. A full-throated
volley sent a magazine's worth of shells into the mass, blasting them apart in a red ruin of shattered faces and broken armour.
He rapidly swapped in a new bolter magazine and fired among the warriors trying to swamp his fellow Sons of Horus. The Astartes used the openВings to forge onwards or open up spaces to bring their own weapons up. Others lent their gunfire to the battle-brothers fighting behind them.
The tone of the Warsinger's screaming changed and Loken felt as though rusty nails were being torn up his spine. He staggered and the enemy were upon him.
'Torgaddon!' he shouted over the din. 'Get the Warsinger!'
'My apologies, Warmaster,’ began Maloghurst, nervous at interrupting the Warmaster's concentraВtion on the battle below. 'There has been a development.' 'In the city?' asked Horus without looking up. 'On the ship,’ replied Maloghurst. Horus looked up in irritation. 'Explain yourself.' 'The Prime Iterator, Kyril Sindermann…' 'Old Kyril?' said Horus. "What of him.' 'It appears we have misjudged the man's characВter, my lord,’
'In what way, Mai?' asked Horus. 'He's just an old man,’
'That he is, but he may be a greater threat than anything we have yet faced, my lord,’ said
Maloghurst. 'He is a leader now, an apostle they call him– He-' 'A leader?' interrupted Horus, 'of whom?' 'Of the people of the fleet, civilians, ships' crew, and the Lectitio Divinitatus. He has just finished a speech to the fleet calling on them to resist the Legion, saying that we are warmongers and seek to betray the Emperor. We are trying to trace where the signal came from, but it is likely he will be long gone before we find him,’
'I see,’ said Horus. 'This problem should have been dealt with before Isstvan,’
'And we have failed you in this,’ said Maloghurst. The iterator mixed calls for peace with a potent brew of religion and faith,’
This should not surprise us,’ said Horus. 'SinderВmann was selected for duty with my fleet precisely because he could convince even the most fractious rabble to do anything. Mix that skill with religious fervour and he is indeed a dangerous man,’ –They believe the Emperor is divine,’ said MalВoghurst, 'and that we commit blasphemy,’
'It must be an intoxicating faith,’ mused Horus, 'and faith can be a very powerful weapon. It appears, Maloghurst, that we have underestimated the potential that even a civilian possesses so long as he has genuine faith in something,’ 'What would you have me do, my lord?' 'We did not deal with this threat properly,’ said Horus. 'It should have ceased to exist when Var-y arus and those troublesome remembrancers were
illuminated. Now it takes my attention when our plan is at its most sensitive stage. The bombardВment is imminent.'
Maloghurst bowed his head. 'Warmaster, Sinder-mann and his kind will be destroyed,’
The next I hear of this will be that they are all dead,’ ordered Horus.
'It will be done,’ promised Maloghurst.
'Fool!' spat Praal, his voice a disgusted rasp. 'Have you not seen this world? The wonders you would destroy? This is a city of the gods!'
Lucius rolled to his feet, still stunned from the sonic Shockwave that had hurled him from the throne dais, but knowing that the song of death was being sung for him and him alone. He lunged, but Praal batted aside his attack, bringing his spear up in a neat guard.
This is the city of my enemies,’ laughed Lucius. 'That is all that matters to me,’
'You are deaf to the music of the galaxy. I have heard far more than you,’ said Praal. 'Perhaps you are to be pitied, for I have listened to the sound of the gods. I have heard their song and they damn this galaxy in their wisdom!'
Lucius laughed in Praal's face. 'You think I care? All I want to do is kill you,’
The gods have sung what your Imperial Truth will bring to the galaxy,’ shrieked Praal, his musical voice heavy with disdain. 'It is a future of fear and hatred. I was deaf to the music before they opened
me to their song of oblivion. It is my duty to end your Crusade!'
'You can try,’ said Lucius, 'but even if you kill us a ll, more will come: a hundred thousand more, a million, until this planet is dust. Your little rebelВlion is over; you just don't know it yet,’
'No, Astartes,' replied Praal. 'I have fulfilled my duty and brought you here, to this cauldron of fates. My work is done! All that remains is to blood myself in the name of Father Isstvan,’
Lucius danced away as Praal attacked once more with the razor-sharp feints of a master warrior, but the swordsman had faced better opponents than this and prevailed. The song of death rippled behind his eyes and he could see every move Praal made before he made it, the song speaking to him on a level he didn't understand, but instinctively knew was power beyond anything he had touched before.
He launched a flurry of blows at Praal, driving him back with each attack and no matter how skilВfully Praal parried his strikes, each one came that little bit closer to wounding him.
The flicker of fear he saw in Praal's eyes filled him with brutal triumph. The shrieking, musical spear blared one last atonal scream before it finally shatВtered under the energised edge of Lucius's sword.
The swordsman pivoted smoothly on his heel and drove his blade, two-handed, into Praal's golden chest, the sword burning through his armour, ribs and internal organs.
Praal dropped to his knees, still alive, his mouth working dumbly as blood sprayed from the massive wound. Lucius twisted the blade, relishing the cracks as Praal's ribs snapped.
He put a foot on Praal's body and pulled the sword clear, standing triumphant over the body of his fallen enemy.
Around him, the Emperor's Children slew the remaining palace guards, but with Praal dead, the song in his blood diminished and his interest in the fight faded. Lucius turned to the throne itself, already aching for the music to surge through his body once again.
The throne's back was to him and he couldn't see who was seated there. A control panel worked furiВously before it, like a monstrously complicated clockwork keyboard.
Lucius stepped around the throne and looked into the glassy eyes of a servitor.
Its head was mounted on a skinny body of metal armatures, the complex innards stripped out and replaced with brass clockwork. Chattering metal tines reached from the chest cavity to read the music printed in the books mounted around the throne and the servitor's hands, elaborate, twenty-fingered constructions of metal and wire, flickered over the control panel.
Without Praal, the music was out of tune and time, its syncopated rhythms falling apart, Lucius knew that this was a poor substitute for what had fuelled his battle with Praal.