‘Typhus’ fleet is of lesser concern,’ continued Ventris, ‘though he has already taken the star fortress of Eumenice, and is concentrating his attacks against the others. We can be thankful that where he goes, Mortarion does not. Most of the Death Guard congregate around their traitor primarch. The larger danger is posed by a daemonic horde. They are slipping in and out of realspace at will, and we do not know how. Lord Tigurius has undertaken a mission to the outer reaches to determine the reason. The daemons have returned to the empyrean for the moment, but the warp grows turbulent around Ultramar, and the Librarius and our astropaths are certain that they will return. The enemy is planning something, my Lord Calgar is sure. Tartella was ravaged recently by the daemons. The governor survived, but reports casualty rates of over ninety-eight per cent. The daemon leading this force has been identified as Ku’gath, the one that calls itself the Plaguefather. Further sightings have been made in three other systems, always fleeting, but verifiable. Furthermore they are close after, or simultaneously, with those of Mortarion.’

Ventris stopped, and looked at his gene-sire earnestly.

‘My lord, Mortarion and his daemonic allies are engaged in something ill favoured. Ultramar is in peril. When I departed, there were one hundred and six active war fronts across the realm. Of course, this number changes all the time. Fourteen days have passed in Ultramar since we left, at my best calculation. That is long enough for the situation to alter, and I fear for the worse.’

‘Your report gives me an adequate picture of the challenges faced by Lord Calgar,’ said Guilliman. ‘You were entrusted to deliver this to me personally to prevent the information falling into enemy hands, I take it?’

‘There have been too many instances of the enemy anticipating our moves, my lord,’ replied Ventris. ‘We do not know how, but they are intercepting and accurately interpreting our astropathic sendings. For the most delicate messages, we have come to rely on messenger ships.’

‘Mortarion wants to force my return to Ultramar,’ said Guilliman. ‘I will have no choice but to respond.’

They continued, passing out of the shadow of the command crawler, and came to where the square of triumph began. The plain ended at a low wall. Above the level of the sand, the gleaming plaza began. A mile away, the great machines continued their work extending it. The weak sunlight of 108/Beta-Kalapus-9 made feeble attempts to penetrate the pall of dust thrown up by their remodelling of the world. The air was thin but breathable, and through it a cold, soft wind blew, scattering sand over the freshly polished tiles.

‘Nothing lasts,’ said Guilliman, watching the gleam of the stone tesserae dulling under the falling dust. ‘Our efforts are too often temporary.’

He was quiet a moment. Ventris waited expectantly.

‘Tell me, Captain Ventris, what is the progress of the reconsolidation of Greater Ultramar?’