BACKLIST

Bythesameauthor

•WARHAMMER40,000•

SPEAROFTHEEMPERORAnEmperor’sSpearsnovel

•BLACKLEGION•Book1–THETALONOFHORUS

Book2–BLACKLEGION

THEEMPEROR’SGIFTAGreyKnightsnovel

NIGHTLORDS:THEOMNIBUSIncludesthenovelsSoulHunter,BloodReaverandVoidStalker

THRONEOFLIESANightLordsaudiodrama

CADIANBLOODAnImperialGuardnovel

ARMAGEDDONASpaceMarineBattlescollectionfeaturingthenovelHelsreachand

thenovellaBloodandFire

RAGNARBLACKMANEASpaceWolvesnovel

•THEHORUSHERESY•

THEFIRSTHERETICAHorusHeresynovel

BETRAYERAHorusHeresynovel

BUTCHER’SNAILSAHorusHeresyaudiodrama

AURELIANAHorusHeresynovella

PRINCEOFCROWSAHorusHeresynovella

https://www.blacklibrary.com/all-products/spear-of-the-emperor-ebook.htmlhttps://www.blacklibrary.com/all-products/the-talon-of-horus-ebook.htmlhttps://www.blacklibrary.com/all-products/black-legion-ebook.htmlhttps://www.blacklibrary.com/all-products/the-emperors-gift-ebook.htmlhttps://www.blacklibrary.com/all-products/night-lords-the-omnibus-ebook.htmlhttps://www.blacklibrary.com/all-products/Throne-of-Lies-mp3.htmlhttps://www.blacklibrary.com/all-products/cadian-blood-ebook.htmlhttps://www.blacklibrary.com/all-products/war-of-armageddon-the-omnibus.htmlhttps://www.blacklibrary.com/all-products/ragnar-blackmane-ebook.htmlhttps://www.blacklibrary.com/all-products/First-heretic-the-ebook.htmlhttps://www.blacklibrary.com/all-products/betrayer-ebook.htmlhttps://www.blacklibrary.com/all-products/butchers-nails-mp3.htmlhttps://www.blacklibrary.com/all-products/aurelian-ebook.htmlhttps://www.blacklibrary.com/all-products/prince-of-crows-ebook.html

THEMASTEROFMANKINDAHorusHeresynovel

https://www.blacklibrary.com/all-products/the-master-of-mankind-ebook.html

https://www.blacklibrary.com

CONTENTSCover

Backlist

TitlePage

Warhammer40,000

BookOne

Prologue

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

BookTwo

Proem

X

XI

XII

XIII

XIV

XV

XVI

XVII

BookThree

Proem

XVIII

XIX

XX

XXI

XXII

XXIII

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

AbouttheAuthor

AnExtractfrom‘Deathwatch:Shadowbreaker’

ABlackLibraryPublication

eBooklicense

Itisthe41stmillennium.FormorethanahundredcenturiestheEmperorhassatimmobileontheGoldenThroneofEarth.HeistheMasterofMankindbythewillofthegods,andmasterofamillionworldsbythemightofHisinexhaustiblearmies.HeisarottingcarcasswrithinginvisiblywithpowerfromtheDarkAgeof

Technology.HeistheCarrionLordoftheImperiumforwhomathousandsoulsaresacrificedeveryday,sothatHemaynevertruly

die.

YeteveninHisdeathlessstate,theEmperorcontinuesHiseternalvigilance.Mightybattlefleetscrossthedaemon-infestedmiasmaofthewarp,theonlyroutebetweendistantstars,theirwaylitbytheAstronomican,thepsychicmanifestationoftheEmperor’swill.Vast

armiesgivebattleinHisnameonuncountedworlds.GreatestamongstHissoldiersaretheAdeptusAstartes,theSpaceMarines,bio-engineeredsuper-warriors.Theircomradesinarmsarelegion:theAstraMilitarumandcountlessplanetarydefenceforces,theever-vigilantInquisitionandthetech-priestsoftheAdeptus

Mechanicustonameonlyafew.Butforalltheirmultitudes,theyarebarelyenoughtoholdofftheever-presentthreatfromaliens,

heretics,mutants–andworse.

Tobeamaninsuchtimesistobeoneamongstuntoldbillions.Itistoliveinthecruellestandmostbloodyregimeimaginable.Thesearethetalesofthosetimes.Forgetthepoweroftechnologyandscience,forsomuchhasbeenforgotten,nevertobere-learned.Forgetthepromiseofprogressandunderstanding,forinthegrimdarkfuture

thereisonlywar.Thereisnopeaceamongstthestars,onlyaneternityofcarnageandslaughter,andthelaughterofthirstinggods.

BOOKONE

THEROTTINGEDGEOFHUMANITY’SEMPIRE

‘Strengthwithoutwisdombreedsnothingbutsavagery.

Wisdomwithoutstrengthpromisesnothingbutextinction.’

–NiskRan-ThawllChapterMasteroftheMentorLegion

PROLOGUETHEHISTORIAN:I

Vadhánasksmetowritethesewords.Hecomestothisplaceofcoldstoneandcandlelight,smellingof thebloodhesheds inbattleand thestormshesailsthroughtocomehome.EachtimeIseehim,hisarmourisalwayscrackedanddented.Hisfaceshowsfreshbruises,hisfleshnewscars.

AndeverytimeheasksifI’verecordedwhathappenedsolongago,whenthewarwasstillawar,whentheExilarchywasrisingratherthanstandingoverusindomination,whentheArmadadefendedthesestars.

WhentheLionsandtheSpearsheldbacktheshadowsofendlessnight.

Vadhántellsmetheystillhold,andIknowit’strueforIhaveaccesstotheauspicesofstellarcartography.ButsomanyofthestarsonthosemapsseetheredwiththeExilarchy’sjaggedrunes,andsofewglimmerwiththeblueoftheAdeptus Vaelarii. The Imperium endures here, but will it ever regain theground ithas lost?Howmanyworldsnowburnbehindenemy lines,cryingoutforliberationthatwillnevercome?

‘Youareold,’Vadhánsays,andthoughthewordsarecoldlytrue,histoneiskind.‘Old,andonlyhuman.Youstandatdeath’sedgeandittaintseverythingyousee.’

Andperhapsthisisso.Perhapsmortalitydarkensmythoughtsthesamewaythatitdimsmyeyesandslowsmyhands.Timestealseverythingfromusintheend.

Idon’tneedtowritethewordsheasksfor,though.Itellhimthatit’sallinthe archives. Amadeus, my former master. Kartash. Tyberia. Brêac, thesmilinggodofwar.Ekene,thegoldenlion.Serivahn,thecripple.Morcant,themurderous.Faelan,theravaged.Ducarius,thedutiful.

The Immortals. The arrival of InDevoutAbjuration. The Storm Tide. TheAshesofElysium.Thefinalflightof theHex. It’sall there, inpicter footageandmissionreports.

‘Idon’twantpict-capturesandmissiondata,’hesays.

Sohewantsasaga?Aye,hewantsataleforthefeastinghallsandfireside

storytellers. It’s my turn to mock him: does he want to be a hero? Is heseekingalegendwhereheshinesabovehisbrethren?

Once, hewouldhave takenoffenceatmy tone.Now the rainsofNemetonhaveseepedintohisblood,andhereturnsasmile.

‘Justthetruth,’hesays.‘Nothingmore,nothingless.Andit’snotforme.It’sachronicleforthearchives.’

ItellhimthatI’mneitherabardnorapoet,afactheshouldbewellawareofafterallwe’vebeenthrough,butheanswerswithanothercoldtruth.

‘You’retheonlyoneleft,Anuradha.Ithastobeyou.’

We both know these are likely to be the last words I ever commit toparchment.Myhumanhand is a clawnow, too snarledwith the rumatiz tohold a stylus. My bionic hand, slowed by time and wearing down at theknuckle joints, will have to suffice. It used to purr smoothly with eachmovement.NowitclicksandticksasIholdthisquill.

ThestoryVadhánasksmetotellisatangledone.Itcrossespathswiththevaliant Lions of Elysium and the soulless Exilarchy. It stirs the ashes ofhistory, rekindling memories of the lost Scorpions of Khamun-Sen and thetreacheryofthetwinprincesKaeliseraiandNarKezar.Itisastoryofwar,ofbrotherhood,ofvictoryandloss.

Idon’tknowifthereareanylessonstobelearnedwithinthesepages.Idon’tknowifthatevenmatters.AndIwarnanyonereadingthischroniclethatifmymaster seems cold to you, even by the inhuman standards of the AdeptusAstartes, it is because he was. He was born to the Mentors Chapter, afraternitythatdemandsexactingperfectionofitssons.

Thesewerethelastdaysofhislife,beforeNemetonandtheDeathofLionsandthebreakingofoaths.Beforehebecamewhathewasattheend.BeforehewasasIwanttorememberhim.

This, then, is the tale of Amadeus Kaias Incarius and the Spears of theEmperor. It is a tale that has yet to end, but beganmany years ago, in thereign of the sword-kingArucatas, as awarship set sail for theElara’sVeilnebulaandintotheGreatRift.

ISHIPOFTHEDEAD

1

Crossing theGreatRiftkilledfive thousand,ninehundredand thirty-oneofthe crew.Whole districts of spinal battlementswere ripped from the ship’sback.Thevoidshieldscouldnotbe rekindled.Thewarship’ssuperstructuregroanedaroundusasifimbuedwithmiserablelife.

Living within these bent steel bones, we laboured on, illuminated by thethrobbing red of emergency lighting. The industrial sounds of repair workechoedthrougheverycorridorandchamber.Betweenthemetalliccrashes,weheardthechantingofchoralprayersinvokingtheEmperor,theMachine-God,andHisRebornSon.

Inthesilencebetweentheprayers,weheardweeping.

For four days and eleven hours after we emerged, we drifted in the deepvoid,crippledandcold.Noonewaspermittedtolookoutintospace,wherethethrashingmadnessoftheGreatRiftstillsoughttoencircleus.Thosewhobroke this edict were executed to spare the rest of us their raving. I killedsomeofthemmyself.

When theMotiveForceof the ship’s drivewas reawakened in the twelfthhour of the fourth day, the air scrubbers clattered back to life in the samemomentastheengines.Wedrewindeep,stalebreathsofrefilteredoxygen,coughingout the toxin-ladenairwe’dbeensharingamongstourselvessincethepowerdied.

Wewerealive.

Many were not. Blessings were spoken over the shrouded forms of thefallen,beforetheywerefedtotheenginefurnaces.Indeath,theyservedthewarshiponelasttime–thistimeasfuel.

No one among us was unscathed, but we were alive. Alive, and on theNihilus side of the Great Rift. It took fifty-two days to run the Straits ofEpona through theRiftand italmostcostus theship,butwehadsurvived.We’dlefttheImperiumbehind.

Therewasnogoingback.Theshipwouldneverhold together fora returnvoyage.Mymastergavetheonlyorderhecouldgive.

‘SetcourseforNemeton.’

2

OurvesselwastheSword-classfrigateInDevoutAbjuration,withan initialcrewcomplementoftwenty-fourthousand,sixhundredandninetysouls.Wenumbered just over two-thirds of that figure after the casualties of crossingtheGreatRiftandtheshipboardriotsthatfollowed.

Exile.Thatwasthewordmymasterusedforthemission.Thenotionfilteredthroughthediminishedcrew,perhapsbyvirtueofthefactitwastrue.Whathopedidwehaveofseeinghomeagain?InDevoutAbjurationsetsailwithafullhumanandservitorcrew,but theabsenceofotherSpaceMarineswasatellingsign.TheChapterMaster,mostnobleNiskRan-Thawll,wasalreadyriskingawarshipandanofficertravellingoneoftherareroutesthroughtheGreatRift.Hewouldn’tcommitmorewarriors intotheabyss,notwhenourchancesofsurvivalweresolow.

Amadeus held absolute command over the warship, but its day-to-dayrunning was overseen by Flag-Captain Harjun Engel, one of the highest-ranking serfswithin theMentorLegion.Whenmymaster remarked on theslowpaceweset,EngelpatchedtheNavigator’smurmuringvoicethroughtothebridge:

‘There’snothinghere.Nothing.Nothinghere.Wedriftinthedark.AllIseearereflectionsoftheEmperor’sLight,castonthesidesofshadows.’

