‘Picking up some garbled comm traffic,’ one of the attendants reported. Valerius sat bolt upright, turning on the bench to Branne. ‘World Eaters protocols. Trying to crack them now, commander.’

‘Who are they signalling?’ asked Branne.

‘General Legion broadcast, commander,’ the aide replied. ‘Also picking up registers of Word Bearers and Emperor’s Children signals. They seem to be communicating with the Sons of Horus.’

Valerius seemed to become even paler, if that was possible. He met Branne’s narrowed gaze with a wild look.

‘The World Eaters, Emperor’s Children and Word Bearers?’ he said. ‘All of them turned?’

Branne said nothing, finding such a treachery impossible to comprehend. He tried to think of some other explanation for what they had discovered but could not escape the truth. This was no simple rebellion; this was the birth of civil war.

He sat in his command throne, armour servos creaking and whining as his fingers tightened on the arms. Head bowed, he tried to clear his thoughts, to come up with a plan of action. What had happened made no sense and his mind kept coming back to an unanswered question.

‘What of the primarch and the Legion?’ he asked quietly.

‘No Raven Guard transmission detected, commander,’ said the communications orderly. ‘We’ve scanned all Legion frequencies and beyond, but no recognisable signatures detected.’

Branne sighed. His earlier fears had come true, and Valerius’s dire predictions also. The Raven Guard were no more.

‘Signal the fleet to prepare for new course orders,’ he said.

‘What?’ Valerius was on his feet. ‘Change course for where?’

‘Out of here,’ said Branne. ‘We’re too late.’

‘There may be survivors,’ said Valerius. He opened his hands imploringly towards the commander. ‘We have to at least get closer to find out the truth.’

‘That can come later,’ said Branne. ‘Our immediate task is to elude detection and leave the system in one piece. After that we can work out what happened.’

‘Commander, we are picking up a broad-beam transmission from the surface of Isstvan V,’ said the comms officer.

‘Directed to us?’ said Branne, taken aback.

‘No, commander, it is a general broadcast. Minimal encryption. You should hear this.’

‘Very well,’ said Branne, leaning back in his command throne.

The voice that boomed from the speakers was edged with madness, every syllable spat like a curse.

‘…nd then we shall crush the misguided sons of Corax completely. They think they can evade us forever? They are wrong! I will hunt down Corax and break him myself. The Raven Guard have nowhere left to run. In two days our victory will be complete and the last survivors will be crushed by the World Eaters. Blood demands victory, and we shall let it flow!’

‘That can only be Angron,’ said Branne when the transmission was cut. On the one hand, he was elated that Corax and the Legion still survived; on the other, it seemed that survival would not last much longer. ‘Can you source that transmission?’ he demanded, standing up.

‘Better, commander,’ replied the technician. ‘There are planetary coordinates attached to the signal, indicating where the World Eaters plan to attack, calling for orbital support.’

Pushing aside his doubts and confusion, Branne set his mind in motion. A strategy immediately sprang to mind, but it was risky. He reconsidered, analysing his options, but was drawn to the same conclusion. A third evaluation did not suggest any alternatives.

‘Marcus, I need you to signal your fleet,’ Branne announced. ‘Tell them to make full speed for Isstvan IV.’

‘Isstvan IV? Not Isstvan V? And won’t full speed make us instantly visible on every scanner within range?’

‘That is my intent,’ said Branne.

‘A decoy.’ Valerius spoke flatly, as if his last shred of emotion had been drained from him. ‘You want to use my ships and men as decoys.’

Branne nodded and said nothing. Valerius closed his eyes and pinched his nose, as if he had a headache. He nodded to himself, jaw clenched.

‘Very well,’ said the praefector, opening his eyes to stare at the Raven Guard commander with resignation. ‘I shall return to my flagship and make the preparations.’

‘No, you will continue to serve here,’ said Branne. ‘As we agreed, you do not leave my side.’

‘You still do not trust me?’ The praefector sighed heavily. ‘What more proof do you need?’

‘When the primarch is safe and our brothers aboard, I might trust you then,’ said Branne. ‘Until that time, you stay here.’

‘You plan an evacuation under fire,’ said Valerius. ‘I’ll have my transports send over as many shuttles and drop-ships as your flight bays can hold.’

‘That would be good,’ said Branne. ‘Let us hope that we need that many.’

WITH A GROWL, Delerax jabbed a finger onto the transmission key.

‘I do not care what problems you are having,’ he snarled. ‘Run the reactors at one hundred and twenty per cent.’

‘We risk plasmic extrapolation, lieutenant-commander,’ the engineer replied. ‘It could shut down the whole system.’

‘The greatest battle in the World Eaters’ history is about to take place on Isstvan V,’ said the lieutenant-commander. ‘Do you think I want to arrive late for that? You have your orders, I expect them to be obeyed.’

Delerax cut off the response and whirled towards the navigation officers.

‘And you!’ he snapped. ‘I want to hear no more about gravity wells and safe distances. Get me to Isstvan V by the shortest route. No excuses!’

The helmsman nodded nervously and turned his gaze back to the controls. Delerax continued to stalk the bridge, seeking any way to get to the battle even faster. Angron was due to initiate his final assault on the Raven Guard in six hours and Delerax was determined that he would be there to take part. Already the rest of the flotilla had been left half a day behind, unable to keep up with the battle-barge’s superior power. The Dedicated Wrathwould be on hand to rain down fire on the remnants of Corax’s Legion, whatever it took. If all went well, Delerax would be able to join in the fighting directly. Drop-pods were being prepared for a combat launch.

The World Eater smiled at the thought of butchering some Raven Guard. Kordassis noticed his commander’s expression and joined him beside his chair.

‘We will have our chance this time,’ said the captain. ‘The slight against us at the dropsite will be expunged.’

‘Did you not hear the Warmaster’s words?’ Delerax replied quietly, a sneer twisting his lips. ‘To take part in the fleet battle was a great honour, essential to our victory.’

‘It was an insult,’ said Kordassis. ‘The primarch saw it for what it was and did the right thing. To simply obliterate a foe from afar lacks glory. What honour is there when one cannot see the life fade from the eyes of a fallen enemy or smell the blood spilling from his wounds?’

‘None,’ agreed Delerax. His implant buzzed in response to his mood, sending a jolt through his thoughts. ‘The cowards of the Raven Guard will be shown the true face of war.’

‘And what of the Warmaster’s ambassador?’ whispered Kordassis. ‘What if he chooses to interfere again?’

‘He is but a single warrior,’ said Delerax. ‘He is no longer relevant.’

‘I understand,’ said Kordassis. ‘Do you want me to deal with him now?’

The thought entertained Delerax, a murderous impulse stimulated by his implant. He quivered as he pictured Horus’s representative lying mangled at his feet but fought through the urge to kill.

‘No,’ he told Kordassis. ‘There is no reason to risk the Warmaster’s displeasure, as satisfying as it might be. Just be ready should I need you.’

‘I’ll be ready,’ said Kordassis with a grin. ‘Have no worry about that.’

DELERAX CHECKED THE chronometer again. Four hours until the assault began. He was pleased, knowing that he would reach orbit in time to take part. The drop-pods were prepared for immediate launch, his twenty-strong bodyguard ready for the attack.