The Beast Arises

Other Black Templars gathered on the dune, kneeling down to take cover behind its ridge. Ralstan directed some of his warriors to fan out to the left and right to surround the building. They were respectfully silent. Kalkator and Magneric were veterans of the Heresy war. To hear them speak was to hear echoes of that awful conflict.

‘I ask for parley!’ shouted Kalkator.

‘You shall have none!’ roared Magneric. ‘I bring only the mercy of death, not a desire to speak.’

‘Then let me rephrase my offer,’ said Kalkator. ‘Three lascannons are pointed at your sarcophagus. If you refuse parley, or if you accept it and attempt to kill me, then I will have them open fire and burn whatever sorry scrap of flesh still exists within that machine.’

Silence fell. Evening was coming. The sinking sun, invisible behind its shroud of dust, pushed Magneric’s shadow out so that it fell upon Kalkator’s redoubt, grey and inflated in the scattered light.

‘Our auspexes detect a massive concentration of orks coming towards our position,’ said Kalkator. ‘Thousands. You are merely seventy-three warriors. You cannot hold them. I am quite content to sit here and watch them butcher you. But there is another way.’

‘My lord, he is correct,’ said Castellan Ralstan. ‘As Ericus informed us, orks are landing in number to the west. What are your orders?’

‘Do you hear them coming?’ goaded Kalkator.

‘My lord!’ said Ralstan.

Magneric roared. ‘Very well! Parley!’

‘Swear upon your honour you will not harm me,’ said Kalkator.

‘My acceptance of your truce is my bond! An oath is not required,’ bellowed Magneric indignantly.

‘Nevertheless, say it,’ said Kalkator.

‘You have my word,’ said Magneric proudly.

Kalkator emerged on the roof of the building, standing up from whatever hiding place he had been skulking in. ‘Then let us talk,’ he said.

For the first time in centuries, Kalkator stood facing Magneric. Caesax and his vexillary flanked the warsmith, the banner of his Great Company rippling in the cooling wind. Magneric’s Sword Brethren made a shallow arc about him, Ralstan at his side. Hatred glared out from eye-lenses set in black and iron-grey armour.

After a moment’s thought, Kalkator reached up and unsealed his helm. He lifted it from his head, and looked upon the Dreadnought with unmoderated eyes.

‘It is good to see you, Magneric.’

Magneric’s sole glass eye stared unblinkingly back. Upon his sensorium feed, reticules locked onto Kalkator’s vulnerable points glowed red and screamed that he should destroy the traitor.

‘Do not seek to play upon old affections!’ he snarled, his vox-emitters expressing his sentiment as an inhuman machine growl.

‘We found ourselves on opposite sides of the war,’ said Kalkator. ‘I do not see why that should invalidate our friendship.’

‘You turned on everything we fought for! You betrayed the Imperium, and cast your lot in with the Dark Powers of the universe. You have ruined mankind.’

Kalkator’s lip curved. ‘We did betray the Emperor, if such you can call abandoning the service of a liar who concealed the truth of reality from those who loved Him, who used our Legion carelessly. You might call it betrayal, freeing mankind from the fetters of oppression, allowing the strong to prevail, showing our kind the real meaning of a power that is accessible to all, not just those self-appointed guardians who hide their purposes behind untruths and oppression.’

‘You are the oppressors,’ said Magneric. ‘Your words are false.’

‘The sons of our lowliest slaves might one day join our Legion. And if they are imbued with our iron, then they shall stand strong, knowing fully in their hearts that they serve the most honest masters of all — themselves. It is you who is mistaken, dear Magneric. You Imperial Fists and that braggart father of yours. You are blind to the truth.’

‘I am Imperial Fist no longer,’ said Magneric, ‘but a Black Templar, and I am party to a greater truth. The powers of Old Night have deceived and corrupted you.’

‘And what new truth is this, I wonder?’ said Kalkator, gesturing at the relics hanging from the Dreadnought, and the texts painted upon his armour.

‘Devotion to the only one who might save us all from the hell of the warp. It was always thus.’

‘I say you are wrong,’ said Kalkator. ‘You say I am wrong. We could stand here all day and argue who is right and who is not while the orks come over that dune and hack us into pieces. Let us agree that both of us wish mankind to survive, only that we differ in the method.’

‘You are self-serving. Evil. The Emperor offers genuine salvation to the human race.’

‘Be that as it may, I do not think the orks are going to listen to your sermonising as long as I have.’

‘I will not fight alongside you again, Kalkator.’

‘Are you ashamed, Magneric?’ said Kalkator. ‘Is that why you pursue me so recklessly? I remember a time when our comradeship was lauded as an example of how our Legions could set aside their differences and find brotherhood.’

‘A trust and bond you betrayed.’