Dark Imperium: Godblight Read online

  More Warhammer 40,000 from Black Library

  • DAWN OF FIRE •

  Book 1: AVENGING SON

  Guy Haley

  Book 2: THE GATE OF BONES

  Andy Clark

  INDOMITUS

  Gav Thorpe

  • DARK IMPERIUM •

  Guy Haley

  Book 1: DARK IMPERIUM

  Book 2: PLAGUE WAR

  Book 3: GODBLIGHT

  BELISARIUS CAWL: THE GREAT WORK

  Guy Haley

  • WATCHERS OF THE THRONE •

  Chris Wraight

  Book 1: THE EMPEROR’S LEGION

  Book 2: THE REGENT’S SHADOW

  RITES OF PASSAGE

  Mike Brooks

  KNIGHTS OF MACRAGGE

  Nick Kyme

  CADIA STANDS

  Justin D Hill

  CADIAN HONOUR

  Justin D Hill

  • VAULTS OF TERRA •

  Chris Wraight

  Book 1: THE CARRION THRONE

  Book 2: THE HOLLOW MOUNTAIN

  MARK OF FAITH

  Rachel Harrison

  EPHRAEL STERN: THE HERETIC SAINT

  David Annandale

  Contents

  Cover

  Backlist

  Title Page

  Warhammer 40,000

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  About the Author

  An Extract from ‘Dawn of Fire: Avenging Son’

  A Black Library Publication

  eBook license

  It is the 41st millennium.

  Ten thousand years have passed since the Primarch Horus turned to Chaos and betrayed his father, the Emperor of Mankind, plunging the galaxy into ruinous civil war.

  For one hundred centuries the Imperium has endured xenos invasion, internal dissent, and the perfidious attentions of the dark gods of the warp. The Emperor sits immobile upon the Golden Throne of Terra, a psychic bastion against infernal powers. It is His will alone that lights the Astronomican, binding together the Imperium, yet not one word has He uttered in all that time. Without His guidance, mankind has strayed far from the path of enlightenment.

  The bright ideals of the Age of Wonder have withered and died. To be alive in this time is a terrible fate, where an existence of grinding servitude is the best that can be hoped for, and a quick death is seen as the kindest mercy.

  As the Imperium continues its inevitable decline, Abaddon, last true son of the Primarch Horus, and now Warmaster in his stead, has reached the climax of a plan millennia in the making, tearing reality open across the width of the galaxy and unleashing forces unheard of. At last it seems, after centuries of valiant struggle, mankind’s doom is at hand.

  Into this darkness a pale shaft of light penetrates. The Primarch Roboute Guilliman has been wakened from deathly slumber by alien sorcery and arcane science. Returning to Terra, he has resolved to set right this dire imbalance, to defeat Chaos once and for all, and to restart the Emperor’s grand plan for humanity.

  But first, the Imperium must be saved. The galaxy is split in twain.

  On one side, Imperium Sanctus, beleaguered but defiant. On the other, Imperium Nihilus, thought lost to the night. A mighty crusade has been called to take back the Imperium and restore its glory. All mankind stands ready for the greatest conflict of the age. Failure means extinction, and the path to victory leads only to war.

  This is the era Indomitus.

  Chapter One

  A HOMECOMING

  With a blast of equalising pressure, the Overlord’s assault ramps clanged down onto the deck of the Palatine Hangar. The ramps were locked on to combat settings – hard drop, no dampers – not the done thing when attending the last loyal primarch, but Tetrarch Decimus Androdinus Felix was not in a mood for niceties.

  Felix strode out of the gunship first, the Chosen of Vespator at his heels. They were his bodyguard, ten Space Marines in varied livery, one chosen from each of the Shield Chapters of Ultramar. They made a colourful crowd, clashing to some sensibilities, only united by the golden device of the tetrarch emblazoned on their left pauldrons. Their boots rang loudly as they spread out, guns ready. Even aboard the primarch’s flagship, they scanned their surroundings for threat. Each one was a lord of battle, and they could not easily put war aside.

  A small delegation of unmodified humans awaited Felix. A chamberlain hurried forward from amid the banners and the floating servo-skulls. Small and feeble though the man was, he stepped boldly into the path of the giants of Ultramar, bringing them to a halt.

  ‘My lord Felix, welcome back to the Macragge’s Honour.’ The chamberlain sketched a quick yet perfect bow. ‘If I might direct you to the quarters the primarch has prepared for you, you may refresh yourself.’ The official’s critical gaze roamed over the damage marking the battleplate of each and every Space Marine. ‘And perhaps make yourselves presentable?’

  A fussy statement from a fussy little man. Felix didn’t intend to growl, but the noise of irritation he made came out as one from the voxmitter of his helm.

  ‘There will be no need. My errand is urgent. I will see the primarch now.’

  ‘He bids you wait awhile – he is aware of your efforts at Alveiro and is most pleased that you have come to see him, but requests you await his call for a proper audience.’

  ‘Now,’ said Felix firmly. ‘I am the commander of the Eastern Tetra of Ultramar. The task I am upon cannot wait.’

