‘We were too late for them,’ Numeon said, grimly.

‘We are not too late for Traoris,’ said Pergellen. ‘The cleric will die, but without the element of surprise we will need to draw him out. We won’t fail, Numeon.’

‘Ever since Isstvan. Since Vulkan…’ Numeon faltered.

Pergellen gripped his shoulder.

‘You told me you believe he still lives, Numeon. Don’t abandon your faith in that belief.’

‘I haven’t, even if I am the only one. I wish bitterly, though, that there was some sign, anything to give us hope.’ Again, he reminded himself that he could not trust the prisoner. ‘I have never felt this before… this… doubtthat I feel now.’

‘I have lost my progenitor. His body lies headless amongst a field of our dead. Yougive me hope now. I follow you as my captain. You gave us all a purpose beyond vengeful fatalism. If you must believe in something, believe in that.’

Numeon smiled – wearily, but honestly. ‘I do. I hold to it. How many times I wished I had died on Isstvan Five with my brothers and instead ended up here, trying to make sense of this madness, trying to do something that still matters.’

‘ This, here, now – this matters.’

Numeon nodded, finding strength.

The Iron Hand released his grip as the need for it faded.

‘I assume we are not staying here,’ he said.

Numeon shook his head. ‘This place is compromised. We’re moving.’

‘Will you inform the Fire Ark?’

‘No. It’s possible atmospheric communication could be intercepted. Then the zealots really will know where to come and kill us.’

‘Then I’ll summon our quartermaster to come and break down our gear.’

‘Thank you, brother. Tell Domadus I’ll be in the vehicle yard.’

‘What’s to be done with the human?’

‘He comes with us. He’s keeping secrets.’

‘Couldn’t Hriak prise his mind open and wrench them out?’

Numeon shrugged. ‘If we wanted him dead, I dare say he could. He’s watching him now.’

‘And do we not? Want the human dead, I mean. He’s a liability and will slow us down.’

Numeon shook his head. ‘You are a cold breed, you Iron Hands.’

‘I saved your life, didn’t I?’

Now the Salamander laughed, though Pergellen wasn’t making a joke. ‘You did, yes. I want to speak to the human again. He knows something. Besides, the cleric wants him. We might be able to use that.’

‘So he’s not a prisoner at all then,’ said Pergellen, ‘he’s bait. And you say I’m cold.’

Numeon replied without humour. ‘I’m pragmatic, brother. And I will do anythingto kill this Word Bearer cleric.’

‘Even if it means our lives and the life of this man?’

‘Yes, even that. I would sacrifice all of it to stop them, to prevent another Viralis.’

‘And that, Artellus, is why I saved you.’

The two warriors parted, the Iron Hand headed for the printing works where they were holding the prisoner.

As Numeon returned to the vehicle yard, he tried to remain focused on his address to the other legionaries, but two words kept repeating in his mind. He barely dared to hope they were true. Vulkan lives.

CHAPTER NINE

Honouring the dead

‘Day after day, day after day,

We stuck, nor breath nor motion;

As idle as a painted ship

Upon a painted ocean.’

– From ‘The Rhym of the Ancyent Starfarer’

by the bard Colwrit

Twenty-three legionaries comprised Numeon’s company, himself included. It was barely more than two squads. The majority were Salamanders, mainly line warriors with a few Pyroclasts, as well as himself and Leodrakk from the Pyre Guard. A pair of battle-brothers and Codicier Hriak represented the Ravens. And of the Iron Hands Legion, there were only Domadus and Pergellen. Ever since the evacuation from the Isstvan killing fields, there had been no contact with any other Legion force.

Their vessel, the Fire Ark, had been badly damaged in the exodus from Isstvan V. Some weapon systems were still functional, though these were insufficient to last long against a fully operational ship of the same calibre. Life support, power for lighting on certain decks, the engines and warp drive still worked, albeit at a reduced and unreliable capacity. Communications were another matter, however. Shipboard vox worked well enough but long-distance augurs and the sensorium arrays were beyond repair and use. Even ship-to-surface vox was extremely patchy. Captain Halder had achieved the near-impossible in effecting a successful escape, but they had limped on ever since and knew nothing of the greater war. Or even if there was a greater war. For all they knew, everyone was dead and Horus had won.

Numeon refused to believe that. Just as he refused to believe that Vulkan had died along with Lord Manus. He hadn’t seen the primarch fall, but the news from their fellow survivors who had was as compelling as it was grim. They fought on, hoping that others did too.

In the vehicle yard, his broken company were currently stood down.

Some were sitting on storage crates, checking weapons, aligning targeters or reloading. He recognised Daka’rai, K’gosi and Uzak huddled around a fire. The three Salamanders weren’t keeping warm, they were speaking oaths and blackening their gauntlets in the flames to seal each pact. More than ever, the different legionaries fell back on their native rituals and customs to give them resolve and purpose.

Others were less clandestine and spent their downtime making battlefield repairs on armour, or testing and refocusing retinal lens resolution, or running biometrics. One legionary, a Salamander called Helon, was performing field surgery on one of the Ravens who’d been injured when a gunship had crash-landed during planetfall. The gunship was no longer operable, but Shaka would live. Helon was not a trained Apothecary, but in the absence of such a specialist he had adapted.

The Raven’s rookery brother, Avus, was squatted atop an iron gantry that overlooked the yard, keeping watch. Hriak was nowhere to be seen, but Numeon knew that the Librarian would be close by if he were needed.

Leodrakk had been waiting for Numeon to appear, and left his guarded conversation with Kronor to go and speak with him.

‘Pyre captain,’ he said, crafting a small bow. ‘How fares our prisoner?’

‘He lives, no thanks to you.’

Leodrakk had removed his battle-helm. It was sitting in the crook of his arm, so Numeon saw him lower his eyes at the mild reprimand from his captain.

‘You have heard Pergellen’s news,’ he offered, changing the subject.

‘I have.’

Leodrakk smiled coldly. ‘I wished for this moment. We will finally get our deserved revenge.’

‘We’re leaving, Leo.’

‘What?’

‘We can’t stay here, not now our enemies have learned of us.’

‘What does it change? Let them come. We shall be waiting.’ He clenched his fist in emphasis.

‘No, brother. We won’t be. They have many times our numbers. This place is hardly a fortress. We could not hold it against an army, and besides, we did not come here to die a vainglorious death.’

Leodrakk stepped forwards, prompting Numeon to do the same until their breastplates almost touched.

‘Yes, brother?’ asked Numeon levelly, breathing in the scent of hot ash drifting from Leodrakk’s mouth.

For a moment Leodrakk looked as if he were about to say or do something foolish. Numeon had to remind himself that Pyre Guard were not like other Salamanders. They were forged of a fierce, independent spirit; it was how Vulkan had shaped them.

‘I have Ska’s blood on my hands,’ Leodrakk whispered, but backed down. ‘ Literally, brother.’

In the face of his brother’s grief, Numeon relented. He gripped Leo’s shoulder guard as Pergellen had done for him.

‘I know, Leo. I was there.’