Table of Contents

Cover

The Unforgiven - Extract

Legal

eBook license

Surrender

‘You may address me by my title,’ said the Space Marine. ‘Lord Cypher.’

Annael pushed himself to his feet, pain flaring from his wounded knee. ‘Who?’ he asked as Calatus moved forward to help him stand. Annael laid his hand on his battle-brother’s shoulder and tentatively put some weight on the leg.

‘I am the Lord Cypher. I am here to see your leaders.’

‘You attacked us,’ said Huntmaster Tybalain. His bolt pistol was still levelled at the stranger, a power sword in his other hand. He glanced at the unarmoured Space Marine lying at Annael’s feet with half his head missing, and nodded to Nerean. ‘Is he alive?’

Nerean crouched beside the traitor’s corpse, but the stranger spoke first.

‘He is dead. Not even one of our kind can survive a wound like that.’

Tybalain said nothing and looked at Nerean. The Black Knight nodded his confirmation. ‘Stone cold dead, brothers.’

Annael looked at the cadaver and then to the Space Marine that had saved his life. Any gratitude he felt was overwhelmed by suspicion at the Space Marine’s unheralded appearance.

‘We should call in a Dark Talon to take this one away,’ he said, over the squad vox-frequency so as not to be heard by the captive. ‘He is clearly one of the Fallen.’

‘Why would he give up so easily?’ asked Nerean. ‘It is a trap of some kind, you can be sure of it.’

‘He still has his sword,’ said Annael. He studied the way the other Space Marine stood. There was an ease in his stance that betrayed a calm demeanour. He really did not seem at all concerned by his predicament, or else was able to disguise any misgivings. ‘This situation is not to my liking at all.’

‘Do you want to try to take the sword from him?’ said Calatus. ‘I fear we shall not do so without killing him, and the attempt would be costly all the same.’

‘He certainly dealt with Astelan in swift fashion,’ said Tybalain. ‘I feel no strong urge to test his competence directly. The name Cypher does not mean anything to you, but it is known to me, in a way. It is a codeword amongst the Fallen, and if we hear it we are to inform our superior immediately.’

‘Master Asmodai should learn of this first,’ said Calatus. ‘It was he that ordered Astelan to be executed. He will know what to do.’

None of the others voiced objection to this and Tybalain communicated what had happened to Chaplain Asmodai. While he did so, Annael kept a close watch on the prisoner. ‘Lord Cypher’ made no move, remaining as motionless as a statue. He did not even react when Calatus retrieved the plasma pistol and bolt pistol the stranger had relinquished. Annael looked at the plasma pistol, not recognising the design.

‘Old,’ said Calatus, turning the weapon left and right. The craftsmanship was exquisite, even to Annael’s untrained eye. ‘Very old.’

‘The Master of Repentance is not happy,’ Tybalain reported. He switched to external address. ‘We are to await the arrival of Master Asmodai here. You will not move or speak. If you attempt to escape you will be killed.’

Lord Cypher accepted this without a word or gesture, taking the Huntmaster’s instruction literally. Annael recovered the bolt pistol that had been taken from him, ashamed that he had been disarmed so easily. The pain in his left knee had dulled, but the wound in his pride at being shot by his own weapon was still raw. He tried putting weight on the leg again to distract himself from his embarrassment and found that he was able to stand, although slightly crookedly. Nerean inspected the damage to Annael’s helm and backpack from the traitor’s second shot and pronounced that all was well. The bolt had done nothing more than cosmetic harm.

Forty-five minutes passed more or less in silence until the sound of engines grew louder outside the ruins of the Slaughterkeep. A few minutes later Chaplain Asmodai arrived, clad in his full black armour, face concealed behind his skull helm. The paint of his livery was heavily chipped, the exposed ceramite cracked in many places. Clearly the Master of Repentance had been involved in quite a clash.

The Chaplain marched past the assembled Black Knights and stood in front of the prisoner, staring at him for some time. The Fallen made no move of his own and said nothing.

‘We are to believe this is Cypher?’ Asmodai said eventually, his voice emitted from the external vocalisers of his helm so that the prisoner could also hear.

‘My title is Lord Cypher.’

Asmodai whirled around, the blue-gleaming head of his crozius arcanum smashing into the side of the traitor’s helm, sending up splinters of ceramite and knocking him to his knees.

‘You are no lord!’ spat Asmodai. ‘You are scum! Filth! Traitor! You do not speak unless directly addressed.’

The stranger stayed down, head bowed, one hand on the ground to steady himself. Asmodai loomed over him, crozius at the ready, but the Fallen remained where he was and kept silent.

‘Good, it seems I am understood.’ Asmodai stepped back and started to pace, circling the Fallen, speaking aloud as much to himself as to the Black Knights. ‘We are to believe that Cypher, architect of a hundred Fallen plots to destroy and dishonour us, is now in our hands. He has finally been caught, nigh minutes after another of his kind came into our custody.’

‘Not caught, Brother-Chaplain,’ said Tybalain. ‘Surrendered. Delivered to us by his own act and admission.’

‘You are correct, Huntmaster, the difference is important. As is the timing.’ Asmodai stopped beside Cypher. ‘Get up!’

The Fallen obeyed, slowly rising to his feet. He kept his hand deliberately away from his scabbarded weapon at all times, giving no sign of threat or even disobedience that the Chaplain could use as reason to inflict more punishment.

‘Is it coincidence that you appeared here and now, arch-traitor? Are we to accept that you have come before us by happenstance? Were you afraid that your accomplice would betray you first? Is that why you killed Astelan?’

‘I did not,’ said the Fallen.

‘You did so, right in front of me.’ Annael was incredulous at Cypher’s denial. ‘Do you call me a liar?’

‘Nothing of the sort. I saved your life. I shot the traitor. But that is not Merir Astelan, at least not as I knew him.’

‘Nonsense,’ growled Asmodai. He knelt beside the corpse and rolled it over. Half of the Space Marine’s head was missing, but his face was mostly intact. Asmodai rose quickly and retreated several steps. ‘What devilry is this? What have you done with the real Astelan?’

‘What?’ Tybalain and the others looked at the body again. The Huntmaster shook his head. ‘No, there must be some mistake. This is the target you sent us after. It has to be. We found his discarded armour a score of metres away.’

‘The mistake was yours, Huntmaster.’ Asmodai’s voice was icy with scorn. ‘You have failed me.’

‘We followed the transponder signal you transmitted,’ said Annael. ‘It led us directly here, Master.’

