Solomon Demeter watched Julius Kaesoron and Marius Vairosean pass the Phoenix Gate, and the remainder of the Legion's captains that were not currently in battle filed in after them. Solomon could feel their weariness and nodded to them as they sat to either side of him, grateful to see that his friends had returned safely from yet another gruelling tour of duty on the planet below.

The cleansing of Laeran had been tough on them all. Fully three-quarters of the Legion's strength was in the field at any one time and there was little chance for respite in such a demanding war. No sooner had each company's warriors returned to the fleet for re-supply than they were sent into battle once more.

Lord Fulgrim's plan was audacious and brilliant, but left little room for rest and recuperation. Even the normally indefatigable Marius looked exhausted.

'How many?' asked Solomon, already fearing the answer.

'Eleven dead,' said Marius. 'Though I fear another may die before the day is out.'

'Seven,' sighed Julius. 'What about you?'

'Eight,' said Solomon. 'By the fire, this is brutal. And the others will have suffered a similar fate.'

'If not worse,' said Julius. 'Our companies are the best.'

Solomon nodded, knowing that Julius was not boasting, for such a thing was unknown to him, but simply stating a fact.

'New blood too,' he said, seeing two faces around the table that were new to the Brotherhood of the Phoenix. They bore the rank insignia of captain on their shoulder guards, the paint probably not even dry yet.

'Casualties are not confined to the rank and file warriors of the Legion,' said Marius. 'Good leaders must necessarily put themselves in harm's way to inspire the men they lead.'

'You don't need to quote the book to me, Marius,' said Solomon. 'I was there when they wrote that part. I practically invented going up the centre.'

'Did you also invent the concept of being the luckiest bastard alive?' cut in Julius. 'I've lost count of the number of times you ought to have been killed.'

Solomon smiled, pleased to see that the war on Laeran had not crushed everyone's spirits. 'Ah, Julius, the gods of battle love me and they wouldn't see me dead on this piss-poor excuse for a planet.'

'Don't say such things,' cautioned Marius.

'What things?'

'Talking of gods and the like,' said the captain of the Third. 'It is not seemly.'

'Ah, don't get upset, Marius,' smiled Solomon, clapping a hand on his friend's shoulder guard. 'There's only one god of battle around this table and I'm sitting next to him.'

Marius shrugged off his hand and said, 'Don't mock me, Solomon. I'm serious.'

'Don't I know it,' said Solomon, a hurt look on his face. 'You need to lighten up a little, my friend. We can't go around with grim faces all the time, can we?'

'War is a grim business, Solomon,' said Marius. 'Good men die and we are responsible for bringing them back alive. Each death lessens us and you would make jokes about it?'

'I don't think that's what Solomon meant,' began Julius, but Marius cut him off.

'Don't defend him, Julius, he knows what he said and I am heartsick of hearing him run his mouth while brave warriors are dying.'

Solomon was stung by Marius's words, and he felt his choler rising at the insult in his friend's words. He leaned close to Marius and said, 'I would never dream of making light of the fact that men are dying, but I know that a great many more would not come back alive if not for me. We all deal with war in different ways and if my way offends you then I am sorry, but I am who I am and I will change for no man.'

Solomon stared at Marius, practically daring him to prolong the unexpected argument, but his fellow captain shook his head and said, 'I am sorry, my friend. All this fighting has left me bellicose and I seek to find cause to vent my anger.'

'It's fine,' said Solomon, his anger draining away in an instant. 'You're so by the book that I can't help needling you from time to time, even when I know I shouldn't. I'm sorry.'

Marius offered his hand, which Solomon took, and said, 'War makes fools of us all, when never more are we required to maintain our standards.'

Solomon nodded and said, 'You're right, but I don't know any other way to be. I let Julius take care of the culture side of things. Speaking of which, how is that little stable of remembrancers you've been cultivating? Any new busts or portraits of you yet? I swear, Marius, soon you won't be able to turn a corner without seeing his face in a painting or carved in marble.'

'Just because you're too ugly to be immortalised in art doesn't mean that I shouldn't be,' grinned Julius, well used to Solomon's friendly barbs. 'And it's hardly a stable. Mistress Kynska's music is wondrous and yes, I hope to be the subject of a painting by Serena d'Angelus. Perfection exists in all things, my friends, not just war.'

'Ego this big…' chuckled Solomon, spreading his arms wide as the Phoenix Gate opened once more and Fulgrim entered, fully armoured and robed in a great cloak of feathers the colour of fire. The effect was magnificent, all conversation around the table ceasing in an instant as the Astartes gazed in awe at their beloved leader.

The assembled warriors stood and bowed their heads as the Primarch of the Emperor's Children took his place at the table. As always, Eidolon and Vespasian flanked the primarch, their armour similarly wreathed in cloaks of feathers. Each carried a staff topped with a small brazier of black iron that burned with a red flame.

Though the circular table was, in theory, supposed to do away with rank and position, there was no doubting who the master of this gathering was. Other Legions might have a more informal setting for their warrior lodges, but the Emperor's Children thrived on tradition and ritual, for in repetition came perfection.

'Brothers of the Phoenix,' said Fulgrim, 'in the fire I welcome you.'

Bequa Kynska sat at the wide desk of her stateroom aboard the Pride of the Emperor and stared at the blue world below her through the brass rimmed viewport. Though the scene was beautiful, she hardly saw it, still fuming over the blank pages of music before her and the rejection of Ostian Delafour.

Though the boy was plain and unassuming, with no great physical attributes to recommend him over the lovers she had taken over the years, he was young, and Bequa craved the adoration of the young above all else. They had such innocence, and to corrupt that with the bitterness of age and experience was one of the few pleasures left to her. Since her earliest years, Bequa had been able to have any man or woman she desired. Nothing had been beyond her. To be denied something now, when she had the opportunity to achieve the incredible, was supremely frustrating.

Her anger at Ostian's refusal of her advances gnawed at her and she swore a silent oath that he would pay for such effrontery.

No one rejected Bequa Kynska!

She placed her fingertips on her temple and gently circled them in an attempt to ease the headache she could feel building behind her eyes. The smooth, artificial texture of the skin felt cold to her and she dropped her hands to the desk. Surgical augmentations had kept the worst effects of her age from becoming visible, but although she was still considered beautiful, it was only a matter of time before human artifice would not be able to disguise the ravages of ageing.

She picked up the quill from the desk and her hand hovered over the page of musical staves, though each line was infuriatingly blank. She had spread the word that she was to compose a new triumphal symphony for the Lord Fulgrim, but thus far she had not put so much as a single note in the ledger.

Being selected to join the Remembrancer Order had been a great, if altogether expected honour, for who else could compete with Bequa Kynska's musical talents? It was a natural progression from her time at the Conservatoire de Musique, and the potential for new horizons and new conquests seemed limitless. In truth the spires of Terra had grown stale for Bequa, the same faces and the same platitudes heaped upon her, now ashen and tasteless after so long. What was new for her on Terra now that she had sampled every carnal and narcotic pleasure that her money could buy? What new sensations did a bleak, empty world like Terra have to offer a libertine of her epicurean palate?