Horus Heresy: Scars Read online

  Fulgrim sniffed. ‘Speak for yourself. Being Warmaster is not the only accolade.’

  Sanguinius laughed. ‘No more talk of your palatine aquila, brother. You will only make him more jealous.’

  ‘I’m not jealous – not of Horus, nor of you,’ scowled Mortarion, missing the humour in Sanguinius’s voice. ‘You don’t understand the problem.’

  Fulgrim leaned forward, clasping his long hands together. ‘Which is?’

  ‘While He was leading us,’ said Mortarion, ‘we fought to gain even a glance or gesture from Him. That was acceptable, for none of us are His rival. Nothing in the galaxy is His rival. Now we will fight to gain a glance from Horus, but Horus is not the architect of this. He is just one of us. It will lead to trouble.’

  Fulgrim shot a tolerant glance at Sanguinius. ‘He is jealous.’

  The Khan shook his head. Fulgrim could be irritatingly stupid. ‘No, he speaks the truth. It should never have happened.’

  Sanguinius looked at the Khan thoughtfully. ‘I thought you, of all of us, would feel joy for Horus.’

  The Khan shrugged. ‘He is the best of us, I begrudge him nothing, and I have told him so. But it should never have happened.’

  ‘So should it have been you?’ asked Fulgrim acerbically. Mortarion snorted again, but Sanguinius said nothing.

  ‘I wouldn’t have taken it,’ said the Khan.

  ‘Of course you would have,’ said Fulgrim.

  The Khan shook his head. ‘I have no use for another title. My people give me enough.’

  Sanguinius smiled. ‘My brother, I think you are the most inscrutable of us all. I know what Rogal wants, and I know what Roboute wants, but even after so long I have no idea what you want.’

  ‘He wants to be left alone,’ said Fulgrim. ‘To shoot off into the stars and hunt down xenos on those delightful jetbikes. They’re devilishly fast. I heard from a contact on Mars, Jaghatai, that you do strange things to your ships.’

  The Khan shot him a heavy-lidded stare. ‘I heard you do strange things to your warriors.’

  Fulgrim’s slender face briefly flared with anger, but Sanguinius laughed.

  ‘I wonder which one of you would win in a duel,’ the Angel mused. ‘I would like to see that. You both handle a blade like gods.’

  ‘Name the place, brother,’ Fulgrim said to the Khan. ‘I’d even travel to Chogoris, if you built a palace to keep the dust from my armour.’

  The Khan felt the insult. It stabbed at him, deeply, but his expression never changed. They could never know, none of them, how much their closed fraternity rankled him.

  ‘You would lose,’ said the Khan.

  Fulgrim grinned, but there was something fragile in it. ‘Oh?’

  ‘You would lose because you would treat it like a game, like you treat everything, and I would not. You would lose because you know nothing of me, and I know everything of you because you shout it from the turrets of your battle cruisers. My prowess remains unknown. You have some reputation as a swordsman, brother, but I make no boast when I tell you I would leave you choking on it.’

  Fulgrim’s cheeks flushed. For a moment, he looked like he would go for his blade. As ever, Sanguinius’s calm smile soothed the moment.

  ‘Now I regret bringing this up,’ he sighed. ‘In the cause of peace, shall we put this stupidity behind us? We are not at war, and never likely to be, and that is truly a blessing.’

  ‘Who’d have thought it?’ said Mortarion to the Khan, a shrewd glint in his rheumy eyes. ‘You do have your pride.’

  ‘As do you.’

  ‘Then what would be the wager on us, brother?’ asked Mortarion. ‘What would you pay, if we fought?’

  The Khan sighed. ‘No. I grow tired of–’

  ‘Tell me,’ Mortarion insisted. ‘Or do you only consider the odds with sword-dancers?’

  The Khan stared back at him. As he did so, he realised that, of all his seventeen brothers, Mortarion was the only one who, like him, had remained on the utter margins during the Great Crusade. Even Alpharius had played more of a role at the centre. The Death Lord was as mysterious to him as the warp.

  Intriguing.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said, truthfully enough. ‘It would be interesting to find out.’

  Mortarion laughed then, but what could be seen of his expression was crooked. His whole face seemed arranged for dourness, as if levity risked cracking it.

