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  'Don't worry,' muttered Shadrak, 'they'll mainly be Raven Guard.'

  'Your humour grows ever darker, brother,' said Aug.

  'Are we going to employ their expertise or not?'

  'The clanfathers will never approve it.'

  'They don't have to. You have command. This ship is yours. You are the acting warleader.'

  'Is this the true advice of my Hand Elect?' asked Aug.

  'You'd better hope so,' replied Shadrak.

  Aug pursed his lips, and then nodded.

  'Good,' said Shadrak. 'Next, tighter field control on the shields.'

  'Useless against longrange fire.'

  'But perfect for close quarters, which is what this is going to be if it happens. Next, all ship munitions set for impart detonation rather than timed or ranged. Next...'

  SHADRAK HAD NEVER even made it onto the surface of Isstvan V. The clancompanies of Sorrgol had been in the second line with Amadeus DuCaine, an orbital reserve for the Gorgon's main assault.

  They had seen the horror blossom across the world below in disbelief. Then it had become a frenzy first to extract any of their brethren still alive, then simply to fight their way clear. Ships had flamed out all around them. The heavy killships of the IV and XVI Legions had come in gunning, raking their way across the orbital line.

  The Ionside's escape had been stalled by the cluster strike across her port side. With the drives offline, they had been boarded. The Sons of Horus had poured in through the breach, hungry to take the killing to a personal level. They had fought in corridors where the decks were streaming with blood. They had fought in voided compartments where the space around them was full of spinning debris and wobbling bubbles of gore and fluid.

  Shadrak made war with a bolter in his right hand, and a gladius in his left. His aim had always been better righthanded, his speed and strike superior with his left. That was where his strength and dexterity lay.

  He'd just emptied the last of his boltrounds through the faceplate of an enemy legionary when the plasma blast mutilated and cooked his left hand. He had picked up his fallen gladius and fought on righthanded.

  Not long after that, the frantic teams of enginseers had relit the cruiser's drives and, with a series of desperate and unsteady burns, they had torn free of the enemy ship grappling them.

  On the bridge, dripping blood that wasn't all his own, Shadrak had taken the last message from Amadeus DuCaine.

  His old friend. His commander from the very start.

  'The Gorgon's dead!' DuCaine had yelled at him over the link, the image of him fracturing and breaking up.

  'My lord?'

  'He 's dead! He's gone! Fulgrim butchered him! They're all dying, Shadrak! It's a bloody massacre! An obscenity!'

  'My lord, move your ship clear of the line!'

  'Too late, boy! The drive's gone for good. Hull plates are splitting. They're inside with us! Bastard bloody—'

  The image had blinked away for a second. Then it had come back.

  '—ember Rust!'

  'Say again, my lord.'

  'I said, do you remember Rust? Fates, you were there! You were one of the first, Shadrak one of my Storm Walkers from the very start! Emperor's bloody own!'

  'Yes, my lord.'

  'Then don't you forget Rust, boy! Don't you lie down and die! Not ever! You know what kind of horror that hordefight was!

  Millions of the greenskin bastards! But we raised the storm. We raised the bloody storm! We prevailed!'

  The lord commander's voice had become a brittle screech. Shadrak had not been sure if it was through pain, or the strangling distortion of the vox.

  'My lord? Lord Commander DuCaine?'

  The image blinked on and off, choppy and broken.

  'Raise the storm, Shadrak! Raise the bloody storm, my boy! Tell the Tenth to raise the storm and take every last one of the bastards to hell!'

  The image had vanished. The screen had fuzzed with white noise.

  Then there had been another, final blink. Amadeus DuCaine was screaming.

  'Don't you forget me—'

  Dead air.

  Off the bow of Shadrak's wounded cruiser, the lord commander's warship had blinked out like a dying commlink, and been replaced by the heat and light of a newborn sun.

  TRANSLATING OUT OF the warp, the survivor fleet decelerated towards Oqueth Minor. It was a pale, baleful star.

  'Contacts!' the Master of Detection announced. 'Thirty ships!'

  'Code match?' asked Jebez Aug.

  'Codes confirmed.'

  'Of course they are,' muttered Shadrak.

  'Profiles?' asked Aug.

  'Pattern match. Several types. All Legiones Astartes fleetcraft.'

