He was already late.

He left his other important work forgotten at the edge of his desk, a silver sphere with a power that would rival the domina's, when it was finished.

The sphere had to wait. He had duties to attend to.

Four

Four

Four Brothers

Five days after his meeting with Loken, Russ was in his lair poring over blueprint flimsies of the Vengeful Spirit. He had them laid out all over the floor, and he squatted in the middle, one hand curled around his chin. The flimsies covered the fur rugs. They butted against the furniture. They waved in the heat draught of the firebowls. Their edges were weighted with bones and empty wooden bowls still dirty with past meals. Data-slates bearing information regarding the Vengeful Spirit's capabilities and past actions glowed on the floor. A miniature light sculpture of Horus' ship spun slowly over the projection lens of a portable hololith. On a bronze table sat a metre-long scale model of the ship, several of the segments removed to show the internal layout. Over its carefully machined components of brass, steel and bone Russ had daubed red runes, marking out the damaged sections described to him by Bror. Luminous strips of sticky paper showed the path of the Knights Errant, and denoted important targets. The damage runes were prolific. The war was wearing on. The Vengeful Spirit had had as little time as the Hrafnkel to refit. That was a small equalising factor in his favour.

Freki and Geri's breathing thrummed the air with restful infrasound, aiding the primarch's concentration. Their presence comforted him. The smell of a Fenrisian wolf was the smell of home: hot, animal, primal. They were fragments of the home world's savagery let loose among the stars. A childhood on Fenris robbed the galaxy of wonder. There was no other place so well provisioned with monsters; it was a dream world that straddled the boundaries of myth. Everywhere else was dull by comparison.

Russ enjoyed the challenge before him. The complexities of attacking an enemy flagship protected by a large fleet took his mind from the probable result of his mission. Horus was more than likely to kill him. Even if the attack were successful, his Legion would be shattered.

Neither of these probabilities dissuaded him. Horus had failed in his role as Emperor's Warmaster. Russ would not shirk from his duty as executioner.

The clear note of a carynx rang out from the door to his chambers. Russ stood, and arched his back, stretching out his muscles. He had spent too long in one position.

'Enter!' he called.

The door rolled aside. Grimnr Blackblood stood in the entrance. He slammed his fist against his chest in salute.

'My jarl,' he said. 'I have an urgent message from the far-talkers.' Grimnr held out a sealed message tube.

'Bring it here,' said Russ.