‘There was another signal,’ said Asmodai. ‘From orbit to the surface. Are you sure you detected no teleport code or energy wave?’

‘Nothing, Brother-Chaplain,’ Calatus said quickly. ‘I scanned the area as soon as we arrived. There were no traces of any such energy expenditure.’

‘Then he must still be here!’ roared Asmodai. ‘Split up! Search the ruins! I want that traitor captured!’

Asmodai remained to keep guard on Cypher while the Black Knights divided to form a search pattern through the remains of the Slaughterkeep. Calatus swept the area with the auspex and declared that there was no human-sized living being within a kilometre, but this did not satisfy the Chaplain.

‘Every chamber and dungeon, I want you to look at it with your own eyes and tell me this place is empty. Astelan cannot have escaped.’

Despite Asmodai’s insistence, and the confusion of the Black Knights as to how it might have happened, it transpired that Astelan had indeed eluded their clutches. When the squad reformed with the Chaplain the Master of Repentance was beyond irate.

‘Where is he?’ the Chaplain demanded, pointing his pistol into the face of Cypher. ‘Tell me, or by the Emperor I will end your treacherous existence.’

‘I do not know,’ the Fallen said quietly. ‘It has been a long time since I crossed paths with Merir Astelan, I know nothing of his current plans.’

‘Then how is it that you happened to be here?’ said Tybalain. ‘Why did we find you in these ruins?’

‘I detected the same incoming transmission that you did,’ the Fallen said, obviously choosing his words with care. ‘I thought it better that I approached you than you came upon me.’

‘Which brings us back to why you have allowed us to capture you,’ said Annael. ‘What do you want?’

‘I must speak with your leaders.’ Cypher turned his full attention to Asmodai. ‘It is imperative that I see the Supreme Grand Master. Anovel must be stopped.’

‘Anovel?’ Asmodai’s voice was low and dangerous. ‘You admit to knowing the traitor? He is aboard our ship and awaiting my attention.’

‘He has been captured? Then perhaps all is not lost. We might yet prevent this disaster.’

‘The traitor is ours now, his plans have come to naught,’ Asmodai assured the Fallen. ‘He cannot harm us any longer.’

‘I hope you are right, I really do. We must avert this catastrophe.’

‘Catastrophe? Disaster? You overestimate the reach of our foes.’

‘You are blind to it, Chaplain Asmodai. Do not take lightly what I have to tell you. Your foes seek nothing less than the utter annihilation of the Dark Angels.’

Repercussions

Cypher said nothing more as he was escorted at gunpoint to the Deathwing Land Raider Asmodai had requisitioned. Asmodai turned at the top of the boarding ramp and addressed the Black Knights.

‘Forget the name of Cypher. Forget this misbegotten traitor and serve your Chapter well.’ He uttered the keywords that would place this order into the subconscious of the Space Marines, a hypnotic command rigorously implanted during their earliest training, one that they would be unable to refuse or recall. ‘Non memorianda est. Speak nothing of this moment to another. Speak never of what transpired in the last two hours. Return to Grand Master Sammael and report for duty. Attend to your orders and fight well.’

Thus instructed, the Black Knights returned to their steeds and rode away.

Asmodai stepped into the Land Raider and saw that Cypher had seated himself close to the driver’s compartment. He had already pulled down the bracing harness used during rapid assault to lock a Space Marine’s armour in place. Asmodai sat opposite but remained unhindered, not wishing to restrict his movements in any way in the presence of the arch-traitor.

‘If indeed you are Cypher, as you say,’ he said out loud, completing the thought. ‘This episode with Astelan is a reminder that your kind are as devious as serpents. What proof can you offer to verify your claim? Why should I not simply extract your repentance now and put a bolt into your head, as you did your accomplice?’

‘He was not my accomplice,’ the Fallen replied. ‘I do not know how I can prove my claim. What evidence would you ever accept that comes from my lips?’

‘There is nothing you can say that I will believe,’ said Asmodai. He banged a fist against the bulkhead to signal to the driver. He felt a jolt as the Land Raider moved off a few seconds later, the hull trembling with the growl of powerful engines. ‘You are falsehood incarnate, especially if you are who you claim to be.’

‘So if I am the Lord…’ The prisoner checked himself as Asmodai’s hand strayed towards the haft of his crozius arcanum. ‘If I am the person you know as Cypher, I can be believed even less than if I am not? That is a paradoxical situation, you realise? If I am lying, you do not believe me because it is false. If I am telling the truth, you do not believe because I am telling the truth. How do I defend myself against your accusations?’

‘That is not my concern. It is yours. Believe me, your kind become very inventive beneath the caress of my Blades of Reason.’

‘If I offer a verifiable truth, would that persuade you?’

‘Truth is rarely objective in my experience, except by its absence. I would save your breath. You will need it for when you scream for forgiveness.’

The stranger shook his head, whether in denial or disbelief it was unclear. After a few seconds he raised a hand, index finger jabbing towards Asmodai.

‘Starfire,’ said the Fallen.

‘What was that?’ Asmodai leaned forward. ‘What did you say?’

‘Starfire.’

‘How do you know this word?’ demanded the Interrogator-Chaplain, standing up. He swayed slightly as his armour compensated for the rocking motion of the Land Raider. ‘What does it mean to you?’

‘I am glad that I have your attention, Master Asmodai.’ The Fallen lowered his hand. ‘I know this word because, as I have already told you, I held the rank of Lord Cypher, a position of authority amongst the Order commanded by Lord Luther.’

‘That name is a curse to my ears, even more than your title,’ snapped Asmodai.

‘I see that “starfire” is known to you, as I hoped. It was the command codeword that activated the orbital defence grid. Merir Astelan, the one you thought I had killed, uttered that word to open fire upon Lion El’Jonson.’

It was possible that the Fallen was lying to Asmodai and had learned of the word by some other means, but the Chaplain doubted it. ‘Starfire’ had been recorded in the annals of the Lion’s sons as the last transmission detected from Caliban before the Fallen had opened fire on their primarch. Astelan’s testimony had included as much during visits from Boreas and Asmodai. It seemed an odd secret to pass on the off-chance a Fallen might be captured.

Another matter made Asmodai believe the Fallen. Although the Chaplain knew that his straightforward mind was incapable of the mental somersaults of Sapphon in being able to think like the traitors, for all that he tried Asmodai could not come up with a reason why a Fallen would pretend to be Cypher. More to the point, why the real Cypher would not attempt to hide his identity.