  ‘My lord–’ the human began, but Felix cut him off.

  ‘You said he requests.’

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ said the chamberlain.

  ‘Then tell me, does the Imperial Regent command me to my quarters?’ Felix asked. ‘Are these orders you give me, or suggestions?’

  The official hesitated. ‘Your comfort and your wellbeing are ever at the forefront of the Imperial Regent’s mind–’

  ‘Not orders,’ said Sergeant Cominus, head of Felix’s guard, whose armour was the red and white of the Sons of Orar. ‘Is that not right, chamberlain?’

  The man’s calm did not waver. ‘Not orders,’ he admitted.

  ‘Then take me to him
. Now.’ Felix leaned forward, a weight of armour and gene-engineered flesh with cold glass for eyes. The joints of his Gravis plate purred menacingly. He still smelled of war, of blood, and oil, and fire. Few men would stand firm in front of something like that.

  The chamberlain had a heart of iron, and so submitted gracefully. He gave another bow, even slower this time, and stepped aside.

  ‘I shall escort you, my lord. I–’

  ‘Do not trouble yourself, chamberlain, I know the way.’

  ‘Then I shall send heralds ahead of you to announce your arrival.’

  ‘If you insist,’ said Felix. ‘If they can keep up.’ By then he was already moving.

  The heralds ran to match the Space Marines’ pace, doggedly calling out the name and ranks of the tetrarch in every hall and corridor as they made their way up from the Palatine Hangar into the Palace Spire, the personal domain of Roboute Guilliman.

  Several months had passed since the Relief of Parmenio and the battle at Hecatone. Fleet Primus had made great strides in evicting Mortarion’s forces from Ultramar, but one crucial campaign remained. The garden world of Iax, the epicentre of corruption, was still in enemy hands. Felix had not been recalled to take part in the invasion, yet although that might have explained his rage, it was not the cause. Felix was angry for an altogether darker reason.

  ‘Make way for Decimus Felix! Make way for the Tetrarch of Vespator, lord of the Eastern Marches!’ the heralds called breathlessly. Their announcements caused some consternation, for the corridors were heavily trafficked, and the Chosen proceeded as lightly as bull grox, their marching steps booming around the Macragge’s Honour like artillery. By habit Guilliman kept his palace empty when he could; even a being as singular as the primarch needed space to withdraw, like any man. On the occasion of Felix’s visit the palace was full of rushing scribes and potentates. The men and women the Chosen encountered seemed unused to Space Marines, and scattered out of their way, despite their high ranks. They were all lords and ladies of one adepta or another, for by then Felix and his party were deep into the spire, where only the exalted and their servants went.

  ‘Is it just me,’ voxed Cominus to Felix, ‘or is this place infested with bureaucrats?’

  ‘Infested is not the word I would use for such valued Imperial servants,’ said Felix drily. ‘But in essence, your observation is correct. This is not the primarch’s only war. Beyond the Five Hundred Worlds the Indomitus Crusade continues. He will be done soon in Ultramar. He is preparing to move on, once the final blow is struck at Iax.’

  They made straight for the primarch’s personal scriptorium, Felix knowing from his long association with Guilliman that this was his preferred place. The heralds evidently expected the Imperial Regent to be within also, and raised no objection, but enquiries with the historitors there revealed the primarch to be elsewhere, and they were redirected further upward to the Chamber Imperius.

  They took lifters to the pinnacle of Guilliman’s Palace Spire. It was a dome of armaglass, a meeting place for matters of the most important sort. Felix knew it well.

  He led his men down a vaulted approach corridor as ornate and high as a cathedral nave. As they neared the great doors to the Chamber Imperius, twenty of Guilliman’s Victrix Guard trooped out from rooms to either side and stepped in front of the gates, forming a perfect semicircle, and halting Felix’s progress. They stamped once, slammed their shields down, then clashed them together, presenting a blue wall of ceramite decked with skulls and wings to the tetrarch. In the centre they left a gap wide enough for a single Space Marine to pass, and through this stepped Sicarius, once captain of the Ultramarines Second Company, now commander of Guilliman’s personal guard. He came forward unhelmed and stopped before Felix.

  ‘Greetings, Tetrarch Felix,’ said Sicarius, with a slight bow of his head. He gripped his sword hilt. His hand was never far from the weapon, either resting on its pommel or toying with its decoration. Sicarius had always resented keeping it sheathed, and that appeared to be ever the case since his return from the warp. ‘To what do we owe the honour of your presence?’

  ‘I think you know why.’

  Sicarius stared at Felix. ‘Do I, tetrarch? Enlighten me.’

  Felix looked down on him. Sicarius was unusual for so high ranking a Space Marine in not yet having crossed the Rubicon Primaris. He was older than Felix, at least in terms of active service, though if one counted birthdates, Felix had greater years than nearly every human alive.

  ‘The primarch. He has my prisoner. Let me through.’

