Nemesis

report to you regarding your… operative? We located the remains you were looking

for.”

“Spear?” He frowned.

Korda nodded, and tossed something towards him. Erebus caught the object; at

first glance it seemed to be a blackened, heat-distorted skull, but on closer

examination the cleft, scything jawbone and distended shape were clearly the work of

forces other than lethal heat and flame. He held it up and looked into the black pits of

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its eyes. The ghost of energies clung to it, and Erebus had a sudden impression of

tiny flecks of gold leaf on the wind, fading into nothingness.

“The rest of the corpse was retrieved along with that.” Korda pointed. “I found

other bodies in the same area, among the ruins of the star-port terminal. Agents of the

Emperor, it would appear.”

Erebus was unconcerned about collateral damages. His irritation churned and he

brushed Korda’s explanation away with a wave of his hand. “Leave it to rot. Failures

have no use to me.” He dropped the skull into the dust.

“What was it, Word Bearer?” Korda came closer, his tone becoming more

insistent. “That thing? Did you unleash something on this backwater world, is that

why they killed my commander?”

“I am not to blame for that,” Erebus retorted. “Look elsewhere for your reasons.”

The words had barely left his lips before the Chaplain felt a stiffening in his chest as

a buried question began to rise in him. He pushed it away before it formed and

narrowed his eyes at Korda. “Spear was a weapon. A gambit played and lost, nothing

more.”

“It stank of witchcraft,” said the Astartes.

Erebus smiled thinly. “Don’t concern yourself with such issues, brother-sergeant.

This was but one of many other arrows in my quiver.”

“I grow weary of your games and your riddles,” said Korda. He swept his hand

around. “What purpose does any of this serve?”

The warrior’s question struck a chord in the Word Bearer, but he did not

acknowledge it. “It is the game, Korda. The greatest game. We take steps, we build

our power, gain strength for the journey to Terra. Soon…” He looked up. “The stars

will be right.”

“Forgive him, brother-sergeant,” said a new voice, an armoured form moving out

of the mist below them. “My brother Lorgar’s kinsmen enjoy their verbiage more

than they should.”

Korda bowed and Erebus did the same as Horus crossed the broken earth, his

heavy ceramite boots crunching on the blasted fragments of rock. Beyond him,

Erebus saw two of the Warmaster’s Mournival in quiet conversation, both with eyes

averted from their master.

“You are dismissed, brother-sergeant,” Horus told his warrior. “I require the First

Chaplain’s attention on a matter.”

Korda gave another salute, this one crisp and heartfelt, his fist clanking off the

front of his breastplate. Erebus fancied he saw a scrap of apprehension in the

warrior’s eyes; more than just the usual respect for his primarch. A fear, perhaps, of

consequences that would come if he was seen to disobey, even in the slightest degree.

As Korda hurried away, Erebus felt the Warmaster’s steady, piercing gaze upon

him. “What do you wish of me?” he asked, his tone without weight.

Horus’ hooded gaze dropped to the blackened skull in the dust. “You will not use

such tactics again in the prosecution of this conflict.”

The Word Bearer’s first impulse was to feign ignorance; but he clamped down on

that before he opened his mouth. Suddenly, he was thinking of Luc Sedirae.

Outspoken Sedirae, whose challenges to the Warmaster’s orders, while trivial, had

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grown to become constant after the progression from Isstvan. Some had said he was

in line to fill the vacant place in the Mournival, that his contentious manner was of

need to one as powerful as Horus. After all, what other reason could there have been

for the Warmaster to grant Sedirae the honour of wearing his mantle?

A rare chill ran through him, and Erebus nodded. “As you command, my lord.”

Was it possible? The Word Bearer’s thoughts were racing. Perhaps Horus

Lupercal had known from the beginning that the Emperor’s secret killers were

drawing close to murder him. But for that he would need eyes and ears on Terra…

Erebus had no doubt the Warmaster’s allies reached to the heart of his father’s

domain, but into the Imperial Palace itself? That was a question he dearly wished to

answer.

Horus turned and began to walk back down the ridge. Erebus took a breath and

spoke again. “May I ask the reasoning behind that order?”

The Warmaster paused, and then glanced over his shoulder. His reply was firm

and assured, and brooked no argument. “Assassins are a tool of the weak, Erebus.

The fearful. They are not a means to end conflicts, only to prolong them.” He paused,

his gaze briefly turning inward. “This war will end only when I look my father in the

eyes. When he sees the truth I will make clear to him, he will know I am right. He

will join me in that understanding.”