No one had seen the primarch for weeks, but the great column of fire from his pyramid had been visible all across the city. The mood of its people was fearful. Now Ahriman knew why.
“My lord, your sons require your guidance,” he said, drawing energy from Aaetpio to focus all his energy on the crystal eye. In the past few weeks, Aaetpio had been his constant companion, his Tutelary no longer needing his summons to attend upon him. Fluttering overhead with shimmering wings, Ahriman used his enhanced power to reach out with his mind towards the crystal within the Pyramid of Photep.
He felt the resonance of the crystals in the Apex Chambers of the other cult temples, the urgent cries for information from all the captains save Uthizzar. A faint glow shimmered in the depths of the crystal and the gemstone at its heart swam with motion, as though it were no longer solid, but liquid.
“My sons,” said Magnus, his voice echoing in Ahriman’s mind. Its quality was sharp and edged as it sang from the crystal. “This is our Legion’s darkest hour, but also our moment of triumph.”
Ahriman felt the sudden joy of his brothers. Until this moment, he hadn’t realised how much he had missed hearing his father’s voice. He forced himself to concentrate on the matter at hand.
“My lord, what is happening?” he asked. “Who is attacking us?”
“Leman Russ and his Wolves,” said Magnus matter-of-factly, as though such an occurrence was wholly expected, “together with elements of the Custodes and the Silent Sisterhood.”
Ahriman was astonished, and his grip on the Enumerations would have slipped but for Aaetpio. Even so, it took a supreme effort of will to hold onto his clinical detachment.
“Why? What have we done to earn such violence?”
“Not you,” said Magnus. “I have brought this upon us. This is my doom.”
“We need to deploy before they launch assault boats,” stated Phosis T’kar. “The kine shield cannot be maintained any longer. I have lost too many warriors holding it this long.”
“Then lower it, my son,” said Magnus, “for the Wolves are already on their way.”
“Then those treacherous bastards will learn what it means to attack the Thousand Sons,” snarled Khalophis. “I will show them how the Pyrae make war.”
“Give us an order, my lord,” begged Hathor Maat. “Please!”
The eye in the heart of the crystal dimmed, as though retreating into its depths. Ahriman saw the hesitation, and a memory threatened to swim to the surface of his mind, a fragment of his moment of connection to the primarch on Nikaea.
Khalophis had called the Space Wolves treacherous, but Ahriman knew the master of the Pyrae had it wrong. In this war, it wasn’t the Space Wolves who would be thought of as traitors, it was the Thousand Sons.
“Leman Russ hates us, but even he would never dare attack us without orders,” said Ahriman, thinking aloud. “This order must come from a higher source. It comes from the Emperor – it is the only explanation. My lord, what are you not telling us?”
“Always you were the perceptive one, Ahzek,” said Magnus, and the eye swam into sharp focus once more, its hue filled with resignation. “I hid the truth from everyone, even myself, for so long that I was almost convinced it was simply a bad dream of another’s life.”
Ahriman sensed the confusion of his brother Astartes, each of whom urgently wanted to take the field of battle. If the Space Wolves were coming, every second was precious. He wanted nothing more than to march out with his warriors, but what Magnus was telling him was too vital to be ignored.
“What did you do?” he demanded, all deference gone from his tone. “When you saved us, what did you do? The pact you made with the powers of the Great Ocean, this is the price of it, is it not?”
“Yes, Ahzek,” said Magnus. “To save my sons, I made a devil’s bargain, and like the great doctor before me, I thought I had the best of it. All this time, I have been a blind fool, a puppet jerked on the strings of an intelligence greater than mine.”
A psychic shockwave sent a sharp fracture knifing through the crystal, and a jagged red line appeared in the centre of the eye.
“I was desperate. I had exhausted every other alternative to save you all,” hissed Magnus, his voice sending brittle cracks throughout the crystal. “From the moment I turned my other eye inwards, I knew they were there: The Eternal Powers of the Great Ocean, beings older than time with power beyond imagining. Only they had the means to save you all from hideous mutation and death, so yes, I supped from their poisoned chalice. You were restored to me and I was content. What father would not do everything in his power to save his sons?”
“And for that we must suffer?” asked Hathor Maat. “For that we are to be destroyed?”
“They think we are traitors,” said Ahriman, with the dawning horror of comprehension. “All those who spoke against us at Nikaea will be vindicated if we fight back. Our inability to see the future… We thought it was because the Great Ocean’s currents had turned from us, but it was you, wasn’t it? You kept us from seeing the future. You dispersed the fleet. You wantthis. Is this why Uthizzar is absent? Did he learn what you planned for us?”
“Watch your tongue, Ahzek!” bellowed Khalophis. “The primarch would never allow that.”
“He is right, Khalophis,” said Magnus, and the simple truth of his words broke their hearts. “Uthizzar came to me, and in my weakness he read the truth of it. I could not allow him to warn you or our sacrifice would be for nothing. For the good of all, we must be destroyed.”
The scale of such a gross betrayal shocked them all to silence until Phosis T’kar responded in the only way he knew how.
“No one is being destroyed,” roared Phosis T’kar. “If Russ’ dogs want a fight, we’ll give them one.”
“No! You must not,” said Magnus. “The gathering darkness needs us to turn on our brothers. It wants two loyal Legions torn apart and broken on the anvil of blind hate before the coming war. We cannot allow that to happen, for the Emperor will have need of his loyal Wolves before the end. We must accept our fate and let our devastation run its course.”
Ahriman’s anger cut through his state of detachment in the spheres and his fists clenched.
“All this time, you knew there would be a reckoning,” he said. “We are the Red Sorcerers of Prospero, damned in the eyes of our fellows, and this is to be how our story ends, in betrayal and bloodshed.”
“It is the only way, Ahzek,” said Magnus. “I am sorry.”
“No,” said Ahriman. “It is not the only way. You may find it nobler to suffer your fate, but I will take arms against it.”
Ahriman focussed his will upon the crystals of his fellow Magister Templi.
“The Corvidae will fight the invaders,” he promised. “My brothers, are you with me?”
“The Raptora are with you,” said Phosis T’kar.
“The Pavoni will fight,” said Hathor Maat.
“As will the Pyrae,” hissed Khalophis. “Oh, the Pyrae will most definitely fight.”
THE LAND AROUND Tizca was in flames, a ruined wasteland from which nothing would ever rise again. The city’s high marble walls, glorious museums, libraries, silver towers and great pyramids remained intact, the protection of the Raptora holding firm in the face of one of the most sustained and powerful bombardments ever unleashed in the history of the Imperium.
The mountains burned, the skyline forever changed by the world-shattering detonations.
Hot on the heels of the bombardment, the invaders came in their thousands. At first, the people of Tizca thought them to be particles of ash-blown grit, so numerous and so small were they. But as they closed, it became apparent that wave after wave of drop-ships, assault boats and gunships were inbound. Behind them came bulkier cargo transports bearing armoured vehicles and artillery pieces.