Amadeus mused for five seconds, an eternity to his enhanced cognition,seekinganappropriatereply.DoubtlessheconsideredtheNavigator’swordsto be uselessly flamboyant language. He craved precision. When peopleembellishedtheirwords,itintroducedthepossibilityofflawedinterpretation,and unclarity was something my master took pains to avoid at all costs.Sailors, however, are always prone to such poesy. They operate in a realmwithout easy definition, on scales beyond comfortable reach of the humanmind.

‘Given the nature of our journey,’ Amadeus replied, ‘I will tolerate theseinexactsentiments.’

Withthat,heleftthecommanddeck.Hedidn’tacknowledgethebowsandcrispsalutesperformedbythecrewashepassedtheirstations.Everyoneofthewarship’scomplementwas lifebound to theChapter.Eachonewore theredeagleoftheMentorssomewhereupontheirrobeoruniform.Inthistheywere no different toKartash, Tyberia and I.Only avenues of expertise anddegrees of training separated us from them.AlongwithCaptain Engel,we

werethemostvaluablehumansontheship.

Even after crossing the Rift, we were anything but safe. There was noAstronomican for theNavigator to sailby.Nostablewarp routes to follow.We jumped in fits and bursts, plunging blindly into thewarp, fearing eachstabintotheblindunknownwouldbeourlast.

Theshipshriekedaroundus,dayandnight,nightandday.

3

Mymasterwastheonlysoulimmunetothehorrorthatgrippedtheship.Heimmersedhimself inhis duties, focusingonnothingbut themission ahead.WhenAmadeuswasn’ttraining,hestudiedinpreparationforhisassignment,andarchivedhisobservationswithoneofhishelots.

Thiswas usuallyKartash.Of the three of us,Kartashwas closest to him,though that’s a relative description, for we were nothing but tools toAmadeus.Heconsideredour individualitynodifferently thanheconsideredthescratcheson thecasingofhisboltgun,or thechipalong theedgeofhisrelic blade: minor divergences that marked them as his possessions, butfunctionallynodifferenttosimilarweaponsofwar.Wedidn’tresentthis,nordidwe fight it.Wewere slaves, trained far beyond the skills ofmost otherhumans, but slaves nonetheless. His attitude to us was entirely natural, inkeepingwithourlifelongtraining.

Amadeusbarelyslept.Afour-hourslumbercyclewasmandatedforhiskindwhen they endured their gruelling training rituals, this figure being therigorouslyresearcheddurationrequiredtorestoverworkedmuscletissueandthechem-stimulatedtranshumanbrain.Hecouldsurviveforweekswithonlyminutes of true sleep, resisting the build-up of somnolent toxins in hisbloodstream,butthatwasamatterofnecessity,notoptimisation.

Amadeus slept for exactly two hundred and thirty-nine minutes each daycycleinthehabitationcellallottedforhisuse.Tosleepforthatlongwasanindulgence, one he considered practically slovenly despite the mandateinscribed in his fragmented translation of the Codex Astartes. Laxity wasanathematohim.

He balanced his unaccustomed idleness by committing to an even strictertrainingregimenthanthetraditionalfifteenhoursaday.Ineveroncesawhimcease early.When he ate his portions of nutrient-rich gruel at the assignedhours each day cycle, his sweat-bathed, abused body cried out for nourish-ment.Iknewthisaswellashedid,forImonitoredhisbiostabilitydataatalltimes.TherewasneveramomentIdidn’thavehisvitalsignstickingalong,

scrollingdowntheinsideofmylefteye.

He trainedwithbladeandboltgun,shadow-sparringanddry-firing throughhour after hour of training exercises. He pushed himself through physicalchallengesandcardiomotivatorrepetitionsthatwouldrupturemortalmuscle.He fought squads, hordes, armies of holo-ghosts.Heorderedme to rituallydrain his blood to weaken him before one training session in every five,forcing greater effort and endurance in response. He ran for mile afterbreathlessmileeveryday through theship’s labyrinthine innards. Iwatchedthedata-spikesasherepeatedlypushedhisprimaryhearttothelimit,forcinghissecondaryheartintooverworkedlifealongsideit.

Heconsideredthisregimen,inhisownwords,‘earningtheluxuryofsleep’.

Wetrainedaswell,aswasourduty,butnowherenear tothedegreesetbyourlord.

Oneday, he toldme to shoot him.We stood in the chambersweused forhololithic combat, though today we were focusing on close-quarters battlewithbladesandgunstocks.Ourweaponswereloadedwithliveammunitiontomaintain exact weight, as we would feel in the field. Precision was ourChapter’swatchword.

Amadeusenteredat thecloseofoursession,consideringthethreeofusaswestoodinaloosepack.Wewereexhaustedfromtwohoursoftraining,slickwith perspiration,weighed down by our armour andweapons. Sweat stungmy eyes to the degree that even blinking was a relief. We bowed at ourmaster’sapproach.Hewasunarmedandunarmoured.

‘HelotSecundus,’hesaid.‘Shootme.’

‘Master,withrespect,ourammunitionislive.’

Mymistakewasinhesitating,forheshookhisheadandlookedtoTyberia.

‘HelotTertius.Shootme.’

Tyberiadidn’thesitateasIhad.Shelevelledhershotgunandfired–orshewould have done, had Amadeus not slapped the barrel aside in a blur ofmotionandthrownhertothefloor.Thebackofherheadstruckthedeckwithajarringsmack.

She’dmovedfast,fasterthananyunaugmentedhumancouldpossiblymove,yetAmadeusstoodaboveher,hisbootonherthroat.

SpaceMarineshaveawayofmoving,aphysicalitytotheirmerestmotions,whicharisesfromthepowerinherentintheirform.Insome,it’saneffortless

andunintentionalarrogance.Inothers,abrutalandknowinggrace.It’spower,one way or another, and a natural byproduct of the transhuman condition.Theycan’thelpwhattheyare,anymorethantheycanhelpthemyriadwaysitshowsinwhatevertheydo.

Amadeusradiatedthatpowerthen,ashepinnedTyberiawithnoeffortatall.Hewastoocoldtobetrulyarrogant,forarroganceisborninconsideringhowyouappearintheeyesofothers.Ourmasterhadnosuchconcerns.Hedidn’trevelinhisinvincibility,hejustlivedit.Overwhelmingphysicalstrengthwasas natural to him as breathingwas tome. Since achieving his place in theMentorLegion,he’dascendedabovemortalconcerns.Hecouldexerthiswillontheworldpurelybystrengthandweaponry.

I’ve livedmylifearoundtheEmperor’sAngels,andthatperceptionof theworld leaves amark on their psyches. It would for any being in the samecircumstances.Thatunrivalledabilitytoact,tochangetheworldaroundthemthrougha levelofviolencenoother individualcanmatchalone…Itmakessomewarriorsproud,itshiftsothers’perceptionswithoutthemrealising,anditcaneasilyripenintosomethingdarkerbeneaththesurface.Thingslikethatcanfester.

Thatday,Amadeus’reviewofTyberia’sresponseamountedtothreewords.

‘Acceptable.Keeptraining,’hesaid,andleftusalone.

Includedinourmaster’sreflectionswerehisbriefconsiderationsofhisthreehelots. He noted that the Chapter had assigned him three ‘efficient anddiligent’slavesforthisoperation.Thoughherarelymadespecificreferencestoanyofus,headdedapostscriptregardingKartash.Onethatmatchedmyownperceptions.

‘Ifindhispietyanolfactoryirritantattimes,’Amadeusdictated,speakingofKartash as if all three of us were not present, as if we weren’t the onesrecordinghiswords for theChapter archives. ‘MyHelotPrimus carries thescent of blessed weapon oils and sacred incense with an intensity thatbecomesalmostcloying.’

Ihadnoticedthis.Theholyscentpermanentlywreathedmyfellowslavelikeanaura,andI’dwondered if therewassomesinorchastisement inhispastthatnecessitatedthiseffortatholiness.Tyberia,inhercringingway,insistedit must have been a dark sin indeed, and regarded our superior helot withnakedsuspicion,asifhissecretcrimewerecontagious.Kartash,withinfinitepatience,assuredusthatitwasamatterofsimpledevotion.Iwonderedifhehadonceheldaspirationsofpriesthood,butwhenIasked,hegaveasadsmile

andsaidnomore.

Amadeus disregarded the matter as meaningless. It didn’t affect ourcompetence,andthusitwastolerable.

4

Ittookafurtherforty-threedaysbeforewereachedNemeton–ajourneythatwouldhave takenmerehoursbefore the riseof theGreatRift extinguishedthe Emperor’s Light. More of the crew died. Dozens, then hundreds, andeventually thousands. Some starved when the botanical laboratories rotted.Somewerepoisonedbytaintedwaterwhentheaquapurifiersfailedtimeandagain.SomekilledthemselveswhentheyrealisedhowfarfromtheEmperor’sgazewetrulywere.

Becauseofourrankamongthemostvaluablehumansaboardthevessel,wewereprotectedfromprivation.Amadeuswouldn’tletusdie.Yettheinnardsofourwarshipbecameanecropolis.Iorganisedfuneraryteamstogatherthebodiesand, fora time, in thenameofpurity, theshipboardfurnacesburnedflesh and bone as often as promethium fuel. Soon enough the dead werereprocessedasnutrientpastesforthoseofusthatstill lived.Idon’tneedaneideticrecollectiontorememberthatfoulflavour.SometimesIstillwakewiththetasteinmymouth.

InDevoutAbjurationstanklikeacharnelhouse.Theairscrubberscouldn’tfilteroutthefuneralpyrereek.EvenKartash’sholyincense,sopervasiveinour communal chambers, was often overwhelmed by the smoky stenchthroughouttheship.

When at lastwe drifted into theOphion System, a sensation thatwas toowearytobecalledreliefspreadthroughtheremainingcrew.AsthefinaldayofourjourneydawnedinthelightofNemeton’sweakbluesun,oursurvivorsnumberedonlytenthousand,onehundredandseventy.

At the system’sveryedge, theEmperor’sSpears strikecruiserHexdriftedintoourengagementzone, itscityscape’sworthofweaponryrolling tobearon the far smaller frigate limping into their territory. She was haloed byfighterwingsthatpaintedthevoidwithneedle-thinplasmacontrails,andwasescortedby twodestroyers, eachone amatch for theAbjuration in its ownright.

The Hex had been waiting for us. Deep-void satellites and monitoringoutposts had evidentlymarked our approachweeks before our arrival. Shedemanded that we follow her in towards Nemeton, where we would beboardedandourvesselinspected.

‘Ifyourefuse,’hercaptaininformedus,‘youwillbedestroyed.Ifyouraiseyourshieldsorrunoutyourguns,youwillbedestroyed.Ifyouseektoleavethesystem,youwillbedestroyed.Doyouunderstandtheseterms?’

Weunderstood.

‘Willyoucomply?’

Wecomplied.

IIAWORLDOFSTORMS

1

TheHexwasalongbladeofaship,anancientstrikecruiserofakindrarelyseen in Imperial skies, modified down the generations with additionalweapons, fighter bays, hull space and armour that should have left herhideous.Shewasakiller,agrandladythousandsofyearsold,andshelookedbothcantankerousandutterlylethal.IlovedherthemomentIseteyesonher.

InDevoutAbjurationsailedatherside,lostinthelargership’sshadow.TheHex’scaptainrefusedanyfurthercontactafterthecurtcommandthatwesailwiththemtoNemeton.

Theyguidedus inover thecourseof severalhours.Their approachvectorseemederraticatfirst,astheHexflewinlongarcs,avoidingentirespheresofspace, rather than cut a straight line to the distant planet. The Abjurationshifted and swayed around as she followed her newfound sister.Whenwewere slow to course-correct and cling to theHex’s trail,wewere granted asingle,briefmessagefromtheHex’scaptain,orderingus to followherwithmorecareifwevaluedourlives.

‘Mines,’Kartashsaid.‘They’releadingusonacoursethroughminefields.’

Forthattobetrue,itspokeofaconflictexceedingourbitterestexpectations.Tyberia looked at him as if he’d spoken rank idiocy. ‘No onewouldminetheirhomesystem,’shesaid.

