Deliverance Lost

‘Nice to be trusted,’ said Agapito.

The Custodian turned his head towards the Raven Guard commander, bringing the black lenses of his helm to focus on the legionary.

‘Trust is a depleted resource, commander. There will be no exceptions. I have been given personal authority over your stay here. I am Arcatus Vindix Centurio. All communications will be directed through me. My companions are not authorised to communicate with you, so save both your time and theirs by sparing them any questions or complaints. I will return in one hour to conduct a full security briefing.’

The Custodian Guard filed out through the gigantic lock-door at the end of the corridor, leaving the Raven Guard to their own devices. Squad by squad, the quarters were allocated. Alpharius found his squad assigned bunks close to the corridor, but he did not entertain any thoughts of sneaking out for further investigation. His primarch had made it clear that he was to remain undiscovered at all costs, until the full nature of his mission had been revealed. He was not going to risk exposing himself to go on a sightseeing jaunt under the noses of the Custodians.

When the legionaries had ordered the dormitory to their liking, stowing weapons and other gear on the racks bolted to the walls, Agapito called the company to attend him.

‘I know this is all quite strange, and those Custodian Guard are stiffer than a dead man’s fingers, but this is the situation and we must deal with it,’ said the commander. ‘When we have communications access, I will signal Avengerthat we have arrived and I will parley with Arcatus to arrange a suitable routine. I don’t know how long we will have to stay here, so let’s just keep alert and wait for the primarch’s orders.’

There being little point in staying at combat readiness, the Raven Guard aided one another with the removal of their armour, each legionary stripping down to bodysuits and robes. Normally such assistance would be provided by the Legion’s army of non-augmented attendants, but there was no such perso

As Arcatus had promised, attendants arrived with food, which was brought to the dining area in the chamber on the opposite side of the main passage. The serfs came and left in silence, obviously under orders not to fraternise with the legionaries in any way. They were all middle-aged men and women, wearing identical white jackets embroidered with the aquila of the Emperor, baggy black trousers and slippers of the same thick material, their faces etched with polite indifference from years of experience.

Alpharius was able to loiter in the passageway for a little while, and had a look past the sealed door at the end of the corridor when the attendants were leaving. As he suspected, beyond lay another chamber and another lock-door. There certainly would not be any way to slip out through there.

He rejoined his squad and sat down at the long table, taking a welcome lungful of steam that was rising from the roast meats laid on platters before each legionary. Fresh fruit and vegetables were heaped in bowls along the length of each table, along with an assortment of other foodstuffs. After many days of ship’s rations, it certainly was a feast. There were harsher conditions in which he might have found himself trapped, and as Alpharius ripped a leg from some giant poultry bird in front of him, he considered this one of the less arduous duties he been asked to perform for the Legion.

SIX

A Guest of the Emperor

Hall of Victories

Omegon Prepares

IN CONTRAST TO the confinement of his honour guard, Corax was quartered in some comfort and opulence, given a villa-like suite of chambers that overlooked a vast underground lake. Lit from below the water’s surface by powerful lights, the stalactite-clustered ceiling glittered with crystal deposits that glinted in the dappling glow from the waters beneath. The rooms were lavishly furnished with dark wood and gilded furniture, hanging tapestries and deep carpets. From the ceilings hung chandeliers with real candles, something of a novelty to the primarch who had been raised under the dim glow of lumen strips.

The fact that the chambers were scaled to the height and bulk of a primarch was something of a pleasant surprise. It occurred to Corax that primarch-appointed quarters should not have been a shock, given that he was on Terra. He wondered briefly if they had been intended as guest quarters, or something more permanent once the Great Crusade had been finished. His brothers had sometimes quarrelled about what would happen when the last planet was conquered and the Emperor’s dream made a reality, but Corax had been more than content to allow others to take over the burden of administering the Imperium in the wake of the Legiones Astartes. He was a commander, not a governor, and if he had no more battles to fight, he could have happily spent his remaining years, however many hundreds or perhaps thousands that might be, in comfortable retirement; perhaps compiling a treatise on the political lessons he had learned from his mentors on Lycaeus.

It was quite literally a world away from his quarters on Deliverance, which were by necessity rather cramped and functional. Not that luxury had ever been a consideration of the primarch. His home had always been a battlefield, a ship’s deck or the rooms of a command centre.

Once Malcador had taken his leave, Corax had been left alone, with a handful of Custodians on hand to act as guides and guards; and the small company of servants who had seemed to spring into existence as Corax had moved from room to room, each more than happy to see to the wants and needs of their primarch guest. For the first time since he had awoken in the dark cellar of Lycaeus, Corax felt as if he was in a place intended for him. The humans that attended him were dwarfed by their surroundings, diminutive figures let free to roam in the house of a giant, but seemed accustomed to the strangeness of the household in which they served.

For a short time, the primarch tried to relax, though his ribs were sore and the lacerations on his back plagued him with spasms of pain. Even on the long voyage to Terra he had not allowed himself time to rest, to allow his body to recover. The constant activity and Corax’s unsettled mood had prevented any meaningful recuperation. In a way, the injuries Corax felt were a reminder to him of what had happened, making real an event that sometimes seemed to have been a nightmare. Every twinge of torn muscle and stab of ripped flesh was a physical companion to the torments of his thoughts, a memorial of the tens of thousands that would never return to Deliverance.

The novelty of the environment wore off as lights were dimmed in an approximation of night. Agitated by what he had heard from Dorn and Malcador, Corax was full of energy and had no desire to sleep. At his request, a writing tablet was brought to the primarch and he started to make notes of everything he had seen since he and the other Legions had arrived to bring Horus to justice for his actions at Isstvan III.

At first his words were functional, listing the dispositions of the different Legions, their agreed strategy and the intelligence reports concerning the Sons of Horus. He remembered in exact detail the initial fleet manoeuvres performed to encircle the ships of the Warmaster, even as drop-pods, Hawkwings, Thunderhawks and Stormbirds were readied for the assault on the planet below. At the time nothing had seemed amiss, but on reflection Corax could see the plots of his treacherous brethren already being set in motion.