'Feels like a damned noose,' said Torgaddon, looking over his shoulder and mirroring Loken's thoughts perfectly.

'I know what you mean.'

'I don't like the mought of going in there, I can tell you that.'

'You're not afraid are you?' asked Loken, only half joking.

'Don't be flippant, Garvi,' said Torgaddon. 'For once I think you're right. There's something not right about this.'

Loken saw genuine concern in his friend's face, unsettled at seeing the joker Torgaddon suddenly serious. For all his bluster and informality, Tarik had good instincts and they had saved Loken's life on more than one occasion.

'What's on your mind?' he asked.

'I think this is a trap,' said Torgaddon. 'We're being funnelled here and it feels like it's to get us inside that ship.'

'I said as much to the Warmaster.'

'And what did he say?'

'What do you think?'

'Ah,' nodded Torgaddon. 'Well, you didn't seriously expect to change the commander's mind did you?'

'I thought I might have given him pause, but it's as if he's not listening to us any more. Erebus has made the commander so angry at Temba, he won't even consider any other option than going in and killing him with his bare hands.'

'So what do we do?' asked Torgaddon, and once again, Loken was surprised.

'We watch our backs, my friend. We watch our backs.'

'Good plan,' said Torgaddon. 'I hadn't thought of that. And here I was all set to walk into a potential trap with my guard down.'

That was the Torgaddon that Loken knew and loved.

The rear quarter of the crashed Glory of Terra reared up before them, its command decks pitched upwards at an angle, blotting out the diseased sky. It enveloped them in its dark, cold shadow, and Loken saw that getting into the ship would not be difficult. The gunfire from the Titans had blasted huge tears in its hull, and piles of debris had spilled from inside, forming great ramps of buckled steel like the rocky slopes before the walls of a breached fortress.

The Warmaster called a halt and began issuing his orders.

'Captain Sedirae, you and your assaulters will form the vanguard.'

Loken could practically feel Luc's pride at such an honour.

'Captain Moy, you will accompany me. Your flame and melta units will be invaluable in case we need to quickly cleanse an area or breach bulkheads.'

Verulam Moy nodded, his quiet reserve more dignified than Luc's eagerness to impress the Warmaster with his ardour.

'What are your orders, Warmaster?' asked Erebus, his grey armoured Word Bearers at attention behind their first chaplain. 'We stand ready to serve.'

'Erebus, take your warriors over to the other side of the ship. Find a way in and then rendezvous with me in the middle. If that bastard Temba tries to run, I want him crushed between us.'

The first chaplain nodded his understanding and led his warriors off into the shadow of the mighty vessel. Then the Warmaster turned to the Mournival.

'Ezekyle, use the signal locator on my armour to form overlapping echelons around my left. Little Horus, take my right. Torgaddon and Loken, form the rear. Secure this area and our line of withdrawal. Understood?'

The Warmaster delivered the orders with his trademark efficiency, but Loken was aghast at being left to cover the rear of their advance. He could see that the others of the Mournival, especially Torgaddon, were similarly surprised. Was this the Warmaster's way of punishing him for daring to question his orders or for suggesting that he should not be leading the speartip? To be left behind?

'Understood?' repeated Horus and all four members of the Mournival nodded their assent.

'Then let's move out,' snarled the Warmaster. 'I have a traitor to kill.'

Luc Sedirae led the assaulters, the bulky back burners of their jump packs easily carrying them up towards the black tears in the side of the ship. As Loken expected, Luc was first inside, vanishing into the darkness with barely a pause. His warriors followed him and were soon lost to sight, as Abaddon and Aximand found other ways inside, clambering up the debris to reach the still smoking holes that the Titans had torn. Aximand gave him a quick shrug as he led his own squads upwards, and Loken watched them go, unable to believe that he would not be fighting alongside his brothers as they went into battle.

The Warmaster himself strode up the piled debris as easily as a man might ascend a gently sloping hill, Verulam Moy and his weapons specialists following in his wake.

Within moments, they were alone on the desolate mudflats, and Loken could sense the confusion in his warriors. They stood awkwardly, awaiting orders to send them into the fight, but he had none to give them.

Torgaddon saved him from his stupefaction, bellowing out commands and lighting a fire under the Astartes left behind. They spread out to form a cordon around their position, Nero Vipus's scouts taking up position at the edge of the mist, and Brakespur climbing up the slopes to guard the entrances to the Glory of Terra.

'Just what exactly did you say to the commander?' asked Torgaddon, squelching back through the mud towards him.

Loken cast his mind back to the words that had passed between himself and the Warmaster since they had set foot on Davin's moon, searching for some offence that he might have given. He could find nothing serious enough to warrant his and Torgaddon's exclusion from the battle against Temba.

'Nothing,' he said, 'just what I told you.'

'This doesn't make any sense,' said Torgaddon, attempting to wipe some mud from his face, but only serving to spread it further across his features. 'I mean, why leave us out of all the fun. I mean, come on, Moy?'

'Verulam's a competent officer,' said Loken.

'Competent?' scoffed Torgaddon. 'Don't get me wrong, Garvi, I love Verulam like a brother, but he's a file officer. You know it and I know it and while there's nothing wrong with that and Emperor knows we need good file officers, he's not the sort the Warmaster should have at his side at a time like this.'

Loken couldn't argue with Tarik's logic, having had the same reaction upon hearing the Warmaster's orders. 'I don't know what to tell you, Tarik. You're right, but the commander has given his orders and we are pledged to obey him.'

'Even when we know those orders make no sense?'

Loken had no answer to that.

The Warmaster and Verulam Moy led the van of the speartip through the dark and oppressive interior of the Glory of Terra, its arched passageways canted at unnatural angles and its bulkheads warped and rusted with decay. Brackish water dripped through sections open to the elements, and a reeking wind gusted through the creaking hallways like a cadaver's breath. Diseased streamers of black fungus and dangling fronds of rotted matter brushed against their heads and helmets, leaving slimy trails of sticky residue behind.

The perforated floors were treacherous and uneven, but the Astartes made good time, pushing ever upwards through the halls of putrefaction towards the command decks.

Regular, static-laced communication with Sedirae's vanguard informed them of his progress ahead of them, the ship apparently lifeless and deserted. Even though the vanguard was relatively close, Sedirae's voice was chopped with interference, every third word or so unintelligible.

The deeper into the ship they penettated, the worse it got.

'Ezekyle?' said the Warmaster, opening the vox-mic on his gorget. 'Progress report.'

Abaddon's voice was barely recognisable, as crackling pops and wet hissing overlaid it with meaningless babble.

'Moving… th… gh the lowe… rat… decks… keep… We have… flank… master.'

Horus tapped his gorget. 'Ezekyle? Damn it.'