  ‘That it would,’ he said. ‘But we have nothing to fight over, you and I, so breathe easy.’

  ‘No?’ asked Sanguinius, seriously this time. ‘Not even the Librarius?’

  The crooked smile faded. ‘That’s different.’

  The Angel took another sip of wine. ‘How so?’

  ‘You’ve not heard the news, then. Our father has taken the matter in hand. I know you take your creation seriously, but you must know it couldn’t be suffered to go on.’

  Fulgrim looked intrigued. ‘What do you mean, taken in hand?’

  ‘There will be a reckoning.’ The Death Lord shot a wry glance at the Khan, as though revelling in some secret knowledge that would become public very soon. ‘I’ll be there, when it happens. I hope you will be there too. Some fights are too important to be left to advocates.’

  ‘Your mind is not on this, lord.’

  The Khan stirred himself. He had no idea where the memory had come from. Ullanor impinged on his thoughts ever more frequently. It was becoming a problem.

  He bowed in apology to Ilya, who sat opposite him. The candles were burning low, and the go board was half-populated with a straggling, inconclusive game.

  ‘No, it is not,’ he admitted.

  Ilya reached for her glass. ‘We can play some other time. I’m getting better, though, don’t you think?’

  The Khan rolled his shoulders absently. They were tight, and needed movement to loosen them.

  ‘You are learning.’

  Ilya sat back in her seat. ‘Qin Xa told me where we’re going.’

  ‘Did he?’

  ‘He also wanted to know if the White Scars were typical.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Legion cohesion. Singular deployment.’

  The Khan scratched the back of his neck. ‘Chondax did that to us. I’d rather have let the khans follow their own course.’

  ‘You could have done.’

  ‘Not anymore.’ He reached for his own drink and took a swig. Fermented aduu milk. Not a popular choice, even in his own Legion.

  Ilya looked at him seriously. ‘Lord, do you remember when I met you?’

  The Khan nodded.

  ‘Horus was there too,’ she said. ‘I don’t know if you were expecting him. If so, it was unkind not to warn me.’ That had been the last time they had spoken before the veil had fallen. ‘I remember how you were, the two of you, so I understand a little of the decision.’

  The Khan raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you?’

  ‘Maybe not. But I did think you were like brothers. I can see how you might not want to believe… Well, that…’

  The words dried up. The Khan watched her struggle for a while.

  ‘This is not about emotion, szu,’ he said. ‘If Horus has committed crimes then I will hunt him, just as I would Russ or Alpharius.’

  ‘We have orders from Terra,’ said Ilya, getting to the heart of it. ‘If things are unclear, surely we follow those first.’

  The Khan took another sip of milk. ‘Do you have family?’

  ‘None living. I had a brother.’

  ‘Suppose you received notice of a dispute between your father and your brother. Suppose you could not verify which one was in the right. Suppose you had a… difficult relationship with your father. You had to choose. Would it be right, if nothing else were known, for you to side with one or the other? Do they not both have a claim on your loyalty?’

  Ilya’s grey eyes did not flicker. ‘What is difficult about the relationship with the father?’

  The Khan paused. ‘You share differ
ent beliefs.’

  ‘Significant ones?’

  ‘Over the destiny of mankind.’

  ‘That is fairly significant.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Ilya shrugged. ‘Terra is where my loyalty is. I swore oaths to the Departmento. For you, this is about strife within the family. For me, it is about where the orders come from.’

  ‘Orders are not important,’ the Khan said. ‘Oaths, on the other hand, are. We shall see who has been keeping theirs.’

  ‘Why? What do you hope to find on Prospero?’

  ‘I hope to find my brother.’

  ‘And if the rumours are true?’

  ‘Then at least I will know who to believe.’

  Ilya hesitated. ‘But what do you think?’

  For the moment the Khan said nothing. The outcome of the game on the board before him was still unclear – it could go either way. Some strategies were yet to play out, including the one he had launched at the very beginning.

  ‘I would know if Magnus had died. It would take a lot to convince me he was gone.’

  He finally reached for a token and placed it on the grid. It didn’t change much.

  ‘But we shall be there soon,’ he said. ‘Then the answers will come.’

