'They wanted me to kill him, you know,' he said quietly. 'I can still hear their voices as though it were yesterday.'

Zahariel gave Luther a bemused frown. 'Kill who, my lord?'

The Master of Caliban glanced up from the book. 'Why, Jonson, of course,' he replied. 'There we were, in the worst part of the Northwilds, so deep in the forest that we hadn't seen the sun for a week. We'd already killed two beasts by then, and lost Sar Lutiel in the process. Most of us were wounded and feverish, but we pressed on nonetheless.' He smiled faintly. 'No one had ever gone so far into that part of the wilderness, and we were all hungry for glory.'

Luther eyes grew unfocused as the memories took hold. 'We'd come upon a stream at midday,' he continued. 'A prime spot for predators, but our water bottles were empty, so we decided to take the risk. I was standing watch, sitting in the saddle with my pistol ready. And the next thing any of us knew, there was this little boy standing with us. He'd walked right out of the woods into our midst, as silent as you please.'

The Master of Caliban chuckled ruefully. 'We just gaped at him for a moment. I think everyone believed he was a fever dream at first. Naked as a babe, his golden hair matted with twigs and leaves, and his eyes…' Luther shook his head. 'His eyes were cold and knowing, like a wolfs, and utterly unafraid. Sar Adriel looked into those eyes and turned white as a sheet. He and Sar Javiel's hands were laden with water bottles, and couldn't protect themselves. ''Kill him!'' Adariel said to me. I'd never heard him sound so frightened in his life. And I nearly did,' Luther confessed. 'You don't know how close I came, brothers. I knew what Adriel was thinking; we were more than a hundred leagues from the nearest village, in the deadliest forest on Caliban, and here was a child, barely tall enough to touch my saddle, without a single mark on his body. He couldn't have survived in a wilderness like that alone. It wasn't possible. I remember thinking he was a monster,' Luther said. Tears welled in his eyes. 'What else could he be? So I raised my pistol and took careful aim. One shot to the head was all it would take. My finger was tightening on the trigger when he turned and looked at me. He didn't flinch at the sight of the pistol, and why would he? He didn't have the faintest idea what it was.' Luther drew in a great, wracking breath. 'That's when I realised what I was about to do, and I was ashamed. So I tossed the pistol to the ground.'

Tears were flowing freely down Luther's cheeks. Zahariel glanced back at Israfael and Astelan; the Astartes were just as unnerved by Luther's strange demeanour as he was. He struggled to come up with a reply, but it was Remiel who spoke first. 'There is no shame in sparing the innocent,' the old master said softly.

'But he wasn't innocent!' Luther cried bitterly. 'He knew. Jonson knew about the taint all along and he's spilled an ocean of blood to keep the truth from us.'

Zahariel reeled in surprise at the vehemence in Luther's voice. 'You can't possibly mean that, my lord,' he protested numbly.

'Why else would he have goaded the Knights of Lupus into war, then annihilated them? Why else take their books—' he picked up the arcane tome and brandished it at Zahariel '—and hide them from our eyes? Because of what they could tell us about the planet's taint. Lion El'Jonson went to great lengths to silence those who knew too much, and it only got worse once the Emperor arrived.'

'That is enough!' Brother-Librarian Israfael shouted. 'I will not have you defame our primarch in this fashion, much less the Emperor!'

Pain blossomed in the back of Zahariel's head, so sudden and intense it nearly overwhelmed him. He groaned, pressing a hand to his temple and trying to push the agony aside, then turned to see Israfael standing well apart from the others, his fists clenched. Chapter Master Astelan stood to one side, his gaze shifting from Israfael to Luther as though unsure whom to believe. The room seemed to shift beneath Zahariel's feet. Things were spinning out of control, he knew. He'd never meant for things to come to this.

'Not everyone was silenced,' he protested. 'What about Nemiel? What about me? We were the last people to speak to Lord Sartana, and nothing befell us.'

'Brother Nemiel may lie dead on some distant world for all we know,' Luther said grimly. 'And you are here, exiled to a world that will soon be consigned to the flames.' His voice rose, teetering on the edge of madness. 'Don't you see? Jonson knew that the Imperium would one day destroy Caliban. That's why we're here. He didn't just forsake us, brother. He sent us here to die.'

'Not another word!' Israfael roared. Arcs of psychic power danced around his head, crackling like miniature thunderbolts. 'My lord, you are unwell, and no longer fit for command!' He turned to Zahariel. 'In the name of the primarch, and for the honour of the Legion, you must assume control and order Luther to submit himself to the Apothecarium at once.'

'It's too late for such treacheries, Terran!' Luther snarled. He tossed the book aside and came around the edge of the table, his dark eyes blazing. 'He knows the truth now. Don't you, Zahariel?'

An invisible storm of psychic power swelled within the room. Zahariel's mind reeled. He saw Master Remiel and Sar Daviel just a few metres away, caught in between the two furious warriors. A thought came to him through the growing haze of pain. 'This is a mistake, my lord!' he said to Luther. 'Sar Daviel!' he cried. 'Your friend, the knight who read these same books. Who was he? Where is he now?'

Daviel turned to the Librarian with a haunted look in his eyes. 'His name was Ulient,' the old knight said. 'He disappeared on the day the Emperor came to Caliban, and was never seen again.'

A spear of pure, burning pain lanced through Zahariel's mind. He cried out, pressing his hands to his temples. It felt as though a dam had burst in his brain, unleashing a torrent of pent-up memories.

…Darkness. Armoured hands gripping him, holding him upright…

…Israfael's voice, echoing from the blackness. '…The plot failed and the conspirator is being interrogated. We will soon uncover those who sought to do us harm and deal with them…'

…Another voice. Brother Midris. '…Tell us everything and leave nothing out, or it will go badly for you. Start with how you knew what Brother Ulient was planning…'

'…Brother Ulient?' he said. 'Is that his name? I didn't know him…'

…Except that he did. He'd seen him in the secret room beneath the Circle chamber. Nemiel had taken him there to meet with the members of the conspiracy. He remembered the hooded men in white surplices, talking of killing the Emperor of Mankind…

'…The Imperium is not to be trusted. We know they are plotting to enslave us and take this world for themselves…'

…He remembered the shining figure that had appeared at the door of the interrogation chamber, his face too glorious to behold. The voice of the Emperor of Mankind rolling over him like an ocean wave…

'…be sure he remembers nothing of this. No suspicion of any dissent must exist within the Legion. We must be united or we are lost…'

Zahariel fell to his knees, his body trembling as the last vestiges of the psychic block unravelled. Israfael and Luther had fallen silent, and every eye was upon him.

The sense of violation, of betrayal, was almost too terrible to bear. He turned to Israfael. 'You tampered with my mind, brother,' he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

'Of course,' Israfael said, his tone unapologetic. 'The Emperor himself commanded it. I would expect you to do the same.'

'Couldn't he have simply trusted me?' Zahariel cried. 'Wouldn't my oath have been enough? Has he no honour?'

'Honour has nothing to do with it!' Israfael snarled. 'We are his Astartes, Zahariel. It's not for us to question his will!'