+Tell the warlock to muzzle his dogs,+ he sent, without moving his lips.

The eyes in Layak’s mask were glowing, and blood was seeping from between its metal fangs. A smell of sulphur and burnt sugar mingled with ozone. Abaddon glanced at where the four Justaerin stood at the edge of the chamber. The glance held them in place.

‘Cease,’ growled Abaddon. Layak looked at the image of Ahriman for a second, and then turned away. His two bodyguards slid their blades back into their sheaths. The splits closed in their armour. The light in their eyes dimmed.

Ahriman turned and glided towards the viewport. An instinct to flinch away from the ghost-figure tugged at Abaddon’s muscles. He held still, eyes following the Thousand Sons Librarian as he looked out at the view of Terra beyond the dagger point of the ship’s prow.

+Home.+ Ahriman’s mouth did not move, but the shadows of his brow furrowed. +What creatures are we that come from the night, to hearth and home, and find only strangers on the threshold?+

Layak made a sound that might have been a hiss of laughter.

‘Kaelic of Noropolis,’ said Abaddon. ‘From the Songs of Passing. “And what stranger beasts do the eyes of fathers see who after long years stand by open doors and wait…”’ Ahriman turned to look at him. The light of the stars glimmered through the gauzy image of his frown. He raised an eyebrow. ‘We are warriors, not barbarians,’ said Abaddon. Then he nodded at the distant sun. ‘Where is the rest of the armada?’

+Watch,+ sent Ahriman.

Sheets of aurora light formed in the night beyond, flowing and curling across the dark. The light of the sun and the stars blurred as it fell through the curtains of colour, sliding out of place until it seemed that the heavens had been twisted into a new position. Shadows formed in the folds of light, jagged silhouettes like the shards of broken spears.