‘Yes,’ the deacon stammered. ‘Yes, I...’
‘Just move,’ Argel Tal suggested. The priest took the suggestion, trying not to burst into tears. As he moved, an animal scent tainted the air; stronger than the fear-sweat and sour breath from the priests around them.
‘Sir,’ Torgal switched to vox, rather than speaking aloud. ‘The priest pissed in his robes.’
Argel Tal grunted, and lifted Cyrene over the warm puddle on the wooden stairs.
With the last of the clergy sent scurrying, the warriors ascended the wide, spiralling stairway with their ward guarded between them.
‘Enter,’ the voice called.
Argel Tal hadn’t sheathed his swords. He led the group into the primarch’s observatory, which was now little more than a stone platform exposed to the night’s breeze. Scrolls and books lay scattered across the floor, the former gently nudged by the wind, the latter having their pages turned by it.
The primarch stood by the platform’s edge, staring down at the city below. His shaven, tattooed head was bare, seemingly unmarked by injury, and the grey-white robe of Covenant hierarchs was free of bloodstains.
‘Sire?’ said Argel Tal. ‘What happened here?’
Lorgar turned slowly. Faint confusion marred his features, as if he’d expected someone else.
‘Argel Tal,’ he said, his voice rumbling. ‘Captain of the Seventh Assault Company, Subcommander of the Chapter of the Serrated Sun.’
‘Yes, lord. It is I.’
‘Greetings, my son.’
The captain fought to keep the unease from his voice as he replied. ‘Sire, the vox-network is aflame. May I inform the Legion that all is well?’
‘Why would all not be well?’ the primarch asked, his face still unresolved from distracted confusion.
‘The explosion, sire,’ said Argel Tal. ‘Nine minutes ago.’ He gestured around. ‘The dome,’ he added lamely.
‘Ah,’ Lorgar smiled. It was a magnanimous and entertained smile, crooked as if sharing a joke. ‘I will have to discuss the matter of teleportation inside sensitive structures with my beloved brother in the future. Captain, do you intend to murder me?’
Argel Tal lowered his blades, only then realising he held them en garde.
‘Forgive me, sire.’
Lorgar laughed, the feyness dissipating completely. ‘Please inform the Legion I am well, and apologise
for my lack of contact. I was quite lost in thought.’
On shrieking engines, two gunships drifted out of the night, hovering close to the tower-top. Their engine wash sent the remaining scrolls scattering off the edges, and spotlights stabbed down to illuminate the primarch with Argel Tal’s coterie.
Argel Tal blinked at a flashing icon on his retinal display. ‘This is the Seventh Captain. Stand down, stand down. False alarm.’
The tower-top fell dark as the stab-lights cut out.
‘By your word,’ one of the pilots said. ‘Disengaging.’
Lorgar watched the gunships cruise away, back to their landing pads on the city’s outskirts. All sky-freight – most notably the Legion’s own military outposts – were situated in the desert outside the city walls. Vharadesh would not be defiled by warfare. Never again. Not after the civil war that crushed the Old Ways and brought the planet under Lorgar’s rule so long ago.
‘My lord,’ Argel Tal ventured. ‘You requested the presence of Cyrene, the Monarchian.’
Lorgar seemed to notice the others for the first time. A warm smile lit his features, and he stepped closer.
‘I was just musing, captain, on whether I have thanked you yet.’
Argel Tal sheathed his blades and removed his helm. The warm air felt good on his face and sweating neck.
‘Thanked me, lord?’
‘Yes,’ the primarch nodded. ‘Were you and your Chaplain not the two who lifted me from the perfect city’s dust, and set me on my feet once more?’
‘Yes, lord. That was us. With respect, we didn’t expect you to recall it.’
‘Kor Phaeron professed not to remember your names. The old man has a black sense of humour. But I recall the moment all too well, and I thank you for it. I will arrange for my gratitude to be shown in a more significant way soon.’
‘No, sire...’ said Xaphen.
‘That’s not necessary, lord...’ said Argel Tal.
Lorgar raised a hand to stall their protests. ‘Ah, ah. Enough of that foolish modesty. Now, this must be the Blessed Lady. Come forward, child.’
Torgal and Malnor, who’d been kneeling in their lord’s presence, rose to their feet and guided Cyrene closer.
In the presence of a primarch, most mortals were gripped by the immensity of just what they were seeing. Here, in physical form, stood majesty incarnate. The biological manipulation, flesh-smithing and genetic rewriting that goes into the construction of one of the Emperor’s sons was a unique and unrepeatable practice, with its roots hidden beneath layers of ubelievable secrecy, for even if another sentient being could glimpse the Emperor’s gestation laboratories, they would never understand what transpired within. Every mote of biological matter in their bodies was painstakingly shaped – forged on the quantum level to contribute to the whole. It was beyond science, beyond alchemy, beyond psychic sorcery, and yet drew from all of these and more.
Humans had suffered strokes and heart attacks in the presence of primarchs. Almost all, without exception, abased themselves upon first meeting one. Many wept without intention or reason.
Cyrene stood where she was led to stand, and she smiled at Lorgar. Directly at him – directly at his face.
‘Hello, Blessed Lady,’ the god’s son chuckled. She was just tall enough to reach his waist.
‘I... I can see you,’ she almost laughed. ‘I can see your smile.’
Lorgar saw his warriors begin to come closer, ready to examine her, to see if her sight was returning. He gestured them back with a hand, and shook his head.
+Argel Tal+ The primarch’s voice was sibilant in the captain’s mind. Despite the gene-link between them, it was unpleasantly invasive – a spike of cold cutting right to the brain. The captain felt his muscles bunch, and both hearts beat faster.
The Word Bearer nodded, hoping his liege didn’t detect his discomfort, but knowing he almost definitely did.
+It is said she was abused on Khur+ came the primarch’s voice.
The Word Bearer nodded again.
+What a creature is Man+, Lorgar’s silent voice seemed to sigh. +So much of life is wasted seeking dominance over all around us.+