The First Heretic

The bulkhead opened to reveal two figures – both armoured in crimson ceramite – walking towards the primarch. The first bore a black helm with eye lenses of crystal blue. One eye was ringed by the golden Serrated Sun, and his power armour was edged in polished silver. The second carried a familiar crozius of black iron, with its armour trimmings formed of bronze and bone. Thick, ornamental chains rattled around their waists and wrists as both warriors moved. Prayer scrolls were bound to shin-guards and pauldrons, the parchment showing the primarch’s own flowing script.

‘Warriors of the Serrated Sun,’ Lorgar smiled. ‘Kneel before your new commanders.’

Every Word Bearer went to their knees. Incarnadine took several seconds longer to complete its obeisance, lowering itself on grinding hydraulics.

The first crimson warrior removed his helm. Argel Tal looked upon the gathered Legion, and called out across the deck.

‘Survivors of the Orfeo’s Lament, rise and step forward.’

They did as they were ordered. Behind Argel Tal, Xaphen removed his own skulled helm, remaining by the primarch’s side.

The new Chapter Master was still gaunt, as were the warriors he surveyed with a calm gaze. ‘Our sire has ordered we rebuild the Serrated Sun far beyond its former strength. We obey his word, as we have always obeyed. But he has offered more. You, the survivors of the Orfeo’s Lament, are to be honoured for your sacrifices.’

Argel Tal nodded to Xaphen, who took the scroll from Cyrene’s cushion and brought it to the Chapter Master.

‘This scroll is bare, but for two names. My own, and Chaplain Xaphen’s. If you accept the honour of joining us as the primarch’s chosen elite, then you will kneel before the Blessed Lady in this very hangar, and you will speak your name to her. It will be written upon this parchment, and stored in the vaults aboard De Profundis.’

Argel Tal looked each of the survivors in the eyes, one after the other. ‘We will be the Gal Vorbak, armoured in black and crimson, the elite of the Serrated Sun and the chosen of Lorgar Aurelian.’

Lorgar chuckled, light and pleasant, as he stepped forward to rest a hand on Argel Tal’s shoulder-guard.

On the gantry above, Kalhin let his glance flicker to Aquillon. His voice was low, despite the fact he wore his helm and none would overhear them speaking over the inter-squad vox.

‘Gal Vorbak. I did not study their culture as you did. Is that Colchisian?’

Aquillon nodded. ‘It means “Blessed Sons”.’

‘I am pleased for Argel Tal. He is healing well, and it will be good to turn back into fairer territory after this failed madness. Deumos was always cancerous, so I will shed no tears at his tenure coming to an end.’

That statement met with grunts of agreement from the others.

‘When Lorgar returns to the 47th Expedition, should we accompany him?’

Aquillon had been dwelling on that very thought. ‘Our mandate is to stand vigil over the Legion itself. Four Custodian teams, bound to four fleets. Iacus already claims the 47th, and I trust him as I trust any one of you. Let him play watchdog over this weakling primarch for a while. Our duties will keep us with the 1,301st, and the compliances to come.’

Kalhin released a slow breath. ‘I would pay dearly to set eyes on Terra’s skylines once more.’

‘You will,’ said Aquillon.

‘In forty-seven years,’ the other Custodian scoffed. ‘Remember the terms of our oath. Five decades among the stars. Fifty long, tedious years away from Terra.’

‘It beats the endless blood games,’ Nirallus shrugged.

‘You only say that,’ Kalhin pointed out, ‘because you are so awful at them.’

Aquillon heard the tension in his brothers’ voices. ‘The Word Bearers will not languish under suspicion forever. In three years, have you seen evidence that they still worship the Emperor? And look at them now: already their rites are growing closer to the traditions of the other Legions. This is almost like Sigismund knighting one of his templars at a gathering of the Imperial Fists.’

Kalhin shrugged. ‘Perhaps they have come a long way from the fanatics we joined, but the stink of desperation yet clings to their breath when they shout their battle cries. I still do not trust them.’

The Occuli Imperator didn’t take his eyes from the red-clad figure speaking with his new warriors as they knelt before the blind girl from the dead world.

‘No,’ he said. ‘Neither do I.’

‘Not even Argel Tal?’

‘One warrior in an entire Legion.’ Aquillon left the railing, turning back to his Custodians. ‘He is the only one I trust. That’s the problem.’

V

Smoke and Mirrors

It was a lie, of course.