Loken stumbled over his words. He could not quite believe what had become of the Warmaster, and his tongue rebelled when he tried to put it into words. 'He has changed, my lord. Completely. The primarch Horus Lupercal has become an abomination. Something has happened to him. I… I have never been in the presence of such power.' He paused after that statement, fearing it might appear that he held some loyalty for the Warmaster. Nothing could be further from the truth.

'Do you believe my brother has been overthrown by some malign intelligence?' asked Russ. 'I have heard reports that he has been corrupted, and that his thoughts are not his own.' Was there hope in Russ' voice? That Horus the Great the Emperor's finest son, was not to blame for what was happening?

Malcador had confided in Loken two things of import about the Wolf King. The first was that his barbarian king persona could be raised and lowered as easily as a visor; he was not the simple warrior lord he portrayed. The second was that he regretted what had happened on Prospero, and was stung at how he had been manipulated into it. It would be easier for him to accept that it was not his brother that had used him, but some other, eldritch thing. Russ might hope, Malcador said, that Horus could be saved, not only for Russ' love for his brother, but for his own vindication.

Maybe it was both, maybe it was neither. Loken tried to read the true intentions of the Wolf King, employing tricks of observation Malcador's agents had taught him, but he could not. He saw only a savage's face, with a hierophant's inscrutable gaze.

Loken quelled his frustration. He was destined to always be a blind weapon. It was not his place to judge a primarch.