False Gods

'If the Emperor was here, he would do the same,’ said Targost, and Loken felt his choler rise to the surface at such hubris.

He stepped threateningly close to Targost. You think you know the Emperor's will, Serghar? Does being lodge master of a secret society give you the power to know such a thing?'

'Of course not,’ sneered Targost, 'but I know he would want his son to live,’

'By entrusting his life to these… savages?'

'It is from these savages that our own quiet order comes,’ pointed out Targost.

Yet another reason for me to distrust it then,’ snapped Loken, turning from the lodge master and addressing Vipus and Torgaddon. 'Come on. We're getting the War-master out of there,’

'You can't,’ said Maloghurst, limping forward to join Abaddon, and Loken had the distinct impression that his brothers were forming a barrier between him and the gateway.

What do you mean?'

'It is said that once the Delphos Gate is shut, there is no way to open it save from the inside. A man in need of healing is carried inside and left to whatever the eternal spirits of deceased things decree for him. If it is his des­tiny to live, he may open the gate himself, if not, it opens in nine days and his remains are burned before being cast into the pool,’

'So you've just left the Warmaster inside? For all the good that will do him, you might just as well have left him on the Vengeful Spirit; and 'eternal spirits of deceased things' – what does that even mean? This is insane. Can't you see that?'

'Standing by and watching him die would have been insane,’ said Maloghurst. 'You judge us for acting out of love. Can't you see that?'

'No, Mai, I can't,’ replied Loken sadly. 'How did you even think to bring him here anyway? Was it some secret knowledge your damned lodge is privy to?'

None of his brothers spoke, and as Loken searched their faces for answers, the truth of the matter was sud­denly, horribly, clear to him.

'Erebus told you of this place, didn't he?'

'Yes,’ admitted Targost. 'He knows of these lodges of old and has seen the power of their healing houses. If the Warmaster lives you will be thankful he spoke of it,’

Where is he?' demanded Loken. 'He will answer to me for this,’

'He is not here, Garvi,’ said Aximand. 'This was for the Sons of Horus to do,’

Then where is he now, still on the Vengeful Spirit?'

Aximand shrugged. 'I suppose so. Why is it important to you?'

'I believe you have all been deceived, my brothers,’ said Loken. 'Only the Emperor has the power to heal the Warmaster now. All else is falsehood and the domain of unclean corpse- whisperers,’

The Emperor is not here,’ said Targost bluntly. We take what aid we can,’

What of you, Tarik?' put in Abaddon. Will you turn from your Mournival brothers, as Garviel does? Stand with us,’

'Garvi may be a starch-arse, Ezekyle, but he's right and I can't stand with you on this one. I'm sorry,’ said Tor­gaddon as he and Loken turned away from the gate.

You forget your Mournival oath!' cried Abaddon as they marched away. You swore to be true to the Mour­nival to the end of your lives. You will be oath-breakers!'

The words of the first captain hit Loken with the force of a bolter round and he stopped in his tracks. Oath-breaker. .. The very idea was hideous,

Aximand came after him, grabbing his arm and pointing towards the pool of water. The black water rippled with motion and Loken could see the yellow crescent of Davin's moon wavering in its surface.

'See?' said Aximand. The moon shines upon the water, Loken. The crescent mark of the new moon… It was branded upon your helmet when we swore our Mournival oath. It is a good omen, my brother,’

'Omen?' spat Loken, shrugging off his touch. 'Since when have we put our faith in omens, Horus? The Mour­nival oath was pantomime, but this is ritual. This is

sorcery. I told you then that I would not bow to any fane or acknowledge any spirit. I told you that I owned only the empirical clarity of Imperial Truth and I stand by those words,’

'Please, Garvi,’ begged Aximand. 'We are doing the right thing.'

Loken shook his head. 'I believe we will all rue the day you brought the Warmaster here,’

PART THREE

THE HOUSE OF FALSE GODS

THIRTEEN

Who are you?

Ritual

0ld friend

Horus opened his eyes, smiling as he saw blue sky above him. Pink and orange tinged clouds drifted slowly across his vision, peaceful and relaxing. He watched them for a few moments and then sat up, feeling wet dew beneath his palms as he pushed himself upright. He saw that he was naked, and as he surveyed his surroundings, he lifted his hand to his face, smelling the sweet scent of the grass and the crystal freshness of the air.

A vista of unsurpassed beauty lay before him, tower­ing snow-capped mountains draped in a shawl of pine and fir, magnificent swathes of emerald green forests as far as the eye could see and a wide river of foaming, icy water. Hundreds of shaggy coated herbivores grazed on the plain and wide pinioned birds circled noisily overhead. Horus sat on the low slopes of the foothills at the base of the mountains, the sun warm­ing his face and the grass wondrously soft beneath him.

'So that's it then,' he said calmly to himself. 'I'm dead.'

No one answered him, but then he hadn't expected them to. Was this what happened when a person died? He dimly remembered someone teaching him of the ancient unbelief of 'heaven' and 'hell', meaningless words that promised rewards for obedience and punish­ment for wickedness.

He took a deep breath, scenting the aroma of good earth: the fragrances of a world unchecked and untamed and of the living things that covered the landscape. He could taste the air and was amazed at its purity. Its crisp-ness filled his lungs like sweet wine, but how had he come here and… where was here?

He had been… where? He couldn't remember. He knew his name was Horas, but beyond that, he knew only fragments and dim recollections that even now grew faint and insubstantial the more he tried to hold onto them.

Deciding that he should try to find out more about his surroundings, he rose to his feet, wincing as his shoulder pulled tight, and he saw a spot of blood soak through the white woollen robes he found himself wearing. Hadn't he been naked a second ago?

Horus put it from his mind and laughed. There might be no hell, but this feels like heaven right enough.'

His throat was dry and he set off towards the river, feeling the softness of the grass through newly sandalled feet. He was further away than he thought, the journey taking him longer than expected, but he didn't mind. The beauty of the landscape was worth savouring, and though something insistent nagged at the back of his mind, he ignored it and carried on.

The mountains seemed to reach the very stars, their peaks lost in the clouds and