'Thanks to you and your men, Gehenna has been saved; if not the whole of Fornax Orbis Majoris.’ Arch-Magos Schrodinger reported enthusiastically. 'Indeed it would appear that the enemy's hold on the Argen-tum Mountains has been broken. Victory will belong to the Adeptus Mechanicus in the final reckoning of things on this planet.'

Magos Thule, stood to one side, said nothing, silently fuming.

Iron-Father Gdolkin, helmet held now under one arm, looked at the ordinatus's commander with an impassive steely gaze.

'My thanks seem so inadequate considering the circumstances.’ Schrodinger went on.

"Your thanks are not necessary. We fight to serve the Emperor, that is all.'

Then I call down the blessings of the Omnissiah upon you and your men.'

'Are we done here?' Gdolkin asked, turning to address the skulking, sour-faced Thule.

The Iron-Father was keen that they be on their way. Medusa awaited. The sooner the Iron Hands fulfilled their ancient oath to Magos Thule, the sooner they could return to take part in the defence of their home-world.

Thule's obvious anger boiled around him, an almost palpable presence, like a barely restrained slavering beast, ready to strike in a second.

The tech-priest turned and stormed from the command platform of the bridge, the heavy sackcloth of his robes scraping across the wrought-iron plates of the floor. 'We have wasted enough time here already. It is time we were gone from here.'

Gdolkin and his honour guard followed. As they descended the steps from the command platform, Thule addressed the Space Marines' priest-techsmith without once turning to look at him.

'I would remind you, Iron-Father, that you and your men have signed yourselves over to my command. Do not treat me so poorly again. You may feel that you have wrought a great victory here, but the truth is your actions have merely contributed to the plans of the enemy and make our mission now all the more desperate! Let us be gone from here before you can do any more damage.'

Gdolkin's mind reeled. He was stunned into silence. To think that his actions had in some way aided the enemy was unconscionable. He would never - could never - do such a thing. And yet the doubt remained. Had he in some way shown weakness in his actions, allowing the Despoiler's forces to advance their blasphemous usurping plans? Had his actions in some way been the result of some fatal flaw, some weakness on his part?

‘To think, Iron-Father.’ Thule went on, 'you may have brought destruction upon the vast, majestic Imperial realm. Your actions may have damned us all.’

HEROD

From the fires of betrayal Unto the blood of revenge We bring the word of Lorgar The Bearer of the Word The Favoured Son of Chaos... To turn the galaxy red with blood And feed the hunger of the gods

- Excerpted from the three hundred and forty-first

Book of The Epistles of Lorgar

SEVEN

CHASING BEI'BUL

The Citadel of Antipax, after the Harrowing

Dagan tumbled through the cold rushing wind. He straightened his body, forming it into a plummeting spear of iron. An altimeter display in his helmet visor showed the distance between him and the desert city dropping away in a blur of rushing runes, hurtling downwards like the missile of his own body.