The Emperor's Legion (Watchers of the Throne #1) - Chris Wraight Page 0,20

many respects superior to that of the old Legiones Astartes, they were still among our deadliest foes and quite capable of defeating one of us if sufficient care were not taken. The Long War had given them many dark gifts, ones that we had to learn about and counter.

I wondered often if we even surpassed our brothers of old now, the ones who had worn the crimson-and-gold, for we had had so many more centuries to understand the nature of the enemy we fought. That was no doubt prideful, and probably inaccurate, but still the thought often came to me.

I rounded the corner at speed, and saw my quarry. He was still running, going faster than his gunmetal-heavy armour would have suggested was possible. He might have been making for one of the pulpits higher up, hoping to find some vantage from which to launch a defence, but my pursuit had been too swift.

I opened up Gnosis’ bolter, catching my enemy on the shoulder and sending him crashing to the ground. Above us both, banners swayed heavily, caught by the backwash from the explosion.

I raced after him, watching him twist back to his feet. He was a massive brute, crusted with ridged and tarnished battleplate. His helm-lenses glowed a dull red, like magma, and he carried a two-handed warhammer. The stench of engine fuel hung over him. He might have even approached my own size, my weight, my strength – such were the perversions the warp had wrought on those who had once served the Throne.

We slammed together, and the impact rippled the stone around us. Our weapons crunched into a brace-lock, showering plasma over both of us. I swung away, hilt-first, and smashed him back a pace. He shoved back, aiming to ram the fizzing hammerhead into my chest.

He nearly connected. I judged his weapon was within a few microseconds of an impact that would have cracked my auramite breastplate. That interval, however, was comfortably sufficient to spin my blade over in my grip, ram the spear tip into the Traitor’s gorget and fire at point-blank range.

The bolt-shell exploded instantly, blasting his head apart in a shower of blown metal-shreds. His warhammer spun out of control, his limbs jerked apart and the momentum of my down-thrust sent his headless corpse crashing to the ground.

I stood over him for a moment longer, breathing heavily, my spear gripped loosely. Blood, viscous as sump-oil, oozed from the rotten stump of his neck. His metal fingers twitched. The aegis of force around his warhammer flickered out.

Slowly, carefully, I relaxed. The kill had been clean, with no damage taken. I was not satisfied with how far this one had penetrated, though. On another run, I would have hoped to have downed him further out.

I felt no particular emotion as I studied the body. I understood that my cousins in the Adeptus Astartes reserved an almost pathological hatred for their Traitor counterparts. I wondered if that made them more or less effective on the field of battle. To me, the surviving members of the Old Legions were like bands of animals – feral threats to the Throne that required culling. I felt no discernible difference in my response to them than that I had experienced when hunting xenotype tyranids and eldar in these same tunnels – they were all dangerous, all worthy of study, but unworthy of expending emotional energy upon.

I deactivated Gnosis’ energy field and stood back from the corpse. In a few moments, Palace menials would catch up and secure the body. Every atom of it would be destroyed in furnaces watched over by sanctioned priests. For the time being, though, it would lie in the dust, ruined and broken, just as so many of his kin had done ten thousand years before.

In case you are in any doubt, let me make two things clear. This was no hololith – we were in the real Palace. This was also a real legionary, once of the IV Legion, latterly part of some warband operating in the Ophir Reach, so they told me.

That knowledge may appal you, or perhaps strike you as ludicrous. How could we allow such a monster to get so close to the centre of our power, the one site we were sworn to defend above all else?

I remember when I discovered the nature of this particular Blood Game, and had similar thoughts myself. And yet, recall that the Palace is the size of a continent, with many sections lost to habitation,