Table Of ContentTHE HORUS HERESY
Gav Thorpe
THE LION
The First Allegiance
THE HORUS HERESY
I .
T IS A TIME OF LEGEND
T . T E ’
HE GALAXY IS IN FLAMES HE MPEROR S GLORIOUS VISION FOR
. H , H ,
HUMANITY IS IN RUINS IS FAVOURED SON ORUS HAS TURNED FROM HIS
’ C .
FATHER S LIGHT AND EMBRACED HAOS
H , S M ,
IS ARMIES THE MIGHTY AND REDOUBTABLE PACE ARINES ARE LOCKED
. O ,
IN A BRUTAL CIVIL WAR NCE THESE ULTIMATE WARRIORS FOUGHT SIDE BY
,
SIDE AS BROTHERS PROTECTING THE GALAXY AND BRINGING MANKIND BACK
E ’ . N .
INTO THE MPEROR S LIGHT OW THEY ARE DIVIDED
S E ,
OME REMAIN LOYAL TO THE MPEROR WHILST OTHERS HAVE SIDED WITH
W . P - ,
THE ARMASTER RE EMINENT AMONGST THEM THE LEADERS OF THEIR
- L . M ,
THOUSANDS STRONG EGIONS ARE THE PRIMARCHS AGNIFICENT
,
SUPERHUMAN BEINGS THEY ARE THE CROWNING ACHIEVEMENT OF THE
E ’ . T ,
MPEROR S GENETIC SCIENCE HRUST INTO BATTLE AGAINST ONE ANOTHER
.
VICTORY IS UNCERTAIN FOR EITHER SIDE
W . A I V, H
ORLDS ARE BURNING T SSTVAN ORUS DEALT A VICIOUS BLOW
L . W ,
AND THREE LOYAL EGIONS WERE ALL BUT DESTROYED AR WAS BEGUN A
. T
CONFLICT THAT WILL ENGULF ALL MANKIND IN FIRE REACHERY AND
. A
BETRAYAL HAVE USURPED HONOUR AND NOBILITY SSASSINS LURK IN EVERY
. A . A .
SHADOW RMIES ARE GATHERING LL MUST CHOOSE A SIDE OR DIE
H , T .
ORUS MUSTERS HIS ARMADA ERRA ITSELF THE OBJECT OF HIS WRATH
S G T , E
EATED UPON THE OLDEN HRONE THE MPEROR WAITS FOR HIS WAYWARD
. B C ,
SON TO RETURN UT HIS TRUE ENEMY IS HAOS A PRIMORDIAL FORCE THAT
.
SEEKS TO ENSLAVE MANKIND TO ITS CAPRICIOUS WHIMS
T ,
HE SCREAMS OF THE INNOCENT THE PLEAS OF THE RIGHTEOUS RESOUND TO
D G . S
THE CRUEL LAUGHTER OF ARK ODS UFFERING AND DAMNATION AWAIT
E .
ALL SHOULD THE MPEROR FAIL AND THE WAR BE LOST
T . T A
HE AGE OF KNOWLEDGE AND ENLIGHTENMENT HAS ENDED HE GE OF
D .
ARKNESS HAS BEGUN
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
Onboard the battle barge Invincible Reason
LION EL'JONSON, Son of the Emperor, Primarch of the First Legion
CORSWAIN, former Champion of the Ninth Order, Primarch’s
Seneschal
BROTHER-REDEMPTOR NEMIEL, Chaplain
CAPTAIN STENIUS, Master of the battle barge Invincible Reason
CAPTAIN TRAGAN of the Ninth Order
THERALYN FIANA of House Ne'iocene, Chief Navigator Invincible
Reason
BROTHER ASMODEUS, former Librarian
Magellix Station, Perditus Ultima
CAPTAIN LASKO MIDOA, Expedition Commander - Iron Hands
CAPTAIN CASALIR LORRAMECH, Commander Ninety-Eigth
Company - Iron Hands
COMMANDER CALOS TYPHON, First Captain - Death Guard
HIGH MAGOS KHIR DOTH IAXIS, Overseer of Magellix and
Custodian of Tuchulcha
Part One
‘There is but one reason and one reason alone in the exercise of
power: to further one’s agenda. Be it selfish or altruistic, such agenda
should be the whole of one’s concern without distraction if power is to
be expended to its benefit. One need only look to the example of the
Emperor’s Great Crusade for proof of this eternal truth; when
distraction came it was to the ruin of all.’
