False Gods

Why wouldn't people be able to read her work? Then she saw the cold, merciless light in Horus's eyes.

'My lord, I'm not sure I understand you,’ she said, halt­ingly.

Yes you do,’

'No…' she whispered, backing away from him.

The Warmaster followed her, his steps slow and mea­sured. When we spoke in the apothecarion I let you look inside Pandora's Box, Miss Vivar, and for that I am truly sorry. Only one person has a need to know the things in my head, and that person is me. The things I have seen and done, the things I am going to do…'

'Please, my lord,’ said Petronella, backing out of her writing room and into the receiving room. 'If you are

unhappy with what I've written, it can be revised, edited. I would give you approval on everything, of course,’

Horus shook his head, drawing closer to her with every step.

Petronella felt her eyes fill with tears and she knew that this couldn't be happening. The Warmaster would not be trying to scare her. They must be playing some cruel joke on her. The idea of the Astartes making a fool of her stung Petronella's wounded pride and the part of her that had snapped angrily at the Warmaster upon their first meeting rose to the surface.

'I am the Palatina Majoria of House Carpinus and Г demand that you respect that!' she cried, standing firm before the Warmaster. Той can't scare me like this,’

'I'm not trying to scare you,’ said Horus, reaching out to hold her by the shoulders.

'You're not?' asked Petronella, his words filling her with relief. She'd known that this couldn't be right, that there had to be some mistake.

'No,’ said Horus, his hands sliding towards her neck. 'I am illuminating you,’

Her neck broke with one swift snap of his wrist.

The medicae cell was cramped, but clean and well maintained. Mersadie Oliton sat by the bed and wept softly to herself, tears running freely down her coal dark skin. Kyril Sindermann sat with her and he too shed tears as he held the hand of the bed's occupant.

Euphrati Keeler lay, unmoving, her skin pale and smooth, with a sheen to it that made it look like pol­ished ceramic. Since she had faced the horror in Archive Chamber Three, she had lain unmoving and unrespon­sive in this medicae bay.

Sindermann had told Mersadie what had happened and she found herself torn between wanting to believe him and calling him delusional. His talk of a daemon

and of Euphrati standing before it with the power of the Emperor pouring through her was too fantastical to be true… wasn't it? She wondered if he'd told anyone else of it.

The apothecaries and medics could find nothing phys­ically wrong with Euphrati Keeler, save for the eagle shaped bum on her hand that refused to fade. Her vital signs were stable and her brain wave activity registered normal: no one could explain it and no one had any idea how to wake her from this coma-like state.

Mersadie came to visit Euphrati as often as she could, but she knew that Sindermann came every day, spending several hours at a time with her. Sometimes they would sit together, talking to Euphrati, telling her of the events happening on the planets below, the battles that had been fought, or simply passing on ship gossip.

Nothing seemed to reach the imagist, and Mersadie sometimes wondered if it might not be a kindness to let her die. What could be worse for a person like Euphrati than being trapped by her own flesh, with no ability to reason, to communicate or express herself.

She and Sindermann had arrived together today and each instantly knew that the other had been crying. The news of Ignace Karkasy's suicide had hit them all hard and Mersadie still couldn't believe how he could have done such a thing.

A suicide note had been found in his billet, which was said to have been composed in verse. It spoke volumes of Ignace's enormous conceit that he made his last good­bye in his own poetry.

They had wept for another lost soul, and then they sat on either side of Euphrati's bed, holding each other's and Keeler's hands as they spoke of better times.

Both turned as they heard a soft knock behind them.

A thin faced man wearing the uniform of the Legio Mortis and an earnest face stood framed in the doorway.

Behind him, Mersadie could see that the corridor was filled with people.

'Is it alright if I come in?' he asked.

Mersadie Oliton said, 'Who are you?'

'My name's Titus Cassar, Moderati Primus of the Dies Irae. I've come to see the saint.'

They met in the observation deck, the lighting kept low and the darkness of space leavened only by me reflected glare of the planets they had just conquered. Loken stood wim his palm against the armoured viewing bay, believing that something fundamental had happened to the Sons of Horus on Aureus, but not knowing what.

Torgaddon joined him moments later and Loken wel­comed him with a brotherly embrace, grateful to have so loyal a comrade.

They stood in silence for some time, each lost in thought as they watched the defeated planets turn in space below them. The preparations for departure were virtually complete and the fleet was ready to move on, though nei­ther warrior had any idea of where they were going.

Eventually Torgaddon broke the silence, 'So what do we do?'

'I don't know, Tarik,' replied Loken. 'I really don't.'

'I thought not,' said Torgaddon, holding up a glass test tube with something in it that reflected soft light with a golden gleam. This won't help then.'

'What is it?' asked Loken.

These,’ said Torgaddon, 'are the bolt round fragments removed from Hektor Varvarus.'

'Bolt round fragments? Why do you have them?'

'Because they're ours,’

What do you mean?'

'I mean they're ours,’ repeated Torgaddon. The bolt that killed the lord commander came from an Astartes bolter, not from one of the Brotherhood's guns,’

Loken shook his head. 'No, there must be some mis­take,’

There's no mistake. Apothecary Vaddon tested the fragments himself. They're ours, no question,’

Той think Varvarus caught a stray round?'

Torgaddon shook his head. The wound was dead cen­tre, Garviel. It was an aimed shot,’

Loken and Torgaddon both understood the implica­tions, and Loken felt his melancholy rise at the thought of Varvarus having been murdered by one of their own.

Neither spoke for a long moment. Then Loken said, 'In the wake of such deceit and destruction shall we despair, or is faith and honour the spur to action?'

'What's that?' asked Torgaddon.

'It's part of a speech I read in a book that Kyril Sinder-mann gave me,’ said Loken. 'It seemed appropriate given where we find ourselves now,’

That's true enough,’ agreed Torgaddon.

'What are we becoming, Tarik?' asked Loken. 1 don't recognise our Legion any more. When did it change?'