Nemesis

Erebus’s typically insouciant expression shaded dark for a moment. ‘How did this happen?’

‘That will be determined, in due time. For the moment, it is clear that the assurances claiming Dagonet City as a secure location were false. Through either subterfuge or inadequacy on the part of Dagonet’s ruling cadres, a Son of Horus lost his life down there.’ Maloghurst inclined his head towards the Warmaster. ‘Horus has demanded reciprocity.’

‘The nobles will die, then?’

The equerry nodded. ‘To begin with.’

Erebus was silent for a few seconds. ‘Why was Sedirae sent?’

‘Are you questioning the orders of the Warmaster?’

‘I only seek to understand–’ Erebus trailed off as Maloghurst took a step towards the Word Bearer, moving through the doorway and into the corridor.

‘You would do well, Chaplain, to remember that an honoured battle-brother was just murdered in cold blood. A decorated Astartes of great esteem whose loss will be keenly felt, not just by the 13th Company but by the entire Legion.’

Erebus’s eyes narrowed, showing his doubts at the description of Sedirae’s great esteem. While it was true the man was a fine warrior, many considered him an outspoken braggart, the Word Bearer among them. But as ever, the equerry kept his own opinions to himself.

Maloghurst continued. ‘It would be best for the Warmaster to deal with this matter without the involvement of those from outside the Legion.’ He nodded to a servitor in the lee of the doors, and the helot began to slide the towering panels closed. ‘I’m sure you appreciate that.’

There was a moment when the Word Bearer seemed as if he were about to protest; but then he nodded. ‘Of course,’ said Erebus. ‘I bow to your wisdom, equerry. Who knows the Warmaster’s moods better than you?’ He threw a nod and walked away, back into the shadows of the corridor.

7

They were killing everything that moved.

The Sons of Horus began by firing on the crowds in Liberation Plaza, routing the civilians and turning the mob into a screaming tide of bodies that trampled each other in a desperate attempt to flee back down the roads and away from the great halls.

Koyne fought through the mass, catching sight of some of the killings along the way. Kell’s emergency command echoed through the vox-bead hidden in the Callidus’s ear.

The Astartes walked, slow and steady, across the plaza with their bolters at their hips, firing single shot after single shot into the people. The missile-like bolt shells could not fail to find targets, and for each person they hit and instantly killed, others fell dead or near to it from the shared force of impact. The blasts rippled out through flesh and bone, the crowds were so closely packed together. And although Koyne never saw it, the assassin heard the hiss and crackle of a flamer being used. The smell of burned flesh was familiar.

The panic was as much a weapon as the guns of the Astartes. People running and pushing, drowning in animal fear; they trampled one another blindly as they tried to escape along the radial streets leading from the plaza. Some transformed their fear into violence, brandishing weapons of their own in vain attempts to cut a path through the madness.

Koyne rode the terrified mob as one might have floated on a turbulent sea, not fighting it, letting the frenzied currents of push and pull shove a body here and there. As the roads opened up into wider boulevards, the crush lessened and people broke into an open run; some of them were met by strafing fire from the first of the Stormbirds that swooped in low between the buildings.

The Callidus was carried to the edge of the street and found passage through a storefront damaged in the early days of the insurrection. Hidden for a moment from the screaming throng outside, Koyne dared to consult a small holo-map of the city; any one of the avenues would take the assassin straight out of the metropolis to the city perimeter, but down each street the Astartes were advancing in small groups, coldly pacing their kills into those who ran and those who surrendered alike.

After a moment, Koyne peered over the lip of a shattered window and saw that the leading edge of the crowds had passed by. Stragglers were still running past, heading southwards. Behind them, walking as if it were nothing more than a morning stroll, the Callidus spotted a single Astartes in grey ceramite, moving with a bolter at his shoulder. Sighting down the weapon as he went, he was picking targets at random and ending them.

This was not a military exercise; this was a castigation.

‘This is your fault!’ The voice was full of terror and fury.

Koyne spun and found a man, his clothes freshly torn and a new cut staining his forehead with blood. He stood across the rubble-strewn shop floor, glaring at the Callidus, pointing a shaky finger.

It was the uniform he was indicating. The dun-coloured tunic of the Dagonet Planetary Defence Force, in disarray now, but still a part of the false identity Koyne was operating under.