Horus Rising (7 page)

Sindermann turned away, as if finished, and then swung back again as the clapping petered out, his voice even softer and even more penetrating. ‘But what of faith? Faith has a quality, even when religion has gone. We still need to believe in something, don’t we? Here it is. The true purpose of mankind is to bear the torch of truth aloft and shine it, even into the darkest places. To share our forensic, unforgiving, liberating understanding with the dimmest reaches of the cosmos. To emancipate those shackled in ignorance. To free ourselves and others from false gods, and take our place at the apex of sentient life. That…
that
is what we may pour faith into.
That
is what we can harness our boundless faith to.’

More cheers and clapping. He wandered back to the podium. He rested his hands on the wooden rails of the lectern. ‘These last months, we have quashed an entire culture. Make no mistake… we haven’t brought them to heel or rendered them compliant. We have
quashed
them. Broken their backs. Set them to flame. I know this, because I know the Warmaster unleashed his Astartes in this action. Don’t be coy about what they do. They are killers, but sanctioned. I see one now, one noble warrior, seated at the back of the hall.’

Faces turned back to crane at Loken. There was a flutter of applause.

Sindermann started clapping furiously. ‘Better than that. He deserves better than that!’ A huge, growing peal of clapping rose to the roof of the hall. Loken stood, and took it with an embarrassed bow.

The applause died away. ‘The souls we have lately conquered believed in an Imperium, a rule of man,’ Sindermann said as soon as the last flutter had faded. ‘Nevertheless, we killed their Emperor and forced them into submission. We burned their cities and scuppered their warships. Is all we have to say in response to their “why?” a feeble “I am right, so you are wrong”?’

He looked down, as if in thought. ‘Yet we are. We
are
right. They
are
wrong. This simple, clean faith we must undertake to teach them. We
are
right. They
are
wrong. Why? Not because we say so. Because we
know
so! We will not say “I am right and you are wrong” because we have bested them in combat. We must proclaim it because we know it is the responsible truth. We cannot, should not,
will
not promulgate that idea for any other reason than we know, without hesitation, without doubt, without prejudice, that it is the truth, and upon that truth we bestow our faith. They are
wrong.
Their culture was constructed upon lies. We have brought them the keen edge of truth and enlightened them. On that basis, and that basis alone, go from here and iterate our message.’

He had to wait, smiling, until the uproar subsided. ‘Your supper’s getting cold. Dismissed.’

The student iterators began to file slowly out of the hall. Sindermann took another sip of water from the glass set upon his lectern and walked up the steps from the stage to where Loken was seated.

‘Did you hear anything you liked?’ he asked, sitting down beside Loken and smoothing the skirts of his robes. ‘You sound like a showman,’ Loken said, ‘or a carnival peddler, advertising his wares.’

Sindermann crooked one black, black eyebrow. ‘Sometimes, Garviel, that’s precisely how I feel.’

Loken frowned. ‘That you don’t believe what you’re selling?’

‘Do you?’

‘What am I selling?’

‘Faith, through murder. Truth, through combat.’

‘It’s just combat. It has no meaning other than combat. The meaning has been decided long before I’m instructed to deliver it.’

‘So as a warrior, you are without conscience?’

Loken shook his head. ‘As a warrior, I am a man of conscience, and that conscience is directed by my faith in the Emperor. My faith in our cause, as you were just describing to the school, but as a weapon, I am without conscience. When activated for war, I set aside my personal considerations, and simply act. The value of my action has already been weighed by the greater conscience of our commander. I kill until I am told to stop, and in that period, I do not question the killing. To do so would be nonsense, and inappropriate. The commander has already made a determination for war, and all he expects of me is to prosecute it to the best of my abilities. A weapon doesn’t question who it kills, or why. That isn’t the point of weapons.’

Sindermann smiled. ‘No it’s not, and that’s how it should be. I’m curious, though. I didn’t think we had a tutorial scheduled for today.’

Beyond their duties as iterators, senior counsellors like Sindermann were expected to conduct programmes of education for the Astartes. This had been ordered by the Warmaster himself. The men of the Legion spent long periods in transit between wars, and the Warmaster insisted they use the time to develop their minds and expand their knowledge. ‘Even the mightiest warriors should be schooled in areas beyond warfare,’ he had ordained. ‘There will come a time when war is over, and fighting done, and my warriors should prepare themselves for a life of peace. They must know of other things besides martial matters, or else find themselves obsolete.’

