Lorgar: Bearer of the Word Read online

  THE HORUS HERESY®

  The Primarchs

  LORGAR: BEARER OF THE WORD

  Gav Thorpe

  PERTURABO: HAMMER OF OLYMPIA

  Guy Haley

  MAGNUS THE RED: MASTER OF PROSPERO

  Graham McNeill

  LEMAN RUSS: THE GREAT WOLF

  Chris Wraight

  ROBOUTE GUILLIMAN: LORD OF ULTRAMAR

  David Annandale

  More Word Bearers from Black Library

  THE FIRST HERETIC

  Aaron Dembski-Bowden

  BETRAYER

  Aaron Dembski-Bowden

  THE UNBURDENED

  David Annandale

  AURELIAN

  Aaron Dembski-Bowden

  THE PURGE

  Anthony Reynolds

  WORD BEARERS: THE OMNIBUS

  Anthony Reynolds

  (Contains the novels Dark Apostle, Dark Disciple and Dark Creed)

  CHILDREN OF SICARIUS

  Anthony Reynolds (audio drama)

  Contents

  Cover

  Backlist

  Title Page

  The Horus Heresy

  The Embers

  Book 1: Revelations

  After Monarchia

  Book 2: Ascendance

  The Brotherhood

  Book 3: Invocation

  The Galaxy Burns

  About the Author

  A Black Library Publication

  eBook license

  This book would not have been possible without First Chaplain Ant Reynolds and Keeper of Faith Kor Ph-Aaron

  A Black Library Publication

  First published in Great Britain in 2017

  This eBook edition published in 2017 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd,

  Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Produced by Games Workshop in Nottingham.

  Cover illustration by Mikhail Savier.

  Lorgar: Bearer of the Word © Copyright Games Workshop Limited 2017. Lorgar: Bearer of the Word, The Horus Heresy Primarchs, 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 13: 978 1 78496 584 6

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

  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

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  The Horus Heresy

  It is a time of legend.

  Mighty heroes battle for the right to rule the galaxy. The vast armies of the Emperor of Mankind conquer the stars in a Great Crusade – the myriad alien races are to be smashed by his elite warriors and wiped from the face of history.

  The dawn of a new age of supremacy for humanity beckons. Gleaming citadels of marble and gold celebrate the many victories of the Emperor, as system after system is brought back under his control. Triumphs are raised on a million worlds to record the epic deeds of his most powerful champions.

  First and foremost amongst these are the primarchs, superhuman beings who have led the Space Marine Legions in campaign after campaign. They are unstoppable and magnificent, the pinnacle of the Emperor’s genetic experimentation, while the Space Marines themselves are the mightiest human warriors the galaxy has ever known, each capable of besting a hundred normal men or more in combat.

  Many are the tales told of these legendary beings. From the halls of the Imperial Palace on Terra to the outermost reaches of Ultima Segmentum, their deeds are known to be shaping the very future of the galaxy. But can such souls remain free of doubt and corruption forever? Or will the temptation of greater power prove too much for even the most loyal sons of the Emperor?

  The seeds of heresy have already been sown, and the start of the greatest war in the history of mankind is but a few years away...

  THE EMBERS

  959.M30

  Forty-Seven Nine (formerly Hierapolis)

  The Tower of Infinite Lords was less impressive than its name suggested. Three storeys high, hexagonal, a pilaster of white gold rising from the peak of its roof, it was in fact smaller than any one of the weapons turrets on the Fidelitas Lex. But the structure exerted a dominance over Forty-Seven Nine that more than justified its title.

  'I was expecting something bigger,' said Captain Jarulek. Like his skin beneath, Jarulek's grey armour was covered in a continuous tracery of cuneiform - neatly inscribed passages from the Book of Lorgar in the tongue of Colchis, a sign of its wearer's devotion.

  At his back stood forty Word Bearers, their slab-grey armour anointed with blessed oils that glistened on squad markings and the rune of the Perpetual Spiral Chapter. With them came Chaplain Melchiades, though Kor Phaeron had known him better as Dar Voldak back on Colchis.

  The First Captain, the Keeper of Faith, favoured of the Urizen, had taken personal command of the last assault on the bastion of the church that called itself the Silvered Cup. Across Hierapolis the cult's shrines and followers had burned. The last were to be slain that day by order of Lorgar Aurelian. With Kor Phaeron were ten Space Marines of the Ashen Circle, warriors sworn to the destruction of all false idols and heresies.

  'It is but a capstone, I believe,' said Kor Phaeron. 'If the confessions extracted from the non-compliant are to be trusted, the tower sits atop a necropolis that stretches beneath most of this city.'

  He cast an arm to encompass the ruins that surrounded them, buildings levelled by orbital and Whirlwind missile bombardment the previous day. Amidst all of the destruction, and despite the ferocity of the attack, the tower still stood. The official Legion reports put this endurance down to a concealed energy field of some kind. Kor Phaeron suspected that a more otherworldly force was at play, hence his decision to intervene directly in its razing legitimising the presence of his own men in the guise of the Ashen Circle - men who knew the Truth could not be buried nor burned.

