Russ smiled at Bror. 'We have nothing to hide in the Rout, eh, my sons? Tell Malcador what you like. Perhaps if you do he might stop bothering me with his questions.'

Shouts and mutters of agreement sounded from around the room. Loken estimated there to be a hundred or so warriors in the hall. Not only Russ' council of jarls and his priests, but the Legion's equivalents of Chaplains, Forge Marines and Apothecaries also. Without his helm display he could not be sure. He doubted he would have dared activate it even if he had his helmet on. The Wolves might have overreacted to the clumsy, unintended slight of a curious augur sounding.

'Someone get this man a seat!' said Russ. 'And some mjod!'

A chair was produced. Russ gestured that Loken should sit. A bronze drinking horn was passed into his hands. At Russ' urging Loken sipped the liquid. It burned his mouth, his throat and his stomach in succession with a flavour like engine oil mixed with acid. He stifled a cough. The drink would kill a mortal human.

'Good, yes?' said Bror. All the Space Wolves - the ones whose mouths he could see - were grinning at his discomfort.

'It is not to my taste, my lord primarch,' said Loken diplomatically.

'Ah, give it a few more sips,' said Russ. His accent was thicker than when Loken had last met him - the only time he had met him - in Malcador's Himalazian retreat. The primarch dropped back into his throne. He made a show of not caring what people thought of him, but it was a show. Malcador had told him that. 'It gets better the more you drink. It took the warriors of Fenris only a few years to develop a liquor that will intoxicate a legionary quickly, but we spent many years in perfecting it. Go on,' Russ raised his hand and waved it again. 'A big gulp this time. Mjod is not for sipping.'

Loken hid his misgivings and took a mouthful of the liquid. He suppressed a splutter. The burning was less pronounced this time. His adapted stomach clenched against the mjod, but he held it in, and after a moment a pleasant warmth spread through his belly.

'Good?' said Russ. His smile was all pointed teeth. They did not fit with the primarch's clean-shaven face. It was rarely commented on, but Russ was a handsome being, though his features tended to the blunt and he had many scars. All the primarchs were made to be perfect, but some of them, Fulgrim and Sanguinius in particular, were more beautiful than others to begin with. Leman Russ was handsome in his way, if one looked past his furs and his manner. Loken wondered how many people ever did.

'Well then, you know why you are here,' said Russ. 'Let's get on with it.'