The Crimson Lord
Calth.
A bountiful, beautiful world, a world under the aegis of the XIII Legion, as Khur had once been claimed by the XVII.
Lorgar’s Legion sailed almost in its entirety. Enough warships to blockade the beloved kingdom of Ultramar, and burn the face of every world black. Enough warriors to drive the Ultramarines to their knees. Isstvan had been forced into history at the point of a traitor’s sword. Soon there would come another massacre to fit into Imperial archives alongside it.
Argel Tal remained alone for now. He had no patience for the cries of praise his brethren kept offering in his presence. He had no desire for their regard or worship.
Instead, he sealed himself away from his own Legion, kept company only by the regrets he’d accrued over half a century of treachery.
Across his lap lay a golden blade of exquisite manufacture, etched and engraved for the hand of a master swordsman, gene-coded to activate only for the man it was made for. It was the weapon of one he had called brother, taken from Aquillon’s body in the light of an unforgettable sunrise.
In his hands was a digital data-slate, sized for human fingers. A cursor blinked halfway down the screen, waiting for words that would never be entered. An unfinished sentence ended the text. Argel Tal had read it more times than he cared to recall, each time hoping that he’d see the intent, the meaning, that never made it onto the page.
The ship shivered as it sailed through the underworld of human myth. They would reach Calth soon.
Aquillon. Xaphen. His brothers were gone.
Argel Tal put the sword aside, and left the data-slate on the modest table by his pallet. He rose to his feet, knowing it would soon be time to end this isolation. The Legion called. The Legion needed him. The primarch himself had asked if he would to stand with Kor Phaeron, leading the assault on Calth.
He would obey, even if he stood alone.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I owe some gushing thanks to a fizzy six-pack of people: Rob, for knowing when to ignore me; Mark Newton, for the discussions on selling-out; the Abnetts, for the advice about kicking in doors and the subsequent prisoner policy; and my editors Nick and Christian, for their judicious cutting of slack.
A statelier thanks goes to Alan Merrett, Dan, Graham and Jim for making room for the new guy without too much teasing.
About The Author
Aaron Dembski-Bowden is an English novelist with a half-Polish name. He’s been a deeply entrenched fan of Warhammer 40,000 ever since he ruined his copy of
A BLACK LIBRARY PUBLICATION
Published in 2010 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd., Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK
Cover illustration by Neil Roberts
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ISBN 978-0-85787-045-2
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