Kartashwasimplacable.‘TheSpearshave.’

He saw that Tyberia was ready to object, doubtless citing the threats tonavigationandtheunprecedentednatureofsuchadefence,buthequietedherwith naked logic. ‘Can you suggest any other plausible reason for thedivergentcoursesbeingplotted?’

Shecouldnot.NorcouldI.

Before we reached orbit, Amadeus ordered us to machine him into hisarmour.It tooktwohoursandforty-sevenminutesofchanting,blessingandritualised effort before the final section of battleplate was drill-locked intoplace. Once it was done, he moved through his full range of motion,articulating every joint to its extreme, repeatedly testing every compression

andlengtheningofhisfibre-bundlemusclecabling.Thistookafurtherthreeminutesandfortyseconds.

When he was satisfied, he stood motionless. Recognising the signal tocontinue,weboundhispistolholstertohiship,andfastenedhisbeltpouchesand grenade arsenal around his waist. Last of all, we presented him mostreverently with his deactivated powerblade, sheathed in a scabbard ofpricelessleatherfromtheflagellatedbacksofTerranpilgrims,andhisheavilymodified bolter, which required one of the servitors to lift in its hydraulichands.

Many Space Marine Chapters have traditions of naming their weapons,grantinghonour to themachine-spiritswithin.Amadeus,anexemplarof theMentor Legion, was disinclined to follow such a custom. His sword wasnamedFulvusonlybecauseitscreatorhadnameditso.Thebladewasagift,granted to Amadeus by a forgewright of the Desolators Chapter. Along itslengthwerethewords‘For thebloodof traitors, I thirst.For thehonourofangels,Islay.’Ialwayscleanedthatacid-etcheddeclarationwiththecareofhandlingaholyrelic.Tomymaster,thewordswerenothingmorethanbloodchannelstomaketheblademoreefficient.

Amadeuswas similarlywithout sentimentwith his firearm.He referred tohisboltgunasVCK-XA-1719,theweapon’sserialnumber,assignedwhenitwasforgedaboardoneoftheMentors’foundryshipsacenturyago.

Oncehe stood ready, he conveyednogratitude to us.Wewere slaves,weexpectednone.He simplywalked from the chamber. Iwatched throughhiseyes as he moved through the ship, slowed by needing to force jammedbulkheadsopen,makinghiswayaroundhallwaysblockedbydebris.

Hepaused on one of the remaining observation ramparts lining InDevoutAbjuration’s damaged spine. There he lingered, watching the ringed planetNemeton turn beneath him. Elara’s Veil, the nebula, stained the stars redaroundus.Behindus,likeabruiseinthevoid,wasthechasmofblackpoisonwecalltheCicatrixMaledictum,theGreatRift.BackthewaywecamewasthetrueImperium,andtheStraitsofEponarunningthroughthewoundthatcutmankind’s empire in two. Itwouldbevisible from the surfaceof everyworldinElara’sVeilasariptornacrosstheirskies.Therecouldbenostarkerreminderofthegalaxy’sfrailty.

And therewasNemeton, homeworldof theEmperor’sSpears. Its surfacewas half hidden by a thick caul of cloud, and its visible landmasses wereslivers of geography amidst oceans that drowned most of the planet.

Lightningflickeredinthegutsofthoseclouds,bathingthesurfaceinstorms.TheRingsofNemeton,kaleidoscopicfromafar,wereadangertonavigationup close. To call them mundane would do an injustice to their pale bluebeauty,but inorbit theywerenothingmore than rocksof ice, ranging fromthescaleofmountainstothesizeofmymaster’sfist.

Amadeus had meticulously studied his destination. We all had. Now wewitnessed thememorised loreplayingoutbeforeoureyes, inharmonywiththe active scanning data from the ship’s sensors spilling down each of ourretinal feeds.We looked upon the one and onlyworld of the vast blue sunOphion,ontheedgeofElara’sVeil.

We also sawBellona for the first time. The archives stated thatwhen thetribes ofNemeton looked skywards through the rain clouds, they saw theirworld’s bright moon as the Emperor’s eye gazing down upon them. Theprimitivesapparentlyconsideredthisasignoffavourfortheirstorm-chokedplanet. My view was somewhat less romantic. Scan-lists and populationfactoringstreameddowntheinsideofmyeyes,detailingBellonaforwhatittruly was: an allied AdeptusMechanicus forge-moon of grey industry andsilver rock.Allour readings told the same tale: amoonof armoured spiresand bunkered fastnesses, sheltering beneath an orbital defence array thatbristled with torpedo platforms and shipyard docking rings. Bellona wasmilitarisedalmosttotheextentofatrueforgeworld.

Itwas theBellonanfleetyards thatcapturedmymaster’seyemore thanallelse.Thoughtheystoodmostlyempty, thesignificanceof theirscalewasn’tlostonanyofus.Thiswasnomereshipyard;thiswasanorbitalinstallationthesizeofahivecity,constructedtoserveanarmada.Iwatchedthroughhiseyes as a frigate in the red-and-black plating of the Adeptus Mechanicusslowly pulled free of her moorings, backing out on thrusters for several -minutesuntilshehadtheclearancetocomeaboutandsailawayfromorbit.

The fleet in-system was still sizeable, a portion of what was surely a farlargerhost.TheHexwasthelargestcapitalship,sisteredwithastrikecruiserof almost equal size, plated in broken armour of burnished gold. She wasdocked, buried in repair gantries, swarming with mechnician shuttles.Whateverfoeshe’dbeenfightingbeforecomingtoNemetonhadmauledheralmostuntodeath.Alion’sheadshowedonherflank,jawwide,fangsbared,roaringintothevoid.IheardAmadeusexhalesoftly.

‘Scanthatvessel,’heorderedCaptainEngelonthebridge.

Thereplycamebackatonce,‘TheKai’manah,lord.’

Amadeusmadeno comment on the existenceof a vessel believed to havebeen destroyed a century ago. He merely tuned his vox-link back to ourprivatechannel.

‘Recordallyousee,’hecommandedus.‘Andtakenoteofwhatyoudon’t.’

‘Thefortress-monastery,’saidKartash.‘IseenosignofaChapterfortressonNemeton.’

‘Exactlyso,’Amadeusconcurred.‘Furthernotation–oneofthecapitalshipsinhighorbitisaCardinal-classheavycruiserinthecoloursoftheEmperor’sSpears.Amostadamantviolationof theCodexAstartes.’Hesoundedcold,butItookthewordsasanobservationratherthanajudgement.Theyrequirednoreply.

‘Doyoudisapprove,master?’Tyberia ventured, in her ingratiating tone. ItwasasifshespokeonlytoshowAmadeusthatshewaspayingattention.

‘Idonotknow,HelotTertius.Thelawofthefrontierseemstoprevailhere.Desperationhasforcedtheirhands.’

Norwasittheonlysinondisplay.Wecountedsixmorevesselsintheflotillathatconformed toStandardTemplateConstructpatternsbarred fromusebytheAdeptusAstartes.ASpaceMarineChapterusingImperialNavyvessels,scavengedorotherwise,withinitsownfleetwasmostseverelypunishableinother, better circumstances. But it wasn’t his place to offer judgement, letalonepunishment.He’dcometoobserve.ImperialforcesontheNihilussideoftheRiftwereknowntobefightingagainstdestruction.Nothingwouldbeachievedbytakingthemtotaskontransgressionsoflawmadeinthenameofstavingoffextinction.

Nemeton’sprincipaldefenceintheabsenceofafortress-monastery–andifonechosenottocounttheincrediblemightofBellonaitself–wasitsorbitalarray. Thousands of weapon satellites controlled by monotasked machine-spirits orbited great launch platforms armed with torpedo banks and laserbatteries. An Imperial Navy Grail-class carrier had been void-beached andconvertedtoformthecoreofahigh-orbitbattlestation.Hernamenolongershowed,heridentitybanishedwithhernewrole.Bellonanfightercraftflittedaroundher,uglywaspsofMartianrediron.

All of thismight in the night sky, defending barbarians that knew next tonothingofitsexistence.Fromthesurface,thearray’sindividualcomponentswouldblendinwiththestarfieldandNemeton’sbeautifulrings.

Part of Lieutenant Commander Incarius’ preparation necessitated studying

thebeliefsystemsofNemeton’stribes.Theywerebarbaricineverydefinitionoftheword:amelangeofbloodsacrificeandskyworshipbeneaththegazeofancestorspiritswhosupposedlydwelledattheGod-Emperor’sside.

‘They are as ignorant as the Cretacian clans,’ my master had oncecommentedaloudinhiscell,whilereadingtranslationsofancientNemetesescrolls.

‘Master?’AtthetimeTyberiahadlookedupfromwhereshekneltinsilentcontemplationacross thechamber.Herhalf-liddedeyesshowedhersurpriseintheshadowsofherhood.‘Youhaveneedofus?’

Ourlordignoredthequestion,goingbacktohisreading.

Ontheobservationdeck,Amadeusstillstaredattheworldturningsoslowlybeneath us. The landmasses of Nemeton, such as they are on an oceanicworld, possessed no buildings above a primitive level of technology. Theplanet’s island-continents andarchipelagochains seemedwhollygivenovertoforestedmountains.Everywherewelooked,everywherewescanned,therewas nothing but knuckly peaks capped with snow, their sides blanketed inevergreentrees.

Of high civilisation we saw no sign, only the memory of cities. Ruins,abandoned generations ago, now devoured by the forests or sunk into thelandscape.Morecuriousstill,theseruinswereofmarble,yetorbitalauspicesdenied the presence of that precious stone occurring naturally onNemeton.Themarblewasquarriedelsewhere in thegalaxyandbrought to thisworldthroughthevoid.

Someonehadtriedtoimprintcivilisationhere.Evidentlytheyfailed.

Someunspoken instinct liftedmymaster’sgaze from thewateryworld, tothe heavens lit a hazy scarlet by the trails of Elara’sVeil. Dust. Reflectivedust, scattered in bloom-clouds and trailing tendrils, too thin to hindervisibilityor interferewithawarship’s systems. Just a smatteringof randomlightonthecosmiccanvas.

Amadeus left the observation deck. He didn’t need to tell anyone of hisdestination.Therewasonlyoneplacehewouldbegoing.IinformedCaptainEngelthatourmasterwasonhisway.

2

We weren’t permitted to fall into orbit. Instead, as theHex completed itsoverbearingescortrun,itscaptaincommandedustoanchorinthevoidoutofdeployment range. Three other vessels left Nemeton’s orbit on intercept

courses.Oursensorsalsochimedaswedetectedtheminimalradiationfromtight-beamauspexscansoriginatingallthewayfromtheforge-moonBellona.

The Cardinal-class cruiser and two destroyers drifted into optimal lancerange,yetnoneoftheshipsgrantedusavisuallinkuponourrequests.Theydidn’tgreetusorwelcomeus.Theycircledus in loose formation,weaponslocked.Theirstellardanceseemedaperformanceofalmostwearyaggression.Everyshipinthedefencefleetshowedmarkingsofrecentwounds.

TheHex contacted us first with a less-than-charming hail consisting of asingleword.

‘Well?’

My master gestured for the vox-link to remain open. ‘I am LieutenantCommanderAmadeusKaias Incarius of theMentorsChapter, commandingthewarshipInDevoutAbjuration.WerantheStraitsofEponaandemergedforty-threedaysago.’

Therewas a pause. TheHex’scaptain’s voice, crackling over the bridge’sspeakers, was inhumanly low but unmistakably alive. Not a servitor, nor amachine-spirit.ASpaceMarinecommandedthestrikecruiser.

‘Andhereyouare,’wastheman’sanswer.‘Nowstateyourpurpose.’

‘IwassentbymyChapterMaster,NiskRan-Thawll, toactasemissary totheSentinelsoftheVeil.’

‘Verywell.Whatisityouwishtosaytous,emissary?’

Amadeus hesitated in the face of their abruptness bordering on hostility. Icould almost feel him weighing his words, and deliberating on howmuchtruth they should be lacedwith.Hewouldn’t lie, Iwas certain of that, buttherearedegreesofhonestyinalldiplomaticengagements.

Hetoldthetruth.Thewholetruth,asIunderstooditthen.