– Lyaedes, Intermissions, M31
I
The lord of the First Legion sat as he so often sat these nights, leaning back in
his ornate throne of ivory and obsidian. His elbows rested upon the throne’s
sculpted arms, while his fingers were steepled before his face, just barely
touching his lips. Unblinking eyes, the brutal green of Caliban’s forests, stared
dead ahead, watching the flickering hololith of embattled stars.
Aboard the Invincible Reason, flagship of the Dark Angels, Lion El’Jonson
thought long and hard. There were many things for him to reason out, yet no
matter how hard he tried to stay focused on the military effort to bring the Night
Lords to battle, his mind was drawn back to an imponderable dilemma.
Eighty-two days had passed since his confrontation with Konrad Curze on the
desolate world of Tsagualsa. Eighty-two days had been enough for his body to
heal, for the most part, the grievous wounds the Night Haunter’s claws had
inflicted upon the Lion’s superhuman flesh. The armour he wore had been
repaired and refurbished and repainted, so that not a mark of Curze’s violence
showed upon its ebon surface.
showed upon its ebon surface.
On the outside, the Lion was fully recovered, but within lay the most hideous
injuries, inflicted not by the Night Haunter’s weapons but by his words.
No risk of the fair Angels falling? When did you last walk upon the soil of
Caliban, oh proud one?
The tides of the warp influenced communication as much as they did travel,
and no sure word had been heard from Caliban for two years. In times past, the
hateful words of Curze would have been easy to dismiss. The loyalty of the Dark
Angels had been beyond question. They were the First Legion, ever the noblest
in the eyes of all; even when the Luna Wolves earned great praise and Horus
was raised to Warmaster, no others could claim the title of First Legion.
Yet such times seemed a lifetime ago now; civil war and schism tore apart the
Imperium, and the surety of the past was no guarantee of the present, or the
future. Could the Lion trust that his Legion remained loyal to him? Trust was not
a natural state for the primarch. Was there some deeper purpose to the Night
Lords’ endless war in the Thramas system? Did Curze speak the truth and keep
the Lion occupied here while agents of Horus swayed the loyalty of the Dark
Angels to another cause?
Trust had been a scarce commodity for the Lion before Horus’s betrayal, and
even then he had been taken for a fool. Perturabo had used his status as a brother
to trick the Lion, taking control of the devastating war engines of Diamat under
the guise of alliance, only to turn those weapons against the servants of the
Emperor. The shame of being so manipulated gnawed at the Lion’s conscience,
and he would never again accept the simple word of his brothers.
It was an impossible question and an impossible predicament. The Lion had
pondered the meaning of the Night Haunter’s words every night, even as he
analysed the movements and strategy of his foe, trying to get one step ahead of
his elusive enemy. The Night Haunter had had no reason to lie; Curze had been
trying to kill his brother as he spoke. Yet they might just be random spite, as had
so often spilled from the lips of Konrad Curze, who had used falsehood as a
weapon long before he had turned from the grace of the Emperor; lies were
second nature to the primarch and came to him as easily as breaths.
The Lion despised himself for giving credence to the lie, creating the poison
that ate away at his resolve. It was simple enough to vow that Thramas would
not be surrendered to the Night Lords; it was another matter entirely to prosecute
a war against an enemy determined not to fight. With every night that passed, the
prospect of decisive battle lessened and the desire to return to Caliban and
ensure everything was in order strengthened. Yet the Lion could not abandon the
ensure everything was in order strengthened. Yet the Lion could not abandon the
war, if only because it might be a return to Caliban that the Night Haunter
desired.
While these thoughts vexed the primarch, at the appointed hour three of his
little brothers arrived to brief him on the current situation.
The first to enter was Corswain, former Champion of the Ninth Order, recently
appointed as the Primarch’s Seneschal. Across the back of his armour he wore
the white pelt of a fanged Calibanite beast, and beneath that hung a white robe
split at the back, its breast adorned with an embroidered winged sword. His helm
hung on his belt, revealing a broad face and close-cropped blond hair.
