The Path of Heaven Read online

  Backlist

  Book 1 – HORUS RISING

  Book 2 – FALSE GODS

  Book 3 – GALAXY IN FLAMES

  Book 4 – THE FLIGHT OF THE EISENSTEIN

  Book 5 – FULGRIM

  Book 6 – DESCENT OF ANGELS

  Book 7 – LEGION

  Book 8 – BATTLE FOR THE ABYSS

  Book 9 – MECHANICUM

  Book 10 – TALES OF HERESY

  Book 11 – FALLEN ANGELS

  Book 12 – A THOUSAND SONS

  Book 13 – NEMESIS

  Book 14 – THE FIRST HERETIC

  Book 15 – PROSPERO BURNS

  Book 16 – AGE OF DARKNESS

  Book 17 – THE OUTCAST DEAD

  Book 18 – DELIVERANCE LOST

  Book 19 – KNOW NO FEAR

  Book 20 – THE PRIMARCHS

  Book 21 – FEAR TO TREAD

  Book 22 – SHADOWS OF TREACHERY

  Book 23 – ANGEL EXTERMINATUS

  Book 24 – BETRAYER

  Book 25 – MARK OF CALTH

  Book 26 – VULKAN LIVES

  Book 27 – THE UNREMEMBERED EMPIRE

  Book 28 – SCARS

  Book 29 – VENGEFUL SPIRIT

  Book 30 – THE DAMNATION OF PYTHOS

  Book 31 – LEGACIES OF BETRAYAL

  Book 32 – DEATHFIRE

  Book 33 – WAR WITHOUT END

  Book 34 – PHAROS

  Book 35 – EYE OF TERRA

  Novellas

  PROMETHEAN SUN

  AURELIAN

  BROTHERHOOD OF THE STORM

  THE CRIMSON FIST

  PRINCE OF CROWS

  DEATH AND DEFIANCE

  TALLARN: EXECUTIONER

  SCORCHED EARTH

  BLADES OF THE TRAITOR

  THE PURGE

  THE HONOURED

  THE UNBURDENED

  RAVENLORD

  Many of these titles are also available as abridged and unabridged audiobooks. Order the full range of Horus Heresy novels and audiobooks from blacklibrary.com

  Audio Dramas

  THE DARK KING & THE LIGHTNING TOWER

  RAVEN’S FLIGHT

  GARRO: OATH OF MOMENT

  GARRO: LEGION OF ONE

  BUTCHER’S NAILS

  GREY ANGEL

  GARRO: BURDEN OF DUTY

  GARRO: SWORD OF TRUTH

  THE SIGILLITE

  HONOUR TO THE DEAD

  CENSURE

  WOLF HUNT

  HUNTER’S MOON

  THIEF OF REVELATIONS

  TEMPLAR

  ECHOES OF RUIN

  MASTER OF THE FIRST & THE LONG NIGHT

  THE EAGLE’S TALON & IRON CORPSES

  RAPTOR

  Download the full range of Horus Heresy audio dramas from blacklibrary.com

  Also available

  MACRAGGE’S HONOUR

  Contents

  Cover

  Backlist

  Title Page

  The Horus Heresy

  ~ Dramatis Personae ~

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  An Extract from ‘Brotherhood of the Moon’

  A Black Library Publication

  eBook license

  The Horus Heresy

  It is a time of legend.

  The galaxy is in flames. The Emperor’s glorious vision for humanity is in ruins. His favoured son, Horus, has turned from his father’s light and embraced Chaos.

  His armies, the mighty and redoubtable Space Marines, are locked in a brutal civil war. Once, these ultimate warriors fought side by side as brothers, protecting the galaxy and bringing mankind back into the Emperor’s light. Now they are divided.

  Some remain loyal to the Emperor, whilst others have sided with the Warmaster. Pre-eminent amongst them, the leaders of their thousands-strong Legions are the primarchs. Magnificent, superhuman beings, they are the crowning achievement of the Emperor’s genetic science. Thrust into battle against one another, victory is uncertain for either side.

