maintain discipline I do not want that fact to become common knowledge. When the soldiers ask, tell them only that we are
expecting to be relieved, but not when. Make no mistake, the enemy will now be more determined than ever to avenge their defeat
in the battery.'
'Your castellan is correct,' said Librarian Corwin, leaning forward and steepling his fingers before him. His face was still drawn
and pale from the effort of shielding the Jourans from the Chaotic energies of the war machines.
'The guns you destroyed in the battery were more than simple weapons of war, they were imbued with terrifying daemonic
entities, conjured into the machines with the blood of innocents and diabolical pacts made with the Ruinous Powers. The
destruction unleashed in the battery will have caused many of those pacts to be broken and the Iron Warriors will need blood to
restore them. Our blood.'
'You know a great deal about the Iron Warriors, sir. Is there anything you can tell us that will help us fight them?' asked Piet
Anders.
Corwin nodded, saying, 'The Iron Warriors are amongst the most terrible foes the Imperium has ever seen. Once, ten thousand
years ago, they were counted amongst the Emperor's most favoured sons, his best and bravest fighters, but they became bitter and
twisted as the long wars of the Great Crusade continued, their own desires taking precedence over their duty to the Emperor.
When the Great Betrayer, whose cursed name I will not speak, rebelled against our lord and master, the Iron Warriors renounced
their oaths of loyalty and joined him in war against the Emperor. Much of the truth of these days has been lost, but what is true is
that the Iron Warriors desecrated the holy soil of Terra, using skills honed by constant warfare to breach the walls designed by our
holy Primarch, Rogal Dorn. The biggest mistake you can make is to underestimate the Iron Warriors. Yes, they have suffered a
grievous blow with the loss of their daemon engines, but they will find other ways of striking back at us. And we must be ready
for them.'
'Librarian Corwin is correct,' stated Leonid. 'We must do everything we can to be ready for when they come at us again.' He
pushed back his chair and stubbed out the cheroot, rising to circle the table with long paces.
We need to get the parapets repaired so we can put men behind them again. We need to remount the guns on the walls as I have no
doubt that they are digging fresh trenches towards us even now and I want them hammered every second of every day and every
night.'
'I am not sure if we have the ammunition stockpiles to maintain such levels of expenditure, Colonel Leonid,' pointed out Magos
Naicin.
Leonid didn't bother to mask his contempt for the magos. 'Naicin, when I want your input I shall ask for it. Understand this: the
more powder we burn now, the less blood my men will shed when the final assault comes.'
Turning from the magos, he said, 'I want the platoons in each battalion divided into shifts, six hours on the walls, six hours off.
The men are exhausted and I want the soldiers manning the ramparts to be at their best. But drill them hard in manning the walls.
When an alert signal is given, I want every soldier on the walls in an instant.'
Anders and Kristan nodded, taking notes on their personal data-slates. Princeps Daekian scribbled one last note before asking,
Graham McNeill ?Storm of Iron?
'What can the Legio do to help?'
Leonid glanced down the table.
'I don't know. What can the Legio do?' he growled.
Daekian stood stiffly, clasping his hands behind his back.
'Until the enemy cross the outer walls, not a great deal,' he admitted.
'Then what use are you to me?' snapped Leonid.
Daekian continued smoothly, as though Leonid had not spoken. 'But if the enemy do carry the walls, we can cover your retreat to
the inner curtain wall more efficiently.'
Seeing Leonid's sceptical look, Daekian smiled grimly, 'Wall-mounted guns can be quickly bracketed and destroyed, believe me. I
have two Warhounds left that will not prove so static. Warhounds are not tall enough to be targeted from beyond the walls and
will provide the best fire support. The Reavers and the Honoris Causa will need to remain behind the curtain wall or they will be
destroyed before battle is joined, but they give you a powerful reserve for a counterattack.'
Daekian paused before continuing. 'You are a proud man, Castellan Leonid, but I know you are wise enough to see the truth of
this. Do not let your anger towards the Legio blind you to the sense of my words.'
The muscles bunched in Leonid's jaw and the colour rose in his cheeks.
