Horus Rising (44 page)

Tull rallied, and rotated the broken weapon to drive the weighted base-end at Loken like a long club. Loken guarded off two heavy blows from the ball-end with the edges of his gauntlets. Tull twisted his grip, and the spear suddenly became charged with dancing blue sparks of electrical charge. He slammed the crackling ball at Loken again and there was a loud bang. The discharging force of the spear was so powerful that Loken was thrown bodily across the chamber. He landed on the polished floor and slid a few metres, dying webs of charge flickering across his chest plate. He tasted blood in his mouth, and felt the brief, quickly-occluded pain of serious bruising to his torso.

Loken scissored his back and legs, and sprang up on to his feet as Tull closed in. Now he brought his sword out. In the multi-coloured light, the white-steel blade of his combat sword shone like a spike of ice in his fist.

He offered Tull no opportunity to renew the bout as aggressor. Loken launched forward at the charging man and swung hammer blows with his sword. Tull recoiled, forced to use the remains of the spear as a parrying tool, the Imperial blade biting chips out of its haft.

Tull leapt back, and drew his own sword over his shoulder from the scabbard over his back. He clutched the long, silver sword – a good ten fingers longer than Loken’s utilitarian blade – in his right hand, and the spear/club in his left. When he came in again, he was swinging blows with both.

Loken’s Astartes-born senses predicted and matched all of his strikes. His blade flicked left and right, spinning the club back and parrying the sword with two loud chimes of metal. He forced his way into Tull’s bodyline guard and pressed his sword aside long enough to shoulder-barge the royal officer in the chest. Tull staggered back. Loken gave him no respite. He swung again and tore the club out of Tull’s left hand. It bounced across the floor, sparking and firing.

Then they closed, blade on blade, The exchange was furious. Loken had no doubts about his own ability: he’d been tested too many times of late, and not found wanting. But Tull was evidently a master swordsman and, more significantly, had learned his art via some entirely different school of bladesmanship. There was no common language in their fight, no shared basis of technique. Every blow and parry and ripostes each one essayed was inexplicable and foreign to the other. Every millisecond of the exchange was a potentially lethal learning curve.

It was almost enjoyable. Fascinating. Inventive. Illuminating. Loken believed Lucius would have enjoyed such a match, so many new techniques to delight at.

But it was wasting time. Loken parried Tull’s next quicksilver slice, captured his right wrist firmly in his left hand, and struck off Tull’s sword-arm at the elbow with a neat and deliberate chop.

Tull rocked backwards, blood venting from his stump. Loken tossed the sword and severed limb aside. He grabbed Tull by the face and was about to perform the mercy stroke, the quick, down-up decapitation, then thought better of it. He smashed Tull in the side of the head with his sword instead, using the flat.

Tull went flying. His body cartwheeled clumsily across the floor and came to rest against the foot of one of the display plinths. Blood leaked out of it in a wide pool.

‘This is Loken, Loken, Loken!’ Loken yelled in this link. Nothing but dead patterns and static. Switching his blade to his left hand, he drew his bolter and ran forward. He’d gone three steps when the two sagittars bounded into the chamber. They saw him, and their bows were already drawn to fire.

Loken put a bolt round into the wall behind them and made them flinch.

‘Drop the bows!’ he ordered via his helmet speakers. The bolter in his hand told them not to argue. They threw aside the bows and shafts with a clatter. Loken nodded his head at Tull, his gun still covering them both. ‘I’ve no wish to see him die,’ he said. ‘Bind his arm quickly before he bleeds out.’

They wavered and then ran to Tull’s side. When they looked up again, Loken had gone.

H
E RAN DOWN
a hallway into an adjoining colonnade, hearing what was certainly bolter firing in the distance. Another sagittar appeared ahead, and fired what seemed like a laser bolt at him. The shot went wide past his left shoulder. Loken aimed his bolter and put the warrior on his back, hard.

No room for compassion now.

Two more interex soldiers came into view, another sagittar and a gleve. Loken, still running, shot them both before they could react. The force of his bolts, both torso-shots, threw the soldiers back against the wall, where they slithered to the ground. Abaddon had been wrong. The armour of the interex warriors was masterful, not weak. His rounds hadn’t penetrated the chest plates of either of the men, but the sheer, concussive force of the impacts had taken them out of the fight, probably pulping their innards.

He heard footsteps and turned. It was Kairus and one of his men, Oltrentz. Both had weapons drawn.