  The Word Bearers ship took a long time to subdue. None of the crew laid down to be taken prisoner – they just kept fighting until the end. When their lascarbines and autoguns gave out, they reached for curved knives. When those blunted, they clawed with their hands and teeth.

  There was something particularly pathetic about watching a mortal try to dent ceramite with fingernails. Their fingers would shred almost instantly, leaving nothing on the armour’s surface but long stains.

  For Xa’ven it had been a monotonous task, cleansing that ship. He had none of Henricos’s fury to drive him, just his old dedication to performing his duty diligently. He looked into the faces of those whom he had killed and saw ruined lives behind their eyes. Even as his bolter kicked or his gauntlets ripped, he wondered what must have taken place to fuel such zeal.

  Hundreds died before the end. The bridge levels were cleansed first, after which the long purge down to the bilges began. Servitors, who would work on no matter who was in charge, were left alone. Senior mortal officers were taken alive and handed to Henricos, who fitted them with cortical dampeners. After that they were acquiescent enough, though the slack expressions on their faces were unsettling.

  After Henricos had taken control of the Vorkaudar’s drive system, they blasted clear of the outpost on Miirl and back out into the void. The rendezvous with the Hesiod and the Sickle Moon passed off smoothly – the three ships made their way into the trackless depths and hung silently, invisible to all but the most powerful long-range augurs.

  It would have been good to head back into the warp straight away, but the Stormseer needed answers. That, after all, was why they had waylaid the Vorkaudar in the first place.

  So Xa’ven stood with Yesugei and Henricos in the bowels of the Word Bearers vessel. The vast chamber around them was perfectly circular, a vertical shaft that soared far above their heads. Words ran around the walls in unbroken screeds of flowing runes. Xa’ven could not read what they said. He doubted many could.

  The light around them was lambent and uncomfortable, and it had no obvious source. Obsidian-black walls flickered as though licked by tongues of flame.

  ‘What makes this different to the others?’ asked Xa’ven.

  ‘It’s the biggest,’ said Henricos. ‘That makes it the most powerful.’

  Yesugei nodded. His expression was bleak. ‘I can sense it.’

  Xa’ven stared at the object of their attention. A giant machine rose up before them, over twenty metres high and more than thirty across. Its surfaces were covered in oily conduits and pipework. Grilles glowed with lurid shades – green, orange, blood-red. It hummed and growled, sending plumes of smoke spiralling up the shaft above, and organic splatters of dark liquid stained every opening. The floor around it was covered in bones. Whenever Xa’ven moved, he crushed another one.

  ‘Can you access?’ asked Yesugei.

  Henricos looked up at the machine. Xa’ven could hear the whirr of his ocular implants running scans.

  ‘Maybe,’ he grunted. ‘Give me time. I don’t understand a lot of it. They’ve bastardised some of the units with things I don’t recognise. Is that… Sweet soul of iron. That’s blood. They’re cooling it with blood.’

  Xa’ven winced. It was hard to comprehend just what had happened to Lorgar’s Legion. ‘How long will you need?’ he asked.

  Henricos turned to him and laughed harshly. ‘A few days? A lifetime?’

  Yesugei placed a reassuring hand on the legionary’s shoulder. ‘Do what you can, brother. I am grateful.’

  Henricos almost recoiled from Yesugei’s touch before relaxing. He was still tightly wound: putting the Iron Hands legionary in charge of a mechanical task was a good idea. It would keep his analytical mind busy, preventing him from brooding on other matters.

  Xa’ven turned to Yesugei. ‘Then, must we?’

  Yesugei nodded. ‘Lead on.’

  The two of them left Henricos alone in the circular shaft and made their way along the bloody, stinking corridors outside.

  ‘Never suspected… this,’ said Yesugei as they walked, gazing around him at the filth scrawled on the walls. ‘You?’

  Xa’ven shook his head. ‘I served with them once. Years ago. Good fighters, but I never liked them.’

  ‘Thought Salamanders liked everyone.’

  Xa’ven chuckled. ‘Too pious for me. And their primarch. I should not be disrespectful, but…’

  They started to climb, back up into levels where the lighting worked more reliably. Mortal serfs in rebreathers and wearing White Scars livery saluted as they passed.

  ‘Perhaps we should have asked more questions,’ said Yesugei.

