The First Heretic

All heads turned towards Ingethel as she cried out – wordless defiance, in a keening wail.

‘This was ordained by the gods.’ She gestured her tattooed hand to Vendatha’s ravaged form. ‘Lorgar is the seeker, the Favoured Son of the Great Powers, and he has provided the tenth sacrifice. Consecration may begin.’

A pack of Cadians came forward, their dirty hands pulling at Vendatha’s golden armour, stripping it from his dying body. Argel Tal kicked one of the jackals off the fallen Custodian and levelled his blades at the rest. They scattered; carrion-feeders disturbed from a meal at the last moment.

‘This was not a sacrifice for your blood magic,’ the captain said. ‘He aimed a weapon at the Emperor’s son, and he will die for the sin. That is all.’ Argel Tal looked over his shoulder. ‘Sire, we have to leave. No answer is worth this.’

Lorgar lowered his hood, looking at neither Argel Tal nor Ingethel. His gaze rested on a far wall, and a faint scowl creased his lips.

‘What’s that sound?’ the primarch asked.

‘I hear nothing but the drums, sire. Please, we must leave at once.’

‘You don’t hear that?’ Lorgar glanced at his two remaining sons. ‘Neither of you?’ Their silence answered for them, and Lorgar reached a hand to his forehead. ‘Is that... laughter?’

Ingethel was on her knees now, dragging at his robes, weeping in her worship. ‘The ritual... The gods come... It is not complete...’

Lorgar paid her heed at last, though the distant look never left his eyes. ‘I hear them. I hear them all. Like the memory of laughter. The forgotten faces of distant kin when one struggles to recall them.’

Argel Tal clashed the swords of red iron together; the skish-skash of metal on metal loud enough to draw the primarch’s attention.

‘Sire,’ he growled, ‘we must leave.’

Lorgar shook his head, infinitely patient, infinitely calm. ‘It is no longer our choice to make. Events are in motion. Stand away from the Custodian, my son.’

‘But sire...’

‘Ingethel speaks the truth. This was all ordained. The storm that stranded us. The screams that summoned us. The fear that led Vendatha to betray us. All part of a... a plan. It’s so clear to me. The dreams. The whispers. Decade after decade after decade of...’

‘Sire, please.’

Lorgar’s statuesque features were warped by a sudden rush of fury. ‘Stand away from that treacherous dog before you join him on an eleventh spear. Do you understand me? This moment is a crucible upon which all else spins. Obey me, or I will kill you where you stand.’

A shadow passed over Argel Tal’s sight – something terrible in aspect, something winged and wrathful beyond mortal imagining.

The moment passed. The darkness receded. Argel Tal did as Lorgar commanded, stepping away from the body and sheathing the swords of red iron.

‘No answers are worth this,’ the captain said.

Neither Xaphen nor Lorgar met his glare. With keen eyes, both watched the ritual proceeding again.

Here, Lorgar stopped writing. His smile was enriched by melancholy.

‘Do you believe I sinned in that moment?’

Argel Tal laughed, the sound black and bitter. ‘A sin is decided when mortal morality meets a code of ethics. Did you sin against a faith? No. Did you stain your soul? Perhaps.’

‘But you hate me, my son. I hear it in your voice.’

‘I think desperation blinded you, father. You may take no joy in sadism, but your need for the truth drove you to viciousness.’

‘And for this, you hate me.’ Lorgar was no longer smiling. His tone was low and barbed, while his eyes had all the warmth of a body on the battlefield.

‘I hate what you’ve forced me to see. I hate the truth we must bring to the Imperium of Man. Above all, I hate what I’ve become in service to your vision.’

Argel Tal grinned the grin that wasn’t his own. ‘But we could never hate you, Lorgar.’

Vendatha was still alive when they impaled him alongside the other nine sacrifices.

But, mercifully, not for long.

He never saw the consecration bought with his blood. He never saw what breached the barrier between the realm of spirit and the world of flesh.