“Fly the Great Ocean with me,” he said.
Amon nodded and closed his eyes, and Magnus let his body of light float free of his flesh. The concerns of the mortal world lessened, but could not be wholly ignored. Tizca transformed from a place of cool marble to a glittering jewel of light, the tens of thousands of shimmering soul-lights who called the city home like tiny lanterns.
“How fragile they are,” said Magnus, though there was no one yet to hear him.
The warm glow of Amon’s subtle body appeared next to him, and they flew into a sky of brilliant blue. The world around them deepened from blue to black, the stars pin-wheeling around them like darts of phosphor.
The blackness of space transformed into the swirling, multi-coloured chaos of the Great Ocean, and both travellers felt the welcome rush of pleasure as its currents flowed around their ethereal forms.
Magnus led the way, streaking through the swirling abyss towards a destination only he was capable of finding. Amon followed him, his dutiful friend and beloved son. At length, they came to the region of stillness he had seen a week ago.
He felt Amon’s horror as he beheld the vast fleet of ships, the slab-sided warships, the sleek strike cruisers and the monstrous monuments to destruction that were the Battle Barges. Hundreds of vessels drew ever closer to Prospero, ships of many flags and many allegiances, united with one shared purpose: annihilation.
Leading them was a feral blade of a ship, unsheathed to deliver the deathblow to its hated foe. Grey and fanged, it prowled the stars with carved eyes at its bladed prow piercing the depths of the Great Ocean with uncanny precision.
“Is that what I think it is?” asked Amon.
“It is,” confirmed Magnus.
They flew closer to the brutal vessel, the protective shields that kept void-predators at bay no match for travellers of such power. They passed through its layered voids, diving down through metre upon metre of adamantium hull plates, integrity fields and honeycombed bulkheads until they reached the heart of the ship.
The masters of this fleet gathered to plan the destruction of all that Magnus held dear, and the two sons of Prospero listened to their deliberations. Magnus was prepared for what he would hear, but Amon was not, and the flaring wash of his aetheric field sent a pulse of choleric energy through the ship’s crew.
“Why?” begged Amon.
“Because I was wrong.”
“About what?”
“Everything,” said Magnus. “All the things you taught me, I arrogantly assumed I already knew. You warned me of the gods of the warp and I laughed at you, calling you a superstitious old fool. Well I know better now, for I beheld such a being and thought I had the better of it, but I was wrong. I have done terrible things, Amon, but you must believe that I did them for the right reasons.”
Amon drifted down towards the master of this vessel and the steely-eyed killer in golden armour who stood next to him on a raised command dais. A group of identically armoured warriors stood at the base of the dais occupied by their leaders.
“The Council of Nikaea?” demanded Amon. “Were they right to name us warlocks?”
“I fear they may have been, though only now do I understand that.”
“And for that we are to suffer?”
Magnus nodded and flew up through the ironwork of the starship, exploding outwards into the seething cauldron of the Great Ocean. Amon flew at his side, and they hurtled back to Prospero, exhaling pent-up breaths as they opened their eyes and looked down on the reassuringly familiar vista of Tizca.
“And the Legion knows nothing of this?” asked Amon.
“Nothing,” said Magnus. “I have drawn a veil around Prospero. None see out, not even the Corvidae. Now the Thousand Sons must learn what it means to be blind.”
“So our punishment draws ever closer,” said Amon. “What happens when it gets here?”
“You are kind, old friend,” said Magnus. “It is mypunishment.”
“Their axes will fall on the rest of us as well,” pointed out Amon. “I ask again; what will we do when they get here?”
“Nothing,” said Magnus. “There is nothing todo.”
“There is always something to do. We can destroy them before they even reach us,” hissed Amon, gripping Magnus’ arm.
Magnus shook his head saying, “This is not about whether we can defend ourselves against this threat. Of course we can. It is about whether we should.”
“Why should we not?” countered Amon. “We are the Thousand Sons and nothing is beyond us. No path is unknown to us and no destiny is hidden from us. Instruct the Corvidae to pierce the veils of the future. The Pavoni and Raptora can enhance our warriors’ prowess while the Pyrae burn our enemies and the Athanaeans read the minds of their commanders. When they come they will find us ready to fight.”
Magnus despaired, hearing only the urge to strike the first blow in Amon’s voice.
“Have you not heard what I have said?” he pleaded. “I do not strike because it is what the powers that have manipulated me since I came here want me to do. They want me to take arms against our doom, knowing that if I do it will only confirm everything those who hate and fear us have always believed.”
Amon looked out over the city, and his eyes took on a faraway look, tears of loss streaming down his cheeks.
“Before you came to Prospero, I had a recurring nightmare,” he said. “I dreamt that everything I held dear was swept away and destroyed. It plagued me for years, but on the day you arrived from the heavens like a comet, the dream stopped. I never had it again. I convinced myself it was nothing more than an ancestral memory of Old Night, but it wasn’t, I know that now. I foresaw this. The destruction of everything I hold dear is coming to pass.”
Amon closed his eyes and he gripped the balcony with white-knuckled fury.
“I may not be able to stop it,” he said, “but I am going to fight to protect my home, and if you ever held my friendship in any esteem, you would do the same.”
Magnus rounded on Amon.
“Despite everything I have done, my fate is my own,” Magnus said. “ Iam a loyal son of the Emperor, and I would never betray him, for I have already broken his heart and his greatest creation. I will accept my fate and though history may judge us traitors, we will know the truth.We will know we were loyal unto the end because we accepted our fate.”
THE CAPTAIN OF the Spireguard stopped before him, and Lemuel reached out to soothe his aura. His terror made it difficult, but before he could reach out with any calming influence, he saw that the officer’s aura was not expecting trouble, but wracked with grief.
Lemuel looked more closely, recognising the breadth of the man’s shoulders, the immaculate pressing of the uniform and the gold hogging looped around his shoulders.
The captain removed his helmet, and Lemuel dared hope this enterprise wasn’t doomed.
“Captain Vithara?” he said.
“Indeed, Master Gaumon,” said Captain Sokhem Vithara of the 15th Prosperine Assault Infantry. “I hoped I would see you before you left.”
“Before we left?” asked Lemuel, confused as to why they weren’t being frogmarched in manacles away from the lighter. The cargo bay doors were closing and they would be airborne in a matter of moments.
“Yes, I almost missed you because your names weren’t on any of the manifests.”
“No,” agreed Lemuel with a guilty smile, “they wouldn’t be.”
“Still, I’m glad I caught you.”
“You are?” asked Camille. “Why? What do you want?”
The young man struggled to find the right words, and in the end he gave up and just spoke in a confused torrent.
“I don’t know for sure what happened to Kallista, but I know she does not want to remain here,” he said, and Lemuel straggled to hold his composure in the face of the young man’s obvious grief. “She wants you to take her away from here.”