  ‘Well, now is the time to start.’

  ‘I fear so.’

  They reached their destination: a pair of heavy blast-doors, riveted and multi-panelled. Twelve guards stood outside them, each in carapace armour and carrying a blunt-muzzled lascarbine. They saluted as the two Space Marines approached, and the doors’ hydraulics wheezed into life.

  The chamber on the far side was tiny, just a few metres in diameter. The walls were covered in white ceramic tiles, and a harsh strip-lumen hung from the ceiling. A vertical metal frame stood in the centre, onto which was shackled a Word Bearers legionary. Adamantium bands pinned him at the wrists, ankles, neck and lower torso. He was out of his armour, wearing a harsh smock that reached his knees. Snatches of ritual script had been tattooed into his flesh, running down from his neck to his feet.

  He glared poisonously at them as they entered. The doors shut, sealing the three of them inside the chamber. For a few heartbeats they stood looking at one another.

  ‘Well?’ croaked the legionary, and a line of thick blood ran down from his broken lips.

  ‘Your name,’ said Yesugei.

  ‘Take it from my mind.’

  ‘If I could, do you think I ask you?’

  The legionary smiled. ‘Ledak. Two Hundred and Fifty-Sixth Company. Yesa Takdar.’

  Xa’ven leaned against the wall. Every chamber on the Vorkaudar smelt disgusting, like long mouldered organs, but these small rooms were the worst.

  ‘What was your mission?’ he asked.

  ‘Ledak. Two Hundred and Fifty-Sixth Company. Yesa Takdar.’

  Yesugei sighed. ‘We have ship. You are far from help. Talk, and we keep you alive.’

  Ledak kept smiling. Xa’ven noticed that his teeth had been filed to points. That must have taken hours.

  ‘Do you not want to live, Ledak?’ he asked.

  Ledak kept smiling.

  ‘What was your mission? What was your heading?’

  ‘Ledak. Two Hundred and Fifty-Sixth Company. Yesa Takdar.’

  Xa’ven pushed himself from the wall and drew closer. ‘Why not un
burden yourself, brother?’ he sighed wearily, looking directly at the legionary’s bloodshot eyes. ‘Ever since Isstvan it has been nothing but running, or fighting. I’d like to know why before I do any more of it.’

  Ledak stared back. For a moment it looked like he wanted to speak. His face shone with energy, like a preacher about to explain the secret of salvation to a potential convert.

  Then the light went out. Ledak shook his head, bumping up against the metal rods on either side of his temples.

  ‘Ledak. Two Hundred and Fifty-Sixth Company. Yesa Takdar.’

  Yesugei grabbed him by the throat, pushing the slabbed cheeks up and forcing blood-vessels to the surface. ‘Speak.’

  Xa’ven drew in a long breath. The whole business made him feel soiled. He had just about grown used to killing his erstwhile kinsmen in the heat of battle. To see one so close, wretched and vulnerable – that was different.

  ‘Can you not do something with his mind?’ Xa’ven asked Yesugei.

  Yesugei, still clutching Ledak’s throat, shook his head. ‘Does not work like that.’

  ‘But the other one, on the station–’

  ‘He was not prepared. It was deception, and a weak one.’ Yesugei looked at Ledak darkly. ‘Ahzek could do it. I have not his art.’

  Ledak managed to leer back, somehow, with his face half crushed by Yesugei’s gauntlet. A glint of victory shone in his eyes.

  Yesugei pulled his fist back then, letting Ledak’s head fall forward, and punched him hard, breaking his nose. Blood spotted across the tiles, and Ledak reeled groggily. Yesugei punched him again, and Xa’ven heard the crack of more bone fracturing.

  ‘Is this necessary?’ Xa’ven asked, glancing uncertainly at Yesugei. Ledak was a traitor and a killer, but still one of the Legiones Astartes. The Salamanders had never stooped to this, even with xenos, and a Word Bearers legionary was far closer to home.

  ‘We have no time, Xa’ven,’ said Yesugei. The Stormseer’s lined face gave away his own unease, but there was steel in his golden eyes. ‘We come here for information, not for another ship. He will know fleet movements, plans. You have better idea?’

  Xa’ven looked back at Ledak. The legionary was smiling still, though his filed teeth were black with blood.