‘What the hell’s happening, captain?’ Kairus yelled.

‘With me!’ Loken demanded. ‘Where’s the rest of the detail?’

‘I have no idea,’ Kairus complained. ‘The vox is dead!’

‘We’re being damped,’ Oltrentz added.

‘Priority is the Warmaster,’ Loken assured them. ‘Follow me and—’

More flashes, like laser fire. Projectiles, moving so fast they were just lines of light, zipped down the colonnade, faster than Loken could track. Oltrentz dropped onto his knees with a heavy clang, transfixed by two flightless arrows that had cut clean through his Mark IV plate.

Clean through. Loken could still remember Torgaddon’s amusement and Aximand’s assurance…
They’re probably ceremonial.

Oltrentz fell onto his face. He was dead, and there was no time, and no apothecary, to make his death fruitful.

Further shafts flashed by. Loken felt an impact. Kairus staggered as a sagittar’s dart punched entirely through his torso and embedded itself in the wall behind him.

‘Kairus!’

‘Keep on, captain!’ Kairus drawled, in pain. ‘Too clean a shot. I’ll heal!’

Kairus rose and opened up with his storm bolter, firing on auto. He hosed the colonnade ahead of them, and Loken saw three sagittars crumble and explode under the thunderous pummel of the weapon. Now their armour broke. Under six of seven consecutive explosive penetrators,
now
their armour broke.

How we have underestimated them,
Loken thought. He moved on, with Kairus limping behind him. Already Kairus had stopped bleeding. His genhanced body had self-healed the entry and exit wounds, and whatever the sagittar dart had skewered between those two points was undoubtedly being compensated for by the built-in redundancies of the Astartes’s anatomy.

Together, they kicked their way into the main dining hall. The room was chaotic. Torgaddon and the rest of his detail were covering the Warmaster as they led him towards the south exit. There was no sign of Naud, but interex soldiers were firing at Torgaddon’s group from a doorway on the far side of the chamber. Bolter fire lit up the air. Several bodies, including that of a Luna Wolf, lay twisted amongst the overturned chairs and banquet tables. Loken and Kairus trained their fire on the far doorway.

‘Tarik!’

‘Good to see you, Garvi!’

‘What the hell is this?’

‘A mistake,’ Horus roared, his voice cracking with despair. ‘This is wrong! Wrong!’

Brilliant shafts of light stung into the wall alongside them. Sagittar darts sliced through the smoky air. One of Torgaddon’s men buckled and fell, a dart speared through his helm.

‘Mistake or not, we have to get clear. Now!’ Loken yelled.

‘Zakes! Cyclos! Regold!’ Torgaddon yelled, firing. ‘Close with Captain Loken and see us out!’

‘With me!’ Loken shouted.

‘No!’ bellowed the Warmaster. ‘Not like this! We can’t—’

‘Go!’ Loken screamed at his commander.

The fight to extricate themselves from Naud’s house lasted ten furious minutes. Loken and Kairus led the rearguard with the brothers Torgaddon had appointed to them, while Torgaddon himself ferried the Warmaster out through the basement loading docks onto the street. Twice, Horus insisted on going back in, not wanting to leave anyone, especially not Loken, behind. Somehow, using words Torgaddon never shared with Loken, Torgaddon persuaded him otherwise.

By the time they had come out into the street, the remainder of Loken’s outer guard had formed up with them, adding to the armour wall around the Warmaster, all except Jaeldon, whose fate they never learned.

The rearguard was a savage action. Backing metre by metre through the exit hall and the loading dock, Loken’s group came under immense fire, most of it dart-shot from sagittars, but also some energised beams from heavy weapons. Bells and sirens were ringing everywhere. Zakes fell in the loading dock, his head shorn away by a blue-white beam of destruction that scorched the walls. Cyclos, his body a pincushion of darts, dropped at the doors of the exit hall. Prone, bleeding furiously, he tried to fire again, but two more shafts impaled his skull and nailed him to the door. Kairus took another dart through the left thigh as he gave Loken cover. Regold was felled by an arrow that pierced his right eyeslit, and got up in time to be finished by another through the neck.

Firing behind him, Loken dragged Kairus out through the dock area onto the street.

They were out into the city evening, the dark canopy hissing in the breeze over their heads. Lamps twinkled. In the distance, a ruddy glow backlit the clouds, spilling up from a building in the lower depths of the tiered city. Sirens wailed around them.

‘I’m all right,’ Kairus said, though it was clear he was having trouble standing. ‘Close, that one, captain.’