  'It doesn't even have guns,' scoffed one of Jarulek's subordinates, a sergeant named Bel Ashared. Kor Phaeron was of a mind to recommend the squad leader to Erebus for promotion to the ranks of the Legion's Chaplains and this expedition was, though Bel Ashared did not know it, a test of temperament - and loyalties.

  'Then you will not shirk from being the first through the gates,' replied Kor Phaeron, pointing his chainblade towards the tower's ornate entrance.

  'The Emperor wills it, it shall be done.' Bel Ashared raised his bolter in acceptance of the challenge and then signalled for his squad to make ready for the attack.

  Melchiades stepped forwards, a grim figure in black, a tabard of grey over his armour reminiscent of the Covenant priests of their home world - a sign that he had been raised from infancy in the embrace of the holy church. Like Kor Phaeron himself, though the Keeper of Faith needed
no such decoration for others to know his storied history.

  'Dwellers within,' the Chaplain declared, his voice amplified to a roar by his armour's address system, ringing back from the stone walls. 'You have been found guilty of non-compliance with the desires of the Emperor of Mankind, refusing the benefits of Enlightenment and denying the Imperial Truth. In persisting with your worship of false gods you directly defy the mandates of Terra. Furthermore, in refusing to acknowledge the falsity of your worship you commit the willful and persistent adherence to an error in matters of faith.

  'There is but one Lore and Law, and it is from Him of Terra that it springs. Font of Truth, the Emperor has claimed this world for the benefit of all humankind. You refused to set aside your selfish vanity and are therefore guilty also of treason against humanity. No clemency will be offered, no mercy shown. Your lives are forfeit and your estates shall become one with the great Imperium of Mankind.'

  Such formalities observed, Jarulek signalled his warriors to advance, the squad of Bel Ashared at the spearhead of the attack. Kor Phaeron and his followers from the Ashen Circle followed close behind on foot, their hand flamers and barb-toothed axe rakes in hand, the speedy advance offered by their jump packs not required on this occasion.

  Bel Ashared himself reached the silver portal first, and placed a trio of melta bombs upon its surface before withdrawing. Their detonation turned the gates to charred splinters and molten metal, ripping a hole through the thick barrier to expose the broken bars and locks within. Wrenching open the doors, the Word Bearers stormed the threshold, bolters spitting at some enemy as yet out of sight of Kor Phaeron. Sparks of las-fire flashed past the Space Marines as they stormed the breach, flicking ineffectually from their war-plate.

  Entering in the wake of the assault, Kor Phaeron and his companions found themselves in a small foyer, a circular shrine ahead, the altar already toppled and broken by Jarulek's warriors. The plastered walls were painted with elaborate murals that reminded Kor Phaeron of illustrations from the oldest holy books of Colchis - depictions of the Empyrean he had studied for long years before the arrival of the Emperor and the XVII Legion. The scars of laser and bolt marked the swirling designs, among spatters of dribbling blood. Bodies torn apart by bolt detonations filled the doorways and littered the white slabs underfoot, swathed in silken vestments of the Silvered Cup faithful, their blood seeping along the cracks between the tiles. Nothing else was alive.

  There was another door at the opposite side of the chapel, of plain white-painted wood. A squad of Jarulek's men stood ready to open it.

  'Wait!' Kor Phaeron commanded, striding quickly across the shrine-room. 'An inner sanctum, I expect. We shall deal with the blasphemies within. Jarulek, search for routes into the catacombs - there is no telling how many of these vermin might flee through the tunnels. Coordinate with your squads scouring the city on the surface so that none escape.'

  The captain hesitated for a moment, and then looked at the Ashen Circle gathering around Kor Phaeron. He raised his blade across his eye-lenses in salute and then turned away, issuing orders to his warriors.

  'Dathor, break the door,' Kor Phaeron said, stepping aside for the Ashen Circle warrior to approach.

  The chainblade of Dathor's axe rake snarled into life, teeth becoming a blur at its tip. With three swings he hewed at the portal, the third bedding the blade deep into the timbers, allowing him to rip the splintering fragments from the frame.

  Kor Phaeron entered first, stepping into a short hallway, too narrow for the jump packs of the Ashen Circle.

  'Ensure none follow,' he told them before advancing to the stairwell at the far end. He ascended quickly, into a chamber that ran the breadth of the tower.

  Here he found statuary and more murals, and at the far end a handful of robed men with long beards hurriedly taking books and amulets out of a large chest. One of them noticed Kor Phaeron and straightened, panic on his face. He started to reach for something inside his robe.

  'If that is a weapon, you all die in the next thirty seconds,' said Kor Phaeron. 'Stay your hand and you live. Which one of you is Audeaus?'

  The five elders looked at each other before one of their number, even more wizened than the others, raised a timid hand.

  'I am Audeaus, Overpriest of the Silvered Cup.' He puffed out his chest, affecting a semblance of disdain, though it was clear from his trembling hands that it was all bluster. 'This blasphemy shall not g—'

  'Know that this day your prayers have been answered, Audeaus.

  'I have seen the manner of Powers that you serve. A time of testing is at hand, but you must stay strong. Do you have means to escape this chamber?'

