‘The Genesis Chapter, the Aurora Chapter, the Knights Cerulean, the Mortifactors and sundry other elements are to remain here to purge the daemonic infestation in the far west, and slay the remainder of the Death Guard. The rest of our army will withdraw and redeploy. Mortarion is not here. His web of evil is disrupted. The forces left are a delaying tactic, nothing more. There is no more reason for me to remain.’

‘Where do you think he might be?’ asked Colquan neutrally.

‘Parmenio,’ said Guilliman without pause. All his careful winnowing of data had suggested either Espandor or Parmenio as Mortarion’s base of operations. If Mortarion was not on Espandor, he would be on the other. ‘He is on Parmenio.’

‘You are sure?’ asked Felix.

‘I am sure. It is hard to reckon our actions here a victory, but we have taken the first steps to assuring we will win. Let Mortarion feel at ease, and think I cannot find him, nor dislodge him from Ultramar. He is about to be disabused of this misapprehension.’

Guilliman smiled grimly.

‘On Parmenio, I will make him see the truth.’

With those words, the primarch passed from the cathedral and into the ruins of Espandoria Tertio alone, his soul laden with sorrow.

About the Author

About the Author

Guy Haley is the author of the Horus Heresy novel Pharos, the Primarchs novel Perturabo: The Hammer of Olympia and the Warhammer 40,000 novels Dante, Baneblade, Shadowsword, Valedor and Death of Integrity. He has also written Throneworld and The Beheading for The Beast Arises series. His enthusiasm for all things greenskin has also led him to pen the eponymous Warhammer novel Skarsnik, as well as the End Times novel The Rise of the Horned Rat. He has also written stories set in the Age of Sigmar, included in War Storm, Ghal Maraz and Call of Archaon. He lives in Yorkshire with his wife and son.

An Extract from ‘The Eye of Medusa’

An extract from The Eye of Medusa.

‘With this link, I bind you to my clan.’

‘To my clan.’ Echoes of gears and metal.

Kardan Stronos barely heard the words of the litany. They had become inseparable from the shriek of bone planes and laser scalpels. Every tiny bone vibrated to its own share of the agony, and only his fundamental genetic hardening kept him conscious of the process at all.

‘Is there pain?’ The voice of the tech-priest, Artisan Adept Sabeq Rawl, was perfectly level. Stronos was equally fastidious in answering, the question as much a component of the ritual as the pain.

‘Pain is of the flesh. From this day onward, I am iron.’