Legends of the dark ange.., p.8
Legends Of The Dark Angels, page 8
‘You wanted to embark on a war of conquest, to further your grip on the worlds around Tharsis?’ snapped Boreas.
‘I wanted to show the galaxy what I had achieved!’ argued Astelan, smashing his fist against the slab. ‘I wanted to cast aside the doubts of ancient history and demonstrate to those with power that a way still existed for the Imperium to grow stronger. But Imperial Commander Dax, after I had revealed my aspirations to him, turned from me, just as El’Jonson had done a hundred centuries ago.’
The memory pained Astelan, like a knife twisting in his stomach. It had been a time of nightmare, his hopes suddenly dashed. Even now, the feeling of loss still haunted him. For a while he thought he had purged his soul of the regrets of the past, but to be discarded again had been too much.
‘He told me that I had done him and Tharsis a great service, and I would be lauded for a hundred lifetimes.’ Astelan continued. ‘His words meant nothing to me, and suddenly his purpose became clear. Through me, he had done what he had not considered possible, and had allowed me to take the responsibility. Had my war with the rebels failed, then he had lost nothing, but he had everything to gain. Now he spoke of reducing the army, of instating captains and colonels from the old families again. I was horrified, but helpless. It was then, unbidden, that the sacred bands showed me the way. With no command from me, I swear by the Emperor, they besieged Dax’s palaces. There was no one to resist them, all but a few soldiers in the whole army supported me as commander. Those few who spoke against the action were eliminated. Faced with such powerful opposition, the Imperial commander agreed to review his decision. But his cowardice got the better of him, and he was killed whilst trying to flee the palace.’
‘How convenient for you,’ the Chaplain retorted with a shake of his head. He crossed his arms and glowered at Astelan. ‘The loyalty of your men must have been most gratifying, the death of the Imperial commander a timely incident.’
‘I have no illusions that the soldiers had more than my great plans in mind,’ admitted Astelan. ‘During the rebellion, they had risked their homes and lives to fight off the enemy, but I had ensured that the rewards for them matched my expectations. I know that the hearts of normal men are weak, they will never be like the Space Marines. As well as leadership and direction, they require incentive to rise above their inherent selfishness. And so they had lands, and good food. Each soldier had been provided with servants to see to their needs, so that they might concentrate on the fighting. I did not want them distracted by petty concerns.’
‘You created a warrior class to rule over Tharsis, with yourself at its head,’ Boreas concluded.
‘With your cynical eye, it may seem so, but consider this,’ replied Astelan, meeting the Chaplain’s contemptuous stare. ‘Even now, your power leeched away, the Legions divided, how many of the people within the Tower of Angels are not Space Marines. Tens, hundreds, thousands?’
‘The Chapter is maintained by roughly five hundred serfs, servitors and tech-priests,’ Boreas answered cautiously.
‘Five hundred people for a thousand Space Marines, that does not sound too much,’ Astelan said with a wry look. ‘But what about beyond the walls of this fortress, on ships and in distant garrisons? The same number again? Probably many more. And the food you eat, the ammunition in your weapons, even the paint for your armour, where does this come from? Thousands, tens of thousands, labour every day so that you stand ready to fight, to guard them from the perils of the galaxy.’
‘But the Dark Angels are a Space Marine Chapter, the only purpose of our existence is to fight battles, to wage war on the enemies of the Emperor,’ argued Boreas. ‘Worlds do not exist for that purpose.’
