The First Heretic

Lorgar turned back to watch the girl’s dance, which grew ever more frantic. Perhaps an edge of doubt marred his flawless features. Perhaps it was simply the maiden’s shadow flickering over the primarch’s face.

‘This is no different to the rituals practised on Colchis only decades before your birth, captain. This is the Old Faith in all its theatrical glory.’

‘This is an abomination,’ Argel Tal took another step closer.

‘All I want,’ Lorgar enunciated each word with patient care, ‘is an answer.’

Before them, Ingethel slowed in her whirling dance. Her tattooed skin was a living, sweating devotion to the Word Bearers’ Chapters and the Colchisian night skies from whence they drew their names.

‘It is time,’ she said to Lorgar in a hoarse, breathless voice. ‘It is time for the tenth sacrifice.’

The primarch tilted his head down at the girl, not quite a concession. ‘And what is the tenth sacrifice?’

‘The tenth sacrifice must come from the seeker. He chooses the slain. It is the final consecration.’

Lorgar drew breath to answer, but was denied the chance to speak.

A sinister crackle came into waspish life – all recognised the snapping buzz of a power weapon going live. Vendatha lowered his guardian spear, aiming the blade and bolter at Lorgar’s heart.

‘In the Emperor’s name,’ said the Custodian, ‘this ends now.’

FIFTEEN

Sacrifice

Baptism of Blood

Unworthy Truths

‘By the authority invested in me by the Emperor of Mankind, I do judge thee a traitor to the Imperium.’

Lorgar watched Vendatha, his benign expression unchanging all the while.

‘Is that so?’ asked the primarch.

‘Don’t do this,’ said Argel Tal. ‘Ven, please, do not do this.’

Vendatha didn’t take his eyes from Lorgar. The golden spire-helm faced forward, red eye lenses catching the flames’ reflection. Around them all, the drums were starting to slow and fall quiet.

‘If any of you reach for a weapon, this becomes an execution, not an arrest.’

The Word Bearers remained frozen. Some risks weren’t worth taking.

‘Lorgar,’ whispered Ingethel. ‘The ritual must not be interrupted. The wrath of the gods will–’

‘Be silent, witch,’ Vendatha said. ‘You have said enough already. Lorgar, Seventeenth Son of the Emperor, do you yield to righteous authority and give your oath to abandon this den of heathen belief? Do you vow to return at once to Terra and submit to the Emperor’s judgement?’

‘No,’ the primarch spoke softly. ‘I do not.’

‘Then you leave me no choice.’

‘There is always a choice,’ said Argel Tal.

Vendatha ignored the captain’s plea. He reached for the scrollwork etched into his ornate bracer, and pushed one of the mother-of-pearl buttons inlaid in the decoration.

Nothing happened.

He pressed the button again.

Nothing continued to happen.

The Custodian took a step backwards as the Word Bearers very, very slowly drew their weapons. The Chaplains unlimbered their crozius mauls. Tsar Quorel and Deumos raised their bolters, and Argel Tal unsheathed the swords of red iron.

‘I think you will find,’ the primarch smiled, ‘that your teleport signal has been blocked since you entered this chamber. Just a precautionary measure we took, you understand? Aquillon and your brothers will not be appearing to aid you. They will never even know you needed them.’

‘I confess I had not anticipated this,’ Vendatha said. ‘Well done, Lorgar.’

‘It’s not too late, Ven.’ Argel Tal raised his swords en garde. ‘Lower your weapon and we can end this without crossing the line.’

‘Great One...’ Ingethel whined. ‘The ritual...’

‘I said be silent, witch,’ snapped Vendatha.

Lorgar sighed, as if a great disappointment settled upon his shoulders. ‘Decide now, Custodian Vendatha, how best to serve my father’s Imperium. Do you flee, escaping this chamber, and bring a truth you don’t even understand to your brothers in orbit? Or do you shoot me now, and rid the galaxy of its only chance at enlightenment?’

‘The choice you offer is no choice at all,’ Vendatha said.

Argel Tal moved first, launching forward as the cavern echoed with bolter fire.

Vendatha was not a fool. He knew the odds of surviving the next few moments were slim, and he knew a primarch’s reflexes were the peak of biological possibility, faster than even his own, which bordered on the preternatural.

But Lorgar was at ease, his muscles loose. He actually expected his offer of truce to hold some weight, and that lapse in judgement was enough for Vendatha to take the chance. He pulled the haft-trigger, and his spear’s underslung bolter cracked off a stream of rounds on full-auto.

Argel Tal saw it coming. The swords of red iron smashed the first three bolts aside, their power fields strong enough to detonate the shells as they streaked towards the primarch’s heart. The explosions threw the captain to the ground, his grey armour scraping along the stone with the shriek of offended ceramite.