  'Which is in no way an assurance,' Shadrak whispered to the Iron Father.

  'Ramp up visual resolution,' Aug called.

  'Standby, commander… Hulls read as blackened. Fire damage. No visible insignia or serial numbers.'

  'You don't like this, do you?' Jebez Aug said to Shadrak.

  'I haven't liked much of anything since my eighth birthday, warleader,' Shadrak replied.

  'Is Dalcoth prepared?'

  'He is.'

  'I'll lead them if it comes to it.'

  'No, warleader. That's the Hand Elect's job. Your place is here.'

  'Our flagship is hailing,' reported the Master of Vox.

  There was a long wait.

  'Codes exchanged. Cipher confirmed. Lead ship is identified as the Master of Iron. ClanFather of Borrgos commanding. The Council is greeting.'

  Aug tapped his fingers on the console impatiently. 'Come on, come on…'

  'Request for our flagship to draw alongside the Master of Iron so that the Council can be united,' reported the Master of Vox. The reuest has been accepted by the clanfathers.'

  'Batteries to power?' asked the Ironwrought Master of Ordnance.

  'We dare not risk anything so provocative,' replied Aug. 'But ready the mechanical autoloaders. I want all weapons at my discretion inside ten seconds, if it comes to it. You understand me?'

  'Aye, sir.'

  'The flagship is under our protection,' Aug reminded everyone.

  On high resolution, they watched the tortuously slow progress of the Crown of Flame as it drew alongside the Master of Iron, and secured mooring lines and anchors.

  'Council is boarding,' advised the Master of Vox.

  They waited again.

  'Report?' asked Aug.

  'Nothing, sir.'

  'It's been ten minutes. Report.'

  'Vox is dark, sir.'

  'There will be ceremonials,' said Mechosa. 'This is a great day, after all.'

  Shadrak was about to warn him about tempting fate, but the Master of Vox cut him off.

  'Acoustic echoes,' he said, straining at his augmetic ear plugs, one hand clamped to the side of his head.

  'Origin?' barked Aug.

  'From inside the Crown of Flame. Flattening the signal. I'm trying to wash it to get a clean signature. It sounds like…

  cheering.'

  'I told you,' smirked Mechosa.

  'Cheering,' the Master of Vox repeated, and then halted. 'And gunfire.'

  'Arm the batteries!' Aug roared. 'Shields! Ahead half! Battle stations!'

  'Contact group is arming weapons!' the Master of Detection yelled. 'Gun ports opening! Their batteries are charging!'

  A light licked up inside the Crown of Flame. It stuttered, then grew brilliant, lancing out from every port and launch bay. The flagship began to buckle, as if it was being twisted and wrung out by huge, invisible hands. The hull split and geysers of fire rushed up through the cracks, forming great plumes of burning gas and interior atmospherics.

  'Target and fire!' Aug yelled. 'Target and fire!'

  The Iron Heart's deck shivered beneath their feet as the main batteries began to spit. The blackened enemy ships were already purring forwards and unloading storms of ordnance. Space lit up in a blinding flicker show.

  Close
quarters, Shadrak thought.

  The rest of the warleader's fleet was firing too. Formation against formation, pointblank in starship terms. The flagship was already dead, a burning ruin slowly tumbling away from the enemy's mooring lines and showering incandescent dust, ash and debris into the void. The cruiser alongside the Iron Heart shuddered and tore open under the enemy bombardment.

  'Get us closer,' Aug ordered. 'Gut them!'

  'Raise the storm,' Shadrak whispered.

  He looked at the main oculus screen and shuddered. Hololithic projectors upon the prows of the approaching enemy ships had lit up, unfurling bright banners of light.

  Each one, in gold and red, revealed the searing Eye of Horus. The screen blinked.

  'Intercept signal!' the Master of Vox called over the general chaos of voices yelling orders.

  'Keep firing!' Aug shouted.

  'Intercept, sir!' the Master of Vox repeated.

  The screen blinked again. A face appeared. It was cold and expresionless, framed in black armour. There was no mistaking the Cthonian aspect of the features: a true son of Horus.

  The vox crackled as the image spoke.