‘IwassenttoseeifElara’sVeilstillholdsagainsttheenemy.ToseeiftheLionsandtheSpearsstilllive,stillfight.’

‘Westilllive,’camethereply.‘Andwestillfight.’

Amadeus waited for more. After ten seconds, it became clear that morewasn’tcoming.

‘It gratifies me to hear that, brother,’ my master said. ‘Lord CommanderGuilliman seeks to construct an evolving picture of the riven Imperium. IhavefurtherorderstoassessthedispositionoftheforcesinElara’sVeil.Once

Ihavegatheredthisinformation,IwillreturnthroughtheGreatRiftandcarrywordofyourwartothePrimarchReborn.’

A pause. A breath. Did they believe us? Did they even believe we wereImperial?Overacenturyhadpassedsince this regionwasconnected to thetrueImperium.WhatsuspicionshadgrowninthehundredyearssincethesewarriorslastsawtheEmperor’sLight?

‘A boarding party has been launched,’ was the Hex’s reply. ‘If we aresatisfiedwithwhatwe findaboardyourvessel,andyourwordsmatchyourdeeds,youwillbeallowedtomakeplanetfall.’

Thelinkwentdead.

‘Informal,aren’tthey?’remarkedCaptainEngel,standingatAmadeus’side,lookingupattheoculus.Ilookedathimthroughmymaster’seyes.Thegreyofhishair.The tightnessat theedgeofhismouthandeyes.Hehadagedadecadeinthemonthssincewe’dsetout.Weallhad.

Amadeusdidn’treplytoEngel;hespokeonlytous.‘Helots,Iwilldealwiththeboardingpartywhileyoumakereadyforplanetfall.’

‘Yes,lord,’Kartash’svoicereturnedonourbehalf.‘Yourwillbedone.’

Tyberiaasked,inafawningtoneIhadbecomeusedtooverthelastmonths,ifourmasterrequiredanythingmorebeforethemission’scommencement.

Amadeusterminatedthevox-linkwithoutanswering.

‘Whydidyouaskthat?’IlookedacrossourcommunalchambertoTyberia.‘Ifhehadanyotherrequirements,he’dstatethemwithhisoriginalorders.’

Tyberia bristled, suddenly defensive. ‘I seek only to meet our master’sneeds.’

Iofferedmynextwordscarefully, aware that although the threeofushadsurvivedagreatdealtogether,wescarcelyknewoneanother.‘Withrespect,Tyberia,Ibelieveyouriskbeingtooservile.’

She cringed fromme, in disagreement rather than discomfort, andwalkedaway.

‘Remember,thisisherfirstdeployment,’saidKartash.Thehunchbackhadagentle voice,matching his gentle eyes.You trusted himon sight.Everyonedid.‘AndshewastrainedaboardtheEunoia.’

The Eunoia. The Mentors flagship. I’d been trained aboard one of theChapter’s deep-void runners, the Vanguard-class light cruiser Mitrah. As

much asTyberia seemed sycophantic and self-conscious, did I appear ruraland imprecise to her, failing tomeet the standards she’d come to expect? Ididn’tenjoythatthought.

‘Leaveit,’Kartashadvisedme.‘Shewilllearn.’Heshookhisheadtowardofffurtherconversation,andcommandedtheservitorstobegintheirduties.

3

Amadeusmet the boarding party in the hangar bay. Hewent with CaptainEngel, and both men stood in the avian shadow cast by the incomingOverlord.Mymaster chose Kartash to watch through his eyes, consigningTyberiaandItoworkwiththeservitors.

Yet I dividedmy attention,working andwatching throughAmadeus’ eye-lensesastheazuregunshipdriftedinanddown,ventingfromitsboostersasits landingclawskissed thehangardeck. It settledwithapneumaticwhine,anditsenginesbeganthedroningsongofcyclingdown.

‘HelotSecundus,’mymasterintoned.‘Severthisconnection.’

The gunship’s gang ramp lowered with hydraulic complaint. I sawsilhouettesintheOverlord’screwbay:thecloakedfiguresofskitariiwarriors,andatallerfigure,hishelmetcrested,hisceramitewar-plategravenwiththeimageofatrident,thethree-bladedspear.

‘Butmaster…’

‘Now,Anuradha.’

Ideactivated the link,blindingmyself tomymaster’sdoingsandplungingbackintomyownsurroundings.Tyberiawassmilingtoherselfassherackedherweaponsintheircrates.Evidently,she’dbeenlisteninginoverthevox.

4

WhenKartashenteredourchambersafteralmostanhour,hisexpressionwasgrave.

‘We’repermittedtomakeplanetfall,’hesaid.‘WewillbemetbyanofficernamedBrêac.’

‘That’swhatwewanted,’Ireplied.‘Sowhydoyoulooksoconcerned?’

Kartashmusedoverhowbesttophrasehisobservations.‘RelationsbetweenourmasterandtheSpearsarelikelytobedifficult.’

‘Wewerepreparedforthat,’Ipointedout.‘Weexpectednoless.’

Kartashgaveagruntthatwasn’tquiteagreement.Tyberiaraisedaneyebrowathishesitation.Herownsuspicionwasmounting.

‘Define“difficult”,’shesaid.

IIITHETHUNDEROFDRUMS

1

Amadeusdeployedbattle-ready,bolterup,panningforthreats.Raindrummedagainsthishelmandshoulderguardsashetrackedacrosshisfieldofvision,targetingreticule twitching thiswayand that inalignmentwithhispupils. Isawwhathesaw,thefreshdataspillingdownmyretinaldisplay:temperature,gravitic pull, ammunition count, Amadeus’ vital signs, the daily prayer-thought… I absorbed all of it with ingrained familiarity while Amadeusfocused on his surroundings. As he tracked for targets, the falling rainsheenedhimsilver.

Thelandingpadbarelydeservedthename.Wehadtoucheddowninaforestclearingwiththeearthscrapedbareandblackenedbyflameweapons.BehindAmadeus,wewaitedintheshadowofourThunderhawkgunship.

Aheadstoodasinglefigure,onethatmatchedAmadeusinheightandbulk.ASpaceMarine,thoughheworenohelm.Redtattoosserpentinedacrossthewarrior’sshornscalp.He’dinkedthreecrimsontrailsrunningfromhislowerlip, as though salivating blood. I saw no obvious sign of rank in the inkedsymbols, though the helm magnetically clamped to his belt had a highofficer’s crest matching ancient pictorial evidence of the Grecka-Romanuswarriorcaste.Hiswar-plate,polishedby the rain,wasmarkedbycampaignbadges and runic symbols thatmeant nothing tome. I knewnothingof thewars this Chapter had fought in the last century. The ceramite, however,matchedashadeofpaleblueIcouldseeby lookingupat thebreaks in thecloudcover.TheEmperor’sSpearsworearmourcastinthesameazurehueastheringsofNemeton.

Heappearedtobealone.Iactive-scannedhim.Hewasunarmed.

‘You should lower your weapon,’ he said to my master. ‘You’reembarrassingyourself.’

Amadeus lowered his boltgun and saluted, one hand forming a half-wingaquilaagainsthisbreastplate. ‘IamLieutenantCommanderAmadeusKaiasIncariusoftheMentorLegion.Iwassentbymymaster,NiskRan-Thawll,asanemissarytotheAdeptusVaelarii.’

TheSpearbaredhis teeth inaknowingandmirthlesssmile. ‘Andyousay

yousailedtheStraitsofEpona.’

Amadeusnodded.‘Thatisso.’

‘We’vesentshipsintotheStraits.Manytimes.Nonehavereturned.DidtheyreachtheImperium?’

‘Ihaveseennorecords thatspokeofanEmperor’sSpearscraft in the lastcentury.Nor havewe seen any of the otherAdeptusVaelarii vessels in thecenturysincethebirthoftheGreatRift.’

SomethingflickeredacrosstheSpear’sface.AstrainedasIwasinreadingthe nuances of Space Marines’ inhumanity, I couldn’t discern his emotionfromtheexpression.

‘Youwouldn’tseeanyothervessels,’thefigurereplied.‘TheLionsmakenoeffort to cross back into the Imperium, and as for the Scorpions? Well. Iwageryoualreadyknowoftheirfate,Mentor.’

ThosewordslaidbareoneoftheChapter’soldestwounds.Mymasterrosetothebaitwithpassionlessclarity.

‘TheMentorLegionhonoursthememoryofitspredecessors.We–’

‘No.Noneofthatnow,’theSpearinterrupted,shakinghishead.‘SparemeyourreasonsfordaringtowearthosecoloursinElara’sVeil.It’saninsulttous,andit’saninsulttothewarriorswhodiedwearingthatheraldrybeforeyouwereevenborn.’

I heard Amadeus breathe a little deeper over the vox. His vital signsaccelerated,buthemasteredhimselfbeforebetrayinganyemotion.

‘Regardless,’mylordsaid,‘Icometoyouasanemissary.’

‘Anemissary,isit?Promotingunity.Judgingus.Verynoble.Thefirstsoulwe’veseenfromImperialspaceinoveracentury,aye,andabastardMentorat that. What really brings you here, Amadeus Kaias Incarius? Did theEmperor’sfalsesontrulysendyou,oristhissomenewployoftheExilarchy,seekingtoseeusbleed?’

We had come expecting a certain degree of suspicion, and perhaps evenhostility.Mymasterhadrelayedhisconcernsalready,thatthemostprimitiveChapterswereoftenthemostdefiant,themostmisguidedlyproud.Itseemedhiswisdomwasbearingout.Hetriedanewavenueofexchange.

‘IknownothingoftheExilarchy.MayIknowyournameandrank,brother?’

Instantly, I knewhe’d said thewrong thing.TheSpear jerkedhis tattooed

headtowardsAmadeus,showinghisteeth.Scornfilledhistone.

‘With the colours youwear, it’ll be better for you if you don’t throw thewordbrotheraroundsolightlyinourpresence.’

TheservosinthejointedarmouratAmadeus’neckpurredasheinclinedhishead.‘Asyouwish,’hereplied,stoicasever.

The warrior regarded him in silence. Weighing. Deciding. I watched mymaster’sheartbeatseventimesonmyretinaldisplay.

‘Take your helmet off,’ said the Spear. ‘At least let me see your face, ifyou’recomingtousandaskingforhospitality.’

Mymastercomplied,disengagingthesealsathiscollarwithahissofventedair.Althoughmyperceptionswereenhancedformyhelotduties,his senseswere far keener thanmine. Iwonderedwhat hemade of his first breath ofNemeton’sairinthegreasychilloftheheavyrain.Formypart,Iwasstruckfirst by the saltwater scent of theworld’s oceans, the hydraulic fluid in theThunderhawk’smachinepartsandthecharcoalreekofthegunship’scoolingengines.Together,itovercameevenKartash’spiousodour.

The tattooedwarrior stepped forward,meetingAmadeus’ eyes.Hebangedhisknucklesagainsthiscloakedchestinatribalgreeting.

‘I amBrêac of theVargantes,Lord of theThirdWarhost, and I grant youpermissiontowalkthesoilofNemeton.’

In return, Amadeus slung his bolter and made a full sign of the aquila,gauntlets scraping against his chest-plate. ‘I accept and appreciate yourwelcome.’

Brêacclosedhiseyesand leanedhisheadback, letting thecold rainwashover his features.When he looked at Amadeus again, I saw disgust in hisgaze,illuminatedbyaflashoflightning.Orwasitpity?Thedarkamusementinthebarbarian’seyesmadeitdifficulttobesure.

IthinkbacknowtoeverythingIdidn’tknow,then.ThescarsonBrêac’sfaceandarmourwere just that: a soldier’s scars,nodifferent,nomorepersonal,than reading about a hundredother battles ondryparchment.Theyweren’tyet thewounds taken in sacrificing blood and sweat and flesh and bone inorder to stop the relentless Exilarchy. The concern on his tattooed featureswas surely just a symptom of my master’s presence, for I had no way ofknowingthebloodybeatingtheThirdWarhosthadsustainedattheBattleofThayren’sReachjustweeksbefore.

Thepreciousnaivetyofitall.

BrêacgesturedoverAmadeus’shoulder,towherewestoodoutoftherain.‘Ihavestormcloaksforyourvassals.Sendthemforward.’

