'His wounds are bad, One-Handed,' he said. 'We must take him away from here. We have failed.'

'No,' said Russ, his voice barely audible. 'We have not.'

'Horus still lives, my jarl,' said Bjorn.

'We did not fail.'

Bjorn and Grimnr looked at one another. Bjorn shrugged.

'We must evacuate,' Grimnr said. 'The day is lost.'

Russ nodded.

Grimnr switched to Legion-wide vox-cast.

'Fall back, in the name of Russ, fall back!' He sent pulses of coded information verifying the order as genuine.

Bjorn lifted one of Russ' arms, Grimnr the other. It was like bearing the outflung limbs of a mountain, but Russ managed to get to his feet with their help.

'Can you walk, my jarl?' said Bjorn.

Russ gritted his teeth, unable to speak. Bloody spit ran through his lips. Groaning with pain, he forced himself to take a step, then a second.

They dragged their limping primarch away as dozens of howling Wolves held the rear, and were massacred for their pains. The Sons of Horus pushed in from all sides, shooting into the press of Vlka Fenryka. The Wolf Guard walked beside the primarch, shielding him with their Terminator plate. Their energy shields crackled with deflected shots, and they gunned down the Sons of Horus as they attempted to stop Russ' escape.

Half a minute later, they reached the door that led deeper into the ship - their evacuation route. The four wolf packs who held the door were all shouting, agitated by their lord's fall. Anguished hands clutched at the Wolf King, hindering him in their need to help, and Bjorn was forced to slap them away. When they got through the door the fleshmakers came to the primarch, and Bjorn relented. Russ' arms slipped from his and Grimnr's shoulders, smearing clotting blood and sealant foam across Bjorn's plate.

Bjorn turned back to look through the door. The last of the rearguard able to do so were retreating. A semicircle of warriors were laying down a withering hail that kept the traitors back to cover their fellows, but they were falling quickly, and beyond them were over a thousand members of the Rout trapped inside the hall, surrounded by the Sons of Horus. Enemy reinforcements were flooding into the chamber, attacking the Vlka with savage glee. The Rout howled and roared out their oaths, letting their savagery run free. They were doomed nevertheless.

'They are all going to die,' Bjorn said. 'It is glorious.'

'We have to move!' snapped Grimnr. 'The primarch's life depends on it.'

Bjorn was dazed. His limbs trembled from the efforts of carrying his gene-father.

'Come on, One-Handed,' said Grimnr. His voice was a metallic snarl from his augmitter, but he was speaking more gently. 'Now is the time to prove that you deserve the primarch's confidence.'