He reached up and plucked out a sagittar shaft that had stuck through Loken’s right shoulder plate. In the colonnade, the impact he’d felt. ‘Not close enough, brother,’ Loken said.

‘Come on, if you’re coming!’ Torgaddon yelled, approaching them and spraying bolter fire back down the dock. ‘This is a mess,’ Loken said.

‘As if I hadn’t noticed!’ Torgaddon spat. He uncoupled a charge pack from his belt and hurled it down the dockway. The blast sent smoke and debris tumbling out at them.

‘We have to get the Warmaster to safety,’ Torgaddon said. ‘To the
Extranus
.’

Loken nodded. ‘We have to—’

‘No,’ said a voice.

They looked round. Horus stood beside them. His face was sidelit by the burning dock. His wide-set eyes were fierce. He had dressed for dinner that night, not for war. He was wearing a robe and a wolf-pelt. It was clear from his manner that he itched for armour plate and a good sword.

‘With respect, sir,’ Torgaddon said. ‘We are drawn bodyguard. You are our responsibility.’

‘No,’ Horus said again. ‘Protect me by all means, but I will not go quietly. Some terrible mistake has been made tonight. All we have worked for is overthrown.’

‘And so, we must get you out alive,’ Torgaddon said.

‘Tarik’s right, lord,’ Loken added. ‘This is not a situation that—’

‘Enough, enough, my son,’ Horus said. He looked up at the sighing black branches above them. ‘What has gone so wrong? Naud took such great and sudden offence. He said we had transgressed.’

‘I spoke with a man,’ Loken said. ‘Just when things turned sour. He was telling me of Chaos.’

‘What?’

‘Of Chaos, and how it is our greatest common foe. He feared it was in us. He said that is why they had been so careful with us, because they feared we had brought Chaos with us. Lord, what did he mean?’

Horus looked at Loken. ‘He meant Jubal. He meant the Whisperheads. He meant the warp. Have you brought the warp here, Garviel Loken?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Then the fault is within them. The great, great fault that the Emperor himself, beloved by all, told me to watch for, foremost of all things. Oh gods, I wished this place to be free of it. To be clean. To be cousins we could hug to our chests. Now we know the truth.’

Loken shook his head. ‘Sir, no. I don’t think that’s what was meant. I think these people despise Chaos… the warp… as much as we do. I think they only fear it in us, and tonight, something has proved that fear right.’ ‘Like what?’ Torgaddon snapped. ‘Tull said the Hall of Devices was on fire.’ Horus nodded. ‘This is what they accused us of. Robbery. Deceit. Murder. Apparently someone raided the Hall of Devices tonight and slew the curator. Weapons were stolen.’

‘What weapons, sir?’ Loken asked. Horus shook his head. ‘Naud didn’t say. He was too busy accusing me over the dinner table. That’s where we should go now.’

Torgaddon laughed derisively. ‘Not at all. We have to get you to safety, sir. That is our priority.’

The Warmaster looked at Loken. ‘Do you think this also?’ ‘Yes, lord.’

‘Then I am troubled that I will have to countermand you both. I respect your efforts to safeguard me. Your strenuous loyalty is noted. Now take me to the Hall of Devices.’

The hall was on fire. Bursting fields exploded through the lower depths of the placer and cascaded flames up into the higher galleries. A meturge player, blackened by smoke, limped out to greet them.

‘Have you not sinned enough?’ he asked, venomously.

‘What is it you think we have done?’ Horus asked.

‘Petty murder. Asherot is dead. The hall is burning. You could have asked to know of our weapons. You had no need to kill to win them.’

Horus shook his head. ‘We have done nothing.’

The meturge player laughed, then fell.

‘Help him,’ Horus said.

Scads of ash were falling on them, drizzling from a choking black sky. The blaze had spread to the oversweeping forest, and the street was flame lit. There was a rank smell of burning vegetation. On lower street tiers, hundreds of figures gathered, looking up at the fire. A great panic, a horror was spreading through Xenobia Principis.

‘They feared us from the start,’ the Warmaster said. ‘Suspected us. Now this. They will believe they were right to do so.’

‘Enemy warriors are gathering on the approach steps,’ Kairus called out.

‘Enemy?’ Horus laughed. ‘When did they become the enemy? They are men like us.’ He glared up at the night sky, threw back his head and screamed a curse at the stars. Then his voice fell to a whisper. Loken was close enough to hear his words.