Deliverance Lost

‘That’s Phalanx,’ said Sergeant Nestil. ‘Base ship of the Imperial Fists. Impressive, isn’t it? Never mind a battle-barge, that’s what we should’ve taken to Isstvan.’

It certainly was impressive, but no surprise. Everyone had heard of Phalanxand its presence in the Sol system was to be expected. Horus was well aware of the star fortress’s capabilities and defences already, and no doubt had devised a way to counter them. This was not the object of Alpharius’s mission. Of more interest to the Alpha Legio

And then everything outside turned white as the Stormbird dropped into the thickening Terran atmosphere, enveloping the craft in bright flames. As they descended, the visibility momentarily cleared, revealing a vista that sent a thrill through Alpharius.

Large platforms could be half-seen amongst the dense cloud, drifting serenely through the air surrounded by swarms of shuttles and cargo-lifters. The closest floating city, its name unknown to Alpharius, was glimpsed between breaks in the whiteness, a mass of towering buildings, winding roadways and landing aprons. Sunlight glittered from coiling spires made of multicoloured glass and dazzled across the mirrored plates of photo-receptors and vapour condensers.

The splendour of graceful lines and arcing bridges was marred by blocky aberrations: gun towers and bunkers surrounded by scaffolding that was thick with workers. As the Stormbird banked onto its final course, Alpharius’s augmented eyes could see flashes of yellow armour amongst the robes and overalls of the work teams: Imperial Fists supervising the construction of the defences.

The nose of the Stormbird dipped and cloud again swathed Alpharius’s view, blotting out the vision of the hovering city. The engines whined as the craft slowed for its landing, and banked once more, circling over the Lion’s Gate starport that spread darkly across the bare rock of Terra’s surface in a vast maze of ferrocrete and plasteel. Alpharius had a glimpse of landing platforms that stretched for kilometres, shadowed beneath control towers and defence laser turrets.

The Alpha Legio

Even as he thought of the assault that was sure to come, Alpharius’s mind was analysing the growing defences. Any insights he could glean from this opportunity to examine Dorn’s fortifications first-hand might prove invaluable to Horus, and so in turn were of significant worth to the Alpha Legion. His eye caught the telltale capacitors and conduits of power field generators, while he calculated the zones of fire of the smaller rings of protective pillboxes and automated lasca

With a thud and a hiss of hydraulics, the Stormbird extended its landing gear, breaking Alpharius’s thoughts. So engrossed had he been in his intelligence-gathering, he had quite forgotten where he was. Alpharius took a deep breath as the Stormbird touched down, rocking slightly on its gear, clouds of smoke and plasma-wash billowing around the craft.

He was on Terra, the capital of the Imperium, home to the Emperor.

AS PROMISED, THERE was a contingent waiting for the arrival of Corax. As the primarch descended the Stormbird’s ramp, he saw a group of thirty gold-armoured Custodians. In height and size, they were the match of the Legiones Astartes, if not bigger, though Corax was taller still. Every warrior of the Custodian Guard was armoured uniquely, their heavy gorgets decorated with eagle devices, winged skulls and other icons, their high, conical helms topped with flowing scarlet crests. Clusters of studded red leather pteruges hung from their belts and high shoulder guards, tipped with pointed gold weights, and their wide greaves and heavy vambraces were chased with intricate designs that matched the rest of their armour. They held guardian spears with red power field-clad blades held across their chests, carried behind tall shields emblazoned with designs of the Imperial aquila and laurel-crowned skulls.

With them stood an ageing man Corax recognised immediately: Malcador the Sigillite. The Regent of Terra wore a voluminous robe, unadorned in stark contrast to the ornamentation of his guard of honour. His weathered, ancient face was half-hidden behind the fold of his hood. The gusts of wind blowing across the open landing apron tugged at the rim of the hood, showing glimpses of reinforced pipes co

Malcador bowed his head in greeting and Corax returned the gesture as his guard of honour filed into ranks behind him.

‘I hope they are for ornamentation and nothing else,’ said Corax, directing a purposeful gaze at the armed Custodians.

‘Purely ceremonial, I assure you,’ replied Malcador. ‘I apologise for the formalities you have been forced to endure, but you understand that we ca

‘It seems a primarch’s word is no longer his bond,’ said Corax as he stepped forwards, the Custodians moving to form two lines of escort around him and Malcador, encircling the primarch’s entourage of Raven Guard.

‘Only for some, Corax,’ said the Sigillite. ‘A number of your brothers remain true to their oaths of allegiance. Your loyalty is greatly appreciated.’

The primarch laughed, but there was no sign of humour in the Sigillite’s expression. Malcador continued to talk as they walked from the landing apron.

‘Rogal asked me to assure you that he will be joining us tomorrow as he promised. We are very keen to hear everything you can tell us about Horus’s forces and perhaps what you think he intends to do.’

‘I can add little to the discussion,’ said Corax. They passed under an arching silver gateway a hundred metres high and headed down a ramp leading to a line of silver-hulled shuttle craft. They looked like giant scarabs, with steel wings that fluttered under the vibration of idling engines. ‘It sounds like there are other survivors.’

‘Of course,’ said Malcador, waving for Corax to precede him onto the ramp of the closest atmospheric shuttle. Inside, the main compartment was furnished like an austere lounge, with low couches and tables on a carpeted deck, the walls covered with hangings depicting scenes from the Unification Wars. Corax assumed it was Malcador’s personal transport. The Sigillite sat down on one of the long couches and instinctively waved a hand for Corax to do the same. The primarch declined with a shake of his head, knowing that the furniture was totally unsuited to someone of his height and weight. He leaned against the bulkhead instead, head dipped beneath the shuttle roof.

‘There are not only those like yourself who escaped the ambush,’ the Sigillite continued, ‘but also brave warriors who have recently arrived from within the traitors’ ranks.’

‘And you can be sure of their loyalty? Misdirection and falsehood seem to be Horus’s primary weapons at the moment.’