  'I am Tybalt Marr,' he said. 'You are declared an enemy without restitution. Your extinction is my undertaking. I offer you a plain choice, in simple respect of our old fraternity. Surrender now, and be rewarded with a swift and relatively painless death , or fight on and receive the most excruciating doom imaginable. You have thirty seconds to answer.' Jebez Aug looked at Shadrak. 'Hand Elect?'

  'My warleader?'

  'Board the bastard. Bring me his head.'

  'Gladly. What are you going to do?'

  'I'm going to answer him.'

  Shadrak ran to the bridge exit, calling out commands into his voxlink.

  Behind him, he heard Jebez Aug open a channel and then begin the most profane stream of invective ever uttered by one of the Iron Tenth.

  It was as furious and blistering as the voidwar around them.

  THE SHIPTOSHIP FIGHTING was as intense as any that had occurred above cursed Isstvan. There were fewer ships, but they were so closely packed it was as though they were being swept by artillery bombardment from batteries of monstrous guns. Ships burned. Everything shook. Lightbursts bloomed so brightly that they overwhelmed legionary autosenses. Rail guns spat. Laser batteries and hull mounts streamed ropes and stutters of light. Hardround cannons hosed shell loads into shields and hulls, or countermeasured rushing shoals of missiles.

  Aug drove his fleet directly in amongst the enemy ships, maximizing the effect of his tightly calibrated shields and impactdetonating warheads.

  He had been designated warleader, the escort protector of the flagship, and thus, according to structure, was de facto secondin command to the clan council.

  And the Council was gone.

  'Are you ready?' Shadrak asked as he entered the teleportarium.

  Dalcoth nodded. 'All four bays are set and ready for transfer, Hand Elect,' he replied.

  Shadrak eyed the mix of battleready Raven Guard and Iron Hands on the transmission platform.

  He opened his vox. 'Warleader,' he said.

  'Speak,' Aug replied.

  'Request permission to divert power to the teleportation systems. The main batteries will be deprived to the extent of fortyfour per cent for the next two minutes'

  'Permission granted.'

  Shadrak looked at the Master of Transfer as he took his place on the platform beside Dalcoth who drew his bolt pistol.'Do it!' he ordered.

  THEY LOST NINETEEN of their force in the transfer, transmitted atoms scattered like dust by the enemy shielding, or befouled by materialisation inside the dense hull plating.

  The interior of the XVI Legion warship smelled of smoke and blood. The lighting was on red reserve, with primary power diverted to weapons and shields.

  Coming out of the winding shock of teleport, Shadrak glanced around to get his bearings. Immediately, he saw two Raven Guard planted deep into the deck by mismaterialisation. Both were dead, blood streaming from their dislocated neck seals.

  'Move!' Dalcoth yelled.

  Shadrak ignited his visor's preysight. The corridor became a luminous green cave. He saw streaks and ribbons of glare as gunfire erupted.

  Sons of Horus, nightblack in green wash.

  Target one. His flickering overlay crosshairs darted. He put a massreactive round into a faceplate at ten metres. The traitor's head detonated in a flash that Shadrak's autosenses read as whizzing shards of ceramite and hot, cooking chunks of bone.

  Parts of the ceiling blew out. Fizzling power cables slithered out, jerking like snakes. Dalcoth engaged two of the Sons of Horus, gutting one with his chainaxe, then twisting away from the toppling figure in a neat sidestep to blast a boltround into the chest of the other.

  The legionary flew backwards, crunched off the wall plating, and left liquid smear of blood and pulped organs on the panel as he slumped onto his side.

  Another came at Dalcoth. Shadrak stepped in and sheared the traitor's head in half crosswise with his gladius.

  Blood jetted into the air as the halfheadless warrior took a couple of stumbling steps and then collapsed.

  Despite the binding and bracing, Shadrak's left wrist stung with the jarring impact of the blow.

  'Forward!' he ordered.

  Iron Hands Terminators in Tartarospattern wargear led the way along the spinal hall, heavy flamers hosing ahead of them. Breacher legionaries flanked the group, their panoplies locked. Shells and bolts rebounded from the shield wall.

  Then Shadrak heard the shriek of multimeltas and felt the chestpummelling thump of heavy bolters.

  Heavy contact. The heaviest.

