Nemesis

‘Speak your mind,’ said Valdor.

‘Every clade has heard the rumours of the missions that have followed this directive and failed it. My clade-cohort Tobeld was the last to be sent on this fool’s errand, and he perished like all the others. I question if this can even be achieved.’

‘Cousin Soalm has a compelling point,’ offered Koyne. ‘This is not some wayward warlord of which we are speaking. This is Horus, first among the Emperor’s sons. Many call him the greatest primarch that ever lived.’

‘You’re afraid,’ snorted the Garantine. ‘What a surprise.’

‘Of course I am afraid of Horus,’ replied Koyne, mimicking the Eversor’s gruff manner. ‘Even an animal would be afraid of the Warmaster.’

‘An Execution Force like this one has never been gathered,’ Kell broke in, drawing the attention of all of them. ‘Not since the days of the first masters and the pact they swore in the Emperor’s service on Mount Vengeance. We are the echo of that day, those words, that intention. Horus Lupercal is the only target worthy of us.’

‘Pretty words,’ said Soalm. ‘But meaningless without direction.’ She turned back to the image of Valdor. ‘I say again; how do we hope to accomplish this after so many of our Assassinorum kindred have been sacrificed against so invulnerable an objective?’

‘Horus has legions of loyal warriors surrounding him,’ said Tariel. ‘Astartes, warships, forces of the Mechanicum and Cybernetica, not to mention the common soldiery who have come to his banner. How do we even get close enough to strike at him?’

‘He will come to you.’ Valdor gave a cold, thin smile. ‘Perhaps you wondered at the speed with which this Execution Force has been assembled? It has been done so as to react to new intelligence that will place the traitor directly in your sights.’

‘How?’ demanded Koyne.

‘It is the judgement of Lord Malcador and the Council of Terra that Horus’s assassination at this juncture with throw the traitor forces into disarray and break the rebellion before it can advance on to the Segmentum Solar,’ said Valdor. ‘Agents of the Imperium operating covertly in the Taebian Sector report a strong likelihood that Horus is planning to bring his flagship, the Vengeful Spirit, to the planet Dagonet in order to show his flag. We believe that the Warmaster’s forces will use Dagonet as a foothold from which to secure the turning of every planet in the Taebian Stars.’

‘If you know this to be so, my lord, then why not simply send a reprisal fleet to Dagonet instead?’ asked Soalm. ‘Send battle cruisers and Legions of Astartes, not six assassins.’

‘Perhaps even the Emperor himself…’ muttered Koyne.

Valdor gave them both a searing glare. ‘The Emperor’s deeds are for him alone to decide! And the fleets and the loyal Legions have their own battles to fight!’

Iota nodded to herself. ‘I understand,’ she said. ‘We are to be sent because there is not certainty. The Imperium cannot afford to send warfleets into the darkness on a mere “likelihood”.’

‘We are only six,’ said Kell, ‘but together we can do what a thousand warships have failed to. One vessel can slip through the warp to Dagonet far easier than a fleet. Six assassins… the best of our clades… can bring death.’ He paused. ‘Remember the words of the oath we all swore, regardless of our clades. There is no enemy beyond the Emperor’s wrath.’

‘You will take the Ultio to the Taebian Sector,’ Valdor went on. ‘You will embed on Dagonet and set up multiple lines of attack. When Horus arrives there, you will terminate his command with extreme prejudice.’

5

‘My lord.’ Efried bowed low and waited.

The low mutter of his primarch’s voice was like the distant thunder over the Himalayan range. ‘Speak, Captain of the Third.’

The Astartes looked up and found Rogal Dorn standing at the high balcony, staring into the setting sun. The golden light spilled over every tower and crenulation of the Imperial Palace, turning the glittering metals and white marble a striking, honeyed amber. The sight was awesome; but it was marred by the huge cube-like masses of retrofitted redoubts and gunnery donjons that stood up like blunt grey fangs in an angry mouth. The palace of before – the rich, glorious construct that defied censure and defeat – was cheek-by-jowl with the palace of now – a brutalist fortress ranged against the most lethal of foes. A foe that had yet to show his face under Terra’s skies.

Efried knew that his liege lord was troubled by the battlements and fortifications the Emperor had charged him to build over the beauty of the palace; and while the captain could see equal majesty in both palace and fortress alike, he knew that in some fashion, Great Dorn believed he was diminishing this place by making it a site fit only for warfare. The primarch of the Imperial Fists often came to this high balcony, to watch the walls and, as Efried imagined, to wait for the arrival of his turncoat brother.