He activated the Land Raider’s comms unit and initiated a transmission to orbit, where the Penitent Warrior and Implacable Justice strike cruisers were engaged with the enemy flotilla. He coded the signal to Brother Sapphon, the Master of Sanctity, foremost of the Chaplains. It took several minutes for Asmodai’s superior to connect and the reply to arrive.

‘Brother Asmodai, I thought that you would be returning to orbit to oversee the internment of Anovel.’

‘Another matter, more pressing, has delayed me. Astelan has eluded the Black Knights. He is loose on the planet.’

There was no reply for some time. When he spoke, Sapphon was reserved.

‘That is unfortunate, brother. I trust that you are organising the pursuit.’

‘Alas not, much as I wish to. A third traitor has been apprehended.’

‘A third? How many more of these wretches infest Tharsis?’

‘We will discover that truth, among many others, when we interrogate the prisoners. The one I have in custody claims to be Cypher.’

Again there was a long pause as this information was absorbed.

‘Cypher? You think you have captured the thrice-cursed?’

‘I believe I have. However, Astelan cannot be allowed to escape. We must instigate an immediate blockade of the planet and task our Dark Talons and Nephilim to interdict any non-Chapter aircraft. He will not be able to get far, and will certainly not leave Tharsis.’

‘You seem to have forgotten an important consideration, brother. We are currently fighting a traitor fleet and a sizeable ground force. We cannot spare neither strike cruiser nor our aircraft to hunt Astelan at this time.’

‘I have to speak to your Chapter Master,’ said Cypher, loud enough to be heard by Sapphon.

‘Silence!’ snarled Asmodai. ‘You will not speak again.’

‘Was that him? What does he claim to know that is so important?’

Asmodai turned back to Cypher.

‘Answer swiftly, traitor.’

‘An attack on your Chapter is imminent. Lord Azrael must be informed.’

‘Empty words,’ said Asmodai. ‘You offer no shred of evidence to back up your claim. Standard protocol is that all statements by the Fallen are treated as false.’

‘Can we afford to ignore him?’ said Sapphon. ‘This is an outlandish situation, there is nothing standard about events on Tharsis. I do not think we can risk being delayed by orthodoxy. Return to orbit as swiftly as possible with your captive, brother. We must discuss our plan of action with Belial and Sammael before we make any decision.’

‘There is little to discuss. One of the Fallen remains at large on Tharsis. He must be captured.’

‘I concur, brother. But we cannot overlook the importance of your prisoner, if he is who he claims to be. Securing him and returning him to the Penitent Warrior safely must be your priority. When we have him in a cell, we can focus our efforts on Astelan.’

‘Very well, I shall take that as your command.’

Asmodai cut the link and sat back, watching Cypher. He studied the traitor’s armour. It was painted black, like Asmodai’s, but whereas the Chaplain’s battleplate had a sheen of freshly applied enamel, Cypher’s was matt from exposure, even grey in places. The Chaplain could also see small flecks of dark green paint. It seemed that Cypher was not above wearing the colours of both the Legion and the Chapter when it suited his purposes. There was a fine edge of golden trim around the knightly helm, the gilding copied on the rims of the shoulder pads but sparse from wear and damage.

The original decoration of the chest plastron had been removed, and in its place was a skeletal figure with arms outstretched across the breastplate. Skull designs adorned the knees and waistband, and links of chain hung like a belt across the traitor’s lap.

A longsword hung from that chain, in a scabbard of black leather and steel, the pommel crimson and gold. There were strange tales surrounding that sword. Tales that Asmodai had heard from the lips of the Fallen and of his battle-brothers. Myth surrounded Cypher as much as the likes of the Lion and Luther, but here he was now, sat in front of the Master of Repentance as solid and real as anything.

Asmodai wondered what truths, what admissions, what myth-shattering confessions Cypher would make beneath the Blades of Reason. The Chaplain knew that all Fallen were equally despised in the eyes of the Emperor, but could not help feeling a touch of pride that Cypher had been brought to him. Almost as much as he dreamed of inflicting his excruciations upon the traitor Rhemell, Asmodai had desired to confront the thrice-cursed.

The traitor would be broken, his secrets revealed and his lies proven false. Asmodai would stand before him and offer him the chance to repent. He would break the Fallen’s blade over his knee as the final stroke, the last proof that Cypher was less than nothing and all that remained was to save his soul with acceptance of his guilt.

‘I would not,’ said the Fallen as Asmodai’s gaze returned to the sword.

‘You give me orders now?’

The Chaplain stood up and reached out towards the hilt of the blade.

‘A warning, not a command,’ said Cypher. ‘It does not suffer the touch of any. None except its true keeper.’

‘It is a weapon, nothing more.’

Asmodai closed gauntleted fingers around the hilt.

Fire burned the sky and the ground fell away beneath his feet. Pain lanced through his body and he saw a snarling face, so close his foe’s foetid breath could be felt. They tumbled together, falling from the heavens it seemed. There was a blade in his gut, burning like poison. His own sword fell from his fingers. The pain increased, surging into his head, blinding and terrible.

Asmodai staggered back as he let go of the sword. He had to steady himself against the bulkhead, blinking away the after-effects of the vision.

‘Perhaps you should start to heed my words,’ said Cypher. ‘Not just on the sword.’

Still shocked by what had happened, Asmodai retreated to the bench and sat down. His normal desire to assert control and superiority was overwhelmed by the sense of dislocation that left his thoughts reeling. The experience had been so visceral, unlike anything he had experienced before. More than a memory, he had lived the moment captured within the vision and for those few seconds he had not known himself.

The memory of what he had seen started to fade, like a dream. Like all Space Marines he had been trained to have near-perfect recall, but just a minute after touching the sword all he could remember was a feeling of betrayal and helplessness. That and the pain. Unconsciously he moved a hand to his midriff, where it was as though a scar was healing beneath his abdominal armour. After another minute, even this sensation had passed.

‘Time until rendezvous point?’ he demanded of the Land Raider’s driver, seeking to steady himself with the physical and mundane.

‘Seven minutes, Master Chaplain,’ the driver replied.

Asmodai accepted this answer without comment. He looked at Cypher and felt something totally alien. The Fallen always filled him with distaste, with hate, with a desire to avenge the wrongs done to the Lion and the Dark Angels. The loathing was there in Asmodai’s gut, seething, wanting to be released, but for the first time since he had ascended to the Chapter another feeling kept the hate in check.

