The Beast Arises

‘Is this what you intend to say to Marshal Bohemond? I doubt he’ll be receptive.’ Quesadra snorted. ‘You might challenge him to a duel for the leadership, if you aren’t too attached to your right arm. Issachar might have thoughts for you.’

Koorland wasn’t amused by the reference to the Excoriator’s bionic limb. ‘If that is what it takes, I will.’

‘You’re serious.’

‘The High Lords have failed the Imperium with their trivial, self-interested political struggles. I would like to believe that the Adeptus Astartes are better than that.’

Quesadra didn’t answer at first. ‘We should be,’ he said at last, thoughtful.

Koorland left the conversation there. Not long after, word came of the Imperial Navy’s victory at Port Sanctus. The news confirmed the soundness of Bohemond’s proposed strategy. It also made the wait even more frustrating. But the other fleets weren’t far. Then, even as the mustering of four Chapters began, the near space of Phall Primus filling with strike cruisers and battle-barges, came the cry from Terra.

The second meeting in the council hall was more solemn than the first. Bohemond briefed the other Chapter Masters on everything that was known.

‘The orks haven’t attacked at last report,’ he concluded.

‘When they do,’ Issachar said, ‘there is no point pretending what the outcome will be, what with the bulk of the Navy still at Port Sanctus.’

‘There are no forces close enough to help?’ Thane asked.

‘None,’ said Bohemond. He tapped the data-slate on the table. ‘For all we know, the attack has already begun.’

The worst truth, though unspoken, thundered. Terra may already have fallen.

Now, Koorland thought. He stood.

‘Brothers,’ he said, ‘I wouldn’t blame you if you regarded my arrival as an ill omen.’ He paused, thinking of Lieutenant Greydove’s religious awe. The rest of the Chapter perished, but you survived, he had said. That makes you not remarkable but miraculous.

He did not share Greydove’s belief. But he was duty-bound to accept that he was more than just a single Space Marine now. Being the last Imperial Fist made him a symbol, and one that had now taken on an even greater significance.

‘We know better than that,’ Thane said. ‘You are not the cause of this catastrophe.’

‘No,’ Koorland said, ‘but I can stand for it, and I will. The Imperial Fists do not exist outside of this chamber. The final wall has fallen, and now Terra is on the verge of falling too.’ Then he chose to speak the obscene. ‘Perhaps it has.’ He paused again. ‘But what I said a moment ago is a lie.

‘How can it be? Because the Black Templars stand. The Crimson Fists stand. The Excoriators stand. The Fists Exemplar stand. I stand. The sons of Dorn in their thousands are gathering to begin their greatest crusade since the Heresy. The Imperial Fists live on in me, in you, and in the war we are about to wage. If Terra falls, the Imperium must and will live on. We will avenge Terra. We will reclaim Terra, and annihilate every last xenos brute who has dared walk its surface.’

He beat his fist once against his breastplate. He had not yet sought to have any repairs done to the visible damage on his armour. He used its scars now. When the Successor Chapter Masters looked at him, they saw the worst thing that could happen, and they saw the survival beyond that worst thing. ‘I said that we must form a single fist with which to strike the orks. So we shall. I will direct those blows. I claim this right not in my name, or by any personal authority, but in the name of Rogal Dorn, and in the name of the Seventh Legion, whose spirit we uphold in our every act and thought.’

He finished. He waited. Bohemond glared at him. The Marshal took a breath. He rose. Before he could speak, Thane stood also.

‘Brother,’ he said to Koorland. He walked around the table to stand before the Imperial Fist. ‘Chapter Master.’ He held out his hand. ‘My captain.’ He clasped forearms with Koorland. ‘The Fists Exemplar will be honoured to follow you into combat.’

‘Thank you, brother,’ Koorland said.

‘I see no fault in Chapter Master Koorland’s logic,’ Issachar said. The Excoriator didn’t stand. He was watching Bohemond and Quesadra. ‘The rights he speaks of are real. We are bound to acknowledge them. Besides,’ he continued without taking his eyes off the two rivals, ‘I can’t believe that he would be unwilling to listen to sound military advice.’

‘Of course not,’ Koorland said. He wasn’t sure if Issachar was completely convinced by his speech. His agreement might have been more pragmatic, a way of heading off conflict between the Black Templars and Crimson Fists.

Quesadra was impassive. His eyes were hooded. The gaze that pried all secrets from others now hid the thoughts of its owner. All he said was, ‘Agreed.’

Are you siding with me, or sabotaging Bohemond? Koorland wondered. He pushed his concerns about motivation to the side. What mattered was the result.