He nodded. 'Iacton. I live still, with the grace of Terra.'

The Luna Wolf raised an eyebrow. 'Indeed.' Unlike him, Qruze wore his battle armour, proudly sporting the colours of his old Legion.

There were other figures at the edge of the shadow and Garro studied them. The Oblivion Knight came forward with her novice behind her. 'Sister Amendera,' he said with a shallow bow. 'Why have you summoned us here?' He tried and failed to keep an edge of annoyance from his words. 'What trial must we answer to now?'

Garro glanced at the novice, expecting the girl to provide an answer, but her face was flushed with tension and fear. At once, the Death Guard's hands tensed around the scabbard of his weapon.

'Others...' Qruze warned, nodding into the shadows.

'You are here, Astartes, because I have ordered it.' The voice came from the dark. It was firm but quiet, not in the manner of a military commander, but that of an educator, a counsellor. A puff of flame flickered into being in the shadows and Garro saw the shape of a golden eagle sculpted with wings spread as if to take flight. A brazier burned underneath the raptor, tricking the eye with the dance of light and heat.

Footsteps approached, and with them came the heavy tapping march of a staff against the stone-tiled

floor. Garro's throat tightened as he flashed back to the assembly hall aboard the Endurance and the arrival of his primarch, but it was not Mortarion who emerged from the shadows this time.

There were two men, but they were much more than that. Even barefoot, the taller of the two would easily have been a match for Iacton Qruze in his full armour. The watchful, hard lines of his face emerged from a suit of golden armour that was cut like that of a Terminator, but worn like that of a normal Astartes. Even at a distance, Garro could see an infinity of worked tooling in the etching that covered the glinting metal, the repeated shapes of eagles and lightning bolts. A cloak of rich red material hung around his shoulders and a towering gold helmet with a plume of crimson atop it was held in the crook of one arm. In the ouier, at an angle that betrayed the ease with which the warrior held it, rested a weapon that was half lance, half cannon: a guardian spear, the signature wargear of the Emperor's personal guard, the Legiones Custodes. Garro had often heard it said that the Custodians were to the Emperor as an Astartes was to his primarch, and looking upon this man, he believed it. The warrior studied Garro and Qruze with a level, emotionless gaze.

The guardian's presence alone was enough to indicate the lofty status of the man he accompanied, and they bowed to the hooded figure in his simple administrator's robes. The man in the voluminous mantle would blend seamlessly into the masses of any Imperial hive city were it not for the staff he carried, atop it, the golden eagle in its basket of flames, with steel chains looping down the length, each inscribed with axioms. This was the Rod, and it could only be held by one man: the Regent of Terra himself,

First of Council, Overseer of the Tithe and confidant of the Emperor.

'Lord Malcador/ said Garro. What do you wish of us?'

He dared to raise his gaze. The Sigillite's hooded glance came to rest upon him and although Nathaniel could not see his eyes, he was immediately aware that he was under intense scrutiny, in ways that he could only guess at. Malcador, so the stories said, was second only in psychic might to the Emperor. So unassuming in aspect, but here in the chamber with them the man exuded a serene kind of power, quite at odds with the brash energy of a warlord primarch, but no less potent.

At the corner of his vision, he saw the witchseeker back away a few steps, as if she were afraid to be too close to him. The Regent's vision fixed Garro like a spotlight, sifting through his spirit like sand. He tasted a greasy, electric taint in the air. The Death Guard met it and did not resist. He had not come this far to keep secrets.

The Emperor protects,' said the Sigillite slowly, as if he were reading the words from the page of a book. 'He does indeed, Astartes, in ways that you cannot begin to comprehend.' Malcador paused, musing. 'I have heard the words of Rogal Dorn, examined the evidence of your testimony and the mnemonic records of the Lady Oliton, and thus I will be direct. Garro, you came home in hopes of seeking an audience with the Master of Mankind so that this warning could come to his ears. This will not be.'

Garro felt a flash of disappointment. Even after all that had happened, he still kept the light of hope alive. 'But he will hear the warning, Lord Regent?'

'You cannot come to Terra, so Terra comes to you.' Malcador nodded at the staff. 'I have heard the

warning and that is enough for the moment. The Emperor is indisposed as he engages in his great works within the Imperial Palace.'

Garro blinked in surprise. 'Indisposed?' he repeated. 'His sons turn against him and he is too busy to learn of it? I do not understand-'

'No,' said the Regent, 'you do not. In time, these matters will become clear to all of us, but until that moment, we must trust in our master. The message has been delivered. Your obligation has been completed.'

Garro saw Qruze tense. 'Is that why he is here, Lord Regent?' The Luna Wolf nodded to the Custodian Guard. Are we to be dealt with, to be removed from the field of play?'

Malcador was very still. 'There are many on the Council of Terra who suggested that just such a resolution should take place. Matters of men's loyalties once thought to be solid are now in flux.'

Garro took a step forward. 'I will say to you, lord, what I said to the primarch Dorn. Are not our deeds enough to convince you of our fealty? I know you can see into the truth of a man's heart. Look into mine, and tell me what is there!'

A hand emerged from the folds of the robes. 'There is no need, captain. You have no call to prove yourselves to me. After your ordeal, I felt that you were owed the truth. I came here to give it to you in person, so that there would be no misunderstanding.'

And now?' asked Qruze. 'What of us, Lord Regent?'

Aye,' said Garro, clutching the icon in his grip. 'We cannot stay here, watching the stars and waiting for the day that Horns comes seeking battle. I request...' He fixed the Regent with a hard glare. 'No, I demand that we be given a purpose!' Garro's voice began to

rise. 'I am an Astartes, but now I am a brother without a Legion. Alone, I stand unbroken amid all the oaths that lie shattered around me. I am the Emperor's will, but I am nothing if He will not task me!'

The Death Guard's words echoed around the glass tower and Kendel's novice shrank visibly to hear them. Malcador gestured with the eagle-head staff. 'Only in death does duty end, Astartes,' he said, with a hint of satisfaction, 'and you are not dead yet. As we speak, the Lord Dorn assembles his plans to oppose Horns and the primarchs he has turned to his banner. Lines of battle are being drawn across the galaxy, arrangements for a war of such magnitude that mankind has never known.'

'What will our place be in it?'

Malcador inclined his head in a tiny gesture. There is a matter to which you will be set, not today, perhaps not for many months, but eventually. The Warmaster's disposition has made it clear that the Imperium requires men and women of inquisitive nature, hunters who might seek the witch, the traitor, the mutant, the xenos... Warriors like you, Nathaniel Garro, Iacton Qruze, Amendera Kendel, who could root out the taint of any future treachery: a duty to vigilance.'

'We are ready/ said Garro with a nod. 'I am ready'

Yes,' replied the Sigillite, 'you are.'

HE FOUND VOYEN in one of the meditation cells, carefully ministering to his wargear. The Apothecary bowed slightly to him. Garro noted immediately that Voyen's robes were the plain, unadorned clothes of a citizen petitioner, not the duty mantle pf an Astartes. The sewn patterns of the two-headed aquila and the skull and star of the Death Guard were absent.