Captain Eshara rose to his full height and stepped between the two officers.
'Castellan Leonid, might I interrupt here?'
Leonid nodded and returned to his seat, lacing his hands before him as Eshara circled the meeting table, collecting each officer's
marching cane. Each thin, silver-topped cane was a purely ceremonial affectation, carried tight under the left arm by the officers
of the regiment during marching drill.
When he had gathered enough of the canes, he returned to stand beside Leonid's chair, handing him one.
'Break it,' he said.
'Why?'
'Indulge me.'
Leonid easily snapped the cane in two, placing the splintered wood on the table.
The Space Marine captain handed him another. 'Again.'
'I don't see what this has—'
'Do it'commanded Eshara. Leonid shrugged and snapped the second cane as easily as the first, laying the pieces next to the others.
A third cane was broken before Eshara picked up the six pieces lying before the commander of the Jourans. He gathered them in a
bundle, bound them together with the twine from the cheroots and handed them to Leonid.
'Now try to break them,' he ordered.
'As you wish,' sighed Leonid, gripping the thick bundle and twisting. He grimaced with the strain as he tried to break the pieces,
but without success. Eventually he was forced to give up and tossed the unbroken bundle onto the table.
'I cannot,' he admitted.
'No, you cannot,' agreed Eshara, picking up the bundle and placing his hand upon Leonid's shoulders.
'When I look around this room, I see men of courage standing firm in the face of the most dreaded of foes and it fills me with
pride. I have fought for longer than any of you have been alive. I have faced enemies of all kinds and fought beside some truly
great warriors. I have never been beaten, so listen well. To do battle in the service of the Emperor you must understand that you
are part of an unimaginably larger war and that you cannot fight for yourself. That way lies damnation and ruin. Together you are
stronger than adamantium, but if you do not stand as one, you will all be broken like these canes. Castellan Vauban knew this. He
may have been angry with certain decisions that were made in the past, but he knew not to put his own feelings before the welfare
of his command.'
Eshara marched to the Jouran regimental flag and lifted it, tracing his finger along the hand-stitched lettering of the embroidered
scroll at its base.
'Your regimental motto, Castellan Leonid: Fortis cadere, cadere non protest. Tell me what it means.'
'It means, "the brave man may fall, but will never yield".'
'Exactly,' said Eshara, pointing down the table. 'And Magos Naicin, is "Strength through Unity" not one of your order's
aphorisms?'
'One of many,' conceded Naicin.
Eshara nodded towards Princeps Daekian. 'Princeps? Your Legio's motto if you please.'
'Inveniam viam aut faciam. It means, "I will either find a way, or I shall make one"'
'Very good,' nodded Eshara returning to his seat. 'Do you all understand? I have been here but a short time, but already I see
division amongst you. Such petty squabbling must be put aside. There can be no other way.'
Leonid looked at the unbroken bundle of canes before him and rubbed his hand across his unshaven jaw before rising to address
his men.
'Captain Eshara speaks with a truth and clarity we have lost. Gentlemen, from this moment on, we are a brotherhood united in our
holy cause, and I will have words with any man who dares put that brotherhood asunder.'
Leonid marched towards the end of the table to stand before Princeps Daekian, who rose from his seat. The Castellan of Hydra
Cordatus drew the sword Daekian had given him and bowed as he presented it to its rightful owner.
'I believe this belongs to you,' he said.
Daekian nodded, proffering his hand to Leonid. 'You keep it, Castellan Leonid. It looks better on you. I have another.'
'As you wish,' smiled Leonid, scabbarding the sword and accepting Daekian's grip.
The two men shook hands then Leonid rounded the table to face Magos Naicin.
'Magos. Any help you could give us would be gratefully received.'
Graham McNeill ?Storm of Iron?
Naicin stood and bowed. 'I am your servant, colonel.'
Leonid shook Naicin's gloved hand and nodded his thanks to Captain Eshara.
Perhaps he could hold this brotherhood together after all.
