The wind of escaping atmosphere shrieked through the ship. Bolters chattered at the corridor end of the splinter. To Guilliman, a deep silence had fallen. He holstered his weapons, then pried the athame from Phael Rabor’s grip and jerked Quor Vondor’s blade from the wall. He held a knife in each hand; they were unnaturally heavy. He stared at the dull black edges. He remembered the feel of another athame, its blade against his throat. Kor Phaeron had barely nicked his flesh. An insignificant wound. Guilliman had mocked Kor Phaeron for his error. Back then he had not placed much importance on the blade. It was Kor Phaeron’s powers that had made the Word Bearer dangerous. Analysis of the conflict after leaving Calth had shown Guilliman his mistake. The knife had cut his flesh. It had drawn blood. But Kor Phaeron had not tried to kill him. He had tried to convert him.

The truth will shock you, Roboute, Kor Phaeron had said.

Embrace this.

This is the beginning of wisdom.

The athames were dangerous. Yet blades like the ones in his grasp had destroyed a powerful daemon on Calth.

Theoretical. The weapon of the enemy can be turned against him.

Practical…

He hesitated. So many unknowns getting in the way of evaluating risks and opportunities.

Practical…

Practical…

Guilliman’s vox-bead buzzed, jerking his attention back to the immediate. He hadn’t contemplated the athames for more than a second or two. He flinched, guilty as if he’d been in a fugue state for hours.

Altuzer was on the vox. ‘We are in contact with the rest of the fleet,’ she said.

‘Our ships?’ Guilliman asked.

‘Widely scattered, but close. Arriving from all directions.’

‘How long before they reach us?’

‘Minutes.’

In no time at all, then. But no time would be what the Samothrace and Cavascor had once the bombardment began again.

Theoretical. The enemy is holding fire to facilitate my assassination. Once they know I am still alive, the attacks will resume.

Practical. Do not show yourself to the Word Bearers. Let them think the struggle continues. Gain enough time for the fleet to arrive.

He made a conscious decision to consider the attack an assassination attempt. He refused to contemplate the idea of conversion.

He doesn’t realise he’s already lost.

He saved himself from introspection by considering how the gathering fleet should attack.

Practical. Use the advantage of our apparent weakness. ‘Then we are surrounding the enemy,’ Guilliman said. ‘Send the command to attack and engage as soon as the assaults can be coordinated. The fleet is a fist. Close it. Crush the foe.’

‘So ordered.’

Guilliman looked at the athames, and thought again about using the foe’s tools for his own purpose. ‘Shipmaster,’ he said. ‘What news from the Cavascor?’

‘It engaged the strike cruiser Annunciation. Captain Hierax’s Destroyer company boarded, as you commanded.’