Where Cypher passed, anarchy and war followed. That he would come to the Dark Angels now was a grim harbinger. As he looked at Cypher – for surely the prisoner had to be Cypher and no other – Asmodai could not shake a sense of foreboding.

Armourer Of The Soul

Sapphon spent some time considering recent events, leaving command of the Penitent Warrior to Belial, who had interred Anovel in one of the cells on the dungeon deck of the strike cruiser. The Chaplain retired to the Reclusiam to gather his thoughts, too distracted by the ongoing battle to think clearly while on the command bridge.

The Reclusiam was a high-vaulted chamber on the deck above the dormers of the battle-brothers, located close to the armoury where their suits of Tactical Dreadnought armour were stowed when in transit. It brought a smile to Sapphon to think of the similarities between this chamber and the one a little further along the deck.

In the armoury the Techmarines clad the bodies of the First Company in adamantium, plasteel and ceramite. They loaded and primed their weapons and applied the unguents and blessings of their arcane order so that the machine-spirits of the Terminator war-plate would serve the warriors of the Chapter. In the Reclusiam the Chaplains armoured the souls of their charges with oaths of dedication to the Emperor, and fired their resolve with legends of the Lion’s victories and ultimate sacrifice. Just as the Techmarines maintained and repaired the armour that protected the Space Marines, Sapphon and his Brother-Chaplains kept vigilant for damage to the spirit and imperfections in the shield of faith that guarded their minds.

The armourers repainted the bone-coloured enamel of the Deathwing, setting upon it the sigils and markings of Chapter, company, squad and individual warrior. They covered up the burns, scratches and other marks of war, eliminating the scars of history. The Chaplains did no less for the minds of their charges, smoothing away questions that could not be answered, recounting tales that explained away inconsistencies of history, painting over discrepancies and concerns with devotions of loyalty and duty.

And most importantly of all, the Reclusiam was the chamber from which the desires of the Inner Circle were enacted. It was here that the various versions of the Chapter’s history were related to the brothers according to their need, rank and experience. From the censers that hung from the ceiling drifted the psychoactive vapours that opened up the hypno-conditioned minds of the Dark Angels, allowing Sapphon to instil the doctrines of faith and remove unworthy doubts and troublesome memories.

Even the First Company, the Deathwing, whose battle-brothers had earned great renown and trust, were subject to such manipulation. Though they had been initiated into the most fundamental secrets of the Fallen – the existence of renegade Dark Angels and the treachery of Luther that had created them – only Belial and a handful of veteran sergeants in the company knew of the corrupting force of Chaos that had turned them, and the identity of the arch-heretics, Luther’s lieutenants such as Merir Astelan, Zahariel El’Zurias and the ringleader known only by the title of Lord Cypher.

That Cypher had reappeared now, openly allowing himself to be captured, troubled Sapphon greatly. This fact, the manner of Cypher’s capture, weighed heavily on his thoughts as he paced down the aisle between the long devotional benches on which the company sat for benedictions and pre-battle mass. A red carpet underfoot muffled his armoured steps, leaving only the hiss of electric lights and the ever-present rumbling of the engines to break the still of the chamber.

Overhead hung banners embroidered by the Librarium’s serfs, the histiographers cataloguing the many battle honours of the Deathwing from the formation of the Dark Angels Chapter to the present day. Two hundred and three banners in black bordered by red, white stitching listing the names of more than nine thousand worlds, space stations, ships, moons and space hulks where the First Company had been victorious, some of them multiple times. In the gloom the writing was barely legible, but it mattered not, Sapphon could recite every single name from memory. He also knew the two thousand, six hundred and forty-eight Righteous Honours omitted from the roll of honour. Actions that had been centred solely on the capture of the Fallen, undertaken by the Deathwing alone.

Three names to be considered for addition to the list: Tharsis, Ulthor and Piscina. Were these victories? Were they Righteous Honours? Ulthor was easy to discard. It had been a disaster from the instant the company had teleported onto the daemon world. Farce was almost too kind as a description of what had followed. Extricating the company, along with the Ravenwing, could be considered an achievement, but certainly not a battle honour.

Piscina was undecided. Sapphon did not know how the campaign continued in their absence, if at all. Grand Master Belial had petitioned Azrael to declare the world lost and wipe out everything on the surface with Exterminatus, but the Supreme Grand Master had withheld judgement. The expedition to Ulthor had taken Belial and his company away from the theatre of war.

Tharsis was surely worthy. A sizeable fleet and army of renegades had been eradicated, or would be within the next few hours. That those traitors had been lured into attacking Tharsis by the machinations of Sapphon did not undermine the achievement of the warriors in the strike force. It also mattered not to the Master of Sanctity that Astelan had escaped. His recapture was inevitable, even if he had an entire world on which to hide. His was a spent fate. Asmodai would be allowed to administer the final act. Two other Fallen had been captured, including Cypher.

Always there was Cypher, Sapphon’s thoughts rapidly coming full circle from their wandering as he knelt in front of the altar. The table was covered with another banner, much tattered and faded, the edges ragged from fire, lasbeams and detonation.

The first battle standard of the Deathwing.

Other Chapters might have suspended such a relic in a stasis field, preserving it for eternity. Not so the Dark Angels. Their history, as obscured as it was by circles of trust and mistruth, was carried beside them. In the presence of this artefact the warriors of the First Company swore and renewed their oaths, just as the first members of the Deathwing had done ten millennia before. To touch the cloth, to smell the ancient must from its fibres, was to connect with every warrior that had donned the bone armour and tabard of the Deathwing for the last ten thousand years. The stories changed, as did those that told them and heard them, but the inner truths remained constant. The banner served as a reminder to every member of the First Company that they upheld a sacred duty unbroken since the dawn of the Imperium.

Sapphon reached out a gauntleted hand and gently stroked the winged sword icon emblazoned on the standard. It had been dark red once, on a field of black. Now it was a dull orange on a grey background. The colours had faded, but not the glory woven into the fabric as much as the sigil.

A glorious legend. And a second, hidden history no less important.

Looking at the relic banner, Sapphon realised what had to be done, but it was not a decision he could take alone.

‘Bridge, this is Master Sapphon. I need a priority coded vox-conclave. Contact Masters Asmodai, Belial and Sammael for immediate exchange.’

‘Understood, Master Sapphon. Creating coded conclave for you now. I will inform you when the other Masters have responded.’

