‘It is to you that I am bestowing the greatest honour, Branne,’ said the primarch. ‘As a reward for coming to our rescue, I am placing you in charge of rebuilding the Legion. There is no more important task I could give to you. In your hands will be the future of the Raven Guard.’

Branne thought about this for a moment, his confidence restored a little by Corax’s words. He looked at the others and saw them nodding in agreement with the primarch, sincerity in their expressions.

‘I accept the honour, lord, of course,’ said Branne, bowing his head. ‘But, still…’ he muttered to himself. ‘Running around with the Scouts?’

‘There will not be any more Scouts,’ said Corax, his acute hearing catching Branne’s slight whisper. ‘The existing Scout squads will become part of Solaro’s recon forces. Any of them that are close to full initiation will be given their black carapaces and taken into the Talons. Your recruits will have to learn to fight as full warriors from the outset; we do not have years to train them cautiously.’

This brightened Branne’s mood further and he felt some contentment at his allotted role. The discussion moved on to other topics, including the need to replenish the Legion’s stock of weapons and ammunition as well as its warriors. A full audit of all armour, armaments, vehicles and ships would need to be undertaken to evaluate the extent to which the Raven Guard’s claws had been dulled.

‘What of the rest of the fleet?’ asked Solaro. He looked at Branne. ‘Any sign that any of our ships escaped?’

‘Unlikely,’ said Branne. ‘A few might have been able to get away, but I would not hold out any hope. We detected no transmissions, though any Raven Guard vessel would have been running silent by the time we arrived.’

‘The Shadow of the Emperorwas certainly destroyed,’ said Corax, referring to his flagship, ‘along with the escort flotilla. I received their stand-to and distress broadcasts when the Traitors opened fire. It was cut off within minutes, too soon for the reflex shields to have been raised, and against such numbers that would have been the only defence.’

Silence followed, a tension brought about by mention of the treacherous act committed by Horus and the Legions that had sided with him. Branne saw Agapito unconsciously hunch his shoulders, a distant look in his eyes. Solaro’s gauntlets formed fists on the table while Aloni bowed his head in contemplation, eyes closed.

‘The fallen will be avenged.’

Corax’s words were a whisper, but spoken with such vehemence that Branne did not doubt his primarch for a moment.

The chime of the door broke the pregnant atmosphere within the chamber. Corax operated the control and the double doors slid open to reveal a human member of the crew dressed in a white tunic and black leggings, a digital slate in his hand. Even the Avenger’s internal vox frequencies had been suspended to conserve energy usage, so that a number of the fittest serfs and crew were employed as runners to convey orders and messages around the battle-barge.

‘Forgive the intrusion, lord, masters, but Controller Ephrenia sends word that we are within nominal scanning range of Isstvan IV,’ the messenger reported.

‘Very good,’ said Corax. ‘Tell Ephrenia to divert twenty per cent reactor capacity from engines to the surveyor arrays. I will join her shortly.’

The serf bowed and left the commanders with their primarch.

‘Someone should inform Marcus,’ said Branne.

‘Marcus?’ asked Corax.

‘Praefector Valerius,’ explained Branne, ‘the ranking officer of the Therions. It was his ships and men I sent to Isstvan IV.’

Branne did not mention that it was also Valerius’s strange dreams that had eventually prompted him to come to Isstvan in the first place, overruling his primarch’s orders to garrison Deliverance. The whole matter had been unsettling for Branne, and it was something he wished to discuss with his lord in private. An occasion had not yet arisen to do so.

‘As you say,’ said Corax, gesturing for the commanders to precede him to the door. ‘Inform the praefector that we can spare seven hours to perform a sweep for his ships, no more. He is welcome to join me on the strategium during the operation.’

Branne nodded and went, leaving the chamber before the others. Three youths, two boys and a girl, stood to one side in the corridor beyond, dressed in simple tunics and hose. Branne gestured for one of them to step forwards.

‘Take a message to Praefector Valerius, ask him…’ Branne stopped himself. ‘Never mind, I will see him myself. Stand down.’

The commander turned aft and strode away quickly as the others came out of the chamber. He would have to tell Lord Corax about the dreams soon, but it would be better if Valerius did not say anything just yet. When they were away from Isstvan and the situation was calmer, the two of them could broach the thorny subject.

TWO

A Primarch’s Summons

Ghosting By Reflex

The Cabal Steers a Path

‘WHAT IS IT?’ Marcus asked as he heard his manservant, Pelon, calling his name.

The praefector was lying on his bunk, a thin treatise on naval tactics held in his hands, though he had read the last page more than a dozen times since Corax had come on board and not taken in a word of it. He had yet to see the primarch, a matter that gave him a small measure of regret, but equal relief.

‘Commander Branne to see you, master,’ Pelon informed him. The youth stepped through the doorway from the main room into the bunk chamber, swathed in the shadow of the legionary behind him.

Marcus swiftly hauled himself from the bed and tucked the tail of his shirt into his breeches. He smoothed his hair with a quick hand as Pelon stepped aside and ushered Branne into the small bunk room.

‘Commander, I am honoured,’ said Marcus, bowing briefly. ‘I thought you would be busy with other duties.’

‘I am,’ said Branne, his expression hard. He glanced at Pelon.

‘Leave us please, Pelon,’ said Marcus. ‘Perhaps you could head to the officers’ galley and inquire after my luncheon?’

Pelon nodded and left them. Branne said nothing until the outer door had hissed open and closed with a dull thud.

‘Lord Corax has permitted us seven hours to search for your fleet,’ said the commander. ‘No more than that.’

‘A vain search, I fear,’ sighed Marcus. He sat down on a low, plain couch and gestured an invitation to Branne to do the same. The commander declined with a shake of the head and a scowl.

‘You are also invited to attend the primarch on the stategium.’

‘Invited?’ Marcus smiled. ‘That is most welcome. I have been eager to pass on my regards to Lord Corax since his arrival.’

‘The dreams, Marcus, have they stopped?’ Branne loomed over the army officer, arms folded across his massive chest.

‘Yes, thankfully, yes they have,’ said Marcus. ‘The ravens call no more, the fires have burned out in my nightmares.’

‘That is good,’ said Branne, his expression lightening slightly. He bent one knee so that his face was level with Marcus’s. ‘It would not be wise to distract Lord Corax with unnecessary concerns.’

‘Unnecessary concerns? I am not sure what you mean, commander.’

‘Don’t mention the dreams when you see the primarch.’

‘Well, I wasn’t going to blurt it out in front of everyone on the strategium, if that’s what you were thinking,’ said Marcus, offended by the suggestion. ‘It is a delicate matter, I understand that.’

‘More than delicate, Marcus.’ Branne’s eyes were intent, his expression ferocious. ‘There may be something unnatural about those dreams. It is not normal for a man to know what happens to another light years distant.’

‘Of course there is something abnormal,’ said Marcus. ‘It is not natural for a man to have such dreams, but I think Lord Corax is far from natural.’