[Warhammer 40K - The Horus Heresy 28] - Scars by Chris Wraight

Author:Chris Wraight [Chris Wraight]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Military Fiction, Science Fiction, Warhammer 40K
Publisher: Black Library
Published: 2013-07-31T12:00:00+00:00

‘You know what they talk of, all across the Crusade?’ Sanguinius had asked.

Ullanor’s steel-grey atmosphere had hung behind the Angel, making his rubescent armour shine all the more strongly. The primarch lived up to his moniker, and his flawless face had glowed with honest amusement.

It was not long after Horus’s investiture and the parade grounds still swarmed with listless warriors. It would take weeks just to arrange the landers to convey them all to the fleet in orbit above.

In the terrace overlooking the main processional, silken awnings sheltered four primarchs from the worst of the kicked-up engine grime. There you could forget, if you tried, about the billions of soldiers all trying to find their way off-world at the same time. The Khan, sitting with his brothers, wondered idly who had been given the thankless task of orchestrating it.

‘Tell me,’ said Mortarion, though the Khan could see that he was not really interested. The Death Lord had cut an isolated figure during the celebrations, uneasy in all but his own company. In that respect, the Khan had some sympathy with him.

Sanguinius leaned back in his throne, dangling a golden goblet casually in one hand. ‘They place wagers on which one of us would win in single combat. There are odds. I have seen them.’

Mortarion snorted. Fulgrim, the fourth of the gathering, laughed.

‘That has been settled, has it not? Our brother Horus wins them all.’

Fulgrim and the Angel looked similar in some ways. They had the same sculptural faces, the same flamboyant armour. Where Sanguinius looked as though he had been born wearing gold-rimmed pauldrons, though, the Khan had always thought Fulgrim looked to be trying a little too hard. In the end, he guessed that Sanguinius would have been happy to cast off his trappings; Fulgrim gave the impression that he would rather die.

‘That would seem to be our father’s view,’ said Sanguinius. ‘It won’t stop the common man making wagers.’

Mortarion shook his pale head, and the tubes running from his archaic rebreather jangled against one another. ‘Stupid.’

Fulgrim gave him an amused look. ‘Oh? Why is that?’

‘Because we were made for different fights,’ growled the Death Lord. His filtered voice never seemed to shift from a sullen register. ‘Come to Barbarus, peacock, and see how long your feathers last in the smog.’

Fulgrim’s silver eyebrows rose. ‘Perhaps I might, brother.’

‘I would not recommend it,’ said Sanguinius. ‘I have seen those chem-clouds. I suspect he would stand them longer than you, Fulgrim.’

‘Some of us had it easier than others,’ Mortarion muttered.

Fulgrim looked archly at Sanguinius. An awkward silence fell.

‘You should not regret that,’ said the Khan. The other three turned, as if surprised that he had a voice. ‘The hardship.’

Mortarion glared at him sourly. His pallid flesh almost matched Ullanor’s overcast, humid skies. ‘I don’t regret it,’ he said. ‘I could regret that only some of us gained our father’s favour, though. I could regret that.’

Sanguinius took a sip of wine from his glass, serenely unconcerned. ‘Brother, you should be pleased for Horus.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.