The Beast Arises

‘I already have,’ Bohemond replied. ‘My Thunderhawks pulled Captain Dentor and what was left of his company from the greenskin-drenched wilderness.’

‘You had no right, Templar,’ Thane spat.

‘They would be dead now if I hadn’t.’

‘And what of the populations they were protecting? What is to become of them?’

‘Nothing, captain,’ Bohemond said, ‘for they are dead already.’

‘I need your men, Bohemond.’

‘You can’t have them,’ the Marshal said. ‘For they are needed elsewhere — as are yours, captain.’

‘Marshal…’

‘I have been where you are now,’ the Black Templar told him. ‘It is not easy for an Adeptus Astartes to turn and run, but as my castellan told me, it is merely a matter of perspective. There is running from and there is running to. We were at Aspiria, and yes, I could have sent my Templars to their deaths in the name of obstinacy and honour. But then I heard the call — as you hear now. Dorn’s call. I heard it in Imperial Navy recalls, in my battle-barge’s klaxons, in mortis-cries echoing across the immaterium. The call home, brother. Coreward.’

‘You are a crusader,’ Thane accused. ‘You call no world home. Eidolica is home to the Fists Exemplar.’

Bohemond smashed his fist against the plate of his chest.

‘No,’ the marshal hissed, ‘this is your home. You say your Eidolica needs you. I say your Imperium needs you. Do you have any idea how many astropathic calls for assistance I had to ignore to reach you, brother? Worlds die about us and sectors fall. This is not localised. The invader has not a conqueror’s eyes for your piecemeal world, captain. Eidolica is an afterthought — the enemy’s bloody gaze is fixed on the segmentum whole. What good can you do here?’

‘This is my world,’ Maximus Thane roared through the window at the marshal. ‘These are my people. This is my bastion.’

‘Your people are finished,’ Bohemond told him. He let the cold sentiment hang in the descending silence of the chapel. ‘Through no fault of your own or your commanders’, your world belongs to savages of the void. This was never a battle you could win. How long can you keep this up: fighting through the night and hiding in the light? How long will your armouries sustain you? A day? A week? And should you slaughter every living greenskin on the surface of your desert world, what then? The xenos attack moon will tear this tiny planet apart and feed it to its guardian star.’

‘What would you have me do?’

‘I would have you do nothing, captain. What we must do — brothers all — is gather our strength. The savages will be stopped here no more than they would have been at Aspiria. We must consult with Chapter Master Mirhen; with my own High Marshal; with Scharn; with Quesadra of the Crimson Fists and Issachar of the Excoriators. It is time for the scattered successors of all loyal Legions to join once again in defence of humanity. This will not happen here, Thane; it will not happen now. But we must be as one and ready for Dorn’s call, when it comes.’

Maximus Thane hadn’t been looking at Bohemond for a while. His eyes were fixed on his primarch, picked out in coloured glass. Neither battle-brother spoke for what seemed like a long time.

‘Look, Thane,’ Bohemond said. ‘I speak like a brother of wisdom, when I learned this just like you, in the fires of battle. I found this decision no less difficult or painful.’

‘Your vessels wait ready in orbit?’ the Fist Exemplar asked.

‘Yes,’ the marshal replied. ‘They hold position in the sun-blind. My gunships could have your brothers and materiel evacuated within the hour.’

Thane didn’t need to check with a chronometer. Night was coming. He could feel the seconds ebbing away.

‘Well, an hour is about all we have,’ he said. Bohemond nodded his understanding.

The Fists Exemplar captain and the marshal went to leave the chapel. At the archway bulkhead, Thane turned to take one last look at the stained glass window.

‘You think that it hurt Dorn, to break his Legion thus?’ Thane asked, his voice echoing about the company chapel.

‘More than the most grievous of wounds received in battle,’ Bohemond said gently. ‘But sometimes, you have to destroy something old in order to make something new. The Fists Exemplar know that better than any of Dorn’s sons.’

Maximus Thane nodded slowly in grave agreement.

TWENTY

Undine — Desolation Point

Drip. Drip. Drip.