‘Why? Why not?’ Astelan became animated again. This was the crux of his vision. It seemed so plain to him – why could Boreas not understand? ‘Caliban once did! So you see, that was my dream, that was what I was trying to create. The weak men in power feared the Legions, broke them apart so that now they are thrown to the corners of the galaxy, strewn across the stars and rendered impotent. The regiments of the Imperial Guard are clumsy, unwieldy weapons. I learnt much about them during my time on Tharsis, and I came to despise what they represent. They rely on the ships of the Navy, which are controlled by a different organisation. A whole branch of the Administratum, the Departmento Munitorum, is dedicated to the sole matter of shipping regiments to war zones, and providing them with supplies. This you know, but you don’t really understand what it means. Scribes and bookkeepers wage the wars of the Emperor now, not military officers. It is a shameful pile of politics and hierarchy, bogged down by its own complexity. Where has the vision gone? It was like my army on Tharsis had been, growing more unwieldy every passing day in an attempt to deal with its own unwieldiness. Who is there to carry on the Emperor’s quest for a human galaxy free from danger? Clerks? Farmers? Miners?’
‘And your way is better?’ sneered Boreas. ‘To place trust in someone like you, a man who unleashed unprecedented bloodshed upon a world you say you had adopted as your own?’
‘You sound like the whining priests back on Tharsis!’ snapped Boreas.
‘The ones you murdered for speaking out against you?’ said Boreas, stepping forward again, looming over Astelan.
‘With the Imperial commander dead, it was the will of the people that I take his place.’ Astelan was defiant, he would not let this interrogator bully him into admitting he was wrong when he knew in his heart that he was not. ‘They recognised that really it had been I that had brought them success in the war. But the price of victory had been high, and soon the ruling class revealed themselves as the ingrates they were. While they had happily allowed the people of Tharsis to lay down their lives to protect them, the councillors, the cardinals and the aristocracy resisted my acceptance of authority. And the self-deluding hypocrites of the Ecclesiarchy were the worst of all. Since my awakening, I have seen first-hand the damage they have done. More than anything else it is their ridiculous mutterings and pompous sermons that have undermined the power of the Imperium.’
‘And so you felt justified to eliminate them as well?’ Boreas grabbed one of the chains and twisted it in his fist, tightening it across Astelan’s muscled chest until it dug into his flesh. ‘Perhaps you feared the power they had over your slaves. Were they the only true opposition your coup had, the only ones to rival your tenacious grip on the people of Tharsis? Was it jealousy of their privileged position and spiritual authority that incensed you?’
‘Driven by meaningless dogma, they refused to endorse my claim as Imperial commander because I would not agree with them that the Emperor is a god,’ argued Astelan, struggling against the tightening of the chains. ‘Hah! I have walked alongside the Emperor, I have listened to Him speak, I have seen Him angry and sad. What do they know, with their carvings and paintings, their idolatry and superstitions? The Emperor is certainly more than a normal man, but a god? That was not his intent, and the fools who founded this Ecclesiarchy committed a grave error. The Emperor is not some distant figure to be worshipped, He is the will behind us all, the power that drives man to surmount the trials that face us. It was He who said that mankind must furnish itself with a destiny, and now that message has been thrown aside, so that the weak-willed can blame a god for their own shortcomings.’
‘You profess a closeness to the Emperor?’ Boreas asked, releasing the chain so that it slapped against Astelan’s skin.
‘No, I do not.’ Astelan shook his head. ‘I was one of several thousand Chapter Masters, proud of my achievements, but no more worthy of His attention then any other. I met the Emperor just once, on Sheridan’s World, and then only briefly. Whenever I have doubts, I recall that meeting and the memory gives me purpose again. He spoke only a few words to me, praising the campaign, complimenting the fervour of my Chapter. It is the one true regret I have that I was not with him when they rediscovered Caliban. Perhaps if I had been there, things might have been different. But with the return of the primarchs everything changed, it was never the same as it had been when we followed the Emperor alone.’
‘And so you ordered your death squads to murder the priests, the cardinals and even the deans and choir boys,’ Boreas hissed between gritted teeth.
‘You exaggerate,’ Astelan said, trying to wave his hand in rejection of Boreas’s accusation, the gesture stifled by his bonds. ‘They presented me with an ultimatum – acknowledge the Emperor as a god, or face another revolt. Their own words and actions betrayed their treasonous intent. I presented them with an ultimatum of my own – retract their threat and abandon the trappings and advantages that their false teachings had gained them, or be tried as traitors. Some accepted, others refused. I had no part in their judgement, but they were all found guilty and executed. Choir boys indeed!’
