When adventure took its high cost.

Constant dooms upon them prey,

’til many a brave soul was lost.

So light a flame and send a prayer,

For the souls of the Cursed Fleet.’

– ‘The Lament of Quintus’,
an Imperial Navy shanty.

Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

The surge of energy Aeschelus had gained from combat still coursed through him, fuelling anger that had been stirred several days earlier when he had listened to the surrender broadcast. In one act, he and his warriors had dealt a greater blow to the enemy than all of the efforts of the Oresteans. The only reason he could think of to explain such a deficiency of effort was a lack of leadership and will – either through incompetence or deliberate intent.

‘Captain, I can see by your demeanour what you intend, and I beg you to think again.’

Fedualis was forced to run to keep pace with Aeschelus’ long, determined strides. The astropath seemed like a tattered green rag among pillars of cobalt as he slipped between the Bladeguard escort formed up behind their captain. The cruiser’s broad corridor resounded to the crash of boots in unison, almost drowning out the human’s words.

‘We need allies, captain.’

‘We have allies,’ Aeschelus replied, glancing down at Fedualis with a scowl. ‘Whoever replaces Lowensten as leader will be keen to help us, I am sure.’

‘You cannot execute an Imperial commander, you do not have the authority!’

Aeschelus stopped. Behind him the honour guard halted, boots slamming on the deck in unison as they came to attention, swords held across shields as a salute. They were just a few yards short of the docking port attached to one of the orbital palaces’ starship spurs, and beyond that was doubtless a reception delegation of greater or lesser size and pomp, and perhaps even the Imperial commander himself.

‘I have not only the authority, and the right, I have a duty, astropath,’ Aeschelus barked. ‘The Imperial commander tried to consort with the enemy. I was created for this purpose. This whole crusade was launched to purge the Imperium of heretics.’

‘Not a heretic, just a man trying to protect his people, captain,’ begged Fedualis, laying a hand on the armoured forearm of the Primaris Marine. ‘You are no inquisitor, to be the judge of an Imperial commander. Have his forces fired upon us? Has he declared his enmity to the Emperor? No. He made a broadcast to an unknown enemy, trying to protect his world.’

‘He surrendered, to protect himself.’ Aeschelus started forward again. Praxa­medes awaited him at the doorway, which grumbled open at his arrival to reveal a brightly lit airlock that gave way to a docking arm descending slightly from the sealed join. The captain looked at his second-in-command. ‘Prax, you are the sensible one. Am I allowed to shoot the Imperial commander?’