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Scythes of the Emperor – Extract

A Black Library Publication

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The Aegidan Oath

‘I could count myself a king of infinite space,

Were it not that I have bad dreams.’

– from Amulet, Prince Demark (attributed to the dramaturge Shakespire), circa M2

The strips of parchment darkened quickly upon the brazier coals, the heat curling their edges and setting hungry flames over the illuminated script that marked each one.

As the three Space Marines watched, the words of their primarch were erased. Forgotten. Consigned to the murk of history as surely as if they had never been written.

Indeed, there were those who would deny that they ever had been written. The laws of men had finally overridden the word of the demi-gods, and the universe seemed so much more hollow and uncaring for it.

Oberdeii stared into the fire.

‘I am an oath-breaker,’ he murmured to no one in particular. ‘No matter what happens from this moment on, that truth will remain with me until the end of my days.’

The halls of the orbital platform were dark, the beacon lights spinning reluctantly to life only as the craft passed the atmospheric threshold. Tarpaulins hung from the gaunt silhouettes of several decommissioned shuttles, their frayed edges stirred for the first time in months by the downdraft of the Thunderhawk’s manoeuvring thrusters, with empty storage bins and cargo crates stacked well beyond the operational grid-lines marked out on the deck. The pilot, Brother Wenlocke, eyed each obstacle through the frost-rimed armourglass of the canopy, easing the gunship into position as carefully as he could in the gloom.

One of the landing struts grazed an abandoned tool bench, sending a brace of oily engine parts clattering to the floor as the dropship touched down. The Space Marine cursed.

‘This is a wretched disgrace. Could no one have cleared the landing bays for our arrival?’

Remaining where he stood behind the empty co-pilot’s seat, Segas ran his tongue over his teeth and sniffed. ‘No one knew we were coming,’ he replied, ‘and there are precious few personnel still stationed here, anyway. I doubt that cleaning up their predecessors’ mess was ever high on their list of priorities.’

Cycling the engines down, Wenlocke turned. ‘Forgive me, my lord Chaplain, but we travel with the authority of the Chapter Master himself in this matter. Does that not count for anything? We might at least have let them know the purpose of our visit ahead of time, and they could have prepared what we need.’

Segas shook his head.

‘No, brother. We cannot reveal our purpose, save in person and only to those who must know of it. No physical record must remain of this enterprise, regardless of the outcome.’

The pilot grunted and rose from his seat, moving his armoured bulk sideways through the cockpit to the rear hatch. Segas slid around the unmanned navigation console to meet him, recovering his skull-faced helm from the stowage locker overhead. He ran a finger over the clean edges of the Ultima engraved upon the brow, and considered all that for which it stood.

Wenlocke made to load his bolt pistol sidearm, but the Chaplain stopped him. ‘No. No weapons.’

‘And yet you will take your crozius? I’ve seen you break our foes with it, as often as lead a sermon.’

‘Aye, I will take my crozius. We will have one chance, and one chance only, to put this delicate matter right. Our primarch’s eternal legacy is at stake. That was why Chapter Master Decon sent me in his stead, and why I brought only you.’

Pausing with one boot on the topmost rung of the descent ladder, Wenlocke frowned. ‘What, because you can trust me to keep my mouth shut when awkward questions are inevitably asked? Or just because we’re both old enough to remember what happens to Chapters that keep dirty little secrets from the High Lords of Terra?’ Without waiting for an answer, he swung his weight out and began to climb down into the gunship’s hold. ‘I did as you said – I purged all navigation data from the system. There is no record of our journey left for anyone to find.’

As the grey-haired warrior disappeared from view, muttering to himself in irritation, Segas considered Wenlocke’s question.

I brought you for all of those reasons, and more besides, he thought. Because you and I may never return from Mount Pharos.

The air was cold and stale, and the deck plates of the corridors felt gritty beneath the Ultramarines’ armoured tread. Segas and Wenlocke met with the skeleton crew of the Sothan orbital, all mortal serf-officers of the Chapter who were long past combat retirement age. The men and women saluted stiffly, and they walked with the stilted gait of humans who had lived all their natural life in artificial gravity. They were tired, and had evidently been forgotten by the Imperium at large.

As tired and forgotten as the orbital platform itself, perhaps?

At the Chaplain’s request, they arranged transit for the two Space Marines on board an anonymous cargo lighter bound for the planet’s surface. The flight was cramped and uncomfortable for warriors of their size, but the need for an unheralded arrival made it a necessity.

Some kilometres outside the ordered coastal city of Sothopolis lay the freight terminals of Odessa, and it was there that they emerged into the first rays of dawn’s light ready to walk the overgrown paths to the mountain.

The mountain.

It appeared far more impressive from the ground than when Segas had first laid eyes upon it from orbit. It towered over the distant, lesser peaks of the Blackrocks, utterly dominating the skyline. Many were the myths surrounding its dark history, and only a select few within the Chapter knew them all.

