Fear to Tread

by James Swallow

‘If one wishes to go unseen by devils, one should not place their faith in angels.’ – attributed to the remembrancer Ignace Karkasy [M31]

quietus

languid

remit.’

There was no memory of the self beyond the command, the deed and the completion of the action. If memory had once existed, then it had been excised by deft application of scalpel blades and laser cutting beams. Slivers of brain matter sliced out or burned away to render down a self into nothing. Or something more than nothing, perhaps, if one were generous. Was a tool a worthy thing? Was a lifetime locked into servility commendable? Perhaps, but only if such service was selfless. When shackled to it, made slave and helot in the name of service, then it was another matter entirely. Unit Eight-Eight-Kappa-Two’s work tables for the day started and ended in this place, a commander’s lavish tent erected on the southern face of the Great Triumph’s stage. A light wind ripped the shallow peak of the pavilion overhead, but the servitor only registered the atmospheric effect in the most vague way. Perhaps if the weather changed it would be required to modify its operating parameters to reflect the circumstances, but so far there was no sign of such a thing. It did not possess the self-awareness to act upon data such as that; if a change was to be made, a fresh directive meme would be broadcast into the implant module that took up a full quarter of Unit Eight-Eight-Kappa-Two’s skull. The module’s outer skin was made of brass polished to a brilliant amber lustre, and it matched the buttons on the servitor’s brocaded coat, the buckles on its boots, the multiplicity of additional finger...

gorget.

tremulous

‘Succubae,’

Seducer.

arthropod,

daemonette’s mount, a grotesque

‘And Kreed’s duplicity in leading us to it can mean only one thing. We have been betrayed.’ ‘Kreed might lack courage,’ said Raldoron, breaking his silence. ‘But he has no reason to lead us to ruin.’ ‘You limit your thinking, First Captain,’ Amit replied. ‘Tanus Kreed is not the architect of this. He’s a follower, not a leader.’ ‘Erebus?’ Azkaellon said the name without thinking. Amit shook his head. ‘I say look higher still, brothers. Who sent us here?’ ‘Choose your next words carefully,’ said the primarch, becoming very still. The captain gave a grunt of humourless laughter. ‘You know that is not my way, master. I must say what I believe, and I believe the Warmaster sent us here with a lie on his lips, with full knowledge of what he–’ Gold armour flashed like lightning and Meros recoiled at the crackling shock of metal on ceramite, the deep rush of white wings snapping against the air. Suddenly Amit was sprawled on the hull with a new impact crater on his careworn armour and Sanguinius standing over him. The Angel moved so fast, the Apothecary had barely registered the movement, sweeping in and knocking Amit down with the pommel of his great sword. The red blade now came about in the primarch’s hands, and the tip rested upon the captain’s bared throat. ‘You will beg forgiveness for casting such aspersions on my brother Horus,’ he spat, his expression thunderous, ‘and then I will cut this armour from you and mark you for punishment.’ The icy rage with which the threat was...

glutinous

‘Recognise me, then, Sanguinius of Baal.’ It laughed. ‘I am Ka’Bandha, Bloodthirster and general of Khorne, blessed is his hate.’ The creature gave a mocking bow. ‘And we are brothers.’

A ragefire broke, and in the halls of his mind, a father heard five hundred of his sons perish at once. Then darkness claimed the Angel, the backlash of psychic shock spiralling after him into the abyss of his soul.

Raldoron heard the words of the Emperor’s decree with his own ears. ‘It is my will that no Legion will maintain a Librarius department. All its warriors and instructors must be returned to the battle companies and never again employ any psychic powers.’

diktat,

capricious

tiled

The Emperor’s Children, Word Bearers, Night Lords, Alpha Legion. The Iron Warriors, World Eaters and the Death Guard. All of them now march to the Warmaster’s drums.’

oubliette,

mendacity