Sapphon stood and moved past the altar, eyes passing over the antiquities placed upon the banner cloth. A goblet it was claimed the Lion had drunk from on his final night on Caliban. A fragment of bone, said to be from a beast of the forests slain at the hand of the primarch’s seneschal, Corswain. A shard of crystal-laced metal from the power sword of Grand Master Haradin, who had reformed the Deathwing following the catastrophic events that had seen Caliban destroyed.

Pieces of ancient history, reminders of legacies far greater than a few sacred ornaments. Sapphon had sometimes wondered why the Chapter set such stock by these odds and ends from the distant past, an affectation of remembrance. He understood now. These relics had been present at the beginning, setting in motion a continuum of events that covered the whole arc of the Age of the Imperium, right up to that day, that hour, that minute. All things, every victory, defeat and decision in the last ten thousand years, by Supreme Grand Masters, Librarians, Chaplains, battle-brothers and even serfs, had steered the Dark Angels upon a troublesome course to the present time.

Caught in the glare of this realisation, Sapphon concluded that the past and the present, his forebears and his peers, would not be his judge. Those that came after, those that would inherit the Chapter he left behind, would decide on the right and wrong of his actions.

Had the Lion thought such a thing when he had lifted that silver goblet to his lips, knowing that the coming dawn would see him leave Caliban to join the Great Crusade, perhaps never to return? Had Corswain known when he slew the tainted monster of Caliban’s forest that his name would reverberate for ten millennia, his deeds an inspiration to generation after generation of Dark Angels? When Haradin had learned of the existence of the Fallen and instigated the reformation of the Deathwing and Ravenwing, had he considered the possibility that their task would still be continued ten thousand years later?

All grand decisions and actions that had defined the Legion and Chapter ever since, their consequences ultimately unknowable.

The capture of Cypher changed everything. The foiling of the plot between Anovel, Methelas and Astelan was a significant moment also. Decisions made now could frame the Hunt for the Fallen for a century or a millennium.

‘Master Sapphon, the coded conclave is active.’

The Master of Sanctity passed through the curtained archway behind the altar and into the smaller chamber beyond. There was a stout desk within, and around the walls many shelves bowed under the weight of books and scrolls. The entirety of the Lore of the Dark Angels, assembled over ten thousand years, starting with treatises from Roboute Guilliman’s Codex Astartes on the reorganisation of the Legiones Astartes, to Supreme Grand Master Azrael’s interpretations and edicts on the Tactica Imperium. Ten millennia of wisdom and battle-rites crowded Sapphon as he accepted the transmission from the strike cruiser’s bridge.

‘Brother-masters, gratitude for your swift attention.’

‘Swiftness is desirable, brother,’ replied Sammael. ‘I am embarking upon what might be the final offensive of this campaign. This conclave is a distraction from my preparations.’

‘One that you will doubtless understand, Brother Sammael, when I tell you that Master Asmodai has captured the accursed fugitive known as Cypher.’

Silence greeted this announcement. Sapphon remembered his own stunned reaction when he had received the news from Asmodai. He also recalled the questions that had followed as he had comprehended the nature of the revelation and spoke to address them before the others wasted breath giving voice.

‘Brother Asmodai is convinced that his prisoner is Cypher, and so I am convinced, as you should be. He is currently stasis-incarcerated and being transported back to the Penitent Warrior with Asmodai as escort. He will be placed into further stasis when he arrives. It is absolutely imperative that he comes into contact with no one that has not already seen him.’

‘I have instructed Brother Malcifer of the Second Company,’ added Asmodai. ‘The Black Knights that discovered Cypher and allowed Astelan to escape will be suitably debriefed and if necessary quarantined upon their return.’

‘What does that mean?’ demanded Sammael. ‘Tybalain responded to your orders. He has done nothing wrong.’

‘I made no accusation of improper conduct,’ answered the Master of Repentance. ‘The knowledge of Cypher’s presence must be closely contained, as Brother Sapphon attests. To this purpose, Tybalain and his warriors must be sequestered from their battle-brothers. I am confident Malcifer can accommodate this without remark or incident.’

‘Astelan has escaped.’ Belial’s statement was quietly spoken but loaded with a cutting edge. ‘This is a grave failure by the Second Company.’

‘A terrible consequence of planning and opportunism,’ Sapphon said quickly, before Sammael responded to the barbed comment.

‘Brought about by your entanglements with Astelan,’ continued Belial. ‘I take no pleasure in acknowledging that I warned against this ill-devised endeavour.’

‘A matter that you can bring up with the Supreme Grand Master,’ said Sapphon.

Asmodai had been in the chamber last, the objects on the table as ordered and regimented as his thoughts. The Master of Sanctity absent-mindedly moved a few things, rearranging the autoquills and piles of data-crystal wafers into a fan pattern. Belial’s condemnation did not concern him. Once Azrael was made aware of all the circumstances of the operation he would acquit Sapphon of any misdemeanours. To do otherwise would undermine Sapphon’s position and give Asmodai tacit free rein to impose his divisive policies on the Inner Circle and the rest of the Chapter.

‘Or perhaps a matter that I will seek to settle personally,’ continued Belial, ‘in a duel upon our return to the Tower of Angels.’

Sapphon stopped his toying, the Grand Master’s threat disturbing. ‘By rite, such an event would be held in view of the Chapter. How would we explain the rift between two senior officers? No. It is not possible. It would compromise the sanctity of the Hunt. I forbid any challenge being issued on this subject and will censure any of you that seek such recourse.’

‘We stray from the purpose of this conclave,’ Sammael interjected. ‘If you wish to test authority or blade with each other, please do so without my involvement. Our assault will launch in twenty-seven minutes and there remain many preparations to undertake. The Tharsians are assembling and awaiting my command. Is there any further matter that requires my attention?’

‘Our involvement is no longer required,’ said Asmodai. ‘The longer we remain on Tharsis, the more precarious our hold on the details of this expedition. Our presence will prompt questions not easily answered, and we must not forget that a sizeable traitor fleet remains in the system, even if they appear to be withdrawing.’

‘We cannot abandon Tharsis,’ Belial replied. ‘We will not.’

‘We cannot save every world, brother,’ said Sapphon. ‘The Hunt, this prisoner, must take priority over all other concerns.’

‘This world has been placed in jeopardy by your actions, Sapphon. We drew the renegades to this system. We ignited the fire of war, and it falls to us to douse it before we depart.’

