An Astartes was functionally immortal, meaning that only in death did duty end, and the thought sent a chill down Loken's spine.

'Loken,’ acknowledged Qruze as he saw him approach.

'You're not coming down to see the sights of the Sirenhold with us?' asked Loken.

'Alas, no,’ said Qruze. 'I am to stay and await orders. I haven't even got a place in the order of battle for the pacification force,’

'If the Warmaster has no plans for you, Iacton, then I have something you could do for me,’ said Loken, 'if you would do me the honour?'

Qruze's eyes narrowed. 'What sort of a favour?'

'Nothing too arduous, I promise you.'

'Then ask,’

'There are some remembrancers aboard, you may have heard of them: Mersadie Oliton, Euphrati Keeler and Kyril Sindermann?'

"Yes, I know of them,’ confirmed Qruze. 'What of them?'

'They are... friends of mine and I would consider it an honour if you were to seek them out and ask after them. Check on them and make sure that they are well,’

'Why do these mortals matter to you, captain?'

'They keep me honest, Iacton,’ smiled Loken, 'and they remind me of everything we ought to be as Astartes,’

'That I can understand, Loken,’ replied Qruze. 'The Legion is changing, boy. I know you've heard

seated at the lavish banquet around him joined his salute, their cheers echoing from the alabaster walls of the banqueting hall. Captured banners, hon-oured weapons once carried by the Chosen of Fulgrim and murals of heroes despatching alien foes hung from the walls, glorious reminders of past victories.

The primarch himself was not present, thus it fell to Eidolon to take his place at the feast, exhorting his fellow Astartes to celebrate the coming victory. Lucius was equally vocal, leading his fellow warriors in toasts from golden chalices of fine wine.

Tarvitz set down his goblet and rose from the table.

'Leaving already, Tarvitz?' sneered Eidolon.

'Yes!' chimed in Lucius. 'We've only just begun to celebrate!'

'I'm sure you will do enough celebrating for both of us, Lucius,’ said Tarvitz. 'I have matters to attend to before we make the drop,’

'Nonsense!' said Lucius. 'You need to stay with us and regale us with memories of Murder and how I helped you defeat the scourge of the megarachnids,’

The warriors cheered and called for Tarvitz to tell the story once more, but he held up his hands to quiet their demands.

'Why don't you tell it, Lucius?' asked Tarvitz. 'I don't think I build your part up enough for your liking anyway,’

'That's true,’ smiled Lucius. 'Very well, I'll tell

the tale,’

'Lord commander,’ said Tarvitz, bowing to

Eidolon and then turning to make his way through the golden door of the banquet hall. Appealing to Lucius's vanity was the surest way of deflecting his attention. Tarvitz would miss the camaraderie of the celebration, but he had other matters pressing on his thoughts.

He closed the door to the banqueting hall as Lucius began the tale of their ill-fated expedition to Murder, though its horrifying beginnings had somehow become a great triumph, largely thanks to Lucius, if past retellings were anything to go by.

The magnificent processional at the heart of the Andronius was quiet, the droning hum of the vessel reassuring in its constancy. The ship, like many in the Emperor's Children fleet, resembled some ancient palace of Terra, reflecting the Legion's desire to infuse everything with regal majesty.

Tarvitz made his way through the ship, passing wondrous spaces that would make the shipwrights of Jupiter weep with awe, until he reached the Hall of Rites, the circular chamber where the Emperor's Children underwent the oaths and ceremonies that tied them to their Legion. Compared to the rest of the ship, the hall was dark, but it was no less magnificent: marble columns supporting a distant domed ceiling, and ritual altars of marble glittering in pools of shadow at its edges.

Fulgrim's Chosen had pledged themselves to the primarch's personal charge here, and he had accepted his appointment as captain before the

Altar of Service. The Hall of Rites replaced opulence with gravity, and seemed designed to intimidate with the promise of knowledge hidden from all but the Legion's most exalted officers.

Tarvitz paused on the threshold, seeing the unmistakable shape of Ancient Rylanor, his dreadnought body standing before the Altar of Devotion.

'Enter,’ said Rylanor in his artificial voice.

Tarvitz cautiously approached the Ancient, his blocky outline resolving into a tank-like square sarcophagus supported on powerful piston legs. The dreadnought's wide shoulders mounted an assault cannon on one arm and a huge hydraulic fist on the other. Rylanor's body rotated slowly on its central axis to face Tarvitz, turning from the Book of Ceremonies that lay open on the altar.

'Captain Tarvitz, why are you not with your warriors?' asked Rylanor. The vision slit that housed his ocular circuits regarded Tarvitz without emotion.

They can celebrate well enough without me,’ said Tarvitz. 'Besides, I have sat through one too many renditions of Lucius's tales to think I'll miss much.'

'It is not to my taste either,’ said Rylanor, a grating bark of electronic noise sounding from the dreadnought's vox-unit. At first Tarvitz thought the Ancient had developed a fault, until he realised that the sound was Rylanor's laughter.

Rylanor was the Legion's Ancient of Rites, and when not on the battlefield he oversaw the ceremonies that marked the gradual ascent of an Astartes from novice to Chosen of Fulgrim.

Decades before, Rylanor had been wounded beyond the skill of the Legion's apothecaries while fighting the duplicitous eldar, and had been interred in a dreadnought war machine that he might continue to serve. Along with Lucius and Tarvitz, Rylanor was one of the senior officers being sent down to take the Choral City's palace complex.

'I wish to speak with you, revered Ancient,’ said Tarvitz, 'about the drop,’

The drop is in a few hours,’ replied Rylanor. There is little time,’

Yes, I have left it too late and for that I apologise, but it concerns Captain Odovocar,’

'Captain Odovocar is dead, killed on Isstvan Extremis,’

'And the Legion lost a great warrior that day,’ nodded Tarvitz. 'Not only that, but he was to function as Eidolon's senior staff officer aboard the Andro-nius, relaying the commander's orders to the surface. With his death there is no one to fulfil that role,’

'Eidolon is aware of Odovocar's loss. He will have an alternative in place,’

'I request the honour of fulfilling that role,’ said Tarvitz solemnly. 'I knew Odovocar well and would consider it a fitting tribute to finish the work he began on this campaign,’

The dreadnought leaned close to Tarvitz, the cold metallic machine unreadable, as the crippled warrior within decided Tarvitz's fate.

'You would renounce the honour of your place in the speartip to take over his duties?'

Tarvitz looked into Rylanor's vision slit, struggling to keep his expression neutral. Rylanor had seen everything the Legion had gone through since the beginning of the Great Crusade and was said to be able to perceive a lie the instant it was told.

His request to remain aboard the Andronius was highly unusual and Rylanor would surely be suspicious of his motives for not wanting to go into the fight. But when Tarvitz had learned that Eidolon was not leading the speartip personally, he knew there had to be a reason. The lord commander never passed up the opportunity to flaunt his martial prowess and for him to appoint another in his stead was unheard of.

Not only that, but the deployment orders Eidolon had issued made no sense.

Instead of the normal, rigorously regimented order of battle that was typical of an Emperor's Children assault, the units chosen to make the first attack appeared to have been picked at random. The only thing they had in common was that none were from Chapters led by Eidolon's favoured lord commanders. For Eidolon to sanction a drop without any of the warriors belonging to those lord commanders was unheard of and grossly insulting.