  'I… Why are you doing this?'

  'Does it matter?' snapped one of Audeaus' fellow elders. 'He is letting us go!'

  'An omithopter in a loft station,' another replied on behalf of their leader. He stepped towards a ladder that ran up one wall, pointing to a trapdoor above it.

  'Nourish your faith, but remain hidden. Let the Truth be your strength, and whatever becomes of this world know that your faith will prevail. Your souls shall be rewarded. There will come a time when your true masters call upon your descendants.'

  As a group they started towards the ladder. Kor Phaeron raised his bolt pistol and aimed at Audeaus.

  'I must have proof that your sect has been destroyed. Your head will suffice The rest of you, fly east for two kilometres and then north east out of the city. There is a gap in the augur screen. You will find refuge in the Midden Mires. Disappear.'

  'I thought you said my prayers had been answered,' said the overpriest, alarmed. He tried to run for the ladder but the other priests snatched hold of his robes and forced him back towards Kor Phaeron.

  'Did you not pray for the Powers to lay their gaze upon you?'

  Audeaus nodded hesitantly. Those who had given him up hurried towards the escape route.

  'Now you shall lay your gaze upon the Powers,' Kor Phaeron said, and pulled the trigger.

  BOOK 1:

  REVELATIONS

  COLCHIS

  118 years ago [Terran standard]

  24.5 years ago [Colchisian calendar]

  Translator's Note on Time

  The world of Colchis is of a magnitude larger than Holy Terra, and consequently even approximations of time by the accepted nomenclature of 'Terran standard' are unsuccessful in conveying the very different diurnal and nocturnal cycle of its inhabitants. Before we begin, the reader should familiarise themselves with the following information.

  The orbit of Colchis around its star takes nearly five years - four point eight to be more precise. Therefore if a Colchisian refers to being six years old, they are in fact twenty-eight or twenty-nine Terran years old.

  A Colchisian solar day, that is, one complete planetary rotation, is seven point one Terran days, or one hundred and seventy point four Terran hours. Clearly even humans, as adaptable as they are, cannot survive with a ninety-hour day/ night cycle, and so Colchisian culture developed a system for intermediary sleep and waking periods.

  These periods are often referred to as 'days' in many volumes but this can be confusing and portray an erroneous image of events. In this text I have endeavoured to achieve a more literal translation of the Colchisian terminology, which is derived from the language of the ancient desert settlers.

  'Day', in the following manuscript, refers to a complete orbital turn of the planet, from sunrise to sunrise This day is further divided into the following times of approximately twenty-four hours each (the exact length depends further upon seasons and locality, and chronometry on Colchis is a dedicated and difficult scientific discipline in its own right): Dawnaway Mornday Long Noon Post-noon Duskeve Coldfall High Night.

  These sub-days are then broken down into three further periods, two of wakefulness and one of sleep, approximating eight hours each. These three periods are called wake-rise, wake-main and rest-eve, with the last being the sleep period (although frequently inhabit
ants may sleep less than eight hours during Mornday, Long Noon and Post-noon, and slightly longer during the darkness of the remaining time).

  One might therefore refer to wake-rise of Dawnaway, being sometime in the first eight hours of the first twenty-four-hour period of a new Colchisian day. Custom has it that the hottest time, wake-main of Long Noon, is also a rest period, for when the local star is at its zenith, it is exceptionally deleterious to health to be out of cover. Conversely, rest-eve of High Night is the coldest and darkest period of the Colchisian day.

  As for other such timekeeping measures such as months, local year counts and so forth, I have spared the reader all but the most scant detail, for such things are exceptionally complex and not necessary for understanding this text.

  1 1 1

  Sands the colour of rust, ash and old sweat stretched out to the haze-blurred horizon. Even in the baking heat some life clung on - scrubs of thorny bushes and trees, cacti and brightly flowered succulents rose in the shadows of pillar-like rocks, sustained within the meandering wadi and drawing sustenance from the deep remains of lost oases. There was movement everywhere if one knew where to look. Scorpions and sun beetles skittered over the scorching sands and flies buzzed lazily from cactus to cactus. Far above, in the wisps of cloud that scudded across a pale-blue sky, immense sand vultures with four-metre wingspans circled in the cool upper airs, eyes as powerful as magnoculars scanning the ground for any morsel.

  Dust devils skirted across the dunes, erasing the tracks around the camp, piling fresh drifts against the sides of thirteen large tents made of fabric striped red and blue, black and gold, grey and white. Sunshades held up on strong poles shielded against the unrelenting Long Noon blaze, keeping the worst from the backs of prized bipedal sunstrider mounts and much more heavily set sternback sled-beasts. Their short hair stained red by the dust, the animals panted in the heat despite the shade, eyes closed against the glare coming off the nearby dunes.

  More huge parasols were set up on the leeward side of the camp, and beneath them dustered the Dedined. Old and young, they huddled about their solar stoves cooking patties made from grey cactus flour flavoured with treasured drops of honeyspider milk. They talked quietly and nursed their canteens - perilously low now that they were two and a half days out from the last oasis - debating the best course to take at wake-rise of Duskeve, when the dropping temperatures made travel practical again.