‘I concur with Brother Sapphon,’ said Asmodai. ‘We have courted disaster too many times on this campaign. Our surest course of action must be to secure the two Fallen we have in custody and return to the Tower of Angels for their interrogation.’

‘They pose no threat,’ argued Sammael. ‘We must remain as long as required to deter the traitor legionaries of the second fleet. The moment they sense that we are leaving, they will surely return.’

‘It is not our two strike cruisers that dissuade their assault,’ Sapphon replied tersely. ‘They came to Tharsis expecting welcome. They find themselves faced with a fully operational orbital defence system. Whatever prize they sought here, they hoped to obtain through the blood of Anovel and his followers, not their own. They will not be returning.’

‘And Astelan?’ said Belial. ‘You cannot truly believe it is wise to leave him loose on the world he once brought to the brink of ruin with his tyranny?’

‘We can learn nothing from him, and the pursuit would continue to expose us.’

‘I detest the notion that we would knowingly allow any of the Fallen to escape, but I agree,’ said Asmodai, to Sapphon’s surprise. ‘Cypher’s excruciation and repentance, the secrets he will reveal to us, will be an unparalleled achievement for the Chapter. The future success of the Hunt may rest on his testimony.’

‘We cannot ignore his claim that there exists a direct threat to the Chapter. We have not yet fully uncovered the extent of the plan we thwarted today. There will be further repercussions and we must consult with the rest of the Inner Circle,’ Sapphon replied.

‘Your hearing appears to be hampered, brothers,’ said Belial, more forcefully than Sapphon had heard in many years. ‘I will not leave Tharsis to an uncertain fate. Too often in these past months we have vacillated, compromised and allowed ourselves to be blinded to certain truths. The Deathwing will conclude the battle, alone if necessary, to ensure Tharsis’s continued prosperity.’

Unseen by the others, Sapphon shook his head, angered by Belial’s defiance. It was unlike the Deathwing commander to gainsay the desires of the Chaplains. Now was the most inopportune time for him to declare he served a higher calling.

‘The Ravenwing will also not shirk the fight ahead,’ said Sammael. ‘We have lost brothers whose memory and sacrifice should be honoured with laurels of victory, not hidden in the dusty chronicles of the Inner Circle. Master Belial is right, there are clear foes to destroy and a war to be won. This is the reason for which we were created.’

‘Your reticence is noted, brothers,’ said Asmodai.

‘As is your attempted disregard for the protocols of command, Master of Repentance,’ Belial replied with a growl in his voice. ‘The First and Second Companies answer to us, not the denizens of the Reclusiam. I would expect such behaviour from Sapphon, but I am disappointed in you, Asmodai. I thought you would desire the prosecution of the enemy.’

‘There is no greater priority than the Hunt, Master of the Deathwing,’ Asmodai spat back. ‘Your disappointment is a burden for you to carry, it is as nothing to me.’

‘Let us not end with dissent, brothers,’ said Sammael. ‘We all wish swift conclusion to this campaign, which has taxed mettle and courage equally. Night will bring victory, I am sure. Let us see what fresh insight the dawn heralds.’

There was a chorus of agreement, reluctant from Sapphon, a single grunt of assent from Asmodai. One by one they broke the vox-link, leaving Sapphon in quiet reflection.

The Captive

If he looked to his left, to the north, Annael could just make out the armoured column. Tanks and personnel carriers painted in muted brown and green camouflage flew Tharsian pennants from their aerials. They followed the arrow-straight highway into the wilderness, hidden from view by the hills and undulations of the countryside.

Most of the traitor invaders had been hunted down, but there were still pockets of resistance, some very well armed and consisting of the chemically-boosted and cybernetically enhanced soldiers that had led the attack on Tharsis. Tybalain and his Black Knights were acting as outriders for the tank column heading towards a concentration of enemies that had taken over a town a dozen kilometres north of the capital.

Annael flanked the advance to the east with Calatus, while Tybalain and Nerean patrolled to the west. Land Speeders in the black of the Ravenwing scouted ahead, seeking possible ambushes. So far there had been only the odd straggler, easily dealt with, but Annael remained alert.

‘Nowhere to run to, no chance of surrendering, these rebels will fight to the last, mark my words,’ said Calatus, riding a hundred metres ahead of Annael. ‘What have they got to live for?’

‘Not all soldiers have such purpose,’ said Annael. ‘I discussed as much with Sabrael, back on Port Imperial. That was when his disobedience almost got me killed, but I would gladly accept that sacrifice now if it would return him to the company.’

‘You would rather be dead and Sabrael alive?’ Calatus slowed slightly, allowing Annael to catch up. ‘He abandoned you, brother, and you know he would not wish the same.’

‘I think you are wrong. The events on Thyestes changed him. Sobered his mood a little.’

‘Too little. He still disobeyed Tybalain’s command and paid for his infraction with his life.’

‘Perhaps he was right to attack. Did he not embody the spirit of the Ravenwing more than any of us?’

‘He was foolhardy and self-interested, traits that belong in no Space Marine.’

‘But as a bladesman and a rider, he excelled. A far better warrior than I, his loss would be counted the greater of the two of us.’

‘Not by me,’ insisted Calatus. ‘You ride by my side and I trust that you will guard my back as a battle-brother is supposed to. Sabrael was unreliable, and that makes him a lesser warrior in my eyes.’

Their discussion was curtailed by the sight of a group of buildings ahead, flanking the highway. Huntmaster Tybalain called the Black Knights together and sent word to the armoured column to halt until the small settlement had been investigated.

‘Sable Hunter, Swiftclaw, keep your distance,’ Tybalain transmitted to the pair of Land Speeders. ‘Encircle and recon, do not engage unless attacked.’

The gunners of the anti-grav speeders signalled their affirmatives and swept onwards. Under the guidance of their drivers, the Land Speeders peeled apart three hundred metres from the settlement to conduct their scans from opposite flanks. Tybalain raised a fist and gestured for the Black Knights to split to a fifty-metre spread, advancing slowly while the Land Speeders conducted their sweep.

The auspex of Annael’s steed, Black Shadow, showed around two dozen buildings. The site appeared to be a marshalling yard of sorts, two slipways from the main highway running down ramps into a group of warehouses and living quarters. A small air-dock stood three hundred metres from the road, a cargo-lifter still on the elevated apron. High cranes crisscrossed the entire site thirty metres above.

‘Lookouts on the gantries,’ reported Brother Casamir, pilot of the Swiftclaw. ‘Possibly marksmen, no weapons visible yet.’

