‘The dog-sons of Dorn do not run,’ said Vull Bronn. ‘They hold past the point of sense. This is something else.’

‘They have other lines and defences to use,’ replied Aximand, ‘and billions of people who can die on their walls.’ He turned his flayed grin to Vull Bronn. ‘What they don’t have is ships. They cannot lose more. Their strength is their fortifications and the number of mortals who will fight for them. But fortresses cannot be moved. Their ships are the only way for them to redistribute their strength. They lose those ships and all their strength is trapped.’ He turned and began to walk towards the doors that led from the bridge to the hoist down to the launch decks. ‘So, they are running because they must, to keep their ships alive. And we will not let them escape.’

‘Where are you going?’ asked Vull Bronn.

‘To draw my sword and bury it in their back,’ said Aximand. ‘One-third of your ships may join the pursuit, but the rest of the fortress-moons are yours. Live up to your reputation – take them now.’ He could see his words light a fire in the cold eyes of the Iron Warriors commander. Vull Bronn understood what Aximand had explained – of that there was no doubt – but the Iron Warriors’ way of war moved like a glacier over stone. They had no time for such caution. The Ultramarines were coming, and with them all the enemies they had left undefeated in these years of war.

‘As soon as the main defences fall, we should bring the reserves through,’ said Vull Bronn, and Aximand could see that it was an act of will for the other warrior to not bite back. Good. The two chains that formed the Iron Warriors’ bridle were loyalty and pride. Now pride would work to overcome caution. ‘We should bring all the rest of our forces through the gate on an accelerated timetable.’

‘Agreed,’ said Aximand. ‘So ordered.’

The Imperial Palace, Terra

‘Admiral.’

Su-Kassen looked up into the face of the Huscarl. A black cloak hung from his shoulders and snow leopard fur covered his shoulders. He held his brush-crested helm in his left hand, and his right rested on the pommel of a sheathed sword. His face was clean-shaven, his eyes hard but bright.

‘Yes, Captain Archamus?’ she said. The name still felt strange to say to this young warrior, and for a moment she saw the face of the man who had borne the name before, her friend: bearded, unreadable, as immovable and eternal as a granite cliff. Then she blinked and the new face nodded, as though seeing the memory in her eyes.

‘Come with me please, admiral,’ he said. She frowned and glanced around at the Grand Borealis Strategium. The circles of officers and tech-priests did not look up. The shimmer of holo-projections and the buzz of machines flowed on unceasing.