Ku’gath stared at the cauldron while it was hauled up onto the sled and made fast, remembering his own birth within its rusted interior. This was Nurgle’s own pot. Ku’gath had once been a nurgling like the multitudes who bore him, until he had fallen in and drunk up Nurgle’s most promising disease.

So the story went, and so it was true.

The shame of depriving his father of his prize malady dogged Ku’gath still. Nurgle had been delighted with his new son, and showered Ku’gath with paternal affection, but Ku’gath did not feel worthy of it.

The Plaguefather looked skywards, his diseased ears picking up the sound of approaching aircraft. The mortals were reacting quickly, but it would not help them. He yawned as bombs fell and blazing mushrooms sprouted from his advancing horde. The mortals used weapons of fire, but the horde’s flesh was sodden, and vital with Chaos magic. The promethium gels sent to cleanse them guttered out swiftly.

The greater daemons of the Plague Guard chortled loudly as an attack craft fell hurtling from the sky, blue fire wreathing its jets, its air intakes clogged with insects. It plunged into the marsh, its engine’s howl coming to a gurgling stop as it sank beneath the water’s surface.

‘Gangrel! Famine!’ Ku’gath bellowed. ‘Fetch out the mortal sorcerers. Bring me the Cult of Renewal and the Cult of Blessed Protrusion. Begin the ritual to summon the remainder of the Bubonicus Infectus!’

Ku’gath scowled as his minions rushed to do his bidding. From one of the whale-ships, the final members of his vanguard marched: human worshippers of the Great Father. It was good they did his work, though there were fewer in the cults than there had been. The Garden of Nurgle was not kind to mortals, and many would have been killed by their journey in the meatships.

He sighed. Such was the circle of life. Their bodies were now food for Nurgle’s blessed vermin.

Ku’gath did not smile. He never did. There could be no joy in his life, not until he had proven himself worthy of Papa Nurgle’s love. But he allowed himself a tentative hope as his eyes lighted again on the hospital, and then on the great cauldron being dragged that way.

Perhaps, here on Iax, he would redeem himself.

Part Three

Part Three

The Spear
of Espandor

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Death in Illyria

The Thandian Pass was burning. From the top of a First Company Land Raider, Marneus Calgar appraised the situation at the Museo Illyricus with a sense of weary irritation.

There were rebels within the museum. They had a device they said would kill thousands, though they said all they wished was to talk peacefully.

Calgar would not deal with men who would threaten death while speaking of peace.