‘There’s no tutorial scheduled,’ Loken said, ‘but I wanted to talk with you, informally.’

‘Indeed? What’s on your mind?’

‘A troubling thing…’

‘You have been asked to join the Mournival,’ Sindermann said. Loken blinked.

‘How did you know? Does everyone know?’

Sindermann grinned. ‘Sejanus is gone, bless his bones. The Mournival lacks. Are you surprised they came to you?’

‘I am.’

‘I’m not. You chase Abaddon and Sedirae with your glories, Loken. The Warmaster has his eye on you. So does Dorn.’

‘Primarch Dorn? Are you sure?’

‘I have been told he admires your phlegmatic humour, Garviel. That’s something, coming from a person like him.’

‘I’m flattered.’

‘You should be. Now what’s the problem?’

‘Am I fit? Should I agree?’

Sindermann laughed. ‘Have faith,’ he said.

‘There’s something else,’ Loken said.

‘Go on.’

‘A remembrancer came to me today. Annoyed me deeply, to be truthful, but there was something she said. She said, “could we not have just left them alone?”’

‘Who?’

‘These people. This Emperor.’

‘Garviel, you know the answer to that.’

‘When I was in the tower, facing that man—’

Sindermann frowned. ‘The one who pretended to be the “Emperor”?’

‘Yes. He said much the same thing. Quartes, from his
Quantifications,
teaches us that the galaxy is a broad space, and that much I have seen. If we encounter a person, a society in this cosmos that disagrees with us, but is sound of itself, what right do we have to destroy it? I mean… could we not just leave them be and ignore them? The galaxy is, after all, such a broad space.’

‘What I’ve always liked about you, Garviel,’ Sindermann said, ‘is your humanity. This has clearly played on your mind. Why haven’t you spoken to me about it before?’

‘I thought it would fade,’ Loken admitted.

Sindermann rose to his feet, and beckoned Loken to follow him. They walked out of the audience chamber and along one of the great spinal hallways of the flagship, an arch-roofed, buttressed canyon three decks high, like the nave of an ancient cathedral fane elongated to a length of five kilometres. It was gloomy, and the glorious banners of Legions and companies and campaigns, some faded, or damaged by old battles, hung down from the roof at intervals. Tides of personnel streamed along the hallway, their voices lifting an odd susurration into the vault, and Loken could see other flows of foot traffic in the illuminated galleries above, where the upper decks overlooked the main space.

‘The first thing,’ Sindermann said as they strolled along, ‘is a simple bandage for your worries. You heard me essay this at length to the class and, in a way, you ventured a version of it just a moment ago when you spoke on the subject of conscience. You are a weapon, Garviel, an example of the finest instrument of destruction mankind has ever wrought. There must be no place inside you for doubt or question. You’re right. Weapons should not think, they should only allow themselves to be employed, for the decision to use them is not theirs to make. That decision must be made – with great and terrible care, and ethical consideration beyond our capacity to judge – by the primarchs and the commanders. The Warmaster, like the beloved Emperor before him, does not employ you lightly. Only with a heavy heart and a certain determination does he unleash the Astartes. The Adeptus Astartes is the last resort, and is only ever used that way.’

Loken nodded.

‘This is what you must remember. Just because the Imperium has the Astartes, and thus the ability to defeat and, if necessary, annihilate any foe, that’s not the reason it happens. We have developed the means to annihilate… We have developed warriors like you, Garviel… because it is necessary.’

‘A necessary evil?’

‘A necessary instrument. Right does not follow might. Mankind has a great, empirical truth to convey, a message to bring, for the good of all. Sometimes that message falls on unwilling ears. Sometimes that message is spurned and denied, as here. Then, and only then, thank the stars that we own the might to enforce it. We are mighty because we are right, Garviel. We are not right because we are mighty. Vile the hour when that reversal becomes our credo.’

They had turned off the spinal hallway and were walking along a lateral promenade now, towards the archive annex. Servitors waddled past, their upper limbs laden with books and data-slates.

