Mechanicum

Cavalerio looked over to where the robed form of Ipluvien Maximal stood in the shadow of Deus Tempestus, as though he took comfort in the nearness of so complex and revered a machine. Adept Maximal had joined the proceedings immediately after the arrival of the Legio Mortis, his corpulent machine-frame wreathed in icy puffs of air vented from the layers of thermal barrier fabrics that cooled the spinning data wheels that made up the bulk of his body.

His head was an oblong helmet of gold fitted with a multitude of lenses upon telescopic armatures, and a morass of sheathed coolant cables emerged from beneath his robes like black tentacles, upon which sat hololithic plates streaming with glowing lines of data.

So far, Maximal had said nothing, save to acknowledge the primacy of Verticorda and Caturix in the proceedings, content simply to watch and record events as they unfolded.

'And how do you suggest we do that?' asked Camulos. 'By accusing honourable orders of warriors of acts of piracy? To suggest that we would stoop so low as to attack the holdings of an adept so highly regarded as Adept Maximal is outrageous!'

Cavalerio looked over as Maximal inclined his golden head at Camulos's compliment. The words felt too tacked on to be believable. For all his bluster, the raid on Maximal's reactor bore all the hallmarks of Legio Mortis - swift, brutal and leaving virtually no survivors.

Only the three Knights had survived to speak of the attack, and all of them had suffered severe damage to their machines in the reactor's detonation. Gun camera footage of the confrontation had been lost in the explosion, and the only clue to the identity of the attacker was a brief description from the sole Knight who had seen the machine.

'In any case, what possible reason could Legio Mortis have for undertaking such an act? We are all servants of the Warmaster, are we not?'

Mixed murmurs of assent and disagreement spread around the chamber, and Cavalerio felt his choler rise that so many could blindly agree with so facile a statement. Rivalry or not, such a comment could not go unanswered.

Cavalerio rose from his seat in the Princeps Gallery and said, 'You mean the Emperor's forces, surely?' Heads turned as he rose to his feet and awkwardly descended the steel steps towards the chamber's floor.

Camulos watched him approach, squaring his shoulders as though they were about to brawl. 'The Warmaster is the Emperor's proxy, it is one and the same.'

'No, actually,' replied Cavalerio, taking the floor, 'it's not.'

'The Chamber recognises Princeps Cavalerio, the Stormlord of Legio Tempestus,' said Verticorda, using the war-name his Legio had given him in the early days of his command.

Cavalerio gave a respectful bow to the lord commander and then to Deus Tempestus before turning to Princeps Camulos. The man's wide shoulders and enormous presence dwarfed him.

'Pray tell why it is not the same thing?' demanded Camulos.

'The armies we serve are those of the Emperor, not the Warmaster,' said Cavalerio. 'No matter that Horus Lupercal commands them, every man, woman and machine that fights in this crusade is a servant of the Emperor.'

'You are splitting hairs,' spat Camulos, turning away.

'No,' repeated Cavalerio, 'I am not. I know that your Legio has pledged a great deal of its strength to the 63 rd Expedition and to the Warmaster. I believe that to be dangerous.'

Camulos turned back towards him. 'Dangerous? To swear loyalty to the glorious warrior who commands the military might of the Imperium while the Emperor retreats to the dungeons beneath his palace? To swear loyalty to the hero who will finish the job the Emperor is too busy to finish? That is dangerous?'

'The Warmaster is a sublime warrior,' agreed Cavalerio, 'but it would be a mistake to think of those armies as belonging to him. Our first loyalty must be to the Emperor, and only a blind man could fail to see how this division is affecting Mars.'

'What are you talking about, Cavalerio?' snapped Camulos.

'You know what I am talking about. Nothing is said and nothing is ever recorded, but we all know that lines are being drawn. The divisions between the adepts of Mars grow ever more vocal and bitter. Long buried schisms are stirred and ancient feuds reignited. The attack on Adept Maximal's reactor is just the latest example of violence that's rising to the surface and spilling out onto the red sands. The factions of belief are mobilising and our world is on the verge of tearing itself apart. And for what? A semantic difference in belief? Is such a thing worth the bloodshed it will no doubt unleash?'

'Sometimes war is necessary,' said Camulos. 'Did not the Primarch Alpharius say that war was simply the galaxy's hygiene?'