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Ari'i raised his hand to silence the Sigilmaster.

  'Remember where we are. Keep a tight hold on your tongue for the moment.'

  They waited for their hosts to return, each alone with their thoughts. After ten minutes, to the second, the doors opened and Kratoz stepped into the chamber with Khrysaor close behind. As the spearheadcenturion seated himself, looking with a grimace at the uneaten food, Ari'i spoke up.

  'An orbital attack is not only wasteful of life, it is the least effective means we have at our disposal. Only a total saturation bombardment will guarantee the implantation facilities are destroyed beyond reconstruction. We cannot expect resupply, so a good proportion of your ordnance will be expended in the attempt.' Ari'i leaned his elbows on the table, the metal creaking beneath the weight. 'A ground assault not only reduces collateral casualties, it ensures total success with the minimum use of our most scarce resources.'

  'A ground assault? Against the World Eaters? I would estimate the garrison of such a citadel at three to four hundred, and we have no information regarding how many of the lobotomised soldiers they have thus far created. Even if we were against the legionaries alone, they are in a prepared position. Between us we do not have enough force to complete an assault.'

  'However, we will try,' said Ari'i.

  'Why?' Kratoz looked at the Salamanders, incredulous. 'We give up the lives of our warriors to protect traitor lackeys? It makes no sense, morally or tactically. No, praetor, your plan is simply unacceptable.'

  'Are you not ready to die for the Emperor?' asked Aka'ula, rubbing his stubbled chin. 'Has the Iron Hands' honour vanished so completely?'

  'It is not a question of honour, Sigilmaster,' Khrysaor answered quickly, cutting off his commander's retort.

  'Practicality demands that we assess the benefits and costs of any strategy, and the costs of the pyre warden's strategy do not warrant the potential costs.'

  'Honour?' growled Kratoz. 'Where was the honour of the Word Bearers? The Iron Warriors? The Sons of Horus? The Gorgon and his Avernii veterans fought with honour and it earned them their graves. Do not lecture me on honour, son of Vulkan. Where was your master when the Gorgon confronted the foe?'

  'You need to ask such questions because you were not there,' replied Aka'ula. 'How convenient that you should arrive late to Isstvan when you should have been beside your primarch when he led the attack.'

  Kratoz paled, jaw tightening. Again Khrysaor responded first, but his demeanour was as livid as his superior's.

  'The vagaries of the warp robbed us of the opportunity to prove ourselves on Isstvan, but they do not explain how it was that your ship was so close to the edge of the system when we arrived. The calculations are easy enough to make and show that you must have quit your holding orbit of the fourth world within hours of the drop taking place. Why did the Hearthfire flee so soon, my lord?'

  Hema and Aka'ula both were on their feet in an instant, demanding apology for the accusation. Kratoz's ranted reply was lost in the shouting.

  'Enough!' bellowed Ari'i, once again slamming his hand onto the table, the crash of ceramite on metal filling the chamber. He stood slowly, taking a deep breath. His glare was directed at his fellow Salamanders more than the Iron Hands. 'This is not how we conduct ourselves. Ever. Centurion Kratoz, accept my apology for any implication that you have been anything less than a stalwart warrior of the Emperor.'

  This mollified Kratoz a little and he once again touched his forehead in apology.

  'My lord praetor, with the utmost respect let me continue the petition. It is pointless to risk our lives in a direct confrontation with the World Eaters when orbital attack will bring equal success.'

  'I will consider your views, spearheadcenturion.' Ari'i walked the length of the table and extended a hand, which Kratoz shook hesitantly. The praetor held him there for a few seconds, looking deep into the artificial eyes of his counterpart. 'I do not throw away the lives of warriors needlessly, but sometimes sacrifice is required to uphold a greater truth. Be assured that I have made no final decision and I will give your concerns the full weight of my thoughts.'

  'If you are not prepared to accept my plan immediately, I must be content with such assurances,' Kratoz led Ari'i to the door and signalled to Khrysaor. 'Sergeantatarms, escort our visitors back to their gunship. Pyre Warden Ari'i, I await the conclusion of your deliberations. I hope they do not take long.'