No matter how deeply Segas and Wenlocke pressed into the creaking quicktree forests, the mountain was always just visible beyond. For the most part they walked in silence, feeling faint and sporadic tremors in the earth beneath their feet.

Though it was a laughable notion, it seemed that Mount Pharos might be following their progress.

Or, at the very least, listening out for their approach.

As the day’s heat grew, their path began to climb into the foothills. Without warning, Wenlocke froze mid-step – Segas saw the veteran’s hand flick reflexively to the empty holster at his hip, then up in a halting gesture. Something cracked in the thick undergrowth ahead of them, and Segas’ own fingers closed around the grip of his crozius maul. The two warriors edged apart, scanning for the unseen threat.

A man trudged into view, walking with a rough wooden staff in one hand and a las-lock rifle slung at his back. His clothing was simple, his frame lean, his gait assured. His tanned flesh and lined features spoke of countless summers beneath the open skies, and a wholesome life working close to the land. Only when he looked up to see the two armoured giants before him – one in cobalt blue, the other in black – did he slow his pace, his expression more vexed than alarmed.

Segas and Wenlocke held their ground, saying nothing. The man leaned on his staff, and mopped his brow with a ragged sleeve.

‘Good day to you, friends. Tell me, have you seen a stray quarian pass this way?’

The Chaplain kept his voice level, his gaze as piercing as he could make it. ‘Quarian?’

‘Aye,’ the man replied. ‘Herd beast. Crafty little boggarts. They give me the slip every chance they get, up and down the hillsides.’

Brother Wenlocke looked to Segas. They both knew that the mountain was forbidden. The paths were supposed to remain untrodden by the people of Sothopolis, and yet here was a simple herdsman wandering wheresoever his animals took him. But he had a straightforward manner about him, and he held the Chaplain’s eye without fear. He clearly believed that he had every right to be there. Was this, then, the famed pride of the Sothan people?

It mattered not. They did not have time to dwell upon the trespasses of the locals, and Segas waved Wenlocke back. ‘We have not seen your beast, citizen. We cannot help you.’

The man grinned, scratching his chin. ‘Citizen, he says? Heh. You’ve never been to Sotha before, that’s for sure.’ Still showing no hint of being intimidated, he sidled up to Segas and reached out to paw at his battleplate, appraising him. ‘The Chapter, then? You’re a tall one, like the Scouts and their training sergeants. More than twenty hands from toe to tooth, I’ll bet…’

Segas remained guarded. The herdsman rapped his staff on the packed, loamy earth.

‘Do you know anything of this world, my tall friends? When I was young, the Chapter sent many Scouts. They were taught their craft on Sotha, and took what they learned to the stars, yes? They arrived as boys, but left as gelding-warriors, taller than any man from the plains or the cities. Not as tall as you two though, I think!’ He screwed his face up, thoughtfully. ‘And not as tall as the old man.’

At that, Segas leaned in sharply. ‘The old man? Another Chapter warrior, like us?’

The herdsman grinned again. ‘Aye, a gelding-lord like you, but without any pretty war-plate or badge of rank. The old man on the mountain, we always called him. Even before the Scouts stopped coming, he was the only one allowed up to the top of Mount Pharos. The braver lads from the herds used to help him clear the pathways, and he would tell us such tales about the horses and whatnot from his home world. But you’d never cross him. He has a fearsome manner, when he’s riled.’

Wenlocke stepped in behind the man, and placed his gauntlets firmly upon his thin, mortal shoulders, enveloping them completely.

‘This old man on the mountain,’ he whispered, ‘you know where we might find him?’

The herdsman frowned, looking from one gauntlet to the other and then back up at Segas.

‘I dare say, my tall friends, that he’ll be up at the old castellum. The ruins are hard for you to see from the air, I’ll bet. If you’d be so kind as to unhand me, I’ll take you there.’

Click here to buy Scythes of the Emperor.

In memory of Grandma Pat, who always ‘borrowed’ my books.
I’m still convinced she was playing Hero Quest in secret.

A Black Library Publication

The Aegidan Oath first published in 2016.

Slaughter at Giant’s Coffin first published in 2017.

Heloth first published in 2014.

Reclamation first published in 2013.

Daedalus first published as an audio drama in 2017.

Terminal Velocity first published in 2017.

Scythes of the Emperor first published in 2017

This eBook edition published in 2017 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd,
Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

Produced by Games Workshop in Nottingham.
Cover illustration by Roman Tishenin.
Internal illustrations by Neil Hodgson, Jon Sullivan
and Tomasz Gut.

Scythes of the Emperor © Copyright Games Workshop Limited 2017. Scythes of the Emperor, GW, Games Workshop, Black Library, The Horus Heresy, The Horus Heresy Eye logo, Space Marine, 40K, Warhammer, Warhammer 40,000, the ‘Aquila’ Double-headed Eagle logo, and all associated logos, illustrations, images, names, creatures, races, vehicles, locations, weapons, characters, and the distinctive likenesses thereof, are either ® or TM, and/or © Games Workshop Limited, variably registered around the world.
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ISBN: 978-1-78572-702-3

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