‘But you did not stop with the priestly orders,’ continued Boreas. ‘You waged a war upon all the agents of the Imperium who did not agree with you, and then you waged a war against your own populace when they voiced discontent.’
‘They resented my successes,’ Astelan snorted in derision. ‘The judges, the arbitrators, the witch-cursed astropaths, the Munitorum quartermasters and the teeming hordes of the Adeptus Terra. I took back the power they had stolen over ten thousand years, subtly usurping the Imperium from those the Emperor had conceived to create it. In their petty-mindedness and internecine squabbles they had obscured the original vision, bastardised the Imperial ideal. I had vowed to restore it, and they stood against me. But not once did I ever kill out of hand. The people of the Imperium still know many of the great truths, but never truly think about the mottos and sayings they quote: By the manner of their deaths, shall you know them, is one that came to embody my rule. There were the loyal heroes who died in battle during the war, and there were the traitors who died on the gibbet afterwards. Tharsis shared my dream, they believed in me and the Emperor.’
‘And so while you rebuilt your dreams of conquest, your sacred bands enforced curfew with boltguns, meted justice in the street with cudgels and blades and brutalised those who did not conform to that dream.’ As he spoke, Boreas’s fists clenched and unclenched slowly.
‘I only wished harmony, of that I swear by my life,’ protested Astelan. ‘It was to banish the discord that has reigned since the Emperor defied Horus that I did what I felt was necessary.’
Boreas said nothing immediately. Instead, he turned away from Astelan and took a few paces towards the door, his head bowed in thought.
‘But there was one dissenter who escaped your wrath,’ the Chaplain said quietly.
‘I do not understand,’ replied Astelan. He was confused; who was this dissenter the Chaplain spoke of?
‘Why do you think we came to Tharsis when we did?’ asked Boreas, turning around, a look of triumph on his face. ‘For seven decades you were there, isolating yourself from the rest of the Imperium. Who had ever heard of Tharsis? Certainly not the High Lords, and certainly not the Dark Angels. Your forces controlled the ships, so that none could leave without your permission, but you did not reckon on the faith and defiance of one man. He deserted your fleet, stealing a shuttle and flew it through an asteroid field to avoid pursuit. One deserter, though I suspect there were many others. He had no chance of survival, nowhere to go, but he felt the need to break free. And that was when coincidence, fate, destiny, or whatever you care to call it, paid interest in your affairs again. For fifty days he floated in space, on the verge of death, malnourished and severely dehydrated from drinking increasingly recycled water. Fifty days is not very far in the depths of space, but it was far enough for his transmissions for help to be intercepted by one of our ships that was patrolling the edges of the Tharsis system. His shuttle was recovered, and we learnt of the terrible events that had unfolded. And we learnt of you.’
‘You attacked Tharsis because of the ravings of a madman?’ Astelan said, his voice full of derision.
‘No, Commander Astelan, we did not,’ Boreas said slowly, taking measured paces towards him as he spoke, until he filled Astelan’s vision, his eyes glittering in the dim light of the brazier. ‘The memories of the Dark Angels go back a long time, back ten thousand years when those like you turned on their brethren and betrayed them. Little is now known about that time of anarchy, and few records of what transpired are left, but there is a list, a list kept by the Grand Master of Chaplains in a sacred box in the main chapel. For ten times a thousand years we have hunted the Fallen Angels that almost destroyed the Lion and his Legion, wherever they might be. We do not know how many of you there are, or where we might find you. But we have that list, and it contains the names of the hundred and thirty-six Space Marines who first swore allegiance to Luther when he rose against our primarch. Your name, Commander Astelan, is at the top of that list. We have been hunting you for a very long time, and now we shall learn the truth from you.’
