Keeler didn't care. She opened the first page and, bowed before the makeshift shrine, she began to read.

The Emperor of Mankind is the Light and the Way, and all his actions are for the benefit of mankind, which is his people. The Emperor is God and God is the Emperor, so it is taught in the Lectio Divinitatus, and above all things, the Emperor will protect...'

LOKEN RAN DOWN the companionways of the remembrancers' billet wing, his cloak billowing out behind him. Sirens were sounding. Men and women peered out of doorways to look at him as he passed by.

He raised his cuff to his mouth. 'Nero. Report! Is it Tarik? Has something happened?'

The vox crackled and Vipus's voice issued tinnily from the cuff speaker. 'Something's happened all right, Garvi. Get back here.’

"What? What's happened?'

'A ship, that's what. A barge has just translated in-system behind us. It's Sanguinius. Sanguinius himself has come.'

SEVEN

Lord of the Angels

Brotherhood in Spiderland

Interdiction

JUST A WEEK or so earlier, during one of their regular, private interviews, Loken had finally told Mersadie Oliton about the Great Triumph after Ullanor.

'You cannot imagine it,' he said.

'I can try.'

Loken smiled. The Mechanicum had planed smooth an entire continent as a stage for the event.'

'Planed smooth? What?'

'With industrial meltas and geoformer engines. Mountains were erased and their matter used to infill valleys. The surface was left smooth and endless, a vast table of dry, polished rock chippings. It took months to accomplish.’

'It ought to have taken centuries!'

'You underestimate the industry of the Mechanicum. They sent four labour fleets to undertake the work. They made a stage worthy of an Emperor, so broad it could know midnight at one end and midday at the other.’

'You exaggerate!' she cried, with a delighted snort.

'Maybe I do. Have you known me do that before?'

Oliton shook her head.

'You have to understand, this was a singular event. It was a Triumph to mark the turn of an era, and the Emperor, beloved of all, knew it. He knew it had to be remembered. It was the end of the Ullanor campaign, the end of the crusade, the coronation of the Warmas-ter. It was a chance for the Astartes to say farewell to the Emperor before his departure to Terra, after two centuries of personal leadership. We wept as he announced his retirement from the field. Can you picture that, Mer-sadie? A hundred thousand warriors, weeping?'

She nodded. 'I think it was a shame no remembrancers were there to witness it. It was a moment that comes only once every epoch.'

'It was a private affair.'

She laughed again. 'A hundred thousand present, a continent levelled for the event, and it was a private affair?'

Loken looked at her. 'Even now, you don't understand us, do you? You still think on a very human scale.'

'I stand corrected,' she replied.

'I meant no offence.’ he said, noticing her expression, 'but it was a private affair. A ceremony. A hundred thousand Astartes. Eight million army regulars. Legions of Titan war machines, like forests of steel. Armour units by the hundred, formations of tanks, thousands upon thousands. Warships filling the low orbit, eclipsed by the squadrons of aircraft flying over in unending echelons. Banners and standards, so many banners and standards.'

He fell silent for a moment, remembering. The Mechanicum had made a roadway. Half a kilometre wide, and five hundred kilometres long, a straight line across the stage they had levelled. On each side of this road, every five metres, was an iron post topped with

the skull of a greenskin, trophies of the Ullanor war. Beyond the roadway, to either hand, promethium fires burned in rockcrete basins. For five hundred kilometres. The heat was intense. We marched along the roadway in review, passing below the dais on which the Emperor stood, beneath a steel-scale canopy. The dais was the only raised structure the Mechanicum had left, the root of an old mountain. We marched in review, and then assembled on the wide plain below the dais.'

'Who marched?'

All of us. Fourteen Legions were represented, either in total or by a company. The others were engaged in wars too remote to allow them to attend. The Luna Wolves were there en mass, of course. Nine primarchs were there, Mersadie. Nine. Horns, Dorn, Angron, Fulgrim, Lorgar, Mortarion, Sanguinius, Magnus, the Khan. The rest had sent ambassadors. Such a spectacle. You cannot imagine.’

'I'm still trying.’

Loken shook his head. 'I'm still trying to believe I was there.’

^Vhat were they like?'

You think I met them? I was just another brother-warrior marching in the file. In my life, lady, I have seen almost all of the primarchs at one time or another, but mostly from a distance. I've personally spoken to two of them. Until my election to the Mournival, I didn't move in such elevated circles. I know the primarchs as distant figures. At the Triumph, I could barely believe so many were present.’

'But still, you had impressions?'

'Indelible impressions. Each one, so mighty, so huge and so proud. They seemed to embody human characteristics. Angron, red and angry; Dorn solid and implacable; Magnus, veiled in mystery, and Sanguinius, of course. So perfect. So charismatic.’

'I've heard this of him.' Then you've heard the truth.’

His LONG BLACK hair was pressed down by the weight of the shawl of gold chain he wore across his head. The edges of it framed his solemn features. He had marked his cheeks with grey ash in mourning.

An attendant stood by with ink pot and brush to paint the ritual tears of grief on his cheeks, but Primarch Sanguinius shook his head, making the chain shawl clink. T have real tears.’ he said.

He turned, not to his brother Horus, but to Torgad-don.

'Show me, Tarik.’ he said.

Torgaddon nodded. The wind moaned around the still figures assembled on the lonely hillside, and rain pattered off their armour plate. Torgaddon gestured, and Tarvitz, Bulle and Lucius stepped forwards, holding out the dirty relics.

These men, my lord.’ Torgaddon said, his voice unusually shaky, 'these Children of the Emperor, recovered these remains selflessly, and it is fit they offer them to you themselves.’

'You did this honour?' Sanguinius asked Tarvitz.

'I did, my lord.’

Sanguinius took the battered Astartes helm from Tarvitz's hands and studied it. He towered over the captain, his golden plate badged with rubies and bright jewels, and marked, like the armour of the Warmaster, with the unblinking eye of terra. Sanguinius's vast wings, like the pinions of a giant eagle, were furled against his back, and hung with silver bands and loops of pearls.

Sanguinius turned the helm over in his hands, and regarded the armourer's mark inside the rim.

'Eight knight leopard.’ he said.

At his side, Chapter Master Raldoron began to inspect the manifest.

'Don't trouble yourself, Ral.’ Sanguinius told him. 'I know the mark. Captain Thoros. He will be missed.’

Sanguinius handed the helm to Raldoron and nodded to Tarvitz. Thank you for this kindness, captain.’ he said. He looked across at Eidolon. 'And to you, sir, my gratitude that you came to Frome's help so urgently.’

Eidolon bowed, and seemed to ignore the dark glare the Warmaster was casting in his direction.

Sanguinius turned to Torgaddon. 'And to you, Tarik, most of all. For breaking this nightmare open.’

'I do only what my Warmaster instructs me.’ Torgaddon replied.

Sanguinius looked over at Horus. 'Is that right?'

Tarik had some latitude.’ Horus smiled. He stepped forwards and embraced Sanguinius to his breast. No two primarchs were as close as the Warmaster and the Angel. They had barely been out of each other's company since Sanguinius's arrival.