  Worlds are burning. At Isstvan V, Horus dealt a vicious blow and three loyal Legions were all but destroyed. War was begun, a conflict that will engulf all mankind in fire. Treachery and betrayal have usurped honour and nobility. Assassins lurk in every shadow. Armies are gathering. All must choose a side or die.

  Horus musters his armada, Terra itself the object of his wrath. Seated upon the Golden Throne, the Emperor waits for his wayward son to return. But his true enemy is Chaos, a primordial force that seeks to enslave mankind to its capricious whims.

  The screams of the innocent, the pleas of the righteous resound to the cruel laughter of Dark Gods. Suffering and damnation await all should the Emperor fail and the war be lost.

  The age of knowledge and enlightenment has ended.

  The Age of Darkness has begun.

  ~ Dramatis Personae ~

  The V Legion ‘White Scars’

  Jaghatai Khan, The Khagan, the Warhawk, primarch of the V Legion

  Qin Xa, Master of the keshig guard

  Namahi, Qin Xa’s second

  Ganzorig Noyan-Khan, Lord commander

  Qin Fai Noyan-Khan, Lord commander

  Targutai Yesugei, Zadyin arga, Stormseer

  Naranbaatar

  Oskh

  Jubal Khan, The Lord of Summer Lightning

  Khulan Khan, Brotherhood of the Golden Path

  Ainbataar Khan, Brotherhood of the Night’s Star

  Algu Khan, Brotherhood of the Pennant Spear

  Shiban Khan, Known as ‘Tachseer’, Brotherhood of the Storm

  Jochi

  Yiman

  Torghun Khan, Sagyar mazan kill-squad leader

  Sanyasa, Sagyar mazan

  Ahm, Sagyar mazan

  Gerg , Sagyar mazan

  Holian, Sagyar mazan

  Inchig, Sagyar mazan

  Ozad , Sagyar mazan

  Wai-long , Sagyar mazan

  Jaijan, Emchi Apothecary

  Taban, Sensorium master, Swordstorm

  Avelina Hjelvos, Master of Navigators, Swordstorm

  Tamaz, Sensorium master, Kaljian

  Idda, Master of the watch, Melak Karta

  Erya, Mistress of sub-warp navigation, Melak Karta

  The XV Legion ‘Thousand Sons’

  Revuel Arvida, Errant sorcerer, and friend to the V Legion

  The III Legion ‘Emperor’s Children’

  Eidolon, ‘The Soul-Severed’, Lord Commander Primus

  Von Kalda, Apothecary, equerry to Lord Commander Eidolon

  Azael Konenos, Legion consul and orchestrator

  Galian Erato, Vexillary

/>   Ravasch Cario, Prefector of the Palatine Blades

  Avanarola, Sub-prefector of the Palatine Blades

  Haiman

  Vorainn

  Urelias

  Raffel

  Harkian, Shipmaster of the Suzerain

  Eleanora Kulba, Shipmaster of the Terce Falion

  Fael Alobus, Deck-officer, Terce Falion

  Cavelli, Navigator, Terce Falion

  The XIV Legion ‘Death Guard’

  Mortarion, The Death Lord, primarch of the XIV Legion

  Gremus Kalgaro, Marshal, siegemaster

  Ulfar, Shipmaster of the Endurance

  Lagaahn, Gunnery master, Endurance

  Trangh, Master of the watch, Endurance

  Imperial personae

  Ilya Ravallion, General, Departmento Munitorum

  Pieter Helian Achelieux, Novator, Navis Nobilite

  Veil, Magister

  Khalid Hassan, Chosen of Malcador

  Non-Imperial personae

  Manushya-Rakshsasi

  ‘The noblest kind of retribution is not to become like your enemy.’