Mymasterdidn’t evenconsider it. ‘Theyare sufficientlyprotected againsttheweather.’

‘Isthatso?Andwhataretheirnames?’

Amadeusblinked,takenaback.‘What?’

‘Theirnames.’Brêacspokeasifaddressingachildorafool.‘Youletyourservantshavenames,don’tyou?’

AmadeuslookedblandlymystifiedinresponsetotheSpear’sderisivetone.‘Exactlywhyshouldtheirnamesmatter?’

But he received no answer. Brêac beckoned to the three of us, where wewaitedonthegunship’screwramp.‘Youthere.IamBrêacoftheVargantes.Nameyourselves,soImaywelcomeyoutothisworld.’

Welookedtoourmaster.Heinclinedhishead,grantingpermissiontospeak.

Tyberia spoke first, talking over me. She made the sign of the aquila ingreeting, her wrists crossing over her chest, her fingers splayed and herthumbscurvedtorepresentthetwo-headedImperialeagle.

‘I am Tyberia Volos, lifebound thrall of the most noble Mentor Legion,assignedasHelotTertiustoLieutenantCommanderIncarius.’

‘IamBrêacoftheVargantes.IbidyouwelcometoNemeton,Tyberia.Andyou?’

Withrankorderabandoned, Ispokenext. ‘IamAnuradhaDaaz, lifeboundthrall of the most noble Mentor Legion, assigned as Helot Secundus toLieutenantCommanderIncarius.’

BrêacrepeatedhiswelcomeandturnedtoKartash.‘Andyou?’

Kartash didn’t answer. He remained in the shelter of the Thunderhawk’sbulk,clutchinghiswhiterobescloseragainsttheair’schill.

Brêac glanced at my master. ‘Did you cut out his tongue, or is this amonasticvowofsilence?’

‘Youmayspeak,’Amadeuspromptedmyfellowhelot.

Kartashpulledback.Amadeuswitnessedtheslave’scringingwithdrawal,asdidI,withnosmallsurprise.IsawthetrembleofKartash’sshouldersandthe

tightnessofhispressedlips.OnlythendidIcatchthescentofcopperonhisbreath and the tang of adrenaline in his blood. He reeked of an animal’sbiochemicalfightorflightresponse.

Icouldscarcelybelieveit.Hewasscared.

My master sensed it, too. ‘What is this moronic cowardice?’ Amadeusdemanded.‘Whatareyouafraidof?’

Kartashpeeredfrombeneathhishood.Hetriedtospeak,butnowordscameforthfromhistremblinglips.

Amadeusgrunted,betrayingtheirritationhe’dmaskedsowellsofar.Hadhebeenhuman,IwouldhavesuspectedhewasembarrassedtobeshamedbyhisslavesbeforetheSpearbarbarian.Amadeuswasbeyondsuchconsiderations,though.Hewasmore likely appalled at a flawdiscovered inhis oneofhistools.

‘Whatailsyou,HelotPrimus?’

Idelved throughmymemorisedarchives for thismission.Didanything inKartash’s past render him in some way unsuitable for the NemetonDeployment?SurelytheChapterwouldhaveanticipatedanysuchfailing.

Andthereitwas.Notaphysicalflaw,notevensomethingspecificallynoted.Notafailingatall.Merelyanunexpectedinexperience.

TheSpearreactedfirst.Armouredinhispaleblueceramite,Brêactoweredabovethehunchback.Aboveallofus,exceptingmymaster.TheSpearleaneddown,comingclosertoKartash’sheight.

‘Isthisyourfirstplanetfall?’heasked,loweringhisavalancheofavoice.

‘Yes,greatlord,’Kartashmanagedtosay.

‘You’recompressingyourlungs.Spreadyourarms,toextendyourribcage.Breathedeepandslow.Youcommandyourownbody.Focusonthatfact.’

BrêacgesturedforKartashtomimichismovements.Theslaveobeyed,andashisbreathingdeepened,histremblingbegantosubside.

I watched my master as the realisation of his own error crept through.Kartash’s records stated that he’d been born in the void, like a notablepercentage of the Chapter’s thralls. That night was the first time thehunchbackfeltwindagainsthisskin,insteadoffiltratedairfromventilationducts; the first timehehadever stood in the rainofaworld, insteadof therecycledchem-richwaterofawarship’sablutionchamber.

Andthetrembling.Hismuscleswerecrampinginrebelliousspasm.Forthefirst timeinhis life,hewasfeelingthepowerfuldragofnaturalgravity.Hewasinpain.

We looked on as Brêac guided him though the acclimatisation. At lastKartashloweredhishood,revealingfeaturesfourdecadesold:clean-shaven,light-eyed,castinghisgazedownwardsafteramoment.

‘IamKartashAvik,LordBrêac.LifeboundthralltothemostnobleMentorLegion.AssignedasHelotPrimustoLieutenantCommanderIncarius.’

Brêac nodded. ‘I grant you the Chapter’s welcome to walk the earth ofNemeton,Kartash.’

‘Iwasremissinmyfocus,’saidAmadeus.Iftherewasregretinhisvoice,itwasforhisownignoranceofthedetails,notsympathyforKartash.‘Ihadnotconsideredallaspectsofyourservicerecord,HelotPrimus.’

‘All is well, my lord,’ Kartash assured him in a quivery tone, withoutmeetingourmaster’seyes.

Brêac turned away from Kartash. ‘Come, Amadeus Kaius Incarius. Weattendaceremonyherethisnight.’

‘I requireno suchhonour,’mymaster replied, and theSpeargave aharshshotcannonbarkofalaugh.

‘Ifthere’shonourinanyofthis,it’snotforyou,Mentor.Attendusandlearnwhat youwill. There is only one law –wear your helm at all timeswhenyou’rearoundthehumans.Donotletourpeopleseeyourface.’

Amadeusnodded, replacinghis helmet and sayingnomore.Brêacdid thesame,slamminghiscrestedhelminplace.

Thunder rolled, and I looked skywards. A storm, black and swollen, wasbuildingintheeast.

2

Thedrumsbeatinaceaselessrhythm,throughtheground,throughourbones.Evenalltheseyearslater,inthemomentswhenmythoughtsgoquiet,IhearthedrumsofNemetonrollinglikethunder.

Theclearinginwhichwestoodwaslitbyflickeringtorch-spearsthrustintotheearth,surroundingacentralbonfirethatblazedindefianceoftherainfall.I had studied celebrations like those in texts of primitive societies on otherImperial worlds, and at that stage of Mentor Legion relations, the properconduct was to heed a Chapter’s customs, no matter how irrational or

inconvenienttheymightbe.

Wewerefarabovethetempestuousseas.LikeallofNemeton’slandmasses,thisrealmwasthrustupfromtheplanetaryocean,borneonatectonicseam.Theforestinwhichwefoundourselveswasscarcelybeneaththesky.Cloudsclashed,blackandgrey,justaboveourheads.Thestormfeltcloseenoughtotouch.Kartashflinchedwitheveryflashoflightning.

Therevelwaswellunderwayby the timewearrived, thoughwesoonsawthat a Nemetese revel was closer to a funeral by the standards of othercultures. The air was mournful, the chanting songs were a chorus ofoverlapping dirges. The twin scents of distilled fruit-sourced alcohol andburningwood enriched the breezy air.Men andwomenbeat the beast-hidedrums and performed fire-jumping ritual dances.Every physical featwas atest,withthedancersandritualistsdrippingsweatfromtheirbareskin,evenintherain.Thedrumscouldhavebeenthesolemnpulseoftheworlditself.Littleaboutitfeltlikeacelebration,buttherewasadignifiedferocitytoitall,somethingthatspokeofracingheartsandreveredtradition.

Mymasterwaitedbytheedgeofthefestivitiesandwestoodwithhim,atarespectful distance. The seven servitors stood guard at our Thunderhawk,rather thanwasting their timehaulingourarmourychests throughtheforestforthreehourstotherevel.Wethreehelotsworegrey-bluestormcloaks,asdidthebarbariansthatpopulatedtherevel.Somethingintheweaverepelledrain rather than absorbing it. Kartash huddled in his, looking desperatelyunhappy. Tyberiawore hers theway an officerwouldwear a cape, throwncarelessly over one shoulder, introducing self-conscious elegance to theunfamiliargarment.Shestoodasifexpectingeveryonetopayattentiontoher.

We watched the primitives speaking, trading and chanting in the rain.Infrequent, harsh laughter scuddedout frompacks of tribesmen, swallowedby the drums or pulled away into the risingwind.A section of the clearedwoodlandhadbeengivenover tobothmale and femalebarbarians fightingmockbattles,most likelyovermatingrightsor theminutiaeofclanhonour.Bloodmarkedeven thevictorsof thesebattles.More thanoneof the loserslayonthesoddenearth,stormcloakswrappingthemasburialshrouds.Otherdefeatedcombatantsweredraggedawayandhurledontothefuneralpyres.

Mostofthetribespeopleworeleatherorhideharvestedfromvariousbeasts.The bones they wore as talismanic trinkets were similarly taken from anynumberofvariantcreatures.Somewerehuman.

Passive-scanning revealed that six hundred and ninety-seven people were

present. Two hundred and eighteen were children in the years of pre-adolescence.Fewoftheseyouthsclusteredaroundtheirelders;mostranfreeinpacksoremulatedtheoldertribespeoplebyrecreatingthegames,prayersand fights. Only twenty-three men and women were of an advanced age,bordering on dotage.These gathered together in an informal court of sorts,surroundedbythosewhowouldheartheirstoriesandreceivetheirblessings.

TheSpears stoodamidst these tribal rituals, yet apart from them.Guardedparentskepttheirchildrenatadistancefromthewarriors,andmadenoefforttospeakwiththeSpaceMarinesthemselves.I’dseenhumansfleeinterroroftheAdeptusAstartesbefore,and I’dseen themdumbstruckwith reverentialawe,butneverhadIwitnessedahumanculturedisplaythisdistant,cautiousfear.Atmyside,KartashandTyberiahadnoticedtheatmosphereaswell.Weall watched, fascinated by the strange contrast inherent in the Spears’presence.Ourhoodswereup,ourfacesinshadow.Wehadn’tspokenasinglewordsincearrivingatthebleakrevel.

Yetmymaster, in his armour ofwhite and green, attractedmore attentionthantheSpears.

Iheardthechildapproaching.Shehadbeenwatchingusforseveralminutesandfinallygatheredthecouragetoapproach.Nowshestoodashortdistanceaway,justbeyondarm’sreach.ItwouldbealietosaysheshowednofearofAmadeus,butwhereboy-childrencringedandhidfromtheSpaceMarinesintheirmidst, thegirl-childrenshowedsomethingcloser toapprehension.Thisonewasnoexception.

Shestood,andshestared.

Amadeusturnedaslowglareuponher.Hisarmourjointsgrumbled.Hiseye-lensesglitteredintherainfall.

Sheremainedthere,tremblingnow.

Amadeusstaredatthechildwithweaponiseddisinterest.Dewdropsofrainalightedonhishelm,trailingdownhisfaceplate.

‘Begone,’hesaidtoher.

Shefled,shrieking,drawingthegazesofnearbybarbarians.Amadeusdidn’twatchherleave.Hehadalreadyreturnedhisgazetothecoldrevel.

‘Scoutthearea,’hecommandedus.‘ReturntomewhenIsummonyou.’

Tyberia licked the rain from her lips. ‘Is there anything you wish us toobserve,lord?’

Ourmasterdidn’tevenspareusaglance.‘Everything.Go.’

IVTHEARKOSADEPLOYMENT

SevenyearsbeforeNemeton

1

ArkosawasbackinthetrueImperium,nothereontheempire’srottingedge.IwasHelotSolusfortheoperation,theonlythrallassignedtoAmadeusforhis use. At the time he was still Lieutenant Incarius, five years shy of hispromotion toLieutenantCommander.Severalotherhelotswere seatedwithmeattheirowncontrolstations,buttheyservedotherwarriorsinthesquadsunderAmadeus’command.

Arkosa was my very first assignment, and the first time I witnessed theimpossible brutality of a SpaceMarine in action. Arkosa, with the terriblewrathoftheEmperor’sAngels,taughtmejustwhatcreaturesIwasserving.

