The Horus Heresy: The Master of Mankind

Diocletian steeled himself. He gestured to the helm on the table, knowing it would offer a far finer explanation than mere words. ‘You know what this portends. The Traitor Legions have gained access to the webway. Behind them march silhouettes of Titans. We were already hard-pressed, but now our foes have multiplied. We are losing tunnels in Magnus’ Folly at a faster rate than ever before. We have lost our grip on the wider web and no longer have the numbers to advance. For now, the Impossible City’s catacombs are safe. We can hold the reconstructed walls of Calastar for as long as we must.’

Malcador, silent until now, dipped his hooded head. ‘Where is Tribune Endymion?’

You know, thought Diocletian. You know Kadai and Jasar have fallen. You know Ra is the last tribune. Ah, to catch one of your spies, you cunning creature. ‘Ra is engaged in battle,’ the Custodian said. ‘I am here in his stead.’

During Diocletian’s retelling, as brief as it was, Dorn had moved to the wide windows, watching the great metal globes passing by in their elliptical drifts. The daylight sky was darkened by the passing of one of Terra’s orbital plates, leaving the primarch’s features in shadow. His face was stone, betraying no hint of emotion.

Valdor said nothing. Trimejia was equally silent. Even her skulls had ceased their circling, now bobbing in the air by her shoulders, looking at Diocletian with eye sockets filled with sensoria needle clusters. The Sigillite leaned more heavily on his staff, making no attempt to reclaim control of the command briefing in the wake of Diocletian’s confession.

Dorn turned from the window. Diocletian hated the sudden emotion that lifted the primarch’s features and brought light to his eyes.

‘If you need warriors,’ he began, ‘then my Legion…’

‘No.’ Diocletian said the word the very same moment that Kaeria signed a curt Negative.

‘No?’ As ever, Dorn was calm.

‘It is the Emperor’s will that the Imperial Fists remain outside the Dungeon.’

‘That was my father’s will when He had the Ten Thousand and the Sisterhood at full strength,’ Dorn countered. ‘When He is starved of soldiers and the Traitors mass within the webway, how can His command remain the same?’

‘How many of your Fists even remain on Terra?’ Diocletian countered. ‘Four companies? Five?’

‘I have several companies stationed in the event of rebellion from among the conquered territories.’

‘And the rest of your Legion, Rogal?’

‘Scattered across three segmentums, and principally deployed in the engagement spheres of the Solar War. Even so, I offer what I can spare.’

‘Which is next to nothing.’

‘Even so.’

‘It is the Emperor’s will,’ Diocletian repeated, ‘that the Imperial Fists remain outside the Dungeon.’

‘Tell me why.’

‘I can only guess,’ said Diocletian. His gaze flicked downwards to the deactivated helm taken as a trophy.

‘You believe that my men cannot be trusted?’ Dorn replied, perfectly calm. ‘That they would turn their coats as Angron’s dogs turned?’

‘Trust,’ said Diocletian, laying into the word. ‘I am not free with my trust these nights, Rogal Dorn. If we could trust the warriors of the Legions, the galaxy wouldn’t be aflame and severed in two by a primarch’s ambition. I won’t argue with you, Praetorian. I merely bring the Emperor’s will back to the surface.’

Dorn leaned his knuckles upon the table and breathed through closed teeth. Although all knew him as a soul of majestic composure, his dislike of Diocletian and the Ten Thousand’s secrecy was deeply etched across his being. Malcador’s exhalation was subtler, slower, somehow more tense. Only Trimejia showed no emotion whatsoever; her faceless visage was capable of none. Her hood dipped slightly. Something clicked behind her faceplate. The three skulls began drifting around her in a reversed orbit.

‘What of the Omnissiah?’ her three skulls asked in harmonic monotone.

‘He is unchanged. He remains enthroned and unmoving, unresponsive to any stimuli. He has not spoken since taking the Golden Throne. The forces He battles in the wake of Magnus’ ignorance are beyond reckoning. We know no more than we already knew.’

‘If He remains unspeaking,’ Dorn’s colourless voice enquired, ‘how has He requested more warriors?’

‘The Ten Thousand speaks for the Emperor,’ Diocletian replied at once.

‘We require more information,’ said Trimejia’s drifting servo-skulls. ‘More quantifiable data on the Omnissiah’s will. Speak. Enunciate. Explain.’

‘The Ten Thousand speaks for the Emperor. What we ask for is no different than if our lord asked Himself. It has ever been thus.’

Silence reigned.

Dorn looked back to the overcast sky. His voice was softened by the moment’s immensity.

‘Magnus, my brother, of all your mistakes this one is by far the most grievous.’ Once more he looked over his shoulder at Diocletian and Kaeria. ‘I see now why you came in person.’