  – Markusa Relius, circa M1

  Part I

  One

  A thousand years might pass and it would never lose its fascination.

  He ran his eyes down the edge of the blade, watching the light glint from the metal. This sword had drunk deeply of blood, both xenos and human, yet now it was pristine, unmarked, as clear as when it had left the forge-fire. For two hundred years he had tended it as a mother tends a child, restoring it, respecting it, returning it to the ebony-ringed scabbard with a benediction to the weapon’s soul that had never failed him.

  Now he turned it again, watching the lumen-glow run down the pressed steel. The shallow curve held no flaw, not even so much as a notch to mark the years of service.

  He held it loosely, relying on its weight to keep it balanced in his hands. He had once fought the eldar xenos on a world where the stones sang and the sky screamed, and he had remembered ever afterwards how those warriors had fought. The creatures’ speed and precision had outmatched that of his brothers, and that had rankled ever since, for his Legion was one that valued such things. So he had learned, and studied, and honed the craft, and every hour in the practice cages brought a scintilla of improvement, though he knew it would never be enough.

  In any case, the days of fighting xenos were gone. The war had changed, and he was expected to test his sword’s edge against those he had once called kin. In the beginning that had been difficult; now it was second nature. The blade still cut as deeply and as well, and he had learned to find the hard beauty in killing his own.

  His thoughts were interrupted as the lumen above his metal bunk pulsed softly, and he lifted his head from study. He knew without having to check the ident-rune where the communication came from – only the ship’s commander would dare make contact during designated meditation hours.

  ‘Yes?’ he asked, sliding the blade back into its scabbard.

  ‘Lord, your pardon,’ came the voice of Harkian, shipmaster of the Suzerain. ‘The scryer has detected incoming warp-wakes. Your activation is requested.’

  Before the man had finished speaking, Ravasch Cario, prefector of the III Legion’s Palatine Blades, had reached for his helm. His ceramite faceguard was lacquered violet and blue, streaked with inlaid gold and blazoned with platinum, but not defiled in the way many of his brothers had defiled theirs. The time for that would come, perhaps, but not yet – not while he was yet to become the fastest he could be, the most precise he could be.

  ‘What does he predict?’ Cario asked, making for the meditation chamber’s door.

  ‘Unknown,’ replied Harkian. ‘Though in all probability–’

  ‘The Warhawk,’ said Cario, striding out into the corridor even as he twisted his helm’s atmosphere-seal into place. ‘Good. Then let it begin anew.’

  Battle-group Jewel Shard re-entered real space, carving a trail of glittering molecular interference across the void. The fleet formation’s escorts shot ahead like thrown spears, twisting as their plasma drives keyed into full power. The core of the battle-line slipped into the physical realm behind them, void shields sliding across flanks lined with heavy ordnance.

  Every ship in that flotilla was in a state of transition: some war vessels looked much as they had done at the outset of the Great Crusade; others were unrecognisable. On the most affected, gunwales were crested with writhing golden gargoyles, vent housings were engraved with a filigree of platinum shaped into unsettling formations, and collated effigies of carnal excruciation had been scored across the panels of the ploughshare prows. The command spires had seen the greatest augmentation, with crystal bridges spanning the pinnacles and arcane energies snaking amongst the comms vanes.

  On the bridge of the lead cruiser, an Avenger-class veteran named the Ravisher, Legion consul and orchestrator Azael Konenos adjusted his position in the command throne and studied the incoming position runes. Around him, the clamour of the bridge-space passed in a fog of muffled murmurs. His auditory organs were fused and melted and warped together, bulging out from his neck and swelling across his upper back, capable of appreciating a far greater range of sound than ever before – but the price of accessing this enhanced spectrum was impoverishment within normal frequencies.

  ‘Confirm this,’ Konenos said. His voice was metal-edged, filtered through the coiled tubes that had punctured his throat since Isstvan III.

