Fulgrim (16 page)

Vespasian moved down the line of captains, ensuring that everything was in order and that his captains would do the Legion honour. He stopped before Gaius Caphen and smiled.

‘I bet you can’t believe your luck, Gaius,’ said Vespasian.

‘No, sir,’ replied Caphen.

‘You won’t let me down will you?’

‘No, sir!’ repeated Caphen, and Vespasian slapped a gauntlet on his shoulder guard. ‘Good man. I’ve got my eye on you, Gaius. I expect you to achieve great things in the coming campaign.’

Caphen beamed with pride as the lord commander moved to stand between Julius and Marius. He nodded curtly to the captain of the Third, and leaned over to whisper to Julius as the red lights of the integrity field began to flash.

‘Are you ready for this?’ asked the lord commander.

‘I am,’ replied Julius.

Vespasian nodded and said, ‘Good man. At least one of us is.’

‘Are you trying to tell me you are not?’ asked Julius with a smile.

‘No,’ grinned Vespasian, ‘but it’s not every day we get to stand in the presence of two such beings. I have a hard enough time being around Lord Fulgrim without looking like a slack jawed mortal, but put two of them in a room…’

Julius nodded in understanding. The sheer magnetism of the primarchs was something that took a great deal of getting used to, the force of their personalities and sheer physical charisma leaving men who had fought the darkest horrors of the galaxy trembling with paralysing fear. Julius well remembered his first meeting with Fulgrim, an embarrassing encounter where he found he couldn’t even remember his own name when it was asked of him.

Fulgrim’s presence humbled a man with its lawlessness and exposed his every imperfection, but as Fulgrim had said to him after that first meeting, ‘This is the very perfection of man, to find out his own imperfections and eliminate them.’

‘You have met the Primarch of the Iron Hands?’ asked Julius.

‘I have, yes,’ said Vespasian. ‘He reminds me of the Warmaster in many ways.’

‘How so?’

‘You have not met the Warmaster have you?’

‘No,’ said Julius, ‘though I saw him when the Legion marched at Ullanor.’

‘Then you’ll understand when you do, lad,’ said Vespasian. ‘Both of them come from worlds that hammer the soul with fire. Their hearts are forged of flint and steel, and the blood of Medusa surges in the Gorgon’s veins, molten, unpredictable and violent.’

‘Why do you call Ferrus Manus the Gorgon?’ Vespasian chuckled as the immense form of a heavily modified Stormbird eased through the integrity field, its midnight-black hull glimmering with wisps of condensation. The engines growled as the craft turned, its increased bulk formed by racks of missiles and extra stowage compartments fitted at its rear.

‘Some say it’s a reference to an ancient legend of the Olympian Hegemony,’ said Vespasian. ‘The Gorgon was a beast of such incredible ugliness that its very gaze could turn a man to stone.’

Julius was outraged at the disrespect in such a term and said, ‘And people are allowed to insult the primarch in this way?’

‘Don’t fret, lad,’ said Vespasian. ‘I believe Ferrus Manus quite enjoys the name, but in any case, that’s not where the name comes from.’

‘So where does it come from?’

‘It’s an old nickname our primarch gave him many years ago,’ said Vespasian. ‘Unlike Fulgrim, Ferrus Manus has little time for art, music or any of the cultural pastimes our primarch enjoys. It’s said that after the two of them met at Mount Narodnya, they returned to the Imperial Palace where Sanguinius had arrived bearing gifts for the Emperor, exquisite statues from the glowing rock of Baal, priceless gem-stones and wondrous artefacts of aragonite, opal and tourmaline. The lord of the Blood Angels had brought enough to fill a dozen wings of the palace with the greatest wonders imaginable.’

Julius willed Vespasian to reach the conclusion of his tale as the Iron Hands Stormbird finally touched down on the deck with a heavy clang of landing skids.

‘Of course, Fulgrim was enthralled, finding that another of his brothers shared his love of such incredible beauty, but Ferrus Manus was unimpressed and said that such things were a waste of their time when there was a galaxy to win back. I’m told that Fulgrim laughed and declared him a terrible gorgon, saying that if they did not value beauty, then they would never appreciate the stars they were to win back for their father.’

Julius smiled at Vespasian’s tale, wondering how much of it was true and how much was apocryphal. It certainly suited what he had heard of the Primarch of the Iron Hands. All thoughts of gorgons and tales were dispelled when the frontal assault ramp of the Stormbird lowered, and the Primarch of the Iron Hands emerged, followed by a craggy featured warrior and a quartet of Terminators, their armour the colour of unpainted iron.

