The Beast Arises

They walked in silence until they reached the bridge. The primary oculus showed the gathering of the Chapters’ strength over Phall. The Crimson Fists battle-barge Duty in Blood and the Excoriators’ ship Resilience had arrived. Quesadra and Issachar had rejoined their Chapters to oversee the disposition of their incoming forces. The Fists Exemplar had a small show of power to make, but the strike cruisers Unwavering and Foundation’s Dawn were present. Several of the Black Templars crusade fleets had answered the call too, though the more distant ones were still awaited. The war machine that was forming around the Abhorrence could set entire systems ablaze.

Koorland barely glanced at the view.

Bohemond stood beside his command throne, speaking with Castellan Clermont. He gestured for Koorland and Thane to join him.

‘There is something you should know,’ Koorland said.

‘You also,’ said the Marshal. ‘One of our crusades cannot immediately withdraw from its current engagement. Our brothers there have come by intelligence, however, that indicates we are not the only ones to come under ork attack.’

‘The eldar?’ Koorland asked.

‘No. This crusade is operating at the fringes of the Maelstrom.’

‘Throne,’ Thane whispered again.

Ten

Terra — the Imperial Palace

‘The Father of Mankind has been your shield and your sword for millennia. Will you show your gratitude? Will you stand for Holy Terra? Will you answer the call of the God-Emperor?’ Ecclesiarch Mesring’s voice rang out from the wall-mounted vox-speakers. His words were heard throughout the Imperial Palace. They had followed Galatea Haas everywhere for days now. Even in the Arbitrators’ bunkhouse dormitoria, the recruitment call looped. She had barely slept since the crisis began. Now she was lucky if she managed to shut her eyes for more than an hour at a time.

When their shift ended, and they were back at the command post for the Cathedral of the Saviour Emperor precinct, Ottmar Kord asked her, ‘Are you coming?’

‘Where?’ She was sitting on her bunk and had just stored her equipment in her footlocker. The other two were still kitted out.

‘To the recruitment field. We are.’ He indicated Baskaline and himself.

‘Both of you?’

‘Most of the station, I think.’

She’d heard the talk. ‘You’re all really going through with it?’

Kord looked baffled. ‘Of course we are. Why did you think we wouldn’t?’

‘Because we are sworn to the Adeptus Arbites, not the Astra Militarum.’

‘You can’t mean that.’

Now it was her turn to be confused. ‘Why not?’

‘You don’t intend to answer the call?’

‘It isn’t for us.’

‘Isn’t it? Then why do we hear it?’

‘It’s being played across Terra, Ottmar. There are no exceptions being made.’

‘Exactly.’

She shook her head. ‘We’re needed here.’ Why couldn’t he see that?

Kord looked disappointed. ‘I never thought you would be the one to lack faith.’

She stood up and stepped into his personal space. They were the same height. Her face was centimetres from his. ‘I won’t allow you to question my devotion to the Emperor.’

‘Then why…?’ Kord began.

‘My duty is here. So is yours. Will you leave Terra defenceless?’

‘Listen to yourself. Our duty is to defend the Imperial Law, not Terra.’

‘What I meant—’

Baskaline didn’t let her finish. ‘I think you spoke with your heart,’ he said.

She hesitated.

Kord said, ‘If Terra falls, there will be no law to uphold.’

Still she said nothing. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to convince Kord or have him convince her.

‘At least come with us and see,’ he urged. ‘Decide then.’

What harm in that? she wondered.

‘The Emperor sees into your soul,’ Mesring’s voice proclaimed from the dormitorium speaker. ‘He knows the truth of your devotion. But do you? Prove it to yourself. Know that you are worthy of joining the ranks of the saints. Lord or serf, we are summoned one and all. There is only duty. There is only one answer.’

‘All right,’ Haas told Kord.

‘Bring your armour and weapons,’ Kord said.

‘Why? Are we expecting trouble?’

‘No.’ His eyes shone. ‘Victory.’

The Clanium Library looked much as it had before the Battle of Port Sanctus. The maps, the chronometric displays and quasi-spatial projector still sat on the shelves. The paraphernalia of Lansung’s theatre hadn’t been removed. But the displays were inert. The library was derelict. A veneer of defeat, as tangible as dust, as cold as wax, had settled over the space. It even coated the man who leaned over the dark hololithic table. He held a bottle of amasec in one hand. Two more lay empty on the floor.

Lansung didn’t look up when Vangorich approached. ‘What do you want?’ he said.

The High Admiral slurred, but Vangorich doubted he was as drunk as he’d hoped to be by this point.

‘I want your help,’ the Grand Master said.

Lansung snorted. He took a drink from the bottle. It clunked hard against the table surface when he brought it back down. ‘Then you’re in an even sorrier state than I am. My condolences.’