The First Heretic

‘Yes,’ Lorgar nodded. ‘The 1,301st. I have journeyed with eighteen of my Chapters since the dawn of the Great Crusade. This time, as we face our uncertain future, I would ask your permission to travel with the three hundred warriors of the Serrated Sun.’

Argel Tal looked over his shoulder at Cyrene, then Xaphen, before turning back to Lorgar. The Chaplain nodded once. The confessor had her hands over her mouth as tears streamed down her face.

‘Pardon me, sire?’ Argel Tal asked. ‘I am not sure I heard you correctly.’

‘I am asking this favour of you, my son. Kor Phaeron will lead the 47th Expedition in my absence. I may not be able to outrun the Occuli Imperator – he will follow me wherever I go – but I can seek the empyrean far

from my brothers’ eyes. And that is enough for now.’

‘You will... travel with us?’

‘I would be honoured to,’ said the primarch. ‘I could ask this of any of my fleets, I know. But you were the one to raise me back to my feet, when my ignorance had murdered a world. So I am asking you.’

‘I... Sire... I...’

Lorgar laughed again, his golden hands reaching to prevent Argel Tal from kneeling a second time. ‘Is that a yes?’

‘By your word, Aurelian.’

‘Thank you. It’s a new age, Argel Tal. A new age of vision and discovery. Every Word Bearer fleet will be cast to the winds of fate, sailing where they will. We will reach farther from Terra than any other Legion, pushing the Imperium’s boundaries with each world we take.’

Argel Tal knew where this was leading. It could only be going one way. He sensed Xaphen approaching from behind, though the Chaplain elected to say nothing.

‘We are seekers,’ Lorgar smiled, enjoying the word on his tongue. ‘We seek the place where gods and mortals meet – seeking divinity in a galaxy my father believes is godless.’

Lorgar clasped his hands together, and lowered his head in readiness for prayer.

‘The Legion will undertake the Pilgrimage.’

III

The Faceless Tarot

The cards are faceless, devoid of illustration. This is intentional – it’s what makes them so valuable, for they respond to the touch of an unseen sense, never relying on a lesser artist’s imagery to limit the human consciousness.

The crystal wafers are cored by a psychoreactive liquid, the images taking shape in the celadon resin as the tarot reader holds each card in his hands.

He had hoped, in time, that every psychically gifted soul in his father’s Imperium would come to learn this tarot. Instead, their creation had been scorned – even by Magnus (who had no need of such foci for his powers) and Leman Russ (who derided them even as he cast runestones and knucklebones in a bid to see the future).

It will soon be time to leave Colchis.

He turns the first card. In its milky surface, he sees a burning torch carried in a strong hand. Truth.

Something calls to me. That is a truth I am only now coming to accept. Something out there is calling to me.

I am not Magnus, to stare into space and easily hear the heartbeat of creation. My powers are not those of my dearest brother, nor my ascendant father. But something has always called to me. In my youth, it reached my mind as visions, nightmares, hallucinations. And now...

Erebus and Kor Phaeron – through their patience and guidance – aided me in growing attuned to the call.

My tutors in the Covenant, and my heart’s family now. We meditated, pored over the Covenant’s texts, and we decided the Legion’s destiny.

Something calls me, faint but infinite, prickling my sixth sense like an echo in the stars.

He turns the second card, and sees himself – robed and cowled, turning away so as to avoid his own gaze. A common card, this one. Faith.

Humanity is nothing without faith.