The Astartes caught sight of his own reflection in the polished metaclass="underline" old eyes in a face that, despite its oft weary countenance, seemed too young for them; a head, hairless and patterned with pale scars. A patrician aspect, showing its roots from the warrior dynasties of ancient Terra, pale-skinned, but without the pallidity of his brother Death Guard who hailed from cold and lethal Barbarus. Garro brought the blade up in salute, and slid Libertas back into the scabbard on his belt.
He glanced at Kaleb. 'It predates even me, did you know that? So I have been told, some elements of the weapon were fabricated on Old Earth before the Age of Strife.'
The housecarl nodded. 'Then, master, I would say it is fitting that a Terran-born son wields it now.'
'All that matters is that it turns in the Emperor's service/ Garro replied, clasping his gauntlets together.
Kaleb opened his mouth to respond, but then a motion at the chamber door caught his eye and immediately Garro's housecarl sank again into an obeisant bow.
'Such a fine sword,' came a voice and the Astartes turned to watch the approach of a pair of his brethren. As the figures came closer, he resisted the urge to smile wryly.
'A pity;' the speaker continued, 'that it cannot be placed in the care of a younger, more vigorous warrior.'
Garro eyed the man who had spoken. In the fashion of many of the Death Guard's number, the new arrival's scalp was shaven, but unlike the majority he sported a tail of hair at the back of his head, in black and grey streaks that dangled to his shoulders. His face was craggy and broken, but the eyes set there had sardonic wit in them.
'The folly of youth/ Garro replied, without weight. 'Are you sure you could lift it, Temeter? Perhaps you might need old Hakur there to help you.' He gestured to the second man, a wiry figure with thin features and a single augmetic eye.
Rough humour emerged in a scattering of dry laughter. 'Forgive me, captain,' replied Temeter, 'I only thought to exchange it for something that would better suit you… say, a walking stick?'
Garro made an exaggerated show of thinking over the other man's proposal. 'Perhaps you are right, but how could I hand my sword to someone whose breath still smells of his mother's milk?'
The laughter echoed through the chamber and Temeter raised his hands in mock defeat. 'I have no recourse but to bow before our great battle-captain's age and venerable experience.'
Garro stepped forward and clasped the other man's armoured gauntlet in a firm grip. 'Ullis Temeter, you war dog. You only have a few years less than me on your clock!'
'Yes, but they make all the difference. Anyway, it's not about the years, it's the quality that counts'
At Temeter's side, the other Death Guard kept a dour face. 'Then I'd venture Captain Temeter is sadly lacking.'
'Don't give him any support, Andus/ replied Temeter. 'Nathaniel has enough barbs without you helping him!'
'Merely assisting the commander of my company, as any good sergeant should/ said the veteran with a nod. Someone who did not know Andus Hakur as well as his captain did might have thought the veteran's insulting turn against Temeter to be honest, and indeed Garro heard a sharp intake of breath from his housecarl at the words; but then Hakur's manner was dry to the point of aridity.
For his part, Captain Temeter laughed off the comment. Both he and Garro had served with the older warrior in the years before they had risen to lead their respective companies. It was a point of mild dispute between them that Garro had persuaded the old Astartes to join his command squad over Temeter's.
Garro returned Hakur's nod and drew Temeter aside. 'I hadn't expected to see you until after the assembly on the Terminus Est. That's why I was here.' He patted the sword's pommel. 'I didn't want to step aboard Typhon's warship without this.'
Temeter flkked a questioning glance at the house-carl, then smiled slightly. 'Aye, that's not a vessel to be unprotected aboard, is it? So, then, I take it you haven't heard the news?'
Garro gave his old comrade a sideways look. What news, Ullis? Come on, don't play to the drama of it, speak.'
Temeter lowered his voice. 'The esteemed master of the First Great Company, Captain Calas Typhon, has stepped down from command of the jorgall assault. Someone else is going to lead us.'
'Who?' Garro insisted. Typhon wouldn't stand down for any Astartes. His pride would never allow it.'
'You're not wrong/ continued Temeter, 'he wouldn't stand down for any Astartes.'
The sudden realisation hit Garro like a wash of ice. 'Then, you mean…'
'The primarch is here, Nathaniel. Mortarion himself has decided to take part in this engagement. He's brought the timetable forward.'
'The primarch?' The words slipped out of Kaleb's mouth in a whisper, trepidation and awe in every syllable.
Temeter gave him a look, as if he were noticing Garro's helot for the first time. 'Indeed, little man. He walks the decks of Endurance as I speak.'
Kaleb dropped to his knees and made the sign of the aquila, his hands visibly trembling.
In spite of himself, his master's throat went dry. Until Temeter's announcement, Garro, like the majority of his Legion, had believed that the gaunt leader of the Death Guard was engaged elsewhere, on a mission of some import for the Warmaster himself. This sudden and secretive arrival left him reeling. To know that Mortarion would ride at their spear tip against the jorgall, he felt a mixture of elation and disquiet. 'When are we to assemble?' he asked, finding his voice.
Temeter smiled broadly. He was enjoying the normally stoic Garro's moment of discomfort with mild glee. 'Right now, old friend. I'm here to summon you to the conclave.' He leaned in closer, his words hushed and conspiratorial. 'And I should warn you, the primarch's brought some interesting company with him.'
The assembly hall was an unremarkable space. It was nothing more than a void in the Endurances forward
hull, rectangular in aspect, open at the far end to the stars through two oval panes of armoured glass holding out the killing vacuum. There were louvred shutters half-closed across the windows, casting patterns of dim white light in bars where the glow from a nearby nebula reached the vessel.
The ceiling was an arch, formed from the primary spars of the warship's iron ribcage where they met and meshed in steel riveted plate. There were no chairs or places where one might rest. There was no use for them. This was not a hall in which lengthy debate and plots would be hatched, but a place where blunt orders would be given, directives made and battle plans drawn in swift order. The only adornments were a few combat banners hanging down from the metal beams.
The room was littered with shadows. Alcoves formed from the spaces between the girder ribs went deep and ink-black. Illumination fell in pools, tuned to the same yellow-white of high sun on Barbarus. In the centre of the chamber, a hololithic tank turned on a lazy axis, a ghostly cube of blue drifting there. Mechanicum adepts ticked and skittered around the disc-shaped projector device below it, moving in orbits around each other, but never straying more than a hand's length away. Perhaps, Garro mused, they were afraid to venture out among the assembled warriors.
The batde-captain cast around, taking in the faces of ranking naval officers and designated representatives from all of the starships in the flotilla. Endurance's commander, a whipcord woman with a severe face, caught his eye and gave him a respectful nod. Garro returned the greeting and moved past her. At his shoulder, Temeter whispered. Where's Gralgor?'
'There/ Garro indicated with the jut of his chin, 'with Typhon.'
'Ah/ Temeter said sagely, 'I should not be surprised/
The captains of the Death Guard's First and Second Companies were in close consultation, the murmur of their words pitched low enough so that even the acute senses of another Astartes were not enough to divine their meaning. Garro saw that Grulgor had noticed their arrival, and, as was his usual manner, he ignored it, despite the lapse in protocol a failure to greet them represented.