The Horus Heresy: Vengeful Spirit

His helmet was mag-locked at his waist and the ribbed arms of his experimental servo-harness were folded at his shoulders.

Tears streaked his ash-smeared features.

‘What did you do?’ said Castor Alcade in disbelief.

‘What I had to,’ replied Kyro. ‘I did it because you wouldn’t.’

Didacus Theron marched towards the unrepentant Techmarine, but Alcade held him back. Bad enough that legionary was fighting legionary, but for Ultramarine to fight Ultramarine? Unthinkable, even in a time when such thoughts were the norm.

‘You’ve killed us all,’ said Theron. ‘You’ve dug our graves on this miserable rock.’

‘A miserable rock entrusted to us by the Emperor,’ Kyro reminded him. ‘Or have you forgotten the oath we swore?’

‘I have forgotten nothing,’ said Theron.

‘You’ve forgotten where the power of your oath comes from.’

‘Then remind me.’

‘That by making it you ask the Emperor to bear witness to the promises you make with an expectation of being held accountable for how you honour them.’

Theron wrapped his hand around the hilt of his sword. Alcade knew that with but a moment’s provocation, he would draw it and strike Kyro down. Theron was Calth born and bred. Rough and ready, but with a nobility of heart that was all that kept him from killing Kyro where he stood.

‘My home world is burning,’ said Theron. ‘But Ultramar can still be saved. This world is lost. What will it achieve if we all die here? How does that serve the Emperor, Kyro? We are His Angels of Death, and this war against Horus has upset the board.’

Theron reached up to the scorched oath paper fluttering at his shoulder guard where a melted seal of wax affixed it to the curved plate. He tore it off and threw it aside.

‘An oath to die in vain is no oath at all,’ he said. ‘Calth needs us and you have kept me from her.’

‘Trying times don’t negate our duty to keep an oath,’ said Kyro. ‘They demand it, even more than when it’s easy to keep.’

Theron drew his sword, knuckles white.

Alcade took a breath. This had gone on long enough.

‘Centurion!’

Theron turned, his face ruddy with anger.

Alcade knew that anger. He felt it too, but with the horror of the massacre in the north behind them, cold practicality reasserted itself.

‘Leave him be, Didacus, he’s right,’ said Alcade, letting out a long, resigned breath. ‘An oath is not an oath if it can be set aside when it suits our desires. We swore to defend Molech, and that’s what we’re going to do.’

‘We can still get off-world, legate,’ said Theron, his anger undiminished, but bleeding out of him with every word. ‘We can seize another orbital craft. Capture a warp-capable ship and fight on. We can still make a difference. Thirty Ultramarines is not a force to be easily dismissed.’

‘I have made my decision,’ said Alcade. ‘The matter is closed. We march for Molech.’

Theron mustered his arguments, but Alcade cut him off before he could argue any more.

‘I said the matter is closed.’

For a moment he wondered if Theron might attack him, but decades of devotion to duty crushed any thought of disobedience.

‘As you say, legate,’ said Theron. ‘We march for Molech.’

Alcade waved his warriors towards the piled crates of ammunition and weaponry Kyro had removed from the gunships.

‘Gather up all the guns and blades you need,’ he said.

He marched to stand before Kyro and said, ‘On any other day I’d have you bear the red of censure, but I need every bolter I can muster. Rejoin the ranks, and bring that vexil with you. If we’re going to die here, we’re going to do it under the Ultima.’

Movement at the mouth of the hangar drew Alcade’s attention.

A wide-base Army vehicle lurched into the cavern, and thirty bolters snapped to face it. Automated weapon systems tracked it, but Kyro swiftly issued an override command at the sight of the red caduceus emblazoned on its glacis.

A heavy door rolled back on its side and a slender woman in a bloodstained coat and hard-wearing fatigues several sizes too big for her jumped down. Five men emerged behind her. Army by their bearing. Each was armed, but they were no threat.

‘Who the hell are you?’ he demanded.

The woman smiled in relief.

‘Legate Alcade,’ she said. ‘My name is Alivia Sureka and I very much need your help.’

TWENTY-TWO Not Ullanor / This is fear / Hellgate

1

In contrast to Alivia Sureka’s arrival, Lupercalia felt deserted when the Warmaster entered the city. Columns of Legiones Astartes came first, marching beneath wolf-headed vexils and tribal runes of Barbarus as the sun dipped towards dusk.

Aximand’s company bore bloody trophies taken from the vanquished XIII Legion, while Ezekyle’s Justaerin dragged scorched Legio Crucius banners behind them for others to trample.

Tyana Kourion’s body was nailed to a Contemptor’s sarcophagus.

Smoke-blackened tanks and the striding engines of Vulpa, Interfector, Vulcanum and Mortis came after the infantry, their warhorns braying in triumph.