‘Whether our truth is right or not, must we always enforce it upon the unwilling? As the woman said, could we not just leave them to their own destinies, unmolested?’

‘You are walking along the shores of a lake,’ Sindermann said. ‘A boy is drowning. Do you let him drown because he was foolish enough to fall into the water before he had learned to swim? Or do you fish him out, and teach him how to swim?’

Loken shrugged. ‘The latter.’

‘What if he fights you off as you attempt to save him, because he is afraid of you? Because he doesn’t want to learn how to swim?’

‘I save him anyway.’

They had stopped walking. Sindermann pressed his hand to the key plate set into the brass frame of a huge door, and allowed his palm to be read by the scrolling light. The door opened, exhaling like a mouth, gusting out climate-controlled air and a background hint of dust.

They stepped into the vault of Archive Chamber Three. Scholars, sphragists and metaphrasts worked in silence at the reading desks, summoning servitors to select volumes from the sealed stacks.

‘What interests me about your concerns,’ Sindermann said, keeping his voice precisely low so that only Loken’s enhanced hearing could follow it, ‘is what they say about you. We have established you are a weapon, and that you don’t need to think about what you do because the thinking is done for you. Yet you allow the human spark in you to worry, to fret and empathise. You retain the ability to consider the cosmos as a man would, not as an instrument might.’

‘I see,’ Loken replied. ‘You’re saying I have forgotten my place. That I have overstepped the bounds of my function.’

‘Oh no.’ Sindermann smiled. ‘I’m saying you have
found
your place.’

‘How so?’ Loken asked.

Sindermann gestured to the stacks of books that rose, like towers, into the misty altitudes of the archive. High above, hovering servitors searched and retrieved ancient texts sealed in plastek carriers, swarming across the cliff-faces of the library like honey bees.

‘Regard the books,’ Sindermann said.

‘Are there some I should read? Will you prepare a list for me?’

‘Read them all. Read them again. Swallow the learning and ideas of our predecessors whole, for it can only improve you as a man, but if you do, you’ll find that none of them holds an answer to still your doubts.’

Loken laughed, puzzled. Some of the metaphrasts nearby looked up from their study, annoyed at the interruption. They quickly looked down again when they saw the noise had issued from an Astartes.

‘What is the Mournival, Garviel?’ Sindermann whispered.

‘You know very well…’

‘Humour me. Is it an official body? An organ of governance, formally ratified, a Legio rank?’

‘Of course not. It is an informal honour. It has no official weight. Since the earliest era of our Legion there has been a Mournival. Four captains, those regarded by their peers to be…’

He paused.

‘The best?’ Sindermann asked.

‘My modesty is ashamed to use that word. The most appropriate. At any time, the Legion, in an unofficial manner quite separate from the chain of command, composes a Mournival. A confratern of four captains, preferably ones of markedly different aspects and humours, who act as the soul of the Legion.’

‘And their job is to watch over the moral health of the Legion, isn’t that so? To guide and shape its philosophy? And, most important of all, to stand beside the commander and be the voices he listens to before any others. To be the comrades and friends he can turn to privately, and talk out his concerns and troubles with freely, before they ever become matters of state or Council.’

‘That is what the Mournival is supposed to do,’ Loken agreed.

‘Then it occurs to me, Garviel, that only a weapon which questions its use could be of any value in that role. To be a member of the Mournival, you need to have concerns. You need to have wit, and most certainly you need to have doubts. Do you know what a nay-smith is?’

‘No.’

‘In early Terran history, during the dominance of the Sumaturan dynasts, naysmiths were employed by the ruling classes. Their job was to disagree. To question everything. To consider any argument or policy and find fault with it, or articulate the counter position. They were highly valued.’

‘You want me to become a naysmith?’ Loken asked.

Sindermann shook his head. ‘I want you to be you, Garviel. The Mournival needs your common sense and clarity. Sejanus was always the voice of reason, the measured balance between Abaddon’s choler and Aximand’s melancholic disdain. The balance is gone, and the Warmaster needs that balance now more than ever. You came to me this morning because you wanted my blessing. You wanted to know if you should accept the honour. By your own admission, Garviel, by the merit of your own doubts, you have answered your own question.’