[Warhammer 40K - The Horus Heresy 44] - The Crimson King by Graham McNeill

Author:Graham McNeill [Graham McNeill]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Military Fiction, Science Fiction, Warhammer 40K
Published: 2017-04-11T10:52:05+00:00

They held Menkaura in the least of the Arethusa’s embarkation decks. Naked but for a plain training robe, his muscle-corded limbs were outstretched and fettered by bow-taut adamantium chains bolted to a pair of mooring rings rated to anchor superheavy battle tanks. A dozen more chains were attached to a ward-inscribed null-collar locked around his neck.

Sister Caesaria lifted a sensory-deprivation helm from Menkaura and took position behind him, her melta pistol aimed at the back of his skull. A circle of Vorax powered up lightning guns and beat the flats of their powerblades on their thorax sections. Servo-skulls flitted overhead, capturing everything via picters and vox-thieves.

The sorcerer blinked rapidly, squinting in the glare of blinding stablights. He let out a pained breath as Caesaria’s pariah energies snuffed out his powers.

Promus and Bjarki watched the sorcerer take in his surroundings: the spartan embarkation deck, its automated weapon systems and the Vorax. Menkaura tutted as he noticed the ring of bird skulls, animal bones, furred totems and tribal fetishes Bjarki had laid around his feet.

‘Really?’ he said.

‘Just being thorough,’ said Bjarki with a wet growl.

Menkaura tried to face Sister Caesaria, but the collar and chains prevented him from looking over his shoulder.

‘Her mutation blocks your connection to the Great Ocean as much as it does mine,’ he said, ‘but given what we must talk about, that is probably for the best.’

‘Why were the Thousand Sons on Kamiti Sona?’ said Promus.

Menkaura studied him, and even though the sorcerer’s power was blunted, Promus felt his skin crawl at the intensity of the scrutiny. He expected to feel hate or the urge to wreak vengeance on Bjarki, but Menkaura appeared utterly calm.

‘Straight up and down, no embellishment, direct and blandly efficient like all in the Thirteenth,’ said Menkaura. ‘Tell me, Chief Librarian Promus—why have you forsaken the Primarch Guilliman’s colours? And you, Bödvar Bjarki, Rune Priest of Tra, how does it feel to know you will never see Fenris again?’

‘How does he know you both?’ demanded Caesaria.

‘He is one of their gothi,’ said Bjarki. ‘A reader of the unlived wyrd.’

‘We call ourselves Corvidae,’ said Menkaura.

‘But that’s not how he knows me,’ said Promus, and Bjarki favoured him with a gaze that reminded him of the Wolves’ sometime-role as executioners.

‘You didn’t tell them you were at Nikaea?’ said Menkaura with a wide grin. ‘You haven’t told them you spoke in defence of the Crimson King?’

Bjarki turned to him. ‘Is that true?’

Promus nodded. ‘It is.’

‘Yes, Promus here stood with Targutai Yesugei of the White Scars and his brothers of the Librarius,’ said Menkaura, enjoying his moment of revelation. ‘It filled me with pride to hear you all speak out against our censure.’

‘Do I need to chain you next to him?’ said Bjarki.

‘You could try.’

Bjarki stared into Promus’ eyes, and Promus met his flinty gaze. The moment stretched until the Wolf nodded slowly.

‘You have recognised your failing and made sure to correct it. And Magnus fooled a great many people cleverer than you.’

Promus tried not to take offence at Bjarki’s casual dismissal, and turned back to Menkaura.

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