His first impression of Ferrus Manus was of sheer bulk. The Primarch of the Iron Hands was a brutally rugged giant, his width and height quite unimaginable next to Fulgrim’s slender frame. His armour shone like the darkest onyx, the gauntlet upon his shoulder fashioned from beaten iron, and a cloak of glittering mail billowed behind him as he marched. A monstrous hammer was slung across his back, and Julius knew that this was the dreaded
Forgebreaker
, the weapon Fulgrim had forged for his brother.

Ferrus Manus wore no helmet and his battered face was like a slab of granite, scarred from the ravages of two centuries of war among the stars. As he caught sight of his brother primarch, his stern face broke apart in a warm grin of welcome, the sudden change almost unbelievable in the completeness of its reversal.

Julius risked a glance at Fulgrim, seeing that grin mirrored in his own primarch’s face, and before he knew it, he too was smiling like a simpleton.

To see such honest brotherhood between these two incredible, god-like warriors made his heart sing. The Primarch of the Iron Hands extended his arms, and Julius found his gaze drawn to the shimmering hands that shone like rippling chrome under the harsh lights of the embarkation deck.

Fulgrim went to meet his brother, and the two warriors embraced like long lost friends suddenly and unexpectedly reunited. Both laughed in pleasure at the meeting, and Ferrus Manus slapped his hands hard on Fulgrim’s back.

‘It’s good to see you, my brother!’ roared Ferrus Manus. ‘Throne, I’ve missed you!’

‘And you are a sight for sore eyes, Gorgon!’ returned Fulgrim.

Ferrus Manus stepped back from Fulgrim, still holding him by the shoulders, and looked over at those who had come to greet him. He released his grip on Fulgrim’s shoulders, and together they marched over towards the captains of the Emperor’s Children. Julius caught his breath at the nearness of Ferrus Manus, the primarch towering above him like a giant of legend.

‘You wear the colours of the first captain,’ said Ferrus Manus. ‘What is your name?’

Julius was horribly reminded of the first time he had met Fulgrim face to face, fearing a repetition of that humiliating experience, but as he caught Fulgrim’s amused expression, he forced some steel into his voice. ‘I am Julius Kaesoron, Captain of the First, my lord.’

‘Well met, captain,’ said Ferrus Manus, taking his hand and pumping it enthusiastically while waving forward the craggy-faced warrior who had accompanied him from the Stormbird with his free hand. ‘I have heard great things of you.’

‘Thank you,’ managed Julius, before remembering to add, ‘my lord.’

Ferrus Manus laughed and said, ‘This is Gabriel Santor, captain of my veterans and the man who has the misfortune to serve as my equerry. I think you and he should get to know one another. If you don’t know a man, how can you trust your life to him, eh?’

‘Well, quite,’ said Julius, unused to such informality from his superiors.

‘He’s my very best, Julius, and I expect you will learn a lot from him.’

Julius bristled at the implied insult and said, ‘As I am sure he will from me.’

‘Of that I have no doubt,’ said Ferrus Manus, and Julius felt suddenly foolish as he saw the glint of mischief in his strange silver eyes. His gaze slid from the primarch to Santor, seeing an unspoken respect there as they sized one another up in the manner of warriors who wonder which of them is the greater.

‘Good to see you’re still alive, Vespasian!’ said Ferrus Manus as he moved on from Julius to take the lord commander in a crushing bear hug. ‘And the
Firebird
! It has been too long since I saw the phoenix fly!’

‘You shall see her fly ere long, my brother,’ promised Fulgrim.

EIGHT

The Most Important Question

Warmaster

Progress

T
HE TWO PRIMARCHS
wasted no time in convening the senior officers of the Legions in the Heliopolis to discuss strategy for the destruction of the Diasporex. The marble benches nearest the dark floor were filled with the purple and gold of the Emperor’s Children, and the black and white of the Iron Hands. So far the council of war was not going well, and Julius could see the choler rising in Ferrus Manus as Fulgrim dismissed his latest idea as unworkable.

‘Then what do you propose, brother? For I have no more stratagems to suggest,’ said the Primarch of the Iron Hands. ‘As soon as we threaten them, they flee.’

Fulgrim turned to face Ferrus Manus and said, ‘Do not mistake what I say as criticism, brother. I am merely stating what I see as fundamental to the reason why you have not yet managed to bring the Diasporex to battle.’

