Helsreach

'

Do you think ill of me for my beliefs? Bastilan, please, you know I am right.'

'I know you are treading on unstable ground. Do not besmirch the honour of our brother Chapter. The Salamanders shed as much blood as we did this week.'

'That is not the point.'

Resssh, resssh.

'That is where you and I disagree, brother. But you are young. You will learn.'

Priamus didn't bother to hide his disgusted sneer from infecting his voice. 'Do not patronise me, old man. You know of what I speak. You are just quietened by the mounting years and too reserved to say it aloud.'

'I am not that old,' Bastilan laughed. The boy was annoying, but he certainly knew how to drag out a smile or two with his misguided fervour.

'Do not laugh at me.'

'Then stop making me laugh. What two Chapters fight the same? What two Chapters wage war according to the same principles? We are all born of different worlds and trained by different masters. Accept the differences and stand with them as allies.'

'But they are

wrong.'

Priamus stared at the older warrior in disbelief. 'How could he be so obtuse? They could have landed anywhere in the city. They could have struck at one of the alien commanders. Instead, they crash down amongst us at the docks to defend the humans.'

'That is why they came. Do not mistake their compassion for tactical idiocy.'

'That is my point.' Priamus resisted the rising urge to draw his blade. There was nothing to cut beyond the air before him, yet he felt a keen need to draw steel. 'They preserve. They defend. We are Astartes, not Imperial Guard. We are the spear thrust to the throat, not the blunt anvil. We are all that remains of the Great Crusade, Bastilan. For ten thousand years, we and we alone have crusaded to bring the Emperor's worlds into compliance. We do not fight for the people of the Imperium, we fight for the Imperium itself. We attack. We

attack!'

Resssh, ressh.

'

Not here. Not at Helsreach.'

Priamus lowered his head, unwilling to concede the point, despite the fact he knew he was defeated. That bastard Bastilan always did this to him. A few quiet words and he'd puncture all of what Priamus was trying to say. It was far, far beyond annoying.

'Helsreach is…' the swordsman's voice was lower now - less bitter, and somehow less confident. 'Nothing about this war has felt right.'

N

erovar had also

retreated from the others. But apparently not far enough.

'Brother,' came a voice. Grimaldus had returned. Nero acknowledged him with a nod, and returned to his feigned examination of the blistered and burned mural on the temple wall. Scenes of the Emperor watching over Helsreach: a golden god with His radiant visage regarding scenes of great industry below. With the wall ruined by flame and the artwork charred, it now resembled the city outside more than it ever had.

'How was the command meeting?'

'A tedious discussion of last stands. In that respect, it was no different from any other time. The Salamanders have withdrawn.'

'Then perhaps Priamus will cease his complaints.'

'I doubt that.'

Grimaldus removed his helm. Nerovar watched him as he examined the paintings, seeing the Reclusiarch's scarred features set in a thoughtful frown.

'How is the wound?' Grimaldus asked, his voice both deeper and softer now, unfiltered by helm vox.

'I will live.'

'Pain?'

'Does it matter? I will live.'

The chains binding his weapons to his armour rattled as the Reclusiarch moved across the chamber. Ceramite armour boots thudded on the dusty mosaics, breaking them underfoot. In the centre of the room, Grimaldus looked up at the holed ceiling, where a stained glass dome had once mercifully blocked the view of the polluted sky.

'I was with Cador,' he said, staring up into the heavens. 'I was with him at the end.'

'I know.'

'So you will believe me when I say that you could have done nothing for him had you been at our side? He was dead the moment the beast struck him.'

'I saw the death wound, did I not? You are telling me nothing I do not already know.'

'Then why do you still mourn his fall? It was a magnificent death, worthy of a vault on board the

Crusader.

He killed nine of the enemy with a broken blade and his bare hands, Nero. Dorn's blood, if only we could all inscribe such deeds on our armour. Humanity would have cleansed the stars by now.'

'He will never rest in that vault, and you know it.'

'That is not worth mourning over. It is just a regrettable truth. Hundreds of our own heroes have fallen and remained unrecovered. You carry Cador's true legacy. Why is that not enough? I wish to help you, brother, but you are not making it easy.'

'He trained me. He taught me the blade and bolter. He was a father in place of the parents I was stolen from.'

Grimaldus had still not looked at the other knight. He watched as an Imperial fighter streaked overhead, and wondered if it was Helius, the heir to Barasath and Jenzen.

'It is the way of the warrior,' he said, 'to outlive the ones that train us. We take their lessons and wield them as weapons against the enemies of Man.'

Nero snorted.

'Did I say something amusing, Apothecary?'

'In a way Hypocrisy is always amusing.' The Apothecary removed his own helm. As he did so, he could suddenly feel the unwelcome weight of the cryo-sealed gene-seed in his forearm storage pod.

'Hypocrisy?' Grimaldus asked, more curious than annoyed.

'It is not like you to comfort and console, Reclusiarch. Forgive me for saying so.'

'Why would I need to forgive you for speaking the truth?'

'You make it sound so clear and easy. None of us have been truthful with you since… we came here.'

Grimaldus lowered his gaze from the dark skies. He fixed his eyes - eyes that the commander of a god-machine had called kind, of all things - on Nerovar's own.

'You say ''Since we came here''. I sense another lie.'

'Very well. Since before we came here. Since Mordred died. It is difficult to be near you, Reclusiarch. You are withdrawn when you should be inspiring. You are distant when you would once have been wrathful. I believe you are wrong to lecture me on Cador's death when you have been lost to us since Mordred fell. There are flashes of fire beneath the cold surface, and we have warned you of these changes