Pharos (The Horus Heresy Book 34) by Guy Haley

Author:Guy Haley [Haley, Guy]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Black Library
Published: 2015-12-02T10:59:09+00:00

Captain Alexis Polux, from Dantioch’s sketchbook

EIGHTEEN

A primarch enraged

Lord Protector

The Emperor of Man

The favoured sons of Sanguinius, Chapter Master Raldoron and Azkaellon of the Sanguinary Guard, were in deep consultation with their primarch when the doors to the throne room burst open, causing their hands to fly to their weapons.

Roboute Guilliman stormed into the chamber.

‘Brother?’ said Sanguinius.

Guilliman’s famous poise had deserted him entirely. His noble features were contorted, his skin flushed, his lips pressed so tightly they had turned white.

Guilliman marched right up to the Primarch of the Blood Angels. All his usual manners had gone. He spoke so forcefully he spat.

‘Where is he? Where has our brother gone?’ Guilliman roared.

‘My lord–’ began Azkaellon.

Guilliman rounded on Sanguinius’ sons, seeing them for the first time. ‘You two, leave us!’

Azkaellon and Raldoron looked to each other.

‘Now! Out!’

Sanguinius nodded his head a fraction.

‘My lord primarchs,’ said Azkaellon and bowed.

Raldoron opened his mouth to speak, but the look Sanguinius fixed him with froze the words in his mouth. ‘My lords,’ he managed. They took their leave in silence.

Azkaellon shut the gilded doors to Sanguinius’ audience chamber behind him.

Sanguinius’ wings shivered, his ire kindled at his brother’s behaviour. He stood tall, radiant beyond compare. His god-like form was clad in simple robes, but his wings and shoulders were draped in golden chains dripping with ruby blood-drops.

Sanguinius drew himself up and looked down upon his brother. ‘Do not speak to my sons so, Roboute. They are loyal beyond words, and should not suffer your wrath. Especially when that anger is born from your own failings.’

‘You… You have heard?’

‘Of what transpires on Sotha? Yes, even though you did not see fit to inform me before you spoke with your captains.’

Guilliman’s face was purple with rage. They were siblings. As Sanguinius was capable of great rage, so was his brother. Guilliman might hide it under a calculating exterior, but they were all demigods, and had emotions of an intensity in accord with their stature. A primarch’s humours were as complex and unpredictable as an ocean, but few ever saw this side of Roboute.

He paced back and forth across the room before the emperor’s throne three times, then strode to the wall and punched it with all his gene-forged might. The stone cracked, shards of it pattering to the floor, and powdered plaster sifted down after it. He leaned his head against the stone and let out a strangled noise. When he stood again, he had regained some of his composure.

‘I am sorry, my lord.’

Sanguinius’ own annoyance was quickly snuffed. ‘My lord? You come to me second and call me “my lord”?’

‘I–’

‘It is all right, Roboute. I understand. You are here now. I goad you a little. I understand why you did not come here first. My real point is, must we keep up this charade when we are on our own? I am no more Emperor than Azkaellon is.’

Guilliman blew out a long and measured breath. His voice was hoarse with emotion. ‘You are, Sanguinius. You are the emperor until we can confirm our father is truly gone.

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