'What are we?' he said, though he knew full well, and his soul shrivelled in the fires of revelation. 'How could our father have brought us into this world? How could He have made us?'

'As your brother Magnus found, knowledge always has a price,' said the false Russ with a sneer. 'You wished to know, and now you do. The price for the spear's awakening is your own. This knowledge will forever torment you, and eventually it will chase you from your home. But know this, Leman of the Russ, you need only wound your brother with this spear to remind the Warmaster that he is Horus Lupercal, son of the Emperor, and not the puppet of Chaos. The rest will follow.'

Thus enlightened, Leman Russ fell dead in the snow.

Leman Russ howls for an audience in the hall of the Erlking.

Fourteen

Fourteen

The Testing Of Bjorn

Mountain silence fills the soul. It is a potent form of quiet. Through the absence of sound the animus of a place can be felt. In the mountains, the soul of the living can touch the soul of the earth, the sky, the rock.

Bjorn liked the silence and sought it out when not at war. No ale song or boasting sullied the mountainsides. They sang their own songs, of wind through trees and water on stone, of creaking ice and shifting rock. Trees groaned. Animals called. No man's voice could be heard in the mountains of Asaheim, and Bjorn liked it that way.

He did not like the silence of the Krakgard on that stifling summer's day. The chants of the gothi were done. The weight of the mountain at his back pressed on him, as if a warrior offered silent challenge, and waited for him to turn around to knock his head in with his axe.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention. Wind blew around the collar of his leather suit, stirring them. He waited tensely in anticipation of the blow. There was nothing behind him. It was a fanciful thought. Too close to fear. Nevertheless, Bjorn felt him, the man who would end his life. He had the impression if he strained his ears only a little more, he would hear his heartbeat, his hungering breath. It was as if Morkai himself stared at his back.

The sensation fled at the first notice of Leman Russ' approach.

Footsteps rasped heavily in scree. Stones skittered down the slope behind the primarch's progress. He smelled broken stone and post-human sweat. He came from the left-hand side. Why did he not use the stairs?

'I have returned, Bjorn of Tra,' said Leman Russ.

'You are alone, my lord.'

'I am. Look upon me.'

'I cannot' said Bjorn.

'The gothi forbade it. I recall. Where are they?' asked Russ.

'The gothi are dead,' said Bjorn.

'How?' asked Russ.

'I heard,' said Bjorn.