Horus Rising (32 page)

‘You seemed shocked,’ said Aximand. ‘Wouldn’t you be more shocked to learn the Warmaster
didn’t
know about the quiet order within his Legion? He knows. He’s always known, and he turns a blind eye, provided we remain closed and confidential in our activities.’

‘I don’t understand…’ Loken said.

‘That’s why you’re here,’ said Moy. ‘You speak out against us because you don’t understand. If you wish to oppose what we do, then at least do so from an informed position.’

‘I’ve heard enough,’ said Loken, turning away. ‘I’ll leave now. Don’t worry, I’ll say nothing. I’ll make no waves, but I’m disappointed in you all. Someone can return my blade to me tomorrow.’

‘Please,’ Aximand began.

‘No, Horus! You meet in secret, and secrecy is the enemy of truth. So we are taught! Truth is everything we have! You hide yourselves, you conceal your identities… for what? Because you are ashamed? Hell’s teeth, you should be! The Emperor himself, beloved by all, has ruled on this. He does not sanction this kind of activity!’

‘Because he doesn’t understand!’ Torgaddon exclaimed.

Loken turned back and strode across the chamber until he was nose to nose with Torgaddon. ‘I can hardly believe I heard you say that,’ he snarled.

‘It’s true,’ said Torgaddon, not backing down. ‘The Emperor isn’t a god, but he might as well be. He’s so far removed from the rest of mankind. Unique. Singular. Who does he call brother? No one! Even the blessed primarchs are only sons to him. The Emperor is wise beyond all measure, and we love him and would follow him until the crack of doom, but he doesn’t understand brotherhood, and that is
all
we meet for.’

There was silence for a moment. Loken turned away from Torgaddon, unwilling to look upon his face. The others stood in a ring around them.

‘We are warriors,’ said Targost. ‘That is all we know and all we do. Duty and war, war and duty. Thus it has been since we were created. The only bond we have that is not prescribed by duty is that of brotherhood.’

‘That is the purpose of the lodge,’ said Sedirae. ‘To be a place where we are free to meet and converse and confide, outside the strictures of rank and martial order. There is only one qualification a man needs to be a part of our quiet order. He must be a warrior.’

‘In this company,’ said Targost, ‘a man of any rank can meet and speak openly of his troubles, his doubts, his ideas, his dreams, without fear of scorn, or monition from a commanding officer. This is a sanctuary for our spirit as men.’

‘Look around,’ Aximand invited, stepping forwards, gesturing with his hands. ‘Look at these faces, Garviel. Company captains, sergeants, file warriors. Where else could such a mix of men meet as equals? We leave our ranks at the door when we come in. Here, a senior commander can talk with a junior initiate, man to man. Here, knowledge and experience is passed on, ideas are circulated, commonalities discovered. Serghar holds the office of lodge master only so that a function of order may be maintained.’

Targost nodded. ‘Horus is right. Garviel, do you know how old the quiet order is?’

‘Decades…’

‘No, older. Perhaps thousands of years older. There have been lodges in the Legions since their inception, and allied orders in the army and all other branches of the martial divisions. The lodge can be traced back into antiquity, before even the Unification Wars. It’s not a cult, nor a religious obscenity. Just a fraternity of warriors. Some Legions do not practise the habit. Some do. Ours always has done. It lends us strength.’

‘How?’ asked Loken.

‘By connecting warriors otherwise divorced by rank or station. It makes bonds between men who would otherwise not even know one another’s name. We thrive, like all Legions, from our firm hierarchy of formal authority, the loyalty that flows down from a commander through to his lowest soldier. Loyal to a squad, to a section, to a company. The lodge reinforces complementary links
across
that structure, from squad to squad, company to company. It could be said to be our secret weapon. It is the true strength of the Luna Wolves, strapping us together, side to side, where we are already bound up top to toe.’

‘You have a dozen spears to carry into war,’ said Torgaddon quietly. ‘You gather them, shaft to shaft, as a bundle, so they are easier to bear. How much easier is that bundle to carry if it is tied together around the shafts?’

‘If that was a metaphor,’ Loken said, ‘it was lousy.’

‘Let me speak,’ said another man. It was Kalus Ekaddon. He stepped forwards to face Loken.

‘There’s been bad blood between us, Loken,’ he said bluntly.

‘There has.’

‘A little matter of rivalry on the field. I admit it. After the High City fight, I hated your guts. So, in the field, though we served the same master and followed the same standard, there’d always be friction between us. Competition. Am I right?’