On Annael’s display three red runes blinked into existence, highlighted through the linked telemetry of the Ravenwing vehicles. He looked up at the cab of the nearest crane and focused. His helm’s auto-senses took over from his natural sight and magnified the view directly into his optic nerve.

There was a man hunkered down in the cab. Sunlight glinted on glass as he swept his magnoculars after one of the Land Speeders. He appeared to be wearing some kind of facemask, but as the resolution of the auto-senses improved Annael saw that the whiteness was pale, dead skin, the tangle of pipes he had taken to be a respirator dangling directly from the lookout’s flesh.

‘Augmetics and bionics,’ he reported. ‘Definitely enemy.’

‘Heat traces indicate thirty-plus more targets within the buildings,’ said Brother Teraphiel on the Sable Hunter.

‘Pull back! Pull back!’ To the east, the Swiftclaw rose rapidly, its anti-grav engines propelling it backwards so that Casamir’s gunner could keep the heavy bolter and chin-mounted assault cannon pointing at the enemy. ‘Heavy weapons spotted. Missile launchers and some kind of bipod-mounted projectile weapon.’

To the west the Sable Hunter also backed away, the missile pods of its Typhoon launchers directed towards the marshalling yard.

‘I’m detecting a short-range transmission,’ said Nerean. ‘Origin point somewhere in those buildings.’

‘I have it too,’ said Annael, noticing a spike on the radio reception monitor of Black Shadow’s display. He tuned his vox in to the frequency.

‘…and we will not hesitate in killing him.’ The voice was distorted but of a register that made it plain the speaker was a woman. ‘You hear me, dogs of the Lion? We have one of your ill-fated sons and we will kill him if you do not withdraw. I am Neira Kamata, the new commander of the Divine Army. The misbegotten Dark Angels have one hour to withdraw their forces from our world or we will slay the hostage. Do not underestimate…’

Annael’s vox switched back to the squad channel on an override from Tybalain.

‘A lie, I am sure,’ said the Huntmaster. ‘A desperate lie.’

‘What do we do?’ asked Teraphiel as the Sable Hunter circled the highway, moving out in a spiral to join with the Swiftclaw. ‘It’s an outrageous claim if they are bluffing. They have to know we can verify the status of every battle-brother.’

‘It matters not if it is truth or bluff,’ declared Tybalain. ‘We will teach these traitors that this is a war, not a barter. They cannot negotiate their way out of chastisement.’

‘So, we attack?’ said Calatus.

‘We attack,’ replied Tybalain. ‘Sword Four, are you receiving?’

‘Affirmative, Huntmaster. We are on support stand-by. Do you require a strike?’

‘Transmitting coordinates. Designating target Alpha. Full authority strike on Alpha.’

‘Data received. Incoming to target. Three minutes until strike.’

Tybalain signalled for them to stop and Annael turned to look south-east, where he knew the Dark Talon fighter assigned to the escort had been patrolling, ready for the strike command. He could see nothing but low cloud for two minutes and then a black speck appeared, quickly resolving into a stub-nosed craft with reverse delta wings. The Dark Talon stooped out of the cloud like a striking hawk, nose aimed at the group of buildings.

‘Full attack, follow me!’ cried Tybalain as Sword Four swept in on its run. ‘Terminate all targets. Sable Hunter, Swiftclaw, opportunity strike, all targets.’

The Ravenwing picked up speed, their heavy bikes making easy work of the relatively smooth ground that flanked the highway. To their left and right the Land Speeders accelerated past, gaining height. The Dark Talon, just two hundred metres up, soared overhead. The rift cannon in its nose crackled and a sphere of warp energy erupted within the buildings ahead, turning the metal legs of a crane into a crumpled mass. The machine toppled sideways and crashed onto the broad roof of a warehouse, smashing through ferrocrete tiles.

The Typhoon launcher of the Sable Hunter belched fire and smoke. A ripple of missiles streaked towards the marshalling yard. Detonations engulfed the closest building, punching through the thin walls and turning the metal roof to slag. The assault cannon and heavy bolters of the Swiftclaw spewed fire into the crane cabs, taking out the marksmen stationed there.

Another rift cannon detonation imploded the upper floors of a four-storey habitation block on the road to the landing pad. Sword Four sped over the collapsing building, a dark shape detaching from its hull. The aircraft banked away as the stasis bomb erupted a few metres above the ground, engulfing the centre of the complex in a shimmering time-dampened field.

‘I want the leader alive if possible,’ snarled Tybalain as the Black Knights hit the highway. ‘We will teach Neira Kamata the folly of threatening the Sons of the Lion.’

Following the Huntmaster they skidded onto the roadway ramp down into the eastern portion of the marshalling yard, the plasma talons of their steeds firing bursts of miniature stars into the administration block directly ahead of them. The Land Speeders swept overhead and dived down into the crisscross of ferrocrete and buildings of the western district, their progress heralded by missile detonations, the thrum of heavy bolter fire and assault cannon rounds.

A yellow and black barrier straddled the road ahead but Tybalain did not slow. He rode straight through it. Reaching level ground, the Huntmaster peeled down a wide road to the left with Nerean, signalling for Annael and Calatus to continue straight ahead.

The bubble of stasis energy was shrinking, the crackling globe a few dozen metres in front of Annael, almost out of sight behind the buildings. Sword Four had entered hover mode and was strafing left and right, its hurricane bolters unleashing a torrent of fire into the upper storeys of the surrounding hab-blocks.

Las-fire flickered down at the pair of Black Knights from a window in the second floor of a warehouse thirty metres ahead. The purple beams flared from the armour of Black Shadow, leaving welts in the paint but no significant damage.

Annael turned his steed towards the huge doors of the depot and opened fire, blasting a hole in the metal with the bike’s plasma talon. A second plasma ball from Calatus made the gap wide enough for the two to ride directly into the main floor of the building. Just as he plunged into the dark within, Annael drew his bolt pistol, riding one-handed through the gap.

The ground floor was filled with cargo containers, each ten metres long, three metres high and three wide. Most were stacked in rows, a broad concourse down the middle, but a few had been left strewn haphazardly, apparently dumped as the facility was being evacuated.

There were figures on top of the container rows, the glint of metal exoskeletons giving them away as they bounded from one stack to the next. Annael lifted his pistol and fired, a salvo of three bolts taking down an augmented soldier on the closest pile. Las-fire replied, bright beams that slashed down to either side of him.