Boreas turned and opened the door. There, swathed in robes, stood Samiel. The Librarian walked softly into the room and stood beside Astelan’s head. He reached down and the former Chapter commander tried to move his head aside, but his restraints did not allow him room. The psyker’s cold hands rested on his forehead, and Astelan felt a voice whispering at the back of his mind.
You have deluded yourself for too long, it sighed. Now is the time when we strip away the lies. Now we strip away your delusions, until all that is left is the stark truth of your actions. You have hidden from the guilt at the core of your soul, but we will not allow you to hide any longer. You will know the shame and pain you have brought us, and you will repent of your evil ways.
‘I have done no wrong!’ rasped Astelan, trying to shake his head free.
‘Liar!’ roared Boreas, and pain beyond anything he had ever endured before lanced through Astelan’s head.
‘Now we will begin again,’ the Interrogator-Chaplain told his prisoner. ‘Tell me of Tharsis.’
THE TALE OF BOREAS
PART TWO
It was four days after the clash with the orks, and Boreas knelt in silent meditation in the outpost chapel. He was clad only in his white robe, a mark of his position within the elite warriors of the Chapter – the Deathwing. What the others did not realise was that it was also a mark of his membership within the secretive Inner Circle of the Chapter. Lifting the robe slightly, he knelt before an altar of dark stone inlaid with gold and platinum. The altar was at one end of the chapel, which itself was situated at the top of the five-storey Dark Angels keep in Kadillus Harbour, capital of Piscina IV. The chamber was not large, for space was at a premium in the small tower, big enough only for fifty people to attend the dawn and dusk masses that Boreas held every day.
Three of the keep’s many non-Space Marine attendants were at work renewing the murals that covered the chapel’s interior, failed aspirants who had nonetheless survived their trials. Two were busy reapplying gilding to a portrait of the Dark Angels primarch, Lion El’Jonson, which towered some three metres in height above the altar.
Boreas tried to block out the occasional creak and squeak of the painters’ wooden scaffolding. The other was renovating a scene added after the Dark Angels’ last defence of Piscina, when the ork warlords Ghazghkull and Nazdreg had combined forces and fallen upon the planet like two thunderbolts of destruction. For Boreas, that particular picture brought both pride and a little consternation. It depicted the defence of the Dark Angels basilica which had once served as their outpost in the capital. It was here that Boreas himself had led the fighting against the vicious alien horde on numerous occasions, as possession of the strategically vital strongpoint had changed hands back and forth for the whole campaign. It was during the battle for the basilica that Boreas had lost his right eye to an ork powerfist, which had nearly crushed his head. Though eventually the orks had been driven out of the basilica, and the planet saved by an epic battle at Koth Ridge, so intense had been the fighting at the blood-soaked chapter house that after the orks had been defeated, the Dark Angels had been forced to abandon the fortified administration building and construct a new keep. The ruins themselves still stood a kilometre or so from where Boreas now knelt, a testament to the protection the Dark Angels had provided for countless millennia.
Reminded of the valiant battle-brothers whose dying words he had heard in those shattered rooms and corridors, and mindful of the great sacrifices that his fellow Space Marines had made, both the Dark Angels and those of the Harbingers Chapter, Boreas felt a tightness in his chest. Had the basilica really been that important, he asked himself yet again? Perhaps it had just been pride that had driven Master Belial to command Boreas to defend the building at all costs? In the end, the fighting in the dark cathedral had been but a sideshow of the campaign, the relative merits of the engagement inconclusive compared to the slaughter at Koth Ridge.
With a terse command, Boreas dismissed the serfs, their presence breaking his concentration as he was trying to focus on the oath of fealty he had pledged when he had joined the Inner Circle. They did not give him a second glance as they quietly picked up their tools and left, for which he was thankful. Despite the doubts he felt, he still had a duty as the Dark Angels commander in Piscina to show strong leadership and set an example to the others. If he showed weakness for a moment, it could cause unknown damage, not only to himself but also to those who looked to his wisdom and guidance with absolute trust. If that trust were to be broken, then only Boreas truly knew what acts of anarchy and corruption might follow.