  Shadrak passed the fallen form of a Salamander who had been shredded by a volkite caliver. He loosed off massreactives into the defensive lines ahead of him. Something energyladen and sensitive detonated, throwing bodies and deck plates into the air.

  'They have force superiority!' Nuros voxed.

  'Agreed,' Dalcoth cut in. 'If our objective was to take the ship, it is no longer viable.'

  'We've barely begun!' snapped Shadrak. 'Are you suggesting we abort?'

  'Hit and run tactics,' Dalcoth replied. 'We hit, we run. That way, we live to fight again.'

  'Sometimes, with respect, your tactics sound like cowardice,' replied Shadrak. 'How did you Raven Guard ever conquer worlds?'

  'By knowing when to fight and when to retreat. It's called tactical restraint.'

  'Abort denied.'

  'Then select a new objective, Hand Elect!' Dalcoth's voice was temporarily drowned out by gunfire.

  'We could loop back to the drive chambers and attempt to trigger an overload,' Nuros voxed. 'My assault group has sufficient charges.'

  'Denied. Objective is now Tybalt Marr's head,' said Shadrak.

  'How is that strategic?' yelled Dalcoth.

  'It's symbolic. It matters.'

  'How did the Tenth ever conquer worlds…?'

  'Exactly like this,' replied Shadrak Meduson.

  SHADRAK MEDUSON OF the Clan Sorrgol, Iron Tenth, Terranborn Storm Walker, did not achieve his objective.

  Not that day, at least.

  He was denied by circumstance, by fate, and specifically by a Sons of Horus Terminator that Shadrak's visor display identified as Xorn Salbus.

  Shadrak, supported by Raven Guard and Iron Hands Breachers, fought as far as the enemy ship's main bridge interlock. Terminator lifeguards met him there, appalled and astonished that the loyalist boarding effort had cut so far and so deep.

  Volkite and bolter fire sliced into the boarding party. Bodies, and body parts, began to pile up in the narrow entrance to the interlock annex. There was turmoil, a deadlock of wicked crossfire.

  In cover, returning fire, Shadrak felt his vox chime.

  It was Aug. 'Shadrak!'

  'My lord!'

  'The day has turned against us, captain. Abort your efforts and jump out.'

  'Negative. We are too c
lose. I can smell Marr's fearsweat!'

  Shadrak ducked back, and slammed home a fresh clip.

  'I repeat, abort,' voxed Jebez Aug, 'We've crippled seven of their ships, for the loss of nine of ours. But a relief force flying Third Legion colours has just translated into the system. They're eighteen clicks out and closing fast. Shadrak, we're outnumbered four to one now. We can break and run, or we can die.'

  'My lord…'

  'Aren't they the tactics your Raven Guard friends recommended? We've hurt them, and hurt them properly. Let that be enough. Abort and withdraw now, or we leave without you. I'm breaking the grapple lines.'

  'Abort. Understood,' Shadrak voxed back.

  He knew it was the right decision. In the fever of close combat, his blood was up, and that was clouding his judgment. A full measure of vengeance was never going to be taken in a single day. He had to live, so that he could avenge again.

  Still, the temptation to press on just a few minutes longer and take Marr's head as a trophy…

  His vox chimed again. This time, it was Mechosa.

  'Meduson! Hand Elect! Promise me you're aborting the raid now!'

  'Mechosa?'

  'The Iron Heart's bridge is hit! Two salvos. Warleader Aug is dead. I— '

  A roar of blast wash and static drowned out his voice.

  Aug was dead. According to the ordained structure, after the Council and the warleader, Shadrak was, by default, next in command succession.

  He was warleader now. He had to go where he was needed before the entire hierarchy collapsed in disarray.

  'Abort! Abort now!' he yelled. 'All boarding squads trigger abort!'

  'Abort confirmed!' Dalcoth called.

  ' Confirmed!' voxed Nuros.

  Further responses echoed in from the X Legion's own boarding officers.

  Shadrak fired to cover his men as they fell back. He moved clear of the heavy iron bulkhead so that the teleport could get the cleanest possible lock on him.

  The air was thick with smoke and blood mist. A blackplated Terminator loomed out of it.

  Xorn Salbus.

  The Butcher Salbus, whose reputation for brutality had spread beyond the ranks of his own Legion long before he had turned traitor.

  The monster swung his chainblade.