Many of my augmetics were still untested in the field. The Chapter hadreshapedmybrain,infusingitwithmachineparts,floodingitsrecesseswithlore.IknewthingsIhadneverlearned.IrememberedhowtodothingsIhadnever done. This still threatened to overwhelm me. Fighting the tide ofunfamiliar knowledge was like breathing manually. When you stopped toconsiderthefeeling,suddenlyitwasefforttomaintain.

For a time, I thought madness threatened me. It isn’t enough to say thatcoloursaremorevibrantandsoundsclearer.Youcantastethewordsyousay.Sounds,especiallythevoicesofothers,becomesmearsofcolouracrossyourfieldof vision.Memoriesyou reach for becomeentangled, themoments ofyour life blurring together as Now and Then become one. You dream ofworlds you’ve never seen and know their cultures with a clarity you can’tplaceinyourownchildhood.IoncelostcommandofHighGothicforthreedays,speakingonlyinaclashofthenewlanguagesabruptlyimplantedwithinmymind.

Fromreadinghundredsof reports in theChapter’sarchives, Iknow this issimilartotheprocessenduredbySpaceMarineswhentheyarenewtotheirascendancy.When their genetic enhancements are fresh, their senses swimandmergeastheyadapttotheoverwhelminginput.

IdidnotmakeplanetfallfortheArkosaDeployment.IremainedaboardthefrigateVictrix,connected tomymaster throughthecogitatorbayaroundmeandtheenhancedsystemsofhisarmour.Ihadopticalfeedsfromhisbolter’s

targeter, from the omen-scrye array on his backpack that looked over hisshoulder,frombothofhishelmet’seye-lenses,andfromhisbionicrighteye.Withminimalatmosphericinterference,thelinkbetweenusremainedtrue–whattheAdeptusMechanicuswouldcall‘thepurityofcleandata’.

Arkosawasaverdantworldbeinggroundintomudandashbytheuprisingsblackeningitssurface.Thepeoplerebelledinthenameofstarvation.ThePaxImperialis broke down as city after city lost control to the rebellion.Entireregiments of the planetary defence force sided with the rebels. The orbitaldefencenetworkfireduponitselfaswellasthesurface,asdifferentfactionsviedforcontrolofitskillingpower.BythetimetheVictrixreachedorbit,allthatremainedwasaclutchofweaklingsatellitesandorbitalplatformsintherebels’hands.TheVictrixtorpedoedthemfromrangeandcuttheirwreckageapartwithbroadsidesupclose.

Aseasilyasthat,weownedthesky.MymasterdeployedviaThunderhawk,pilotingithimselfandaccompaniedbyhistwosquads.TheVictrixremainedon station, ready to link its bombardment with Amadeus’ orders from thesurface.

Mymaster’sassignmentwassimple:insertionwithinImperialrankswithaneyetotakecommandofoneofthefewremainingarmies.Elevenwarriorstoturnthe tideofawar.AcommonenoughoperationforSpaceMarinestrikeforces. Each one of those warriors possessed a helot in orbit, the thrallsmonitoringthem,feedingthemdata,linkingtheirinsightswiththeirmasters’perceptions.

MymastercommandedthattheImperialremnantsheraldthecomingoftheMentor Legion with planetwide propaganda. Cracked screens in besiegedcities showed the Space Marines in their ceramite glory, offering boldevidencethattheImperiumhadnotforgottenthedefenders.Vox-reportsandholosflashedlivewithinenemy-heldcitiesaswell,showingthefoethattheirtransgressionshadnotgoneignored.Vengeancehadcome.

Almostatonce, therewasanofferofarmistice.Ameetingofcommandersand ambassadorswas proposed by the leaders of the rebellion.They calleduponthelegendaryhonouroftheEmperor’sAngelstomeetunderaceasefire,requestingthe‘SpaceMarineLord’meetthemonneutralground,todiscusstheresolutionofthewar.

Thehelotsnearestmystationturnedintheirseats,waitingformymaster’sreaction.Noonebelieveditwasanythingbutatrap.

‘I accept,’ Amadeus said at once. ‘Helot Solus, broadcast my acceptance

fromtheVictrix’svox.’

Ididso,but theenemyweren’t finished.Thewarship in theheavens, theysaid, was to move out of geosynchronous orbit and hold position where itcouldn’t fire upon the surface. The rebels would use the few remainingsatellitesinthenetworktoconfirmthisconditionwasmet.

‘Iaccept,’Amadeussaidatonce.

Afurtherrequestcitedthatmymastercomeunarmed.Hebademe,‘Explaintothemthatthatwillnotcometopass.Theymaybringbodyguards, if theyfearfortheirlives.’

Withinthehour,hesetouttowardstheagreed-uponsitealone:awar-brokencathedraltotheEmperorTriumphant,deepinneutralterritory.

2

Amadeuswaswaitingforthematdawnthenextday.Motionless.Completelymotionless. Iwatched throughmymaster’s eye-lenses as the six diplomatsand commanders approached him in the centre of the fallen temple’s nave.The imagery beneath his boots was a shattered mosaic of the Emperorenthronedandhaloedingold.Thewhitestonepillarssupporting thedomedceiling were riven with the acne of small-arms fire. Whatever scenes ofdivinitythestained-glasswindowshadonceshownwerelosttothewar.Theystoodopen,asstarkas thehollowsofmissing teeth,nowjustportals to themorningsky.

Eachoftheemissarieshadbroughtabodyguard.WhilethediplomatsstoodinfrontofAmadeus,afurthersixarmedandarmouredworthieswaitedinaloosering,surroundinghim.

Theyhonestly thought sixwouldbeenough.Throne,but Ipitied them fortheirnaivety.

TheambassadorsandtheirsoldiersstoodinconfidentdignityuntilAmadeusmoved.Almostatoncetheyshowedinstinctivesignsofuneaseandfear:eyesnarrowing, lips compressing,micro-shifts in their postures.Thebodyguardswere no different. Their gloved fingers were tight on the grips of theirlasrifles. Four of them maintained poor trigger discipline, either frominexperience or fear. Most of them hid their nervousness well, but theirhumanitybetrayedthemtomymaster’sacutesensesandtheprecisionofthewargearweused.Inwar,informationispower,andnoonecouldkeepsecretsfromus.

‘Greetings,’Amadeussaid,lookingateachoftheminturn.

Iwasalreadyscanningthegatheredemissariesthroughtheopticalcogitatorthatcoveredmymaster’slefteye-lens.Imatchedexposedfacestoimagefilesin the planetary archives, assigning names and ranks to each one of them.Althoughitwouldhavebeentoooptimistictohopeforafullconclaveoftherebels’authority, thesesixmenandwomenrepresentedasignificantportionoftheuprising’sleadershipinArkosa’ssouthernhemisphere.

Thebodyguardsworefull-facehelms,butfourof thesehadserialnumbersand signs of rank on their armour plating, making it a simple matter toascertain their identities andmatch them to the planetary census. Before aminutehaspassed,Ihadtheirservicerecords.Itight-beamedmyfindingstoAmadeus’retinaldisplayassoonasImadeeachconnection.Hesaidnothingand offered no acknowledgement. He expected nothing less. I was merelyfulfillingmyfunction.

Theambassadorsgreetedmymaster.Oneofthem,cladinrobesratherthanthepatchworkflak-platemostoftheothershadscavenged,actedasmasterofceremonies.Beforethewar,hehadservedasaminordynastintheImperialhierarchy.He spokewith themost ostentatious hand gestures to emphasiseeverypointhemade,asifthefervencyofhismonologuecompelledhimtodoso.

Hisversionofthetruthboiledfromhim.Itanimatedhim.Heputmeinmindofafeveredgrox-bull,bloatedandpoisonedbyitsownunshedwaste,finallyable to shit. Self-righteous filth poured from the ambassador in a tide. Herecountedthevirtuesofthewar,thenecessityofit,imploring‘LordIncarius’toreconsiderhisallegiancetothefallingregime.Theyhadnotsummonedmymasteralonetokillhim.Theyhadcometoconvincehimtheirtreacherywasvirtuous.ThatAmadeusandhisSpaceMarinesshouldbeontheirside.

Thiscausewassoontakenupbyoneoftheothers,arankingautocratintheplanetary defence force. This elder claimed that the rebels were no lessImperial than the defenders of the remaining cities, and that theywere stillpure-heartedservantsoftheGod-Emperor.Theirrulershadfailedthem.Theywererisinguptopreventtheplanetfromstarving.

My master listened to all of this. It took some time. Throughout theirgrievances,theycalledhim‘lord’.Hewasnotswifttocorrectthem.

‘You posit that the war would end if the Imperial governor opened thesubterranean granaries.’ Amadeus panned his gaze from left to right as hespoke, target locking every single face. ‘Is that the summation of all thisrhetoric?’

They shared glances.Many of them stood straighter. ‘As a first step,’ theArkosan commander said. ‘Then a more comprehensive reform of globalagriculturetosafeguardthefuture.’

‘Thegranariesareempty,’Amadeusreplied,‘asyourgoverningbodieshaverepeatedly told you. The stores were opened to feed the vast numbers ofrefugeessealedwithinthebesiegedcities.’

‘Not so, Lord Incarius. We have spies within the regency. The granariesaren’tempty.Thegovernmentlies.’

‘EvenifyourEmperor-appointedgovernorsoughttodeceiveyou,yourwarhasriventhisworld.Youhaverendereditworthlessforagricultureonascalenecessarytosustainthepopulation.Howmanyfarmersliedead,conscriptedbyarmiesofeitherside?Howmanyfoughtanddied insteadoffarming theland?Howmanyfieldshaveburned toashandwillneverbringforthcropsagain?You have presided over a rebellion for food, only to ensureArkosawillstarve.’

Icouldtell thiswasnothingnewtothem.They’dwrestledwiththeseverytruths over the years of theirwar. They had killed theirworld. Itwas onlynatural that theyweren’t ready to faceup to it.Denial is always fiercest inthosethatmustacceptthehardesttruths.

‘Weknowthatthewarhascostus,butoncewetakecontrol,off-worldtradewillresume.Thetraderouteswillreopen.’

Mymasterturnedtotheman.MostofthehumansflinchedatthegrowlofAmadeus’armourjoints.Twoofthemjerkedclosertotheirsidearms.

‘Inageneration,perhaps.’Amadeus’ tonewasas calmas thedesert itself.‘Imperialtradingintheregionwilltakedecadestoreturnafterthisperiodofprolonged instability. Additionally, you have bled Arkosa of its valuableresources,ensuringyouhavealmostnocurrencywithwhichtopurchasetheimportsyou require.The trade routeswill reopenand traderswillbring thesalvationyoucrave,onlytofindaworldofbonesawaitingthem.’

Orange runes flashed up on my primary monitor. My master’s relayedperceptions: theweapons he had seen thus far among the ambassadors andtheirbodyguards. Iaddedanother three runicmarkers,believing themtobebayonets concealed within coat cuffs and, from one man’s stance, a pistolstrappedtothebackofhisbelt.

Therecameaclickasmymasteractivatedoursecurevox-link.TheGothicruneforObfuscationpulsedblueonmytertiaryscreen.

‘Overlayvoxcapabilities,’hesaidtome,ignoringthemasterofceremoniesspeakingon.

Thedatawas alreadyprimed.My instruments had swept the chamber andpicked up eight vox-signals, currently passive. I beamed an overlay toAmadeus’lefteye-lens,markingthoseamongthegatheredhumanscapableofcommunicatingwiththeirforceselsewhere.Everyoneofthebodyguards,andtwooftheambassadors.

‘Canyoujamthem?’heasked.

‘Notfromthisrange,master.’

Thentheywouldneedtodiefirst.Theycouldn’tbeallowedtosummonaid.

‘Enough,’Amadeussaidaloudtotheambassadors.Severalofthemflinched.‘Thisconclaveisatanend.’

A particularly brave officer stood up to my master. ‘Never would I havethoughttheEmperor’sAngelswouldcometoourworldanddenyusallhope.Whatchoicedidwehave?Shouldwehave laindownanddied?Shouldwehavewatchedourfamiliesstarvewhentherationingfirstbegantofail?’

