The refugees used whatever materials the Iron Hands discarded. Sanguinius saw constructions of plasteel and burnt, twisted shielding. A few miles to the north-east, the entire stern of a frigate, gutted of everything but the skeletons of the decks, had become the hard refuge of tens of thousands. Hundreds of fires, lit against the growing cold of the late afternoon, flickered in the huge shell.

‘How are they fed?’ Sanguinius asked.

‘There was a colony here before our arrival,’ said Levannas. ‘Not a major one, but enough to have developed an agricultural industry.’

‘I’m surprised,’ Raldoron said. ‘This does not strike me as a fertile world.’

‘It isn’t. Not very. The settlers are… were… miners. The colonists grew enough to subsist, and had a small surplus to stockpile against the years of weak harvests.’

Sanguinius frowned. ‘And this influx of population is being fed by that surplus?’

‘Essentially, yes,’ Levannas said.

‘Hardly a long-term solution.’

‘No, it is not. Nothing on Thrinos is.’

If the war ever came to Thrinos, the fortress would be swept away along with everything else.

Tents and shacks stretched to the horizon on all sides of the fortress. The size of the camps was a testament to loss, Sanguinius thought. So many refugees from so many worlds had come here. As he walked, a clamour rose from below, growing louder, becoming more and more distinct from the general din of the camp. He looked down the hundred feet of sheer, ablative sheeting. A crowd was gathering at the foot of the wall; there were already a few thousand people. Their faces were upraised. They lifted their arms towards Sanguinius. They shouted and wept for joy.

Sanguinius had seen some of this behaviour on Macragge, after he had been proclaimed emperor. But word of the Imperium Secundus could not have reached Thrinos. And there was a frenzy, a desperation to the celebration that was new. ‘Tell me what I am seeing,’ he said to Levannas.

‘After years of despair, three primarchs have come to Thrinos.’

‘That isn’t all, though, is it?’

‘No,’ Levannas admitted. ‘They are rejoicing at the sight of you, Lord Sanguinius. At what you represent.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Your symbolism,’ he added, grimacing in apology.

Sanguinius nodded. That was hardly a new experience for him, though it had always distressed him when he had encountered it before. Any sort of mystification of his being was contrary to the Imperial Truth. ‘Go on,’ he said.

‘There is a…’ The Raven Guard paused. ‘A folklore,’ he said. ‘A mythology in this camp.’

‘Oh?’ Sanguinius said sharply.

‘Quite a specific one, and consistent across the worlds these people have fled.’

‘Myths are turning out to have a very dangerous core of truth these days,’ said Raldoron.

‘So we have been coming to learn,’ Levannas said.

‘What are the stories being told?’ Azkaellon asked.