Deliverance Lost

‘I like it not, and I do not care what you insist,’ said Corax, infuriated by Dorn’s assumption that the primarch of the Raven Guard would demurely acquiesce to his demand. ‘I swore my oath to the Emperor, not to you, and nor to you Malcador, before you start claiming any authority as regent.’

Dorn and the Sigillite said nothing as Corax stepped away from the windows, one hand rubbing at his brow in agitation. The Raven Guard primarch stopped his pacing and turned back to the others, hand held out in conciliation.

‘Why do you assume that Horus must attack Terra?’ Corax asked.

‘If he wishes to depose the Emperor and claim the galaxy for himself, there is no other way,’ said Malcador.

‘We will not allow that to happen,’ added Dorn.

‘You misunderstand me,’ said Corax. ‘You assume that Horus will reach Terra. You have already surrendered the initiative to our enemy and now run around making the best you can of the time he will allow you. We need to strike back fast, dull any momentum he has gained from the massacre at Isstvan, and stop this rebellion in its infancy.’

‘That was why you were sent to Isstvan,’ said Malcador, sighing heavily. ‘It is you who does not understand the situation fully. Horus has the allegiance of his own Legion, the Word Bearers, the Alpha Legion, the Iron War–’

‘I know the faces of the traitors, I saw them first hand at Isstvan,’ snarled Corax. ‘We are not without allies. The Khan and his White Scars, the Lion with the First. What of the Ultramarines and the Thousand Sons?’

There followed an uncomfortable silence, while Dorn and Malcador exchanged a worried glance. The primarch gave Malcador a slight nod.

‘The Thousand Sons ca

‘What does that mean?’ said Corax.

‘What happened is uncertain so far,’ said Dorn, his tone blunt. ‘The Wolves of Fenris were over-zealous. They have destroyed Prospero and wiped out the Thousand Sons.’

‘What would you expect, unleashing the Wolf King like that?’ said Corax.

‘If that were true, our woes would be lessened,’ said Malcador, his gaze moving between Corax and Dorn. ‘Only this morning I have reports from Prospero that Magnus and some of his Legion escaped the attack. I fear the numbers of our enemies will be swelled by Russ’s headstrong actions rather than reduced. Though there is no great kinship between Magnus and Horus, it seems we have given them a common foe.’

Dorn let out a growl of irritation, his fist thumping down onto the fabric of the bench. The primarch stood up and stared at Corax.

‘Every warrior will count,’ said Dorn. ‘We need you on Terra. We ca

‘Not unless the Emperor himself commands it,’ said Corax, once more pacing back and forth in front of the other two, driven by agitation. ‘I will not sit idle while Horus and our other traitorous brothers bide their time and ready themselves for the battle. They must be harangued and harried, made to pay swiftly for what they have done. They will be brimming with supreme confidence at the moment. I will puncture their pride and show them that they have not won yet.’

Corax stopped and fixed his glare upon Dorn.

‘I trust no one more than you, brother, to see the Emperor safe, but I do not have your confidence or patience. I must fight back and hurt the traitors, for what they have done to my Legion.’

‘A personal vendetta?’ said Malcador.

‘An act of defiance,’ replied Corax. ‘There are those that Horus will try to recruit. He can virtually guarantee them victory at the moment, with no evidence to counter his claims. I will send a message across the Imperium that the Emperor and his Legions have not abandoned them.’

The Raven Guard primarch spun away and strode towards the doors.

‘Where are you going?’ Dorn called out, standing up.

‘To see the Emperor!’ Corax snarled in reply.

‘He won’t see you, Corax, do not disturb him,’ Malcador cried out, hurrying after the departing primarch.

Corax hauled open the doors and found himself confronted by a contingent of Malcador’s Custodian bodyguard.

‘You,’ he snapped, pointing to their leader. ‘Take me to the Emperor.’

The Custodian said nothing, but turned his head to look at Malcador as he came up beside Corax.

‘This is unwise, Corax,’ the Sigillite said.

‘Be sensible, brother,’ said Dorn, laying a hand on Corax’s arm. The Raven Guard pulled away from his brother’s grip.

‘I am primarch of the Raven Guard, son of the Emperor,’ said Corax. ‘It is my right! Take me to the Emperor now, or I will find him myself.’

Dorn met his glare with a doubtful expression, his hand straying to the hilt of the chainsword at his hip in warning.

‘Enough! I will brook no dispute in my palace.’

Corax and Dorn looked at Malcador, who had spoken, though the voice was deep and resonant, unlike the whisper of the Sigillite. Malcador’s eyes shone with golden light, his face a mask of beatific happiness. His lips moved again, as though divorced from the rest of his body, and he held out a gnarled hand surrounded by a shimmering aura.

‘My Emperor?’ Dorn lowered to one knee and bowed his head. ‘I am sorry for causing conflict.’

‘Do you not share your brother’s shame?’ said the voice through Malcador’s flesh as the Sigillite’s golden eyes turned on the primarch of the Raven Guard.

‘My apologies, father,’ said Corax, dropping to one knee beside Dorn.

Malcador’s form leaned forwards and rested his palm atop Corax’s head.

‘Heed my wisdom.’

Light and warmth pierced Corax’s thoughts, blinding him to all else.

FOR A MOMENT, Corax glimpsed a vast chamber. The hall was filled with machinery: coiling pipes and cables snaked across the floor and walls from banks of equipment set with thousands of dials and gauges. The air was thick with ozone, the rattle and hum of generators making the floor throb underfoot. Transformers crackled with energy and pistons thudded in the distant shadows.

In the glimmer of light and dark, Corax could see hundreds of robed figures attending to the machinery. Beneath red cowls he spied half-machine faces and from scarlet sleeves protruded limbs of metal and wire.

Corax took all of this in at a glance, his eye being drawn to the strange but magnificent edifice at the centre of the hall. It was a gigantic, towering dais, stretching away to the far wall, sheathed in gold that reflected the thousands of surrounding lights and inlaid with silvery circuitry. Dozens of cables and pipelines co

Yet it was not this that fixed the primarch’s gaze.

The upper part of the building was fashioned in the form of an immense chair, ringed about by sparking conduits and pulsing energy fields. Seated in the chair was the Emperor, garbed in golden armour, his head bowed with eyes tightly shut in fierce concentration. Waves of purple and blue energy flowed across his skin, a miniature lightning storm playing about his furrowed brow.

As Corax watched, a single bead of glittering sweat broke from the Emperor’s brow and fell like a golden droplet from his cheek. The Emperor’s jaw was clenched, either from effort or pain. The primarch had never seen his father look as he did now, and he felt a moment of worry.

The scene faded, replaced by a landscape suffused with light. It seemed to exist nowhere, formed of the light and nothing more. At the heart of the glare the Emperor was sitting as he was before, though now he was upon a golden throne that blazed with energy. A giant eagle sat atop its back, two-headed, glaring at Corax with ruby eyes. The Emperor’s face was calm here, showing no evidence of the strain the primarch had glimpsed before. The Master of Mankind seemed to be in deep meditation, unmoving on his seat of gold.