  ‘He does,’ said Sicarius, but he gave no ground. The Chosen of Vespator and the Victrix Guard stared at each other. A tension stretched the air. Wherever the Adeptus Astartes went, violence was not far behind. There was no hatred between them, but there was an aggressive curiosity. Both groups wished to test themselves against the other.

  Felix looked past the shorter warrior to the chamber gates. ‘Was the regent expecting me?’

  Sicarius inclined his head. ‘What do you think, brother? He is a primarch.’

  ‘Then whatever I do, he anticipates.’

  ‘It is not a failing of yours, I assure you,’ said Sicarius.

  ‘Does he ever make you feel like a fool, captain?’ said Felix.

  Sicarius let out a snort. ‘Compared to him, tetrarch, we are all fools. I wonder how he stands us, sometimes. We must seem so limited to him.’

  Felix reached up and undid the seal clasps of his helm, eased it off his head and out from under his Gravis armour’s cowl. His face was rough with dried sweat. He had been in his armour for days. He’d intended to bathe before they arrived, for by the standard measures Alveiro was six days’ journey from Iax, but the warp was unpredictable away from the calming presence the primarch had on its storms, and the journey had been accomplished in minutes.

  Destiny, perhaps. Felix had expected to arrive once it was all over, to vent his fury after the fact. He was not prepared for this. He suspected the hand of smirking gods in the run of events, pushing him and his master towards confrontation.

  ‘Never second-guess him,’ said Sicarius. ‘I would have thought you were his equerry long enough to know that.’

  ‘I was. But it goes against me too, for I forget sometimes that he is not a man.’

  Sicarius’ hard face did not change. ‘Neither are we.’

  ‘He is going to interrogate my prisoner. That is his intention, is it not?’

  ‘That is for him to say, brother,’ said Sicarius. He looked around at the Chosen, whose weapons were not raised, but not held at rest either. ‘Have your men stand down. They can wait in the portside antechamber. There’s enough room for them. It looks like you have some skilled warriors here. We should test ourselves and our men against one another. You have won a high reputation.’ Sicarius appeared altogether grim as he made his offer. It was not an extension of brotherhood, but came from a need to prove himself against all comers.

  Felix ignored the invitation. ‘So you are going to let me in to see him?’ Another unexpected eventuality. He thought he would have to exert his authority, for he outranked Sicarius. Fight, even. He was ready to.

  Sicarius was far more phlegmatic, and shrugged. His armour whined as his pauldrons displaced themselves. ‘I am not going to let you do anything, tetrarch. You are being admitted according to the primarch’s express command.’ Sicarius’ battle-worn face became less dour; there was even a hint of a smile about the corners of his eyes. ‘You were right. He was expecting you.’

  The doors of the Chamber Imperius swung wide onto darkness. The lumens were out, though the shutters were open, admitting a pale wash of starlight from the high windows that made up the walls. Like the dome overhead, the walls were almost entirely of armaglass, and numerous enough that they gave a near-complete view of the ship, from its gargantuan ploughshare ram to the outer edges of its city-sized engine
stack. Felix stopped, momentarily taken aback. There was no better way to see the Macragge’s Honour, one of the last Gloriana-class battleships left in the galaxy, than to view it from the Chamber, and he was arrested by its majesty. It was immense, of a scale that defied description. It was surrounded by many more massive craft, the core of Battle Group Alphus, chief spearhead of Indomitus Crusade Fleet Primus. But these others, though huge themselves, were but slivers of metal against the Macragge’s Honour. There were no women or men who could build its like any more. The science was lost. The will was lacking. The Macragge’s Honour was a relic of a better age, a monstrous weapon from higher times, and in that it was exactly like its master.

  Roboute Guilliman was on the far side of the room, near the raised stalls where the Council Exterra sat when in session. Just then, there were no others present, and the chamber was completely empty but for the primarch, making it seem larger than usual despite all the chairs and thrones that took up its floor.

  Guilliman cut a lonely figure against the field of stars and ships. The primarch was not looking at the view, but had a hololithic light weave, depicting a world, open in front of him, and it was to this he gave his full attention. The hololith shone a wan glow up into his face, lending him an ashen cast. Even from the far side of the room, Felix recognised Iax. The signs of a planet sickened by Nurgle’s maladies were clear, and seemed to infect the primarch by reflection.

  Not for the first time, Felix thought Roboute Guilliman looked tired.

  Guilliman looked up from the image. Shadow trapped his eyes.

  ‘Decimus,’ Guilliman said. Felix’s given name echoed around the Chamber Imperius, as if looking for somewhere to settle. It found no home, but died quietly, lost in the high peak of the dome. ‘It is good to see you.’ He sounded sincere.

  Felix approached his lord. In Felix’s body were numerous additional organs, and coiled supplemental strands of gene-code, all taken from the primarch. Guilliman was not truly his father, but Guilliman was as close to kin as Felix had. Their blood was mixed.

  Felix knelt with difficulty, his heavy armour hampering his movements, and bowed his head. He waited for Guilliman to speak. When he did not, Felix spoke instead.

  ‘You are not angry that I came?’ he said quietly, expecting rebuke.