‘I suppose…’

‘I’ve never spoken to you,’ Ekaddon said. ‘Never, informally. We don’t meet or mix. But I tell you this much: I’ve heard you tonight, in this place, amongst friends. I’ve heard you stand up for your beliefs and your point of view, and I’ve learned respect for you. You speak your mind. You have principles. Tomorrow, Loken, no matter what you decide tonight, I’ll see you in a new light. You’ll not get any grief from me any more, because I know you now. I’ve seen you as the man you are.’ He laughed, raw and loud. ‘Terra, it’s a crude example, Loken, for I’m a crude fellow, but it shows what the lodge can do.’

He held out his hand. After a moment, Loken took it.

‘There’s a thing at least,’ said Ekaddon. ‘Now get on, if you’re going. We’ve talking and drinking to do.’

‘Or will you stay?’ asked Torgaddon.

‘For now, perhaps,’ said Loken.

T
HE MEETING LASTED
for two hours. Torgaddon had brought wine, and Sedirae produced some meat and bread from the flagship’s commissary. There were no crude rituals or daemonic practices to observe. The men – the brothers – sat around and talked in small groups, then listened as Aximand recounted the details of a xenos war that he had participated in, which he hoped might give them insight into the fight ahead. Afterwards, Torgaddon told some jokes, most of them bad.

As Torgaddon rambled on with a particularly involved and vulgar tale, Aximand came over to Loken.

‘Where do you suppose,’ he began quietly, ‘the notion of the Mournival came from?’

‘From this?’ Loken asked.

Aximand nodded. ‘The Mournival has no legitimate standing or powers. It’s simply an informal organ, but the Warmaster would not be without it. It was created originally as a visible extension of the invisible lodge, though that link has long since gone. They’re both informal bodies interlaced into the very formal structures of our lives. For the benefit of all, I believe.’

‘I imagined so many horrors about the lodge,’ said Loken.

‘I know. All part of that straight up and down thing you do so well, Garvi. It’s why we love you. And the lodge would like to embrace you.’

‘Will there be formal vows? All the theatrical rigmarole of the Mournival?’

Aximand laughed. ‘No! If you’re in, you’re in. There are only very simple rules. You don’t talk about what passes between us here to any not of the lodge. This is down time. Free time. The men, especially the junior ranks, need to be confident they can speak freely without any comeback. You should hear what some of them say.’

‘I think I might like to.’

‘That’s good. You’ll be given a medal to carry, just as a token. And if anyone asks you about any lodge confidence, the answer is “I can’t say”. There’s nothing else really.’

‘I’ve misjudged this thing,’ Loken said. ‘I made it quite a daemon in my head, imagining the worst.’

‘I understand. Particularly given the matter of poor Jubal. And given your own staunch character.’

‘Am I… to replace Jubal?’

‘It’s not a matter of replacement,’ Little Horus said, ‘and anyway, no. Jubal was a member, though he hadn’t attended any meetings in years. That’s why we forgot to palm away his medal before your inspection. There’s your danger sign, Garvi. Not that Jubal was a member, but that he was a member and had seldom attended. We didn’t know what was going on in his head. If he’d come to us and shared, we might have pre-empted the horror you endured at the Whisperheads.’

‘But you told me I was to replace someone,’ Loken said.

‘Yes. Udon. We miss him.’

‘Udon was a lodge member?’

Aximand nodded. ‘A long-time brother, and, by the way, go easy on Vipus.’

Loken went over to where Nero Vipus was sitting, beside the canister fire. The lively yellow flames jumped into the dark air and sent stray sparks oscillating away into the black. Vipus looked uncomfortable, toying with the heal-seam of his new hand.

‘Nero?’

‘Garviel. I was bracing myself for this.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you… because you didn’t want anyone in your command to…’

‘As I understand it,’ Loken said, ‘and forgive me if I’m wrong, because I’m new to this, but as I understand it, the lodge is a place for free speech and openness. Not discomfort.’

Nero smiled and nodded. ‘I was a member of the lodge long before I came into your command. I respected your wishes, but I couldn’t leave the brotherhood. I kept it hidden. Sometimes, I thought about asking you to join, but I knew you’d hate me for it.’

‘You’re the best friend I have,’ Loken said. ‘I couldn’t hate you for anything.’

‘The medal though. Jubal’s medal. When you found it, you wouldn’t let the matter go.’