‘Your emotional response tomywords is of no concern tome,’Amadeusreplied. ‘I care nothing for the reasons you betrayed the Imperium, nor thejustificationsyouclingtonow.’

The commander knew, in that moment, what was coming. Blood drainedfromher face, and that has always been the surest sign of awarrior in themomentsbeforeabattle.Unpreparedmenandwomenwillflush, theirfacesreddening.Veteranfightersgopale,theirbloodflowingtotheirmuscles.

Itmadenodifference.Mymasterhadsentencedthemtodeath,anddietheydid.

When I cleaned his armour that night, I had to use interplate brushes andcorrosiveoilstogougethebloodfromthejointswhereithadcaked.

‘HelotSolus,’hesaidtome.Iflinchedasthediplomatshaddone,turningtowheremymastersatatanine-screenconsole,reviewingthedata-feedsofhismissionthatday.

‘Master?’

‘Istheresomeinstinctinsideyouthatcriedoutthismorning?’Hedidn’tlookatmewhenheasked,andIwonderedifthiswasatest.

‘Idon’tunderstand.Elaborate.Contextualisethequery.’

Hestilldidn’tlookatme.‘Istheresomethingintrinsicallyhumanwithinyouthatrevoltsatthedeathofotherhumans?’

Ifthiswasatest,itsnaturewasbeyondme.

‘Theyweretraitors,’Ireplied.‘Andtheydiedastraitorsshoulddie.’

Hedidn’tnod.Hedidn’tacknowledgemeatall.Hekeptparsinghiseye-lensdata-feed, watching and rewatching the bodies of aristocrats and theirdynasticbodyguardsbreakingbeneathhisfists,hisboots,hisboltshells.

Itoldthetruththatday.Ifeltnorevulsionatthedeath,atthedestructionofthose treasonous men and women. But it was the first time I had seenAmadeusinanoperationalcapacity,fightinginthefield.

InevermistookaSpaceMarineforhumanafterArkosa.

VTHELIVING,LITBYFIRE

1

Kartashtrembledaswewalkedaroundthegathering.Thehunchbackcasthisgaze across thebarbarians, still shiveringwith the aftershocksof planetfall.For a time, he said nothing to me. I said nothing to him. Tyberia trailedbehindus,constantlylookingtowardsthetrees.

Onoccasion,paintedNemetesebrutes approacheduswithwarygazesandcautiousbodylanguage,theirhandsstrayingclosetosheathedblades.Kartashspoke for the threeofus, replying to their cautionwith simpleLowGothicassurancesthatwemeantnoharm.Hisreplieswerebriefandpolite,hiseyesdowncast and unchallenging.Most of the barbarianswarned us away fromtheirgroupsentirely.Therewasn’tafriendlyeyeamongthem.

We walked on, skirting the crowds of chanting, mourning, fightingtribespeople. What interested us most was the way the clansfolkacknowledgedthenearbySpearswithnoneof thereverenceordevotionweknewsointimatelyinourdutyfortheMentors.AdultbarbariansbowedtheirheadstotheSpears,murmuringwordsthatwefirsttooktobeblessingsandinvocations. It wasn’t long before I amended that belief; the murmurssoundedmorelikeprayersspokenagainstathreat.

Most curious of all was the way parents placed hands over their boy-children’seyes, stopping theyouths fromwatching theSpaceMarinespass,preventinganyeyecontactbetweenSpaceMarineandchild.Yetgirl-childrenstared,untouchedbytheirparents’guardinghands.Severaladultswithyoungsons sprinkled fistfuls of salt on the ground near the Spears, in gesturesreminiscentofshamanicwarding.

‘They don’t want their sons taken,’ Tyberia observed quietly. ‘They don’twanttheirsonstoberebornamongtheAdeptusAstartes.’

Kartashagreed.‘ThisisnotaculturethatcelebratesitsChapter.’Heglancedto me, seeing me scanning the tribal crowds. ‘What are you thinking,Anuradha?’

I’dbeenthinkingmuchthesameasmycompanions.‘They’renotshowinghostility, exactly. It’s more like caution, a guardedness. The Spears don’tbelong among their people any more. They’re treated as outcasts. As

condemned.’

‘Goon,’Kartashpromptedme.‘Theseareworthyinsights.’

‘TheSpearsthemselvesaren’tasbarbarousaswewereledtobelieve.It’sasifthey’vebeenelevatedfromthesetribalroots.’ButimmediatelyIknewthewordwaswrong.‘No,letmerestructurethatthought.Elevatediswrong.It’sasifthey’vehadcivilisationgraftedovertheirbarbarism.Inmystudiesofthemore primitiveChapters, including theWolves of Fenris and theCretacianFleshTearers,theyremainexemplarsoftheculturesthatgavebirthtothem.They possess the tactical acumen of any Space Marine Chapter, yet areindelibly bound to the primal aspects of their parent culture.TheCretacianhunting-clans make for bloodthirsty Adeptus Astartes warriors, prone toslaughter. The warrior-clans of Fenris give rise to hardy Space Marines,gloryingin tribalfellowshipandprimitivesuperstition.Theybelongto theircultures in tangibleways.But theSpears…They’reablendofbothworlds,thesavageandthecivilised,withaspectsofboth,yetbelongingtoneither.’

Ipaused,stillstaringatthefiresidesilhouettes.

‘Is there somethingmore?’Kartashpromptedmeagain.Howsmoothlyhetooktheroleoftutor.

‘PrimitiveculturesonAdeptusAstarteshomeworldsoftenworship,insomeignoranceorfear,andwithsomeprecedent,theChaptersthatdrawfromthetribal population. Children of the Baalian wastelands journey for monthsacross irradiated wilderness for the chance to become Blood Angels.Fenrisianyouths crave thehonourof ascending to the ranksof theWolves.Buthere?Fatherscovertheirsons’eyesastheSpearspass.Mothersmovetostand in front of their boys, guarding them. Many cultures honour theirChaptersasdemigods,buttheseSpears…Theywalkwherevertheywish,butthey’rereceivedwithallthewarmthofexecutioners.’

AssoonasIsaidthewords,theyfeltright.Thefinalthoughtcameatonce.‘To be a Spear is a sacrifice, cast out of their clans.They’re treated not asgods,butasghosts.’

Kartash dwelled on this awhile, watching the taller shapes amidst thegatheredhumans.

‘An accurate and valuable assessment,’ he told me. ‘You will have thehonourofenteringitintothemissionarchives,Anuradha.’

Ifeltmyselfflushwithpleasure,andImarkedthewayTyberia’slipcurled.‘Nothingshenotedwasn’talreadyobvious,’shesaidtoKartash.

ButIignoredher.‘Thankyou,HelotPrimus,’Isaid.

Nowthedeploymenthadbeguninearnest,hewassteppinguphisrole.Thelookinhiseyeswaskind,evenindulgent.‘Afterallthethreeofushavebeenthrough,itwouldn’tbeinappropriatetocallmeKartash.’

2

I had only seen Kartash twice before we were assigned to this operationtogether,bothtimesaboardthestrikecruiserHaloedbyVigilanceintheyearbeforewesetsailtocrosstheGreatRift.Wehadneverspoken,merelypassedin thevessel’s industrialmazeof corridors, offeringbrief bowsof greeting,recognisingandofferingrespecttothoseofashared,distinguishedrank.Thisunfamiliarity wasn’t unusual; theMentors’ helots are trained and stationedacrossentiresectors,wherevertheChapterrequiresourpresence.

BeforetheNemetonDeploymentIhadnevermetTyberia.Shewasyoung,earlyinherseconddecade,withthinlips,goldenteethandathoughtfulstare.Her record spoke of great aptitude, a studious demeanour and significantpromise.Itneglectedtomentionthesnidenessandservility,whichIsuspectedwasbornofherambitiontoexcelatanycost.

I’d served Lieutenant Commander Incarius once before, in the ArkosaDeploymentIhavealreadydescribed.He’dremarkedonthis,whenthethreeofushadfirstbeenbroughtbeforehim.

‘Ihavestudiedyourservicearchives,’hesaid,‘inadvanceoftheNemetonDeployment. Kartash, with seniority of experience youwill serve as HelotPrimus. Anuradha, you will serve as Helot Secundus. You performedcommendablyformeontheArkosaDeployment.Tyberia,youwillserveasHelotTertius.’

Kartash had bowed in respect, but I felt Tyberia’s eyes upon me in thatmomentofrarepraisefromoneofourmasters.Iflatteredmyselfbybelievingshewasenviousofmycitation.

AfterthatinitialencounterwithAmadeus,weweresummonedtoabriefingchamber and granted access to the Mentor Legion’s scant databankspertaining toNemeton and the Emperor’s Spears. Data-branches led to thearchivesoftheCelestialLionsandStarScorpionsChapters,aswellasElara’sVeilitself.Thelorewasthinbutuseful–thethreeChapterswerecollectivelychronicled by the name of their allegiance: the Adeptus Vaelarii, moreinformally as the Sentinels of the Veil. Three Space Marine Chapters,oathbound to stand in guardianship over an entire subsector. Dispositionaldatawasclearononematterrightaway:theChaptershadbeenstretchedthin

evenwhenallthreehadbeenatfullstrength.

Tyberiastudiedthedatabankswithafocusthatborderedonferocity.Kartashwas more passive, committing data to his cranial banks in spurts betweentraining sessions. I letmy eyes flow over thewords, to record them ratherthan to memorise them immediately, and spooled them in streamingrepetitions during my sleep cycles. Such were the advantages of a mindremade by the artificers serving one of the most technologically advancedChaptersintheImperium.

Kartash,TyberiaandIhardlyspokewhilepreparingintheweeksleadingupto the mission. Even on the long journey towards the Great Rift, we hadscarcely interacted. As helots we existed in the same space, blessing andreblessing our master’s wargear in Amadeus’ presence, speaking thenecessary prayers, rarely saying an informalword to the SpaceMarinewewereboundtoserve.WhenarmouringAmadeus,wemovedwiththeaccordof purpose and training.We performed the arming riteswithout needing torelyonspeech.

Andoncewe’dpassedthroughtheRift,whatwastheretosay?Thecrewofthe warship died in droves around us. Our ranks left us isolated from thedecks of the ship locked in the throes of starvation, but the misery of thedying crew still reached us. We could do nothing for them. Slaves havealwaysdiedsufferingwhilethoseofhighercastessurvived.Thisislife.Thisiscivilisation.

Tyberiaignoredthedeathsaseventsbeneathherstation.Kartashcataloguedthefiguresbutforborecomment.Bothoftheirdemeanoursseemedcalloustome;thedeadandthedyingwereservantsofourChapter,andtheydeservedtobe honoured for their sacrifice. I collated the images from the servo-skullprobesIsentintotheotherdecks,filingthemalongsideKartash’snumericalanalyses. If I couldn’t help the dead, I could at least ensure they wereremembered.

Meanwhile,weprayedwewouldreachNemetonalive.

AccordingtoKartash’sarchivedcurriculaaboardInDevoutAbjuration,theNemetonDeploymentmarkedhiseleventhassignationsincehehadascendedfrom thrall to helot rank.All of his previous operations had taken place inboarding actions or void installations. The Nemeton Deployment was myseventh assignment as helot, at twenty-eight Terran standard years of age.Tyberia,attwenty-three,wasonherfirstfieldoperation.

3

Thethreeofuswalkedontogether,throughtherevel,throughthestorm.Therevel pyres burned hotter and higher as the night deepened.Theywere fedwithsucheagerness that thestormcouldn’tkill them,anddespite therain’schill,wefoundourselvessweating.

Theritualswentonasdruidsandwitchesledthegatheredclans,usingdirgesandduelstocelebratelifeandmourntherecentlydead.Someofthefeatsofcourage, such as leaping the blazes, seemed to be performed with an eyetowards impressing the watching spirits of ancestors, proving that heroicblood ran through the veins of their living descendants. Life boiled off theNemetesebarbariansthewayheatradiatedfromtherevelfires.