Just behind Corswain came Captain Stenius, commander of the Invincible
Reason. His face was a literal mask of flesh, almost immobile due to nerve
damage suffered during the Great Crusade. His eyes had been replaced with
smoky silver lenses that glittered in the lights of the chamber, as inscrutable as
the rest of his expression.
The last of the trio was Captain Tragan of the Ninth Order, who had been
raised to the position by the primarch following the debacle at Tsagualsa. The
captain’s soft brown eyes were at odds with his stern demeanour, his curls of
dark brown hair cut to shoulder-length and kept from his aquiline face with a
band of black-enamelled metal. It was Tragan that spoke first.
‘The Night Lords refused engagement at Parthac, my liege, but we arrived too
late to stop the destruction of the primary orbital station there. The remaining
docking facilities cannot cope with anything larger than a frigate, as I suspect
was the enemy’s intent.’
‘That’s three major docks they have taken out in the past six months,’ said
Stenius. ‘It is clear that they are denying us refitting and resupply stations.’
‘The question is why,’ said the Lion, stroking his chin. ‘The Night Lords
cruisers and battle-barges require such stations as much as ours. I am forced to
conclude that they have abandoned any ambition of claiming Parthac, Questios
and Biamere and seek to hamper our fleet movements for some manoeuvre in
the future.’
‘I would say that it has the hint of desperation, a stellar scorched earth policy,’
said Stenius.
‘We cannot rule out Curze commanding such attacks simply out of spite,’
added Corswain. ‘Perhaps there is no deeper meaning behind these recent
attacks, except to exasperate and confuse us.’
‘Yet that will still be a part of a bigger plan,’ said the Lion. ‘For more than two
years we have duelled across the stars, and throughout that war the Night
Haunter has always been moving towards some endgame I have not yet
Haunter has always been moving towards some endgame I have not yet
fathomed. I will think on this latest development. What else have you to report?’
‘The normal fleet movements and scouting reports are in my latest briefing,
my liege,’ said Tragan. ‘Nothing out of the ordinary, if there is such a thing.’
‘There was one report that I found odd, my liege,’ said Corswain. ‘A broken
astropathic message, barely discernable from the background traffic. It would be
unremarkable except that it contains mention of the Death Guard Legion.’
‘Mortarion’s Legion is in Thramas?’ The Lion growled and glared at his
subordinates. ‘You think this is not a matter to bring to me immediately?’
‘Not the Legion, my liege,’ said Tragan. ‘A handful of ships, a few thousand
warriors at most. The transmission does not seem to originate from the Thramas
theatre, my liege, but from a system several hundred light years from Balaam.’
‘The message fragments also mention a task force from the Iron Hands in the
same vicinity,’ said Corswain. ‘Some skirmish I think, unlikely to impact on our
conflict here.’
‘The system, what was it called?’ said the Lion. The primarch’s eyes narrowed
with suspicion as he asked the question.
Tragan consulted the data-slate he held in his hand.
‘Perditus, my liege,’ said the Ninth Order captain.
‘It’s barely inhabited, my liege,’ added Stenius. ‘A small Mechanicum
research facility, nothing of import.’
‘You are wrong,’ said the Lion, standing up. ‘I know Perditus. I claimed the
system for the Emperor, alongside warriors of the Death Guard. What your
records do not show, Captain Stenius, is the nature of the research undertaken by
the Mechanicum there. Perditus was meant to be kept secret, off-limits to every
Legion, but it seems that the Death Guard have other plans.’
‘Off-limits, my liege?’ Tragan was taken aback by the notion. ‘What could be
so dangerous?’
‘Knowledge, my little brother,’ replied the Lion. ‘Knowledge of a technology
that cannot be allowed to fall into the hands of the traitors. We must assemble a
task force at Balaam. A force that can overwhelm anything the Death Guard or
Iron Hands have in the area.’
‘What of the Night Lords, my liege?’ asked Corswain.
‘If we relent in our hunt across this sector, or weaken our forces here too
much, Curze will make fine sport of the systems we cannot protect.’
‘That is a risk I must take,’ replied the primarch. ‘Perditus is a prize that we
must seize from the traitors. I had almost forgotten about it, but now it is brought
