‘Mass errors with the strategic data flow,’ said Perturabo. ‘So many errors and points of corruption that I can barely see the war.’ He looked around at Argonis. His eyes were dark mirrors. ‘I am becoming blind.’
‘Lord,’ said Argonis. ‘The Warmaster commands you–’
‘It does not matter,’ said Perturabo. The Lord of Iron stood from the cradle. Cables snapped. Sparks fizzled across his armour. Screens flickered and filled with static. ‘I know what you are here to say, emissary. Before my sight dimmed, I saw. It was there in the troop movements. In the sensor flow. Too great a change to not be ordained.’ Perturabo’s gaze held on Argonis. The primarch’s armour purred. ‘But speak your words, equerry. Let it be done.’
‘You are ordered to move your location. You shall disperse your Legion warriors amongst the assault forces. You shall take command of the assault on the Sanctus wall section.’
Forrix felt the breath become cold in his lungs.
‘The surge of forces is near completion,’ said Forrix. ‘Without strategic oversight, how will we guide the–’
‘I will not,’ said the Lord of Iron. Forrix just watched his primarch. Perturabo turned and looked at the terminals and jungle of cables filling the chamber. They all already had a wet, muscle-like sheen. ‘Mortarion and the Death Guard are moving, they are coming here,’ said Perturabo. ‘Is that not so, emissary?’
Argonis nodded.
‘That is the Warmaster’s will.’
‘We are to be displaced?’ Forrix could hear the disbelief crack the hard control of his voice. ‘We can see victory and you would take its architects away before it is complete. Who will order the battle?’
‘Order…’ The word seemed to echo though Perturabo had not raised his voice. ‘There is no order here now. This is not a war any more. This is a storm. And you see it, don’t you, emissary, equerry to the Warmaster who was once my brother? You see it. I am blind but now I can see as you see. The Legion war is dead. The cause we raised arms for is a corpse. There is nothing that happens from here that can be called victory.’
‘What are you saying, lord?’ said Forrix, his mind and voice moving out of sync with what his primarch had just said – with the impossible thing his primarch had just voiced.
Perturabo walked to one of the chamber windows and keyed a control. Blast shutters pulled up, grinding and squealing. Layers of fog and cloud hid the ground below. In the distance, the tops of towers rose from the folds of vapour. The orange light of a fading day folded over both. As Forrix looked, an explosion lit in the distance, large enough to shine through the murk. He had a feeling that he should walk away, that this was a moment that did not include him and should not be observed. He did not move.
‘How long to stand here,’ said Perturabo, his voice low. ‘A lifetime, many lifetimes as most mortals live them.’ He raised a hand, servos whining, exo-bracing and armour plates shifting. His hand opened, metal-clad digits reaching delicately for the distant towers of the unconquered Palace. ‘I never wanted to be put to any of the uses you put me to, father. All you have ever valued is destruction. All you have ever praised is weakness and pride. All that I wanted has been taken.’ Perturabo’s gaze was distant, as though he were focusing beyond what he could see to some infinite distance. ‘He is just like you, father. Horus, your bright son. You both made us want to serve you, and you then made us kill our dreams with our own hands.’
Perturabo looked out for a moment more and then his fist closed, and he turned away from the view.
‘Know this, equerry,’ said Perturabo. ‘I pity you. You see, and you know, and you fear for your Legion and wonder what the oaths you swore mean now. Yet you do not have the strength and the power to do the only thing that is left to do.’ Argonis looked as though he might reply, but the Lord of Iron had turned to Forrix. ‘Send a signal to all of our forces, full withdrawal. Bring our fleet into dock and begin to embark. We will move to the system edge and translate. This is immediate.’
Forrix did not move. The words he had just heard rang like bullets hitting iron.
‘Lord…’
‘It is over,’ said Perturabo. ‘Horus has given this battle to sorcerers and beasts. The war of Legions is over. Mortarion comes here to take this place. He and what he has become is what this war is now. He comes at the will of Horus to be the agent of what will happen.’
‘But he did not order our withdrawal.’
‘I order it,’ growled Perturabo. ‘It is my will. There is no victory here, just creatures and parasites pulling down a dying beast. It is gone. The Legion war is dead. The chance is gone. The cause is gone…’ Perturabo paused, and then shook his head. ‘We will not bleed for this. We will not break the circle of our iron for this.’
Forrix nodded then.
‘As you will it, my lord.’ He began to turn away, and then stopped.
‘All the blood of your Legion, all of the red iron spilled, was it worth it to come this far and go no further?’ asked Argonis.
Perturabo was silent for a long moment. Pistons and weapons clicked. Shells exchanged between guns and ammunition feeds.
‘It was worth it to learn the truth – this universe does not care. We could bleed our last and it would not matter. Pour the blood of my warriors into the earth and all that grows is the hunger for more.’ He began to move towards the doors.