Sincelandingthere,I’dfoundmyselfbreathingdeeper,fillingmylungswiththe unrecycled air, enjoying the sharpness of the storm’s ozone scent. Myhooded robe served me well, the cowl preventing me from needing toconstantlycufftherainfrommybioniceyes.Ilookedacrosstherevelwithitsdirge voices, pounding drums and clashing blades.Many of the barbariansroaredtheiremotionsskywards,beatingtheirchests,movingaroundthegreatfires in heaving packs. Rain sprayed from them as they leapt and dancedaround the funeral pyres. Sweat steamed from them as they fought by theflames.

Muchofwhattheysaidwasamysterytome.WeknewpreciouslittleoftheNemetese branches of Gothic; the datacores aboard In Devout Abjurationwerefarfromthorough.ManyChaptersseenoreasontotakepainstoteachothersthetongueoftheirhomeworlds.

Tyberiapannedhergazeacross theclearing,endingby turning tome.Hereyeswerestillhalf-lidded.Her irises flickered redwith theworkingsof theaugmeticsinsideherskull.

‘Was it like this when you served with theWhite Scars?’ she asked me.‘Theyarealsobredfrombarbaricstock.’

Ialmostlaughedatthat.TherewasnoresemblanceatallbetweentheWhiteScars’ boisterous, cheering brotherhood, and the Spears’ unnerving, ghostlybarbarism.

‘No,’Ireplied,temperingmysmilesoshewouldn’ttakeitasmockery.‘No,thisissomethingelseentirely.’

Kartashmusedashe scratchedathis stubble. ‘This is amiserableplace. Ifearwearen’tdestinedtoenjoyourtimeonthisworld.’

Tyberiagaveawordlessmurmurofdispleasure,yetIsawherlookacrossat

theslainformofabarbarian,cutopenbyarival’saxeandlefttoliealoneintherain.Forthefirst timesincearrivingonNemeton, therewasaflickerofemotioninthedepthsofherhood.Shesmiled.

4

Soonafter,thethreeofuswanderedapart.Tyberiachosetoreturnthewaywecame,scoutingthepathbacktothegunship.Herdecisionsurprisedme,andIsaid as much to Kartash. He regardedme strangely, unsure whether I wasjoking.

‘Oneofusshouldscoutthepathback,’hepointedout.

‘Iknow,butTyberiaisceaselessinherattemptstoimpressAmadeus.Whydecidetotakethepathwhereshe’llhavefarlesstoreporttohim?’

Understanding dawned on his hooded features. ‘How scornful you are,Anuradha.Tyberiawantstobeawayfromthecrowds.That’sall.’

The revel was an assault on the senses after the dignified years of ourtraining and duty, and then the funereal silence of our dying warship. Icouldn’targuewiththat.ButKartash’sexcusestillranghollow.

Hecontinuedinthefaceofmyscepticism.‘SheisnewertothislifethanyouandI.Iwarnedyoualready,weshouldgivehertimetoadapt.’

‘Shemustgirdherself,’Isaidquietly.‘Suchweaknessisunbecoming.’

Kartashwouldn’tbemovedbymylogic.‘Itisn’tweakness.It’sjustwhosheis.’

Iheldmytongueonthatjudgement.

While Kartash elected to remain amidst the celebrations, watching theclansfolk, I chose towalk beyond the revel’s borders. Imoved through theforestinaspirallingsearchpattern,andiftherewasanythingworthreportingbeyondthegathering’sboundaries,Iintendedtofindit.

I was as guilty as Tyberia in a way. After so long aboard In DevoutAbjuration,passively sucking in the refiltered, sweat-scentedair formonthson end, I wanted to breathe freely beneath Nemeton’s sky. The farther Iroamed,thequieterthedrumsbecame.Soon,theywerenothingbutashiverthroughtheforestfloor.

With the revel set so high atop themountain, most of my journey was adescent.Downthroughthetrees,awayfromthewell-wornpathways,throughthewoodlandblanketingtheunevenland.

Just over a mile from the path, a chunk of eroded white stone gleamedthrough themuddy earth.Centuries of rainfall had smoothed it to amarblenub,scarcelynoticeable,butoncetheeyefelluponit,itcouldn’tbemissed.Iturned, scanning theundergrowth.Sureenough, thedirty floorof the foresthid several other lumps of the same stone. More echoes of an abandonedcivilisation.

Once, therewas a building here.A structure ofmarble.One of those lostcitieswesawinorbit.Awatchtower,perhaps?

I keptwalking.At the forest’swestern edge, a cliff overlooked the ocean.Thewindwantedme,pullingatmewithgraspingclaws.Thestormreachedthehorizonineverydirection,soakinganalreadydrownedworld.There,astherainscythedthroughme,IatlastlookeduponthetrueNemeton.

Theocean.

Thenight-waterwasblack,theblackofthedeepvoid,thoughwithnoneofthevoid’shauntingserenity.Theoceanseethed,aliveundertheroaringwind.Andbeneath the foamingwater…Snapsof lightningofferedsuggestionsofimmense shadows.Our archiveswerevagueonwhat aquatic life thrived intheseoceans,soperhapsitwasonlydoubtthatfiredmyimagination.Wasthatsilhouetteunderthewaterjustatrickofthestorm,orthedarkbulkofsomenamelessleviathan?

Mistedbytherainfallandhalfhiddenbytheroughseas,theshadowbrokethewater’ssurface.Somethingvast,somethingblackandspined,reachingitscurling tendrils skywards. Something that flashed moonlight back from itswetscales.Agreateruptionofwaterburstas thethingexhaled.Andthenitwasgone,whateveritwas,backbeneaththewaves.

Ireturnedtotheshelterofthetrees,pullingmystormcloaktighteragainsttherain.

Notlongafter,Ifoundthestatues.

5

Thefirststatuestoodalone,mutilatedbytimeandmercilessrainfall.ASpaceMarine, that much I could tell, even weathered down to featurelessness. Itstoodasasentineloutsideastone-workedentranceleadingintothehillside.ThewhitegranitefigurewastoooldtobeoneoftheSecondGeneration,thePrimaris, likeeverySpear Ihadseenso far.Thisstatuedepictedoneof theFirstborn,thoseSpaceMarinesfromthesamegeneticstockasmymaster:thewarriorsthathadthatservedtheEmperorsoloyallyforthousandsofyears.

Anotherstatueoncesharedthisvigil;nowitwasreducedtoanerodedplinthintheheartofanestoftanglingforestvines.Thewoodswerereclaimingthisplace,yearbyyear.TheinscriptionsonbothplinthswerewritteninNemetesescript,aseriesofslashedlinesandjaggedrunes,softenedinthestonebythepassingofyears.

Iranmyfingersovertheindentationsinthestone,takingapict-recordwitha blink-click for future analysis. Actual Nemetese script, in context. Everyshredoflorewouldbeuseful.

Thearchwayleadingintothehillsidewasworngreystone,doubtlessancienteven when mymaster was young.Whatever engravings once stood out instark reliefwere now just impressions ofwarring figures and the shapelesshulksofgreatbeasts.Isawaclawhere,arowofspinesthere.Abovethosescenes, the starswere carvedwith radiant beams of poetic licence.Bellonafeaturedprominentlyinthisetchednightsky,lookingdownuponthepeopleofNemetonandtheirSpaceMarineoverlords.TheEyeoftheEmperor,asthebarbariansbelieved.

I knew what this was. A barrow. Perhaps even a tomb of the Chapter’sheroes.IfIentered,woulditbeanintrusion?Orworse,adesecration?Thisplacewasunhidden.Thearchwaystoodopen,withoutsignofabrokenseal.The pathway, although overgrown, showed wear from the tracks of boots,somehuman,sometranshuman.ClearlythisplacewasvisitedbytheSpearsand theirpeople.TheAdeptusAstartescamehere tomourn fallenbrothers.Thebarbarianscameheretomournstolensons.

ButIwasanoutworlder.Protocolwasdifficultinthesesituations.Ifcaught,Imightbepunished.Thatwasbadenough,butAmadeusmightbe spurnedformycrime,whichwouldbeafarworsefate.

Strangely, Tyberia’s words made the decision clear. Her question to ourmaster,whichI’ddeemedsoservile,waswhatguidedmeon.

Isthereanythingyouwishustoobserve,lord?

Everything.Go.

SoIwent.

VITHEDEAD,INTHEIRBARROWS

1

Insidethetomb,thestorm’ssparselightdiminishedtonothing.Withtheeyesmy Chapter had givenme, I sawmy palm and fingers as a heat-smear oforange and red through my right eye, and a contoured monochromeimpressionthroughmyleft.Closeoneeyeanditwaslikelookingthroughasniperrifle’sthermalscope.Closetheother,anditwaslikeseeingsilhouettesthroughmist.Nohumaneyescouldhavepiercedthatdarkness.

Down,down,alwaysdown.Soonmybootsstruckthickerstone,leadingintothefirstchamber.Ismeltdeath,butnotfreshdeath.Decay,butsofarinthepastthatitlingerednowasamustysuggestionofspiceinthestillair.

Thermal sight showed nothing alive but me and the barbed, emaciatedvermin thatNemeton possessed in place of rats.Ratswould at least scatterwithout challenge; these things raised their quills and hissed at me as Iapproached. I relaxed my throat and let my implanted vocoder mimic thesound back at them, adding my own snarl. That sent the little bastardsscuttlingaway.

Alcoves lined thewalls, each the restingplace of a single corpse that hadlonggonetobone.Eachonehadtheirskinlesshandsfoldedovertheirchests,clutchingthehiltofacorrodedsword.Afewheadswereturnedtowardsme,eyelesssocketswatchingmyintrusion.Theirdeadgrinsofferednocomment,onlyamusementlaidbarebyrot.

Up close, I examined several of them. The skeletons asleep there werebetrayedbytheirmassiveframes.Nonewerehumaninlife;eachonewasanAdeptusAstarteswarrior.As if theirsizewasn’tenoughtoconfirmit, therewasevidencethatanyoneawareofSpaceMarineritualpracticeswouldeasilyrecognise.Medicae sawshad scraped against thesebones.AnApothecary’sdrillshadgougedthroughthem.Damagetothereinforcedclaviclestrutsandthe fused sternums indicated the removal of progenoid glands beforeinternment.Evenindeath,theirgene-seedlivedon,implantedintoadolescentmalestogrowsuccessivegenerationsofwarriors.

Most of the bodies showed horrendous battle-scarring, even down to thebone.Thedamagewasn’t justfromthewoundsthatkilledthem;thesewere

cartographiesdrawnoverlonglifetimesofwar.Blade-scoringandprojectileimpacts marked every skeleton. Cybernetic limbs and organs werecommonplace, disconnected from their anchors on the bodies now all softtissuehaddecayed.

The Imperiumwas so used to SpaceMarines as the Emperor’sAngels ofDeath;howwouldImperialcitizensreacttoseethistruthlaidbare?

Ishouldhavebeenabovesuchbias,but I’mas fallibleasanyoneelse. I’dgrownusedtotheinvincibilityofmenlikemymaster.I’ddressedAmadeusfor war mere hours ago, paying no heed to his flesh, focused only on themechanicsofsealinghiminceramite.Readinghisservicerecordwasadryrecitation; thenext timeIarrayedhimforbattle, IpromisedmyselfIwouldreadthestoriesonhisskin.

I moved on, deeper through the crypt. On the next level down, thingschanged.Thebodieswerebarely skeletal.Thedecayherewas the resultofdecades, not centuries, with evidence of hair, sinew and scraps of skinmarkingthecleanbones.

Andthebonesthemselves…

Thereweremonstersinterredhere.

This was mutation. At first I couldn’t distinguish between the results ofmisfires in the genetic process or warp-born malformation. These twistedsimulacra of SpaceMarines must have lived brief lives saturated by pain.Bloatedribcages.Swollenskulls.Witheredlimbs.Themosttellingsignofall:minisculedurametal threadingshowed,undecayed, in their rotten jointsandlayeredinwheretendonsoncecoatedbone.

ThesewereSecondGeneration.Primariswarriors.Livinganddyingwithinthe last century. Something had failed catastrophically during their growthprocesses.

Theirchestsandspinesalsoshowedthebone-markingsofanApothecary’scraft. I doubted their progenoid organs were taken for re-implanting. Farlikeliertheywereharvestedformedicaestudyorritualincineration.

None of them showed any sign of war wounds. The majority displayedterminalcranialdamage, inflictedby thepuncturingbiteofanApothecary’sreductor,evi