'Surely, brother, you can conceive of a time when all worlds have been brought into one unity of Imperial rule. Isn't that the dream we strive to realise?'

Sigismund stared into Loken's face. 'Brother Loken, I have heard much about you, all of it good. I had not imagined I would discover such naivety in you. We will spend our lives fighting to secure this Imperium, and then I fear we will spend the rest of our days fighting to keep it intact. There is such involving darkness amongst the stars. Even when the Imperium is complete, there will be no peace. We will be obliged to fight on to preserve what we have fought to establish. Peace is a vain wish. Our crusade may one day adopt another name, but it will never truly end. In the far future, there will be only war.’

'I think you're wrong.’ Loken said.

'How innocent you are.’ Sigismund mocked, 'and I thought the Luna Wolves were supposed to be the most aggressive of us all. That's how you like the other Legions to think of you, isn't it? The most feared of mankind's warrior classes?'

'Our reputation speaks for itself, sir.’ said Loken.

'As does the reputation of the Imperial Fists.’ Sigismund replied. 'Are we going to scrap about it now? Argue which Legion is toughest?'

'The answer, always, is the Wolves of Fenris.’ Torgad-don put in, 'because they are clinically insane.’ He grinned broadly, sensing the tension, and wishing to dispel it. 'If you're comparing sane Legions, of course, the question becomes more complex. Primarch Roboute's Ultramarines make a good show, but then there are so bloody many of them. The Word Bearers,

the White Scars, the Imperial Fists, oh, all have fine records. But the Luna Wolves, ah me, the Luna Wolves. Sigismund, in a straight fight? Do you really think you'd have a hope? Honestly? Your yellow ragamuffins against the best of the best?'

Sigismund laughed. 'Whatever helps you sleep, Tarik. Terra bless us all it is a paradigm that will never be tested.’

'What brother Sigismund isn't telling you, Garviel.’ Torgaddon said, 'is that his Legion is going to miss all the glory. It's to be withdrawn. He's quite miffed about

it.’

Tarik is being selective with the truth.’ Sigismund snorted. 'The Imperial Fists have been commanded by the Emperor to return to Terra and establish a guard around him there. We are chosen as his Praetorians. Now who's miffed, Luna Wolf?'

'Not I.’ said Torgaddon. 'I'll be winning laurels in war while you grow fat and lazy minding the home fires.’

'You're quitting the crusade?' Loken asked. 'I had heard something of this.’

The Emperor wishes us to fortify the Palace of Terra and guard its bulwarks. This was his word at the Ullanor Triumph. We have been the best part of two years tying up our business so we might comply with his desires. Yes, we're going home to Terra. Yes, we will sit out the rest of the crusade. Except that I believe there will be plenty of crusade left once we have been given leave to quit Earth, our duty done. You won't finish this, Luna Wolves. The stars will have long forgotten your name when the Imperial Fists war abroad again.’

Torgaddon placed his hand on the hilt of his chainsword, playfully. 'Are you so keen to be slapped down by me for your insolence, Sigismund?'

'I don't know. Is he?'

Rogal Dorn suddenly towered behind them. 'Does Sigismund deserve a slap, Captain Torgaddon? Probably. In the spirit of comradeship, let him be. He bruises easily.’

All of them laughed at the primarch's words. The barest hint of a smile flickered across Rogal Dorn's lips. 'Loken.’ he said, gesturing. Loken followed the massive primarch to the far corner of the chamber. Behind them, Sigismund and Efried continued to sport with the others of the Mournival, and elsewhere Horus sat in intense conference with Maloghurst.

'We are charged to return to the homeworld.’ Dorn said, conversationally. His voice was low and astonishingly soft, like the lap of water on a distant beach, but there was a strength running through it, like the tension of a steel cable. The Emperor has asked us to fortify the Imperial stronghold, and who am I to question the Emperor's needs? I am glad he recognises the particular talents of the VII Legion.'

Dorn looked down at Loken. "You're not used to the likes of me, are you, Loken?' 'No, lord.’

'I like that about you. Ezekyle and Tank, men like them have been so long in the company of your lord, they think nothing of it. You, however, understand that a primarch is not like a man, or even an Astartes. I'm not talking about strength. I'm talking about the weight of responsibilty.’ Yes, lord.’

Dorn sighed. The Emperor has no like, Loken. There are no gods in this hollow universe to keep him company. So he made us, demi-gods, to stand beside him. I have never quite come to terms with my status. Does that surprise you? I see what I am capable of, and what is expected of me, and I shudder. The mere fact of me

frightens me sometimes. Do you think your lord Horus ever feels that way?'

'I do not, lord.’ Loken said. 'Self-confidence is one of his keenest qualities.’

'I think so too, and I am glad of it. There could be no better Warmaster than Horus, but a man, even a primarch, is only as good as the counsel he receives, especially if he is utterly self-confident. He must be tempered and guided by those close to him.’

You speak of the Mournival, sir.’

Rogal Dorn nodded. He gazed out through the armoured glass wall at the scintillating expanse of the starfield. You know that I've had my eye on you? That I spoke in support of your election?'

'I have been told so, lord. It baffles and flatters me.’

'My brother Horus needs an honest voice in his ear. A voice that appreciates the scale and import of our undertaking. A voice that is not blase in the company of demi-gods. Sigismund and Efried do this for me. They keep me honest. You should do the same for your lord.'

'I will endeavour to-' Loken began.

They wanted Luc Sedirae or Iacton Qruze. Did you know that? Both names were considered. Sedirae is a battle-hungry killer, so much like Abaddon. He would say yes to anything, if it meant war-glory. Qruze - you call him the "half-heard" I'm told?'

'We do, lord.’

'Qruze is a sycophant. He would say yes to anything if it meant he stayed in favour. The Mournival needs a proper, dissenting opinion.’

'A naysmith.’ Loken said.

Dorn flashed a real smile. Yes, just so, like the old dynasts did! A naysmith. Your schooling's good. My brother Horus needs a voice of reason in his ear, if he is to rein in his eagerness and act in the Emperor's stead. Our other brothers, some of them quite demented by

the choice of Horus, need to see he is firmly in control. So I vouched for you, Garviel Loken. I examined your record and your character, and thought you would be the right mix in the alloy of the Mournival. Don't be insulted, but there is something very human about you, Loken, for an Astartes.’

'I fear, my lord, that my helm will no longer fit me, you have swelled my head so with your compliments.’

Dorn nodded. 'My apologies.’

'You spoke of responsibility. I feel that weight suddenly, terribly.’

'You're strong, Loken. Astartes-built. Endure it.’

'I will, lord.’

Dorn turned from the armoured port and looked down at Loken. He placed his great hands gently on Loken's shoulders. 'Be yourself. Just be yourself. Speak your mind plainly, for you have been granted the rare opportunity to do so. I can return to Terra confident that the crusade is in safe hands.’

'I wonder if your faith in me is too much, lord.’ Loken said. 'As fervent as Sedirae, I have just proposed a war-'

'I heard you speak. You made the case well. That is all part of your role now. Sometimes you must advise. Sometimes you must allow the Warmaster to use you.’