  WHEN THE CONTINGENT was back aboard the Hearthfire, Ari'i summoned his legionaries to attend him, leaving orders with the bridge that the navigational officers should continue to hold course between the Phorcys and Praestes. The Salamanders convened on the upper mess deck, standing in a circle so that all could see and address one another.

  It was a small command by the standards of a lord praetor, but Ari'i valued it as though it was a task force of ten cruisers and twenty thousand Space Marines.

  'We were delivered from the firestorm of Isstvan by fortune and the command of our primarch,' Ari'i began. 'It is a chance to wage war against Horus that many of our Legion were not given. It must not be thrown away with rash action, but we should not be so timid that opportunity to inflict harm on our foes is squandered.'

  He looked around the circle of Salamanders and saw fierce pride in the expressions of his blackskinned warriors.

  'You understand the situation that we face, and the options that have been laid before me. I know that you are loyal and will follow my lead into the heart of Mount Koranua itself, but we are few and before I make my final decision I would hear your thoughts, pay heed to your guidance. I will lead, but I will not be a tyrant.'

  'You cannot allow Kratoz to bully you into accepting his strategy,' Aka'ula began, lifting his fist to his chest in salute as he spoke. 'If you defer to his demands now, all authority is lost.'

  'If you do not,' ventured Tu'atta, repeating the Sigilmaster's gesture, 'you risk alienation. We can accomplish more in concert with the Iron Hands than alone.'

  'Kratoz has a point,' added Hema, giving respect to the others with his salute. 'He has far more men than us, and his ship has greater firepower. Perhaps we need him more than he needs us.'

  'We will show him the error of that view,' countered Sergeant Marsoon. 'If we do not act with conviction now, what is the point having Kratoz as our superior in all but name? Better that we show him our true strength and fail than to continue to hide it for no future gain.'

  'Iron Hands seek only revenge,' Aka'ula snarled. 'They act out of destructive spite and will do so again and again to our destruction unless you can leash Kratoz to your authority and guide their passions to a more worthy end.'

  'You must lead.'

  The words were quietly spoken, but they came from Vestar, who rarely spoke to anyone. Though uncommon, his observations always contain sound insight. All eyes fixed upon the Nocturneborn legionary.

  'Kratoz has lost his father and fears to replace him. You cannot replace the Gorgon, but you must assume command here.'

  Ari'i accepted this with a nod, and others spoke, but the words of Vestar stayed at the forefront of the praetor's thoughts. When all had spoken, their fists lifted to the plastrons to show as such, Ari'i smiled.

  'Whatever occurs, I could not have asked fate to deliver to me a better company of brothers than stand beside me now,' he told them. He moved around the circle, touching foreheadtoforehead with each of the Salamanders as a sign of respect.

  When he had returned to his place Ari'i took a deep breath, his demeanour solemn undiminished.

  'I do not seek the preservation of life for its own sake, but I will not weigh the lives of innocents against the worth of a Space Marine. Loyalty, honour and respect cannot be calculated, measured and balanced by logic engines, they can be judged only by the hearts of men. The countless trillions we fight for may seem an uncountable mass at times, but we must remember that they are us – they are humanity. The seed of each is our future, potential leaders and warriors and great saviours of our people. The Emperor created us
to fight, and to die if needed. There is no easy route to victory. We must tread the steeper trail to the summit of the mountain, and some of us will fall along the way. But believe me, the view from the top will be all the grander for the effort!'

  Led by the pyre warden, the Salamanders raised their fists and swore anew their oaths of fealty, to Vulkan and the Emperor. And so the sons of Nocturne began their preparations for battle.

  'SENSORS, REPORT POSITION of the Hearthfire.'

  Kratoz knew the command was superfluous the officer at the sensor banks would notify him the minute the Salamanders frigate moved out of the way but nearly an hour had passed since Ari'i had departed to make his decision.

  'Still holding position relative to our orbit, spearheadcenturion.'

  'Gunnery, lock all weapons on that frigate!'

  Khrysaor turned to look at his commander, his expression conflicted.

  'You wish to open fire on the Salamanders' vessel, spearheadcenturion?'

  'The senses of a legionary are famed across the galaxy, sergeantatarms, and yet twice now in the last few hours your hearing appears to be deficient. If Ari'i does not move his ship out of the way in the next ninety seconds, I'll blast him out of the way. Do I need to send you to the apothecarion?'

