[Horus Heresy 02] False Gods by Graham McNeill

Author:Graham McNeill
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Science Fiction. warhammer 40000
ISBN: 9781844163700
Publisher: The Black Library
Published: 2006-05-26T22:00:00+00:00

THEY GATHERED ONCE more in the aft hold of the flagship, traveling the lonely service stairwells to the deep decks of the Vengeful Spirit. Tapers again lit the way and Aximand found himself desperate to get this over with. The Warmaster was dying and they were holding a meeting?

‘Who approaches?’ asked a hooded figure from the darkness.

‘Three souls,’ Erebus replied.

‘What are your names?’ the figure asked.

‘Do we need to bother with this now?’ snapped Aximand. ‘You know it’s us, Sedirae.’

‘What are your names?’ repeated the figure.

‘I can’t say,’ said Erebus.

‘Pass, friends.’

They entered the aft hold, Aximand shooting a venomous glance at the hooded Luc Sedirae, who simply shrugged and followed them in. Candles lit the vast, scaffold-framed area as usual, but instead of the lively banter of warriors, a subdued, solemn atmosphere shrouded the hold. All the usual suspects were there: Serghar Targost, Luc Sedirae, Kalus Ekaddon, Falkus Kibre and many more officers and file troopers he knew or recognized… and Maloghurst the Twisted.

Erebus led the way into the hold, moving to stand in the centre of the group as Aximand nodded towards the Warmaster’s equerry.

‘It’s been some time since I’ve seen you at a meeting,’ said Aximand.

‘It has indeed,’ agreed Maloghurst. ‘I have neglected my duties as a lodge member, but there are matters before us that demand my attendance.’

‘Brothers,’ said Targost, beginning the meeting. ‘We live in grim times.’

‘Get to the point, Serghar,’ snarled Abaddon. ‘We don’t have time for this.’

The lodge master glared at Abaddon, but saw the first captain’s lurking temper and nodded rather than confront him. Instead, he gestured towards Erebus and addressed the lodge as a whole. ‘Our brother of the XVII Legion would speak to us. Shall we hear him?’

‘We shall,’ intoned the Sons of Horus.

Erebus bowed and said, ‘Brother Ezekyle is right, we do not have time to stand on ceremony so I will be blunt. The Warmaster is dying and the fate of the Crusade stands on a knife-edge. We alone have the power to save it.’

‘What does that mean, Erebus?’ asked Aximand.

Erebus paced around the circumference of the circle as he spoke. ‘The apothecaries can do nothing for the Warmaster. For all their dedication, they cannot cure him of this sickness. All they can do is keep him alive, and they cannot do that for much longer. If we do not act now, it will be too late.’

‘What do you propose, Erebus?’ asked Targost.

‘The tribes on Davin,’ said Erebus.

‘What of them?’ asked the lodge master.

‘They are a feral people, controlled by warrior castes, but then we all know this. Our own quiet order bears the hallmarks of their warrior lodges in its structure and practices. Each of their lodges venerates one of the autochthonic predators of their lands, and this is where our order differs. In my time on Davin during its compliance, I studied the lodges and their ways in search of corruption or religious profanity. I found nothing of that, but in one lodge I found what I believe might be our only hope of saving the Warmaster.

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