Eleven of the Gal Vorbak remained alive. Corax had slain over two dozen – their dismembered parts now scattered over the nearby area – red amidst the grey. In the heat of the battle, it had been an easy matter to ride Raum’s perceptions, discarding the fragmentary pulsing pain of his brothers’ lives ending. But now, in the bitter dusk, their absence was harder to ignore. Their loss left him cold.
With the passing minutes, Argel Tal could feel the daemon’s quiet, small presence wrapped in a crippling exhaustion. Raum was not gone, nor truly distant. The daemon slumbered, its cold weight seeking to warm itself within the Word Bearer’s mind.
The horrendous changes inflicted upon his body and armour began to undo themselves at last. Ceramite cracked and resealed. Bony protrusions sank back beneath his skin, dragged back into the bones from whence they came. As Ingethel had promised so long ago, it was not a painless process, but by now the Gal Vorbak had passed through the fire of that particular torment. Pain was just pain, and they’d endured so much worse. A few grunted as the changes unwrought and their Astartes physiques reformed, but none voiced a lament as bones creaked and muscles condensed.
Still, they’d been seen. Warriors from the other Legions had seen them during and after the battle, and made their distasteful fascination shown in varying measures. The Night Lords seemed particularly unwilling to approach the Gal Vorbak. When Argel Tal had neared Sevatar, the captain had removed his helm to spit acid on the ground by the Word Bearer’s feet. The Sons of Horus – the Warmaster’s own – were more willing to approach and speak of the change. Argel Tal was unwilling to indulge them, but Xaphen, the slowest by far in resuming his Astartes form, seemed all too keen to enlighten the Sons of what the future held for the gods’ chosen warriors.
Argel Tal waited an hour for his bones to cease their creak-aching, but the sense of relief was nothing short of divine when he disengaged his collar seals and pulled his helm free.
The battlefield stank of engine breath and chemical-rich blood, but he had no sense to spare for anything beyond the feel of the wind rushing over his face for the first time in so many weeks.
Boot steps, heavy and assured, came from behind. He knew who it would be without needing to turn.
‘How does it feel?’ came the expected voice.
‘Strong. Pure. Righteous. But then cold, and hollow. Violated.’ Argel Tal turned to meet the other’s eyes. ‘I feel the daemon within me now, weakened and slumbering. Even after knowing the change would grip and fade in tides like this, it was like nothing I can describe. I am uneasy in the knowledge it will happen again, but I also feel anticipation for it. I... I lack the words to do it justice.’
‘We saw you fight,’ said the other. ‘The “blessed sons” indeed.’
Argel Tal sighed, still enjoying the world’s air instead of the filtered oxygen of his warplate. ‘I was spiteful to you before the battle, master. I ask forgiveness.’
Erebus’s smile didn’t reach his lips, but the momentary warmth of sincerity showed in his gaze. ‘Master no more.’
Argel Tal broke the look to stare out over the battlefield. Thousands and thousands of armoured bodies. Hundreds of wrecked tanks. Gunship hulls, still burning in their craters. Roaring cheers from the ranks of the World Eaters as they gathered skulls. The buzzing grind of chainblades as the warriors of seven Traitor Legions looted the dead for trophies and relics.
‘I do not regret taking the sword instead of the crozius all those years ago. As I’ve proven so many times since, I lack the words to be a preacher.’
Erebus came alongside his former pupil, looking out over the desolation. His armour showed clear signs of the battle, cracked and scorched all over. Erebus was never one to send his warriors into battle without leading them in himself. The bas-relief etchings of his deeds in neat Colchisian were discoloured by burn markings and stripped paint showing flashes of metallic ceramite beneath.
‘I believe that night may have been the very first incident of an Astartes seeking to kill another Astartes.’
Argel Tal remembered it well. ‘The primarch told me, long ago when I last stood in the City of Grey Flowers, that you had forgiven me for that night.’
‘The primarch was right.’
Argel Tal narrowed his eyes. ‘I never asked for your forgiveness. Not for that.’
‘It is yours, nevertheless. You still believe I went too far in my methods. I do not. We will never agree upon it. Do you believe you were right in your reaction? To draw a weapon against a brother? To seek to slay a Chaplain of your own Legion?’
‘Yes.’ Argel Tal’s gaze was unwavering. ‘I still believe that. I would have killed you, had I the chance.’
Erebus remained impassive. ‘Beside that first and last betrayal, you were a better student than you give yourself credit for. Loyal, intelligent, and strong of both heart and will.’
Loyal.
Raum’s thought was somnolent, barely formed in a veil of fogged weariness. It brought Argel Tal on guard, as he expected the daemon’s intent had been.
‘Sometimes I wonder,’ he said, ‘just how much of our loyalty is written into our blood.’
Erebus wasn’t blind to the inference. ‘The gene-seed changes every Legion, but the Word Bearers would not follow Aurelian into damnation and triumph with equal passion. We follow him because he is right, not because we must.’
Argel Tal nodded, neither agreeing nor arguing.
‘I need answers,’ the Gal Vorbak commander said. His tone was cold and clear, and Erebus turned upon hearing it.
‘Is this really the time?’ he asked.
Argel Tal fixed his former mentor with a cynical scowl. ‘We stand in the midst of two Legions brought to extinction by traitorous hands, and walk the first battlefield of an Imperial civil war. There will never be a better time to talk of betrayal, Erebus.’
The slightest edge of a smile coloured the Chaplain’s lips. ‘Ask.’
‘You already know what I would ask, so spare me speaking the question.’
‘The primarch.’ Erebus was utterly neutral once more, ever the statesman. ‘You would have me relay what we have done in the main Legion fleet for forty years? There is no time for such discussion. Much of what we learned is contained within the Book of Lorgar.’
A curl to his lips showed how little Argel Tal liked that answer. ‘Which, it seems, you have written half of,’ the Gal Vorbak lord said.
Erebus acquiesced to this with a shallow nod. ‘I have added to the rituals and prayers within, yes. As has Kor Phaeron. We have learned much, and have guided the primarch as often as he has guided us.’
Argel Tal growled his displeasure. ‘Be clearer.’
‘As you wish. A moment, please.’ Erebus knelt to slide his gladius into the throat of a twitching Raven Guard warrior. As they walked on, he wiped blood from the blade with an oiled cloth from his belt pouch.
‘You do not know what it was like, Argel Tal. After venturing into the Great Eye, Lorgar was... distraught. His faith in the Emperor was already destroyed, and the truth he found at the galaxy’s edge tormented him as much as it inspired him. Indecision gripped him for months. Kor Phaeron took command of the fleet for a second time, and we did little but vent our wrath across the worlds we came across. Despite Lorgar’s return, the Legion felt no joy from the primarch’s presence. In truth, Aurelian wasn’t certain humanity was ready to learn of such... horror.’