  'May I submit an alternative course of action, spearheadcenturion?'

  'Does it involve listening to Ari'i lecture me endlessly on protecting innocent lives and adherence to duty and my moral obligations?'

  'No, spearheadcenturion.'

  'Very well, submit your proposal.'

  Khrysaor left his post to approach his superior and spoke softly.

  'Contact the Hearthfire and request an audieqce with the praetor.'

  'I'm disliking this plan already, sergeantatarms, but continue.'

  'He will accept your request. We travel by gunship to the Hearthfire, and take with us a full complement of legionaries. Once aboard the Salamanders ship we can commandeer the vessel and steer it out of the way ourselves.'

  'You want to commence a boarding action against the Hearthfire? Your hearing really has deteriorated, Khrysaor, or perhaps your memory. Why would I risk boarding when I can simply annihilate them from afar?'

  The Salamanders will not offer resistance, spearheadcommander. 'They will be outnumbered and Ari'i will see that the death of warriors from either Legion serves only the enemy's purpose. Faced with such direct action, the Salamanders will comply.'

  The plan had some merit, not least because despite his threats, Kratoz was not comfortable killing his fellow legionaries. His anger dissipated by Khrysaor's intervention, the spearheadcommander could see the benefits of a peaceful resolution to the impasse.

  'Very well, make the necessary inquiries with the pyre warden. I will assemble the boarding force myself.'

  THE CRACKLE OF cooling metal accompanied the thud of boots as Kratoz descended the assault ramp of the Stormstrike gunship. He had expected Ari'i or one of his senior legionaries to meet him, but instead found a solitary member of the Hearthfire' s unenhanced crew standing to attention, hands by her side. She was middleaged, perhaps fifty years by Terranstandard, and wore a dark green dress coat bound tight at the waist with a thick black belt, a sash of reptile hide across her torso perhaps denoting she was of some higher rank amongst the Legion attendants. She raised her fist sharply to her chest in salute as the centurion stepped down to the deck of the landing bay.

  'Where is the lord praetor?' the Iron Hands commander demanded.

  'He is currently engaged with another matter,' the aide replied. 'I am Mehhet Ulana Vacol, primaris deck officer of the Hearthfire. I have full authority in the absence of the lord praetor.'

  'Absence?' Kratoz waved away his own question. 'It doesn't matter, I can tell you as easily as Ari'i. Guide me to your main bridge, I am taking command of this vessel.'

  'By what authority, spearheadcenturion?' If the woman was surprised or nervous she was remarkably adept at hiding it. 'This is a vessel of the Eighteenth Legion, and it is commanded by a praetorechelon officer.'

  Kratoz sent a signal over the comm and his legionaries marched from the Stormstrike, footfalls thunderous on the bare metal of the deck. The Iron Hands formed two ranks behind their leader, moving in perfect unison like fifty blackandsilver automatons. For the moment their weapons were lowered, but Kratoz was sure his intent was clear.

  'I am not used to repeating myself, Primaris Deck Officer Vacol. This frigate is now under the auspices of the Iron Hands. It is currently interfering with my mission and will move aside. I demand to see the lord praetor.'

  'He is on his way,' Vacol told him, glancing towards the massive blast doors that split the hangar from the adjacent landing bay.

  A rumble of hidden gears caused Kratoz to turn in the same direction, in time to see the huge portal rumbling open and a blaze of light from the adjoining flight deck flooding between the receding doors. Twenty figures were silhouetted against the light, far bulkier than any normal Space Marine. As his eyes adjusted, Kratoz recognised Terminator armour, but unlike anything he had seen in a long time.

  The warplate of the Terminators was far broader and taller than standard legionary power armour, and these had an additional exoskeletal frame carrying slanted plates of extra armour, all decorated in the dark green livery of the Salamanders. Their left hands were fashioned in a variety of powered fists, claws and chainblades designed for close combat, antiarmour assault and bulkheadcutting, and in the right they carried an assortment of weapons ranging from simple combibolters to triplebarrelled autocannons, plasma chargers and rocket launchers, and one carried an immensely rare longmuzzled volkite culverin.

