[Warhammer 40K - The Horus Heresy 33] - War Without End by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Military Fiction, Science Fiction, Warhammer 40K
ISBN: 9781782517733
Publisher: Black Library
Published: 2015-12-15T10:41:56+00:00

The duels lasted for six more hours before Yesugei let him rest. By that time, Arvida’s body was drained and his mind numb. He limped from the sparring chamber, feeling the old wounds flaring and old exhaustions returning.

Yesugei came with him. Arvida was glad to observe that the Stormseer was at least breathing heavily—the pain-giving had not been entirely one-way.

‘How many times?’ asked Yesugei, following Arvida out into a wide corridor.

Arvida shrugged, still walking. ‘Maybe three times. They were just fragments.’

‘But that is start.’

They walked down a long corridor. Serf menials in white tunics shuffled past, hurrying from one task to another. They all saluted—at Yesugei with joy, at Arvida with a wary curiosity. As ever, the Swordstorm was bustling with movement and energy, like a great beast coiled for the pounce.

‘You still have not told me where the fleet is heading,’ Arvida remarked.

‘Yet to be decided,’ said Yesugei. ‘Legion is not yet ready, so we remain hidden. Will not be long now. The Khan will extend his fingers, seeking out enemy, and then the ordu will be summoned.’

‘The enemy will find you, if you don’t move soon.’

‘He knows,’ said Yesugei.

The spaces around them began to open up. They were heading towards the more populated zones of the flagship, and great lumen-chandeliers hung overhead, making the gilt and marble of the corridor walls shimmer. They entered a long hallway lined with mirrors, over which ten metre-tall calligraphic scrolls hung. Arvida had begun to recognise what some of the texts indicated, even if he couldn’t translate them. Some were records of battles fought and won, others were lists of Legion personnel, perhaps lost during the Great Crusade. Some of the largest and most prestigious scrolls seemed to contain—Arvida guessed by the layout and the decorative borders—poetry.

Ahead, at the far end of the hall, a squad of White Scars came marching towards them. Unusually, they were wearing their helms and carried blade weapons unsheathed in armoured hands.

Yesugei saw them and a flicker of unease passed across his scarred features. A second later, Arvida saw why.

In the centre of the squad, walking along with them, was a lone legionary. Unlike the others he wore no armour, only a white shift. His hands were bound at the wrists in adamantium shackles and some kind of torc had been placed around his neck. His tunic bore a single rune daubed in red on the linen.

Yesugei stood aside to allow the squad to pass; Arvida did also. The escorted warrior did not make eye contact with anyone. He stared straight ahead as he was marched along, saying nothing, his shoulders proudly pushed back.

Arvida couldn’t take his eyes off the legionary’s face. The warrior wore a curious expression—dejected, beaten, yet resolutely defiant. There was no self-pity in that face, nor was there any fear, just a bleak kind of certainty, as though his body were no longer truly his own and he was now being dragged along by the currents of fate.

No son of Prospero would ever have looked that way.

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