‘Divide and conquer, brother,’ said Calatus, slowing to steer his steed down one of the rows while Annael continued up the main aisle.

Annael fired the plasma talon again, targeting the distant container stacks. The ball of energy smashed into the uppermost container, throwing it into the air in a cloud of twisted shrapnel and molten drops. More las-fire converged on the Ravenwing rider, striking his armour and bike. He turned in the saddle and fired his pistol at the enemy behind him, felling two more, but there were at least another ten sheltering on the high stacks.

It was time to take a different approach. Accelerating, Annael sped to the end of the artificial causeway, slewing past the abandoned containers in his path. He braked heavily and skidded about at the end, facing the way he had come.

‘Sword Four, lock hurricane system to my beacon. Fire for full effect.’

‘Please confirm, brother. You wish me to fire on your position?’

‘Confirmed! Open fire now!’

Annael gunned the engine and released the clutch, Black Shadow leaping forward like a stallion given full spurs. A second later the metal roof of the warehouse erupted into shards while bolt detonations sparked across the tops of the container stacks. Light poured into the gloom through dozens of holes as Annael accelerated, the fire of the Dark Talon tearing into the warehouse from above, tracking his position. As he powered down the depot, the fusillade ripped along behind him, cutting through the warriors taking cover on the containers.

The tyres shrieked and billowed smoke as Annael braked hard, taking the end of the container row at speed; heeling his bike over hard, fighting handlebars that juddered in his grasp, threatening to throw him off. The hurricane bolter salvo from above followed unerringly, a few rounds sparking from the floor behind as he accelerated again, the rest returning as a storm of small explosions along the container piles as Annael gained speed once more.

‘Cease fire, Sword Four. Cease fire!’ he signalled as he reached the far end of the warehouse again.

A second passed, the last few rounds detonating just a couple of metres away, and then the torrent of bolts stopped. The crack of Calatus’s bolt pistol sounded strangely tinny and distant in the quiet that fell. Annael looked at his steed’s sensor display. He noted seventeen rapidly-cooling signals from those that had been slain. There were still several more active heat returns on the mezzanine level around the warehouse walls, skulking in offices and rest dormitories.

Annael guided Black Shadow to a set of open metal steps leading up to the second floor. He was about to dismount when a vox-transmission stopped him.

‘We have an armoured vehicle, breaking south-west at speed,’ reported Casamir. ‘Half-track, transport, turreted heavy weapon.’

‘Black Knights, break off for pursuit, target Beta.’ Tybalain’s orders were issued in a quick but calm manner. ‘Land Speeders, Sword Four, continued suppression and eradication of enemy at target Alpha.’

‘Affirmative, pursuing target Beta,’ said Annael, moving off towards the street. He was already reaching seventy kilometres an hour by the time he burst back out of the warehouse onto the rockcrete street, Calatus just a few metres behind.

Click here to buy The Unforgiven.

A BLACK LIBRARY PUBLICATION

First published in Great Britain in 2015.
This eBook edition published in 2015 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd, Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS UK.

Produced by the Games Workshop Design Studio.

The Unforgiven © Copyright Games Workshop Limited 2015. The Unforgiven, 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.
All Rights Reserved.

A CIP record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN: 978-1-78251-785-6

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

See Black Library on the internet at
blacklibrary.com

Find out more about Games Workshop’s world of Warhammer and the Warhammer 40,000 universe at
games-workshop.com

eBook license

This license is made between:

Games Workshop Limited t/a Black Library, Willow Road, Lenton, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, United Kingdom (“Black Library”); and

(2) the purchaser of an e-book product from Black Library website (“You/you/Your/your”)

(jointly, “the parties”)

These are the terms and conditions that apply when you purchase an e-book (“e-book”) from Black Library. The parties agree that in consideration of the fee paid by you, Black Library grants you a license to use the e-book on the following terms:

* 1. Black Library grants to you a personal, non-exclusive, non-transferable, royalty-free license to use the e-book in the following ways:

o 1.1 to store the e-book on any number of electronic devices and/or storage media (including, by way of example only, personal computers, e-book readers, mobile phones, portable hard drives, USB flash drives, CDs or DVDs) which are personally owned by you;

o 1.2 to access the e-book using an appropriate electronic device and/or through any appropriate storage media; and

* 2. For the avoidance of doubt, you are ONLY licensed to use the e-book as described in paragraph 1 above. You may NOT use or store the e-book in any other way. If you do, Black Library shall be entitled to terminate this license.

* 3. Further to the general restriction at paragraph 2, Black Library shall be entitled to terminate this license in the event that you use or store the e-book (or any part of it) in any way not expressly licensed. This includes (but is by no means limited to) the following circumstances:

o 3.1 you provide the e-book to any company, individual or other legal person who does not possess a license to use or store it;

o 3.2 you make the e-book available on bit-torrent sites, or are otherwise complicit in ‘seeding’ or sharing the e-book with any company, individual or other legal person who does not possess a license to use or store it;

o 3.3 you print and distribute hard copies of the e-book to any company, individual or other legal person who does not possess a license to use or store it;

o 3.4 you attempt to reverse engineer, bypass, alter, amend, remove or otherwise make any change to any copy protection technology which may be applied to the e-book.

* 4. By purchasing an e-book, you agree for the purposes of the Consumer Protection (Distance Selling) Regulations 2000 that Black Library may commence the service (of provision of the e-book to you) prior to your ordinary cancellation period coming to an end, and that by purchasing an e-book, your cancellation rights shall end immediately upon receipt of the e-book.

* 5. You acknowledge that all copyright, trademark and other intellectual property rights in the e-book are, shall remain, the sole property of Black Library.

* 6. On termination of this license, howsoever effected, you shall immediately and permanently delete all copies of the e-book from your computers and storage media, and shall destroy all hard copies of the e-book which you have derived from the e-book.

* 7. Black Library shall be entitled to amend these terms and conditions from time to time by written notice to you.

* 8. These terms and conditions shall be governed by English law, and shall be subject only to the jurisdiction of the Courts in England and Wales.

* 9. If any part of this license is illegal, or becomes illegal as a result of any change in the law, then that part shall be deleted, and replaced with wording that is as close to the original meaning as possible without being illegal.

* 10. Any failure by Black Library to exercise its rights under this license for whatever reason shall not be in any way deemed to be a waiver of its rights, and in particular, Black Library reserves the right at all times to terminate this license in the event that you breach clause 2 or clause 3.