‘Which is?’

‘That you are being too direct.’

‘Too direct?’ asked Ferrus Manus, but Fulgrim held up a quieting hand to forestall any further outbursts.

‘I know you, brother, and I know the way your Legion fights, but sometimes chasing the comet’s tail is not the best way to catch it.’

‘You would have us skulk around this sector like thieves while we wait for them to come to us? The Iron Hands do not make war that way.’

Fulgrim shook his head. ‘Do not think for a moment that I am unaware of the simple joy to be had in going up the centre, but we must be prepared to accept that other ways may advance our cause more perfectly.’

Fulgrim walked the circumference of the Heliopolis as he spoke, directing his words to his fellow primarch and the warriors who surrounded him. Reflected light from the ceiling lit his face from below and his eyes, a dark mirror of Ferrus Manus’s silver ones, were alight with passion as he spoke.

‘You have become fixated on destroying the Diasporex, Ferrus, which is only right and proper given their associations with vile aliens, but you have not asked yourself the most important question regarding this enemy.’

Ferrus Manus crossed his arms and said, ‘And what question would that be?’

Fulgrim smiled. ‘Why are they here?’

‘You wish to get into a philosophical debate?’ snapped Ferrus Manus. ‘Then speak to the iterators, I’m sure they can furnish you with a better, less direct, answer than I.’

Fulgrim turned to address the warriors of the two Legions and said, ‘Ask yourselves this then. Knowing that a powerful fleet of warships is hunting you and seeks your destruction, why would you not simply leave? Why would you not move on to somewhere safer?’

‘I do not know, brother,’ said Ferrus Manus. ‘Why?’

Julius felt his primarch’s gaze upon him and the weight of expectation crushed him to his seat. If the intellect of a primarch could not answer this question, what chance did he have?

He looked into Fulgrim’s eyes, seeing his lord’s faith, and the answer was suddenly clear.

Julius stood and said, ‘Because they can’t. They’re trapped in this system.’

‘Trapped?’ asked Gabriel Santor from across the chamber. ‘Trapped how?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Julius. ‘Perhaps they have no Navigator.’

‘No,’ said Fulgrim, ‘that’s not it. If they were without a Navigator then the 52nd Expedition would have caught them long ago. It’s something else. What?’

Julius watched as the officers of both Legions contemplated the question, sure that his primarch already knew the answer.

Even as the answer came to him, Gabriel Santor stood and said, ‘Fuel. They need fuel for their fleet.’

Though Julius knew it was foolish, he felt a stab of jealousy at being denied the chance to answer his primarch and glared angrily at the weathered face of Iron Hand’s first captain.

‘Exactly!’ said Fulgrim. ‘Fuel. A fleet the size of the Diasporex must consume a phenomenal amount of energy every day, and to make a jump of any distance they will need a great deal of it. The fleet masters of this sector’s compliant worlds do not report any significant losses of tankers or convoys, so we must assume the Diasporex are getting their fuel from another source.’

‘The Carollis Star,’ said Julius. ‘They must have solar collectors hidden somewhere in the sun’s corona. They’re waiting to gather enough fuel before moving on.’

Fulgrim turned back to the centre of the chamber and said, ‘That is how we will bring the Diasporex to battle, by discovering these collectors and threatening them. We will draw our enemies to a battle of our choosing and then we will destroy them.’

L
ATER, AFTER THE
war council had disbanded, Fulgrim and Ferrus Manus retired to the lord of the Emperor’s Children’s private staterooms aboard the
Pride of the Emperor
. Fulgrim’s chambers were the envy of Terra’s master of antiquities; every wall hung with elegantly framed pictures of vibrant alien landscapes or extraordinary picts of the Astartes and mortals of the Crusade.

Antechambers filled with marble busts and the spoils of war radiated from the central stateroom, and everywhere the eye fell, it alighted on a work of unimaginable artistic beauty. Only the far end of the room was bare of ornamentation, the space filled with part carved blocks of marble, and easels of unfinished artwork.

Fulgrim reclined on a chaise longue, stripped out of his armour and dressed in a simple toga of cream and purple. He drank wine from a crystal goblet and rested his hand on a table upon which lay the silver hiked sword he had taken from the Laer temple. The sword was a truly magnificent weapon, hardly the equal of
Fireblade
, but exquisite nonetheless. Its balance was flawless, as though it had been designed for his hand alone, and its keen edge had the power to cut through Astartes plate with ease.