[Warhammer 40K - The Horus Heresy 47] - Old Earth by Nick Kyme

Author:Nick Kyme [Nick Kyme]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Military Fiction, Science Fiction, Warhammer 40K
ISBN: 9781785727610
Published: 2017-10-26T07:41:11+00:00

Vulkan saw not the apparition of his nightmares, but nor did he see his brother cloaked and enthroned like a king.

He began to approach, the whine of targeting auto-locks accompanying his footfalls like a discordant refrain. He stopped.

‘You are aware,’ he said calmly, his eye on the enthroned king, ‘that I cannot be killed. I am more than just immortal, more than long-lived.’

Vulkan felt his Draaksward tense, and held out a hand, low and inconspicuous. Zytos, Gargo and Abidemi stopped just short of drawing their weapons.

‘I swore to myself I would not interfere, but in this you involve Ferrus and I cannot let that stand. Let me see my brother,’ he said, yet to lower his hand. ‘Bring him into the light. Let me see him.’

Aug’s right eye twitched as a flood of binaric data cascaded to the auto-turrets, powering them down. They bowed like vassals to their liege lord.

‘Brother…come forward,’ said Vulkan, moving slowly again, his hand still outstretched. ‘Brother, heed me. It is Vulkan.’

All eyes looked to the Gorgon, shrouded by his cloak and the shadows. His fingers rose and then fell.

Vulkan turned his gaze on Aug. ‘Am I to talk to the hand then? Is this what you have done to him?’ He saddened as he regarded his brother. ‘What have they reduced you to, dear Ferrus,’ he whispered, tears glistening, as red as rubies.

‘I see only one falsehood here,’ declared Meduson.

‘As do I,’ murmured Vulkan sadly, and splayed the fingers of his outstretched hand.

The hammer, Urdrakule, flew into his grasp from where it lay with an echoing chime of metal against metal, as if compelled by a potent magnetic force. The two Iron Hands guarding it were powerless to stop it. Vulkan lunged, hammer trailing in his wake, to tear the cloak from the Gorgon and expose the lie beneath.

A skeleton remained, one of mechanisms and polished steel, of scavenged scrap, limbs and ribs, even an eyeless skull. It had the stature of Ferrus but nothing else, aside from the silver arm.

This was genuine enough, carrion taken from the battlefield. ­Restitched, hung by wire, fastened by clamp and bolt, it rested limply by the golem’s side, the fingers twitching with nervous animation.

Aug and the other Fraters went to intercede but Vulkan would not be stopped. He roared, his anguish as raw now as it had been when he had first learned of his brother’s death.

He swung the hammer and felled the grim effigy in one blow. He then reached out to grab Aug by the throat.

‘An insult,’ said Vulkan, his voice thick with emotion. ‘An ersatz version of my brother, of your father. Has the Iron Tenth sunk so low?’

The hand twitched, but without scheme or pattern. It hung distended from the rest of the crushed remains.

‘You are fortunate, Iron Father, that I have a forgiving nature,’ Vulkan said to Aug. He let him go, a glare at the others warning them to stay out of his way, and advanced on the silver arm of Ferrus Manus.

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