‘You refuse my token?’ The Emperor’s words were mild but there was a warning buried among them.
In a day of protocols broken, would this be one too many? Mortarion considered that as his gaze ranged around the room, and settled on a weapon sitting in a plasteel cradle.
A pistol; a heavy, drum-shaped firearm made for the hands of something bigger than a man. It was cast out of copper, brass and steel, and the form of it reminded Mortarion of a craftsman’s tool. This was not the overwrought rendering of some weapon-artist. It was a killer’s device, industrial and heavyweight.
Without asking permission, Mortarion went to the gun and gathered it up. ‘I do need a pistol,’ he allowed. He looked closely at the frame. Parts of the mechanism were disconnected, and he automatically set to the task of putting it into working order.
The Emperor frowned. ‘The maker of that weapon called it the Lantern. He told me that before I put him to death.’
‘What did he do to deserve such a fate?’
‘The man led a cult of killers on a manufactory world called Shenlong. They said they worshipped a dragon.’ His father’s gaze grew cold. ‘It became necessary to destroy them in order to ensure compliance of that planet.’
Mortarion found the control mechanism for the gun and activated it. The Lantern came to life in his grip, instantly bio-locking itself to his genetic imprint. It sat well in his long-fingered hand, and he sensed the raw, deadly power humming within the casing. ‘This will do,’ he intoned.
‘It fits you well,’ allowed the Emperor. Slowly, He put aside the scimitar. ‘Take it, then. Use the Lantern to cast the light of our Imperium into the darkness. One token serves as well as another.’ He gave a nod. ‘Once again, my son, you find your own path.’
‘You mean, I defy the plans others have for me?’ Mortarion said the words without looking up from the gun in his fist.
The room seemed to grow colder in the wake of his reply, and all the unspoken things between the two of them clouded the air like ghost-smoke.
‘I am here,’ said his gene-father. ‘Is there something you wish to say to me, Mortarion? Speak your mind, if you will.’
There were cords on the belt around Mortarion’s waist, and he used them to fashion a lanyard from which the Lantern could hang. ‘I have many questions,’ he said, at length. His voice rasped in the sudden quiet of the domed chamber. ‘But I will dismiss them all to know the answer to just one. Tell me why you took my victory from me on the day you came to my world.’
A rare flash of confusion flickered in the Emperor’s eyes. ‘I did it to save my son’s life. You would have died up there on that mountain. The fiend who tormented you for so long – the only victory would have been his.’ He studied Mortarion for a long moment. ‘I could not let you perish, not after spending so long in search of you.’
‘And yet it was your challenge that sent me there.’
‘Was it? We may still have much to learn about one another, my son, but one thing is clear to me.’ The Emperor pointed at the Lantern. ‘Is there anything in your life you have done that has not been an act of rebellion? Of defiance? You faced Necare by your choice. That door was already open.’
‘You did not prevent me from stepping through.’
He knew what you would do, said the inner voice. He made you, after all. Who better to know how to play you?
A chilly, unknowable distance settled in the Emperor’s manner. ‘A father is beholden to educate his sons. You learned a valuable lesson that day. I saw I had to remind you of your humility, Mortarion. There are some enemies you alone cannot defeat.’
Never! The silent voice bellowed the denial. Never admit defeat!
Mortarion looked down at the weapon in his hand and considered the potential of it. For one giddy second, a dark and terrible question came to the forefront of his mind.
What if I turned this on Him? What would happen then?
In the next second, the unutterable, unconscionable question melted away, and in its place, there was emptiness. In the yawning abyss of his emotions, Mortarion saw a dim candle of need, an unformed want calling out for connection, for kinship.
He crushed the sentiment without hesitation. He had brotherhood and fraternity among those he had shed blood with – and perhaps he might find it in the hearts of his primarch brethren in the days to come. Given his gene-father’s ways, Mortarion did not doubt that others of his siblings might share a measure of the ambivalence he felt towards their shared progenitor.
The Emperor allowed you to be taken when you were just a child. Then He found you again, only to diminish you, and for what?
To mirror what Necare had done? At least the Overlord had been honest about his cruelty.
‘Will you look beyond this, Mortarion?’ The Emperor offered His hand. ‘Will you fight by my side in the Great Crusade, my son?’
‘I will.’ He took the offer and the pact was made. ‘I have no choice,’ he added.
‘Walk with me,’ said his gene-father once more, leading him out of the chamber and into vast spaces beyond.
They were in a vaulted hall now, a space so large it had its own microclimate. In the distance, at the far end of the great gallery, Mortarion saw legionaries in greenish-grey battleplate, and amid them, one as tall as he. A noble figure in robes and furs, imposing and vibrant even at a remove.
‘Your brother was close at hand, a few light years away in the Zhao System,’ said the Emperor. ‘When he learned I was coming here, he refused to let me travel alone.’ He beckoned the other primarch to them, and the other warrior advanced, grinning, a look of joy alight in his eyes.
‘Lupercal…’ Mortarion said his name. Once more that strange, ethereal sense of connection came to him, more powerful than ever before, a light shining into his soul.
‘My brother,’ said Horus, his voice thick with emotion. ‘Welcome home.’
About the Author
James Swallow is the author of the Horus Heresy novels Fear to Tread and Nemesis, which both reached the New York Times bestseller lists. Also for the Horus Heresy, he has written The Flight of the Eisenstein, The Buried Dagger and a series of audio dramas featuring the character Nathaniel Garro, the prose versions of which have now been collected into the anthology Garro. For Warhammer 40,000, he is best known for his four Blood Angels novels, the audio drama Heart of Rage, and his two Sisters of Battle novels. His short fiction has appeared in Legends of the Space Marines and Tales of Heresy.