I can do all of this, Lorgar. As you wish.

The primarch hesitated. ‘And before I return to the Imperium, there is one thing I must see above any other.’

Name it.

Lorgar smiled behind the emotionless faceplate. ‘Show me what happens if we lose.’

PART FIVE

CRUSADE’S END

ELEVEN

COUNCIL

The Fidelitas Lex

Four days after Isstvan V

MAGNUS WAS SILENT for a long time. Lorgar continued his writing, pausing only to tap the quill into one of the nearby inkpots. The traditionalist in him adored Colchisian rusticism; he couldn’t shake the lingering notion that Holy Scripture should not be written upon a data-slate, unless no other implements presented themselves. In truth, he enjoyed the expression of recording his thoughts and prayers through flowing cursive lettering. There was more beauty in such creation, and gave his apostles something to copy in its entirety.

‘Brother,’ Magnus said at last. ‘I remember banishing that vision of you from my tower. It was mere days ago for me. Strange to think of the games time plays with us, is it not?’

Lorgar finally laid the quill to rest. When he turned to Magnus, it was with amusement in his eyes, and something more. It took his brother several moments to really see it, to truly understand what was different.

Few things in the galaxy could unnerve Magnus the Red, but the sight of absolute conviction burning in the embers of Lorgar’s eyes was suddenly revealed to be one of them. He’d seen that look before, in the eyes of madmen, prophets and fanatics of alien races and other human worlds. Above all, he had seen it in the eyes of his father, the Emperor, where it warred with a patient affection. But he had never seen it in the eyes of a brother – never in the eyes of a being who commanded enough power to reshape the galaxy against the codes of the Imperium.

‘The Great Crusade is over,’ Lorgar smiled. ‘The true holy war begins now.’

‘Will you face Guilliman?’

Lorgar’s smile didn’t fade, though it took on a kinder warmth, rather than the full and unhealthy heat of fervour. ‘My Legion leaves for the Calth system as soon as Horus’s council concludes.’

Magnus’s image wavered, affected by his own unease. ‘That does not answer my question.’

‘The Ultramarines must be crippled at Calth. Their backs need to be broken, lest they race ahead to Terra and bolster our father’s defences.’

Magnus struggled to equate the purred assurances of military tactics with his most scholarly brother’s soft voice. It all seemed somehow incongruous, yet Lorgar had never looked so bizarrely complete. Gone were the furtive, soulful glances and the hesitations before speaking.

The duel with Corax had done more than grant him scars upon his face and throat.

‘That does not answer my question, either,’ Magnus pointed out.

‘My fleet will divide. We will storm Ultima Segmentum, for there is more to attack than Guilliman’s little empire.’

‘Where? Why?’

Lorgar’s chuckle sent distortions rippling through Magnus’s image. ‘You may know our plans when you join us fully.’

A chime sounded, followed by a stern, careful voice over the vox.

‘The Warmaster requests your presence, lord.’

Lorgar rose to his feet, not bothering to take his weapon this time. ‘Thank you, Erebus. Inform the Vengeful Spiritthat I am coming aboard immediately.’

THIS TIME, THE council chamber was almost empty. Lorgar dismissed his warrior escorts, letting Kor Phaeron lead them away. He walked to the central table alone, not concealing his bemusement at the lack of presences in the room.

‘Brothers,’ he greeted Horus and Angron.

The Warmaster’s expression was a sour indication of how he’d cast the atmosphere of indulgent fraternity aside. Angron’s distracted scowl showed he’d never paid heed to such a notion, anyway.

‘Lorgar,’ Horus fairly seethed the name through an insincere smile. Gone was the charismatic demigod so adored by his followers. In his place stood the truth offered by privacy: a brother among kin, and on the edge of black temper.

‘I came as requested,’ said the Word Bearer. ‘I see you have no desire to discuss Fulgrim.’

‘You have spoken your piece on our beloved brother. For now, you will have to trust me that all is in hand.’

Lorgar snorted. ‘I have seen horrors and truths you are only now beginning to imagine, Horus. It is you who should be trusting me.’

The Warmaster’s features were taut and blue-veined. He scarcely looked himself these nights.

‘I have trusted you, Lorgar. Look at what we brought about in this system. Now it is time for you to repay my trust with some of your own.’

‘Very well. But where is ‘‘Fulgrim’’?’

‘He walks the surface of Isstvan V once more, attending to the withdrawal of his Legion’s final forces. Now, enough of such talk. We have a great deal to plan.’

Lorgar shook his head. ‘No. Enough planning. We have spent months, years, speaking of plans. There is no more to discuss. I am taking my Legion into the galactic east. If all goes well, I will rejoin you on the crusade to Terra. If the battles go badly, then I will still rejoin you, though with significantly fewer warriors.’ He ended his assurances with a smile.

Angron stared into the middle distance, distracted by the stabbing thoughts of his neural implants. The occasional tic pulled his facial muscles tight, but he seemed to pay no attention to the conversation.

Horus released a slow breath. ‘We have argued over this many times, and I was a fool to let your enthusiasm run as wild as your imagination for this long. You do not have enough warriors to achieve what you plan.’

‘And I have told you, brother, my apostles are prepared to sail into Ultramar. We have made pacts with divine forces you still struggle to comprehend. Daemons, Horus – true daemons, born of the warp, will answer our summons. Our cargo holds heave with the bodies of faithful mortals, taken from the worlds we have conquered. The Seventeenth Legion has not been idle these last years.’

‘You need Legionaries.’ Horus leaned on the stellar cartography table, his fists eclipsing the galaxy’s outermost stars. ‘If you divide the Word Bearers fleet according to your desire, you will need more Legionaries.’

Lorgar threw his hands up in surrender. ‘Fine. Give them to me. Give me a few of your companies, and I will take them with me into the east.’

‘I will give you more than that,’ Horus gestured to the other brother in the chamber. ‘I will give you another Legion.’

Angron turned his scarred features upon Lorgar. His smile was the ugliest thing the prophet had ever seen.

TWELVE

COUNTERMEASURES

THE WORLD STILL smelled of betrayal. The smoky reek of it, thick and piquant, hung heavy in the air.

But then, that was no surprise. The civil war to divide the Imperium had begun there only four nights before. Many of the Legions loyal to Horus were still engaged in the arduous process of withdrawing their forces back into orbit. The pyre marking the final resting place of the tens of thousands of slain warriors was more than an ashen burial ground – it was a beacon of cinders, proclaiming the overthrowing of humanity’s stagnant oppressor. The blackened earth and scorched, empty suits of armour from over two hundred thousand Legionaries lay at the heart of a tank graveyard. Those war machines suitable for plunder were already claimed by the victorious Legions. The wrecks too far gone to repair sat where they’d died, consigned to rust and corrode when the rebels moved on.

Captain Axalian of Twenty-ninth Company watched his warriors’ progress from atop the burned-out hull of a Raven Guard Land Raider. The aquila still stood out upon his breastplate, as was his right as one of the Emperors Children Legion. Many of his brothers were already defiling the Imperial symbol as they altered their armour with little but their own blades and ingenuity, but he kept his wargear as pristine as possible. The emblem could be removed by the tech-adepts once his planet-side duties were complete. Until then, he would tolerate no damage to the ceramite he’d miraculously managed to keep unbroken through the insane battle earlier that week.