‘And all you said was “I can’t say”. Spoken like a true lodge member.’

Nero sniggered.

‘By the way,’ Loken said. ‘It was you, wasn’t it?’

‘What?’

‘Who took Jubal’s medal.’

‘I told Captain Aximand about your interest, just so he knew, but no, Garvi. I didn’t take the medal.’

When the meeting closed, Loken walked away along one of the vast service tunnels that ran the length of the ship’s bilges. Water dripped from the rusted roof, and oil rainbows shone on the dirty lakes across the deck.

Torgaddon ran to catch up with him.

‘Well?’ he asked.

‘I was surprised to see you there,’ said Loken.

‘I was surprised to see you there,’ Torgaddon replied. ‘A starch-arse like you?’

Loken laughed. Torgaddon ran ahead and leapt up to slap his palm against a pipe high overhead. He landed with a splash.

Loken chuckled, shook his head, and did the same, slapping higher than Torgaddon had managed.

The pipe clang echoed away from them down the tunnel.

‘Under the engineerium,’ Torgaddon said, ‘the ducts are twice as high, but I can touch them.’

‘You lie.’

‘I’ll prove it.’

‘We’ll see.’

They walked on for a while. Torgaddon whistled the Legion March loudly and tunelessly.

‘Nothing to say?’ he asked at length.

‘About what?’

‘Well, about that.’

‘I was misinformed. I understand better now.’

‘And?’

Loken stopped and looked at Torgaddon. ‘I have only one worry,’ he said. ‘The lodge meets in secret, so, logically, it is good at keeping itself secret. I have a problem with secrets.’

‘Which is?’

‘If you get good at keeping them, who knows what kind you’ll end up keeping.’

Torgaddon maintained a straight face for as long as possible and then exploded in laughter. ‘No good,’ he spluttered. ‘I can’t help it. You’re so straight up and down.’

Loken smiled, but his voice was serious. ‘So you keep telling me, but I mean it, Tarik. The lodge hides itself so well. It’s become used to hiding things. Imagine what it could hide if it wanted to.’

‘The fact that you’re a starch-arse?’ Torgaddon asked. ‘I think that’s common knowledge. It is. It so is!’ Torgaddon chuckled. He paused. ‘So… will you attend again?’ ‘I can’t say,’ Loken replied.

SIX

Chosen instrument

Rare picts

The Emperor protects

F
OUR FULL COMPANIES
of the Luna Wolves had dropped into the clearing, and the megarachnid forces had perished beneath their rapacious onslaught, those that had not fled back into the shivering forests. A block of smoke, as black and vast as a mountainside, hung over the battlefield in the cold night air. Xenos bodies covered the ground, curled and shrivelled like metal shavings.

‘Captain Torgaddon,’ the Luna Wolf said, introducing himself formally and making the sign of the aquila.

‘Captain Tarvitz,’ Tarvitz responded. ‘My thanks and respect for your intervention.’

‘The honour’s mine, Tarvitz,’ Torgaddon said. He glanced around the smouldering field. ‘Did you really assault here with only six men?’

‘It was the only workable option in the circumstances,’ Tarvitz replied.

Nearby, Bulle was freeing Lucius from the wad of megarachnid cement.

‘Are you alive?’ Torgaddon asked, looking over.

Lucius nodded sullenly, and set himself apart while he picked the scabs of cement off his perfect armour. Torgaddon regarded him for a moment, then turned his attention to the vox intel.

‘How many with you?’ Tarvitz asked.

‘A speartip,’ said Torgaddon. ‘Four companies. A moment, please. Second Company, form up on me! Luc, secure the perimeter. Bring up the heavies. Serghar, cover the left flank! Verulam… I’m waiting! Front up the right wing.’

The vox crackled back.

‘Who’s the commander here?’ a voice demanded.

‘I am,’ said Torgaddon, swinging round. Flanked by a dozen of the Emperor’s Children, the tall, proud figure of Lord Eidolon crunched towards them across the fuming white slag.

‘I am Eidolon,’ he said, facing Torgaddon.

‘Torgaddon.’

‘Under the circumstances,’ Eidolon said, ‘I’ll understand if you don’t bow.’

‘I can’t for the life of me imagine any circumstances in which I would,’ Torgaddon replied.

Eidolon’s bodyguards wrenched out their combat blades.

‘What did you say?’ demanded one.

‘I said you boys should put those pig sticks away before I hurt somebody with them.’