TWO
HONSOU KICKED OVER a blasted chunk of rubble. Squatting on his haunches, he picked up a handful of rock dust and let it spill
through his mechanical fingers. The new arm pleased him mightily, it was stronger and more robust than his own had been. It had
originally belonged to Kortrish, the Warsmith's former champion, and was a physical indication of his master's favour. Honsou
was surprised by the Warsmith's sudden favour, since he had equalled, if not exceeded his deeds in the battery many times before.
He was also sure that Forrix must have told the Warsmith how Honsou had failed to kill everyone in his initial attacks and thus
was responsible for the destruction unleashed by the torpedo. Since that time Honsou had been unable to make contact with Goran
Delau, and was forced to assume that his second-in-command had failed.
But if that were the case, why then did the Warsmith honour him so?
Perhaps in part it was due to the cleansing presence of the daemon that had briefly possessed his unworthy flesh. Had it stripped
away the polluted gene-seed within him in the searing fire of its occupancy, to make him pure? The magnitude of the power he
had felt in those fleeting moments had been intoxicating and though he knew it would mean oblivion, he longed for its touch once
again. His body was still healing after the daemon's blissful violation and, though he was unsure, he believed he could feel some
lingering remnants of its presence within him.
Had the Warsmith also sensed it, recognising a kindred power within him?
Kroeger had been livid and Forrix dangerously quiet following their admonishment by the Warsmith, and Honsou had stayed clear
of both captains since then. Kroeger had, unsurprisingly, chosen to vent his frustrations on prisoners, slaking his anger in their
bloody entrails. Honsou wondered how long it would be before Kroeger irretrievably descended into madness to become just
another faceless berserker.
The Warsmith had then charged Forrix and his warriors with the thankless task of constructing and advancing the final sap.
Honsou smiled to himself at the thought of Forrix, commander of the First grand company, labouring in the trenches, a task that
had surely been earmarked for Honsou and his impure company.
The trenches were still knee deep in ash, despite the hundreds of slaves working constantly to clear them. Looking around him, he
knew there was no way that the siegeworks were going to be at the walls within the ten days the Warsmith had demanded.
The final sap was pushing forward to the head of the central ravelin, but its progress was maddeningly slow. This close to the
citadel, the angle of each zigzag arm of the sap had to be dug in increasingly shallower angles as they came within range of the
weapons carried by the soldiers on the walls. Whereas the saps dug forward from the first and second parallels were constructed
by piling excavated earth onto the forward edge of the trench, this sap had, by necessity, to be advanced with much more care and
sophistication. Most of the surviving slaves (and there were precious few left, thanks to the Imperial torpedo) were digging out
what materials and supplies had survived the destruction of Tor Christo back in the campsite, while the Iron Warriors themselves
prepared this last sap.
Teams of Iron Warriors inched forwards on their hands and knees under cover of the lumbering sap-rollers, laboriously ramming
the excavated earth on the trench's outer face then dragging forward iron palisades to strengthen it. Gangs of specially picked
slaves followed behind, deepening the trench and readying the sap for the storming squads. Constructing such a sap was
dangerous and tedious work, requiring a great deal of skill and teamwork, since the workers were under constant fire from the
citadel's defenders. If the trench had advanced ten metres by nightfall, it was counted a good day's work.
Work parties from Kroeger's company were even now cannibalising every non-essential vehicle for parts to construct more saprollers,
for the Imperial forces had managed to remount many of their parapet weapons following the attack on the battery. The
Imperial guns would hammer each sap-roller with devastating barrages, blowing them apart within hours, and the Iron Warriors
had little with which to reply.
The Dies Irae pounded the citadel, but its remaining guns were at their maximum range and unless the mighty war-engine could
be made mobile again, its usefulness was limited. The remaining two Titans of the Legio Mortis were being kept in reserve until
the final assault, though Honsou wondered if the grievous wounding of the Dies Irae had broken the nerve of the Legio's warriors.
Even from here, Honsou could see that the ramparts were being quickly repaired, no doubt under the direction of the reviled
Imperial Fists. Much as he hated to admit it, the ancient enemy were competent siege engineers and would make their job all the
harder.
Honsou eagerly awaited the final attack. The need to kill Imperial Fists was now his only imperative, and he chafed at the slow