  ‘Rich hunting,’ came the reply of his vexillary Galian Erato, standing a few feet from the throne and gazing intently at banks of bronze-rimmed data screens.

  Erato was beautiful, even amongst a Legion that had ever been beautiful. He was tall and slender, with golden skin and bone-white hair. Since the scouring of the Halliadh Togaht he had taken to stitching patterns into his exposed flesh with black agony-wire. Sutures now criss-crossed his cheeks and forehead, every so often flaring dull red as random pain-pulses fired.

  Every other soul on the bridge, whether of the Legion or one of the hundreds of mortal serfs and servitors who attended to it, had been improved. Skin was puckered and ruptured, pulled tight or pinned back, rouged, roughened, plucked clean and studded with blood-washed jewels. The low thrum of the main drives was punctuated by ritual screams from the decks below, marking the ship’s ascent from the empyrean.

  Erato threw a hololith array up into the fore bridge-space, collating it with the astropathic screeds burbling from the shackled star-dreamers.

  ‘Word from the Suzerain,’ he reported. ‘They have their targets and are moving to engage. I warned them to hold, but still they are moving.’

  ‘Of course,’ murmured Konenos. ‘What else?’

  Erato’s lips twitched, snagging the stitches at the corner of his mouth. ‘Three incoming formations, moving fast on the Memnos convoy.’

  Konenos leaned back. The III Legion’s warfront had become vast beyond all reason, stretching out in a huge arc across the galactic plane from Taras to Morox. Resupply had become erratic, plagued by warp-loss and counter-strikes from the fragments of Loyalist Legions that remained to contest the shrinking borders of their Imperium. Bulk carrier convoys had been hit repeatedly, the vessels either plundered or destroyed, slowing the relentless grind towards the Throneworld and drawing combat units away from the cutting edge.

  It could have been any number of raiders. It could have been the dregs of the Legions they had broken at Isstvan. It could have been elements of the Imperial Army, still so vast that trillions remained alive despite more than four years of relentless culling. It could have been xenos, though precious few of those degenerates remained to draw breath.

  ‘Him, then,’ Konenos said.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Erato.

  Jaghatai. For years uncounted the White Scars had
been an irrelevance, something to be reminded about in-between greater endeavours. Now, though, with the might of Ultramar contained behind the galactic fracture of the Ruinstorm and Dorn’s praetorians leashed to their master’s fortifications, only the unregarded V Legion still remained in sufficient numbers to trouble the Warmaster’s main onslaught.

  ‘You have analysed the attack?’ asked Konenos.

  Erato nodded. ‘Yes, but–’

  ‘The convoy is not the target.’

  Erato inclined his head in agreement, and Konenos found himself distracted by the patterns of wire across golden flesh. Konenos had seen Erato shred enemies using the power of sonics alone, and death amid such a vortex of divinely honed sound was a fine thing to witness.

  ‘They will strike there first,’ said Erato, his soft eyes locked on the hololiths. ‘They will hit the convoy, but that will be to draw us out. They are trying to pull the fleet together, away from where they truly desire to hurt us.’

  ‘And where would that be?’

  Erato smiled. ‘There are a hundred targets, orchestrator. Would you like me to select one at random?’

  ‘It will become apparent. The hawk’s tricks are growing old. Signal the Suzerain that we will send three destroyers to their position. If they wish to preserve the Memnos convoy that is their choice, but I will not commit a greater force until we have seen the true hand of the enemy.’

  Erato bowed. ‘And then we inform… him?’

  Konenos rose from the throne, feeling the tug of the barbed nails that had been inserted under each rib of his fused organ-cage.

  ‘We do it now,’ he said. ‘It was never a good idea to keep the Soul-Severed waiting.’

  The ship was the Proudheart, and the name had once been deserved. Its commander had never truly relinquished the reputation it proclaimed, not even in death, which was less of an impediment to continued service than it had once been.