  Yet it was not these amendments that amazed Kratoz. The Iron Hands had numerous experimental suits of Terminator armour with modified heavy weaponry and ablative shields. What stole the curse from Kratoz's lips was the additional weapon systems mounted across the backpacks and shoulders of the Terminators. A plethora of armourpiercing missiles, lascannons, multimeltas and a conversion beamer were all pointing in his direction. Each was quite literally a walking tank.

  The voice of Ari'i emanated from the external vocaliser of the lead warrior.

  'SpearheadCenturion Kratoz, welcome aboard the Hearthfire. These suits were designed by Vulkan himself and we were about to transit them to the surface of Isstvan when the massacre began. The primarch gave me a direct order not to allow them to fall into the hands of the traitors, hence our swift departure.'

  Ari'i swung first to the left and then to right, looking at the row of warriors behind him.

  'You mentioned something about trying to take my ship from me?'

  IF THE SITUATION had not been so fraught Ari'i might have enjoyed the moment of hesitation before Kratoz reluctantly raised his hand in salute and bowed his head to the approaching pyre warden. The Salamanders commander had not intended to humiliate his counterpart in this fashion, it had been happenstance that Kratoz had launched his ridiculous coup as Ari'i and the others were about to board their gunships in the neighbouring launch bay.

  'I expect you to return to the Phorcys immediately.' Ari'i raised his power fist and pointed to the Stormstrike. 'And take your legionaries with you.'

  'What a waste,' replied the centurion. He waved a hand at the Terminators, shaking his head slowly. 'Vulkan entrusted you with his work and this is how you use it? Even with these armoured suits you cannot take the World Eaters' fortress alone. Be thankful that there will be nothing for the enemy once I have annihilated the city after your deaths. It is not the armour or weapons that makes the warrior, it is the spirit. You will fail. Your sentimentality will be your undoing. The flesh is weak.'

  'I have heard you say that phrase on several occasions since our first encounter. I am not sure that you really understand what it means.'

  'You may have spoken with the Gorgon but do not think to school me in the teachings on my own primarch!'

  'Perhaps I must if the lesson was not learned properly,' Ari'i snapped b
ack. 'What you say, the flesh is weak, is only part of the saying. In forgetting the end you have lost the meaning. Vulkan said it in praise of Ferrus Manus, after the One Hundred and EightyFourth Expedition when our Legions jointly liberated the orkdominated worlds of the Shoxua Cluster. The fighting had been fiercer than anything we had expected. Your primarch said in jest that his arm was tired from killing so many orks, and Vulkan retorted with 'the flesh is weak, but deeds endure'. It was a celebration of what they had achieved, and a remark that even primarchs can die but what they do will last beyond their lifespan. It was a message of humility, not condemnation. Flesh is weak because it knows it must come to an end, and so we must rise about the concerns of flesh and leave a legacy that others will be proud to inherit. Ferrus Manus understood that. He was a harsh master, an unforgiving ally, but he was also a maker of things a builder, not a destroyer.'

  Kratoz stepped back, shocked by Ari'i's words. In a moment he had recovered, his confusion quickly turning to irritation.

  'Another lecture,' snarled the centurion. 'It doesn't matter what you say, the only thing you are going to leave behind on Praestes are corpses.'

  Kratoz spun away, shouting for his men to embark onto the gunship. He followed them up the ramp and paused at the top to look back with a last shake of the head. Ari'i returned to his warriors and ordered the launch bay sealed again.

  As they lined up to board the dropships, he paused at the foot of the ramp.

  'Reconsidering your choices, my lord?' Hema asked, stopping next to him. The old sergeant had tried to insist he could accompany the squad in his Mark III armour but had eventually relented and donned one of the modified sets of battleplate. Even so, Ari'i could tell at a glance that Hema had already started making adjustments, shamelessly thinking he could refine the primarch's work.

  'Perhaps I am victim to a different sort of hubris, Hema,' Ari'i admitted. 'If we fail, Kratoz will level the city anyway.

  What then of our sacrifice? Am I just wasting the wargear and time the primarch gifted us?'

  'That's the problem with legacies, my friend,' said Hema as he started up the ramp. 'You're never around to see which sort you've left.'