More than once, he found himself wishing that Luther and Zahariel were still with them. He found himself sorely missing his cousin's unwavering idealism.

It was late in the day when the primarch summoned Nemiel to his sanctum. He found Jonson seated at his favourite spot, beneath the towering viewports along the port side of the chamber. Red light shone along the side of Jonson's face as he bent over a series of aerial images spread atop a low, wooden table. He glanced up at the Redemptor's approach.

'There you are, Nemiel,' he said tersely, gathering the images together into a small stack. 'You've been keeping yourself scarce of late.'

'Not by design, my lord,' Nemiel replied guardedly. 'There's a great deal to be done before the rebels return.'

Jonson grunted in agreement. 'True enough.' He looked up at Nemiel again and smiled. 'Wipe that guilty look off your face, Nemiel. I wasn't accusing you of anything.' He leaned back in his chair. 'What's the current status of the battle group?'

Nemiel relaxed a bit, glad to be back on familiar terrain. 'Our scout force has nearly completed resupply and will be ready for operations within five hours,' he reported from memory. 'The strike cruisers Amadis and Adzikel have finished their most critical repairs and have begun re-loading their stores of ammunition and ordnance. Replacement Stormbirds have arrived from the surface to replace those lost in combat. The heavy cruisers Flamberge and Lord Dante report all repairs complete, and they expect to finish resupply within the hour.' He paused. 'Iron Duke reports that all of her weapon batteries are back in action, but damage to her hull is so extensive she'll need to be dry-docked to effect any meaningful repairs. The crew of Duchess Arbellatris has been working day and night, and Captain Rashid insists that she can be returned to action within a few weeks, but the tech-adepts assigned to her believe that the ship is a lost cause.'

'Inform Captain Rashid that he has forty-eight hours to do what he can; if the ship isn't capable of standing in the battle line by then, she will have to be abandoned and her crew reassigned to the other ships in the group,' Jonson said. 'That's all the time we can afford.'

'Have there been any new developments?' Nemiel said, suddenly alert.

The primarch shook his head. 'Not yet. But based on the distance between systems and the minimum amount of time I estimate Horus would need to assemble another fleet and send it on its way, the rebels could arrive in the system imminently. The Warmaster must attack again as soon as possible, or he won't have enough time to strip the forge of its resources and put them to use back on Isstvan.'

Jonson held up the small stack of images. 'Which brings us to this.'

He held the images out to Nemiel. The Redemptor took them and began looking them over. 'These look like aerial images of the forge complex,' he said with a scowl.

'Specifically the warehouse and depot facilities along the southern edge of the forge, closest to the gateway,' Jonson confirmed. 'You'll note that a number of the buildings have been highlighted for ease of reference.'

Nemiel's scowl deepened. 'I'm not sure I understand, my lord,' he said, feeling suddenly uneasy.

Jonson studied Nemiel in silence for a moment. 'Magos Archoi hasn't complied with my request for a full inventory of his stores,' he said carefully. 'Time is running out. Since he won't give me the information I need, I'll have to gather it another way.'

'But… that's not correct,' Nemiel protested. 'Archoi has provided detailed reports of the materiel he has on hand. I've seen them myself.'

The primarch's eyes narrowed slightly. 'I have reason to believe that those reports are incomplete.'

'Why is that?' Nemiel pressed. His unease swelled until it threatened to become something akin to despair. 'Why are we here, my lord? You claim that we're here to stop Horus, but the logic of the situation and your own actions belie this. What else is there that has drawn you here?'

Jonson straightened fractionally in his chair. His face was calm, but there was a steely edge in his green eyes. 'Are you calling me a liar, Brother-Redemptor Nemiel?' he asked.

Nemiel's breath caught in his throat. Suddenly he sensed the deadly precipice that now figuratively yawned at his feet. Yet he would be damned if he allowed himself to be intimidated into silence and compromise his sacred oaths - not even by the primarch himself. 'Do you deny that you have a hidden motive for bringing us here?' he said.

The Redemptor boldly met the primarch's imposing stare, ready to accept the consequences. Jonson glared at Nemiel a moment more, his expression calculating, before slowly nodding his head.

'That was well done,' Jonson allowed. 'You have the makings of a good interrogator, I think.' He spread his hands. 'Diamat is important to the Warmaster for reasons other than ammunition and building materials,' he said. 'I judged that it was best to keep those reasons a secret, for purposes of operational security. Restriction of information isn't the same thing as deception, Nemiel.'

'I never said you'd lied to us, my lord,' Nemiel pointed out. 'But what possible good does it do to withhold vital information from your own warriors and allies?'

Jonson frowned. 'As a knight of the Order, I should think that would be obvious,' he said. 'Every facet of your training on Caliban was governed by custom, order and ritual. An aspirant could not become a novice until he'd passed certain tests to prove his knowledge, character and worthiness. Likewise, a novice could not rise to the ranks of knighthood without progressing through many ranks of knowledge and skill. Even upon reaching the coveted rank of knight, there were still degrees of initiation and rank that opened each warrior to new levels of knowledge and expertise, all the way to the lofty rank of Grand Master itself. Why was that so? Why didn't the Masters begin inducting the novices straightaway into the Higher Mysteries?'

'Because a novice wouldn't know what to do with the training,' Nemiel answered at once. 'Not before mastering a great many basic skills first. Trying to employ those advanced tactics without the proper foundation would just get them killed.'

The primarch smiled. 'Precisely. Knowledge is power, Nemiel. Never forget that. And power, in the wrong hands, can inflict terrible harm.'

Nemiel considered this. 'I understand, my lord,' he said at length. 'Is there anything in particular I should be looking for?'

Jonson studied him a moment longer, then nodded to himself. 'Vehicles,' he said. 'Approximately six to eight of them; the references I saw were unclear on the exact number. They were reportedly built over a hundred and fifty years ago, and would likely have been placed into storage somewhere in the complex.'

'What kind of vehicles?' Nemiel asked.

'War machines,' Jonson replied. 'Like nothing either of us have ever seen before.'

Nemiel frowned. 'But if the Mechanicum has these machines at their disposal, why aren't they using them?'

Jonson shrugged. 'It's possible that Archoi doesn't know they're here. Or the Mechanicum has decided to withhold them for their own use, much as they did with their skitarii.' He raised a warning finger. 'What's important is that the Warmaster needs them, and we have to keep them out of his hands.'

'How does the Horus know about these war machines?' Nemiel asked.

'How else?' the primarch said. 'He's the one who commissioned them in the first place.'

It was a long and circuitous drive from the Xanthus star port to the southern entrance to the forge complex. Nemiel's Rhino - fresh from the assembly lines at Diamat and still showing its black coat of manufactory primer - had to first head north, past a series of fortified checkpoints, then eastward through a literal maze of narrow streets. The tramway was no longer passable; over the last two weeks the entire length of the road had been sowed with mines, cut by permacrete tank barriers and festooned with kilometres of molly-wire. Heavy vehicles trying to force their way northeastward towards the forge would have to fight their way through one obstacle after another, all the while coming under fire from concealed bunkers on both the north and south sides of the tramway. The ash wastes to the south of the tramway were passable by infantry but not vehicles, and were covered by the Dragoons' remaining artillery batteries. The only alternative was to press north and east, just as Nemiel's Rhino had done, but the rebels would be forced to break through each set of checkpoints and then find a safe path through streets that had been riddled with mines, tank traps and more ambush points. Neither route was completely impassable, as the defenders knew, but breaching them would take a great deal of time - something the enemy had in short supply.