The Horus Heresy: Vengeful Spirit

‘Agreed, but where are the Sons of Horus?’

‘Letting the poor bloody mortals take the brunt of it.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Kourion, unconvinced. ‘More than likely getting us to expend munitions on sub-par troops. It galls me to waste quality rounds on turncoat dross.’

‘It’s either that or let them roll over us,’ pointed out Naylor.

Kourion nodded. ‘The Legion forces will show themselves soon enough,’ she said. ‘And until then we’ll make these scum pay for their lack of loyalty.’

‘Is the order given?’

‘The order is given,’ said Kourion. ‘All units, open fire.’

8

Yade Durso kept the Stormbird low, hugging the mountain rock of the Untar Mesas. Imperial fighters from the mountain aeries of Lupercalia duelled the vulture packs in screaming dogfights at higher altitudes, but nap-of-the-earth fighting was Legion work.

Little Horus Aximand sat alongside Durso in the pilot’s compartment at the head of fifty Sons of Horus. They were oathed to the moment and eager to fight.

Ten Stormbirds held station with Aximand’s craft in a staggered echelon. The drop-ships of Seventh Company flew above, their weapons already in acquisition mode.

‘They’re eager,’ said Aximand.

‘Rightly so,’ answered Durso.

‘Too eager,’ said Aximand. ‘The Seventh Company were mauled at Avadon. They don’t have the numbers to indulge in pointless heroics.’

The threat auspex trilled as it sniffed out the unmistakable emissions of weapons fire. Flickering icons appeared on the slate, too many to process accurately. The Imperial host became a red smear blocking the way onwards to Lupercalia.

‘So many,’ said Durso.

‘We do our job there’ll be a lot less soon,’ said Aximand. ‘Now look for gaps in the line.’

Aximand hooked into the various vox-nets, parsing the hundreds of streams in discreet synaptic pathways, sorting the relevant from the inconsequential. All they needed was for just one enemy commander to let hunger for glory overcome tactical sense.

Company level vox: tank commanders calling in targets, spotters yelling threat warnings and enemy attack vectors.

Command level vox: pained orders to abandon damaged tanks, pick up survivors or overtake laggardly vanguard units.

A screaming wall of encrypted scrapcode howled behind it all. Dark Mechanicum comms screeching between the towering battle-engines. He turned it down, but it kept coming back. The sound was grating on a level Aximand knew was simply wrong.

‘No machine should sound like that,’ he said.

Aximand listened to the streams of vox-traffic long enough to gather the information he needed; unit positionals, vox-strengths and priority enhancements. Taken together it painted a picture as vivid and complete as any sensory simulation. As the Stormbird broke through the clouds, Lupercal’s voice broke through every Legion channel.

‘My captains, my sons,’ he said, ‘Warriors’ discretion. Engage targets of opportunity. Withdraw only on my command.’

‘Take us in, Yade,’ ordered Aximand.

‘Affirmative,’ responded Durso, lifting the golden Eye of Horus he kept wrapped around his wrist and putting it to his lips and eyes. ‘For Horus and the Eye.’

‘Kill for the living and kill for the dead,’ said Aximand.

Durso pushed the Stormbird down.

9

The pain of his failed Becoming was nothing compared to the agony he suffered now. The neural interface cables implanted in Albard’s scabbed spinal sockets were white-hot lances stabbing into the heart of his brain. They’d never properly healed from the day they’d been cut into him.

Banelash was fighting him. It knew he was an intruder and sought to throw him off like a wild colt. The spirits of its former masters knew that Albard was broken, knew that he had failed once already to bond with a Knight.

The dead riders did not welcome the unworthy into their ranks.

Albard fought them down.

For all their loathing, he had decades of hate on his side. He felt the echo of Raeven’s presence in Banelash’s machine heart, but that only made him more determined. His stepbrother had violated everything that Albard had once held dear.

Now he would return the favour.

The Knight’s systems glitched and continually tried to restart and break his connection. The modifications his Sacristans had made kept them from shutting him out. The heart of the Knight was screaming at him, and Albard screamed right back.

Forty-three years ago, he had sat opposite Raeven and let fear get the better of him. Not this time. Blinded in one eye by a raging mallahgra in his youth, the simian beasts had always held a special terror in Albard’s nightmares. When one had broken free on his day of Becoming, a day that should have been his proudest moment, that terror had consumed him.

His Knight had felt his fear and rejected him as unworthy. Condemned in the eyes of his father, he’d been doomed to a life of torture and mockery at the hands of his stepbrother and sister.