what his captain already knew.
Mhotep nodded, as if possessed of sudden understanding.
‘Have the Legion serfs prepare my armour, we are leaving the ship at once.’
‘As you wish,’ Kalamar said, bowing again, but as he was retreating from the sanctum he paused. ‘My lord, please do not think me impertinent, but why have we docked here at Vangelis when our journey’s end lies at Prospero?’
‘The paths of destiny are curious, Kalamar,’ Mhotep replied, looking back down at the bowl.
43
Ben Counter – Battle for the Abyss
‘Yes, my lord.’ Even after over fifty years in his service, Kalamar did not fully understand his master’s cryptic words.
When the Legion serf had gone, Mhotep rose to his feet, his vo-luminous robes gathering up around him. From within the folds of his sleeves, he produced a stave-like object, no longer than his forearm and covered in arcane sigils.
Stepping away from the circle, a single eye was revealed at its centre as he took a bizarre course through the labyrinthine design of the room. It represented the wisdom of Magnus, Primarch of the Thousand Sons Legion and gene-father to Mhotep. Locked in his cabalistic route, Mhotep arrived at an ornate, lozenge-shaped vessel and reverently placed the stave within it. The vessel was much like a gilded sarcophagus, similar to that in which the rulers of ancient Prospero had once been entombed. The item secured, Mhotep sealed the vessel shut, a vacuum hiss of escaping pressure emitting from its confines, and inputted a rune sequence disguised within the sarcophagus’s outer decoration.
‘Yes,’ uttered Mhotep, the task done, absently caressing a scarab-shaped earring, ‘very curious.’
‘IT IS A low turn out,’ muttered Antiges beneath his breath.
Within the stark, grey ferrocrete austerity of the Ultramarines muster hall three Astartes awaited Cestus and his battle-brothers.
The three were seated around a conference table inset with a single arcing ‘U’. A huge tapestry, depicting the auspicious day when the Emperor came to Macragge in search of one of his sons, framed the scene. Clad in glorious armour of gold, a shining halo about his patrician features, the Emperor stretched out his hand to a kneeling Roboute Guilliman, who reached out to claim it.
That day, their primarch had been truly born and their Legion’s inception cemented.
Even now, and rendered as mere artistry, Cestus could not help but feel his heart lift.
‘With such short notice, I had expected less,’ the Ultramarine confessed, approaching the gathering with Antiges. Cestus’s battle-brother had briefed his captain on the attendees. Brynngar he 44
Ben Counter – Battle for the Abyss
knew, of course, but the two others, a Thousand Son and a World Eater, he did not.
Cestus and Antiges were joined by four more of their brothers –
Lexinal, Pytaron, Excelinor and Morar, for the sake of appearances. The rest, Amyrx, Laeradis and Thestor, were with Saphrax on a separate duty. The Ultramarines had called the gathering, so it was only proper that they arrived at it in force to show their commitment.
‘Greetings brothers,’ Cestus began, taking his seat alongside his fellow Ultramarines. ‘You have the gratitude of Guilliman and the eighth Legion for your attendance here this day.’
‘As is well,’ said a bald-headed Astartes with richly tanned skin, ‘but we beseech you to illuminate us as to your plight.’ His voice was deep and powerful. Clad in the panoply of the Thousand Sons Legion, a suit of lacquered dark red and gold power armour, as angular and proud as the monuments of Prospero, he cut an intimidating figure. Antiges had already informed Cestus that the Thousand Son was Fleet Captain Mhotep.
Darkly handsome, bereft of the usual battle scars and functional facial bionics wrought by years of unremitting warfare, this Mhotep had a curious, aloof air. His shining eyes seemed to bore into Cestus’s very soul.
Not all of the assembly
Mhotep nodded, as if possessed of sudden understanding.
‘Have the Legion serfs prepare my armour, we are leaving the ship at once.’
‘As you wish,’ Kalamar said, bowing again, but as he was retreating from the sanctum he paused. ‘My lord, please do not think me impertinent, but why have we docked here at Vangelis when our journey’s end lies at Prospero?’
‘The paths of destiny are curious, Kalamar,’ Mhotep replied, looking back down at the bowl.
43
Ben Counter – Battle for the Abyss
‘Yes, my lord.’ Even after over fifty years in his service, Kalamar did not fully understand his master’s cryptic words.
When the Legion serf had gone, Mhotep rose to his feet, his vo-luminous robes gathering up around him. From within the folds of his sleeves, he produced a stave-like object, no longer than his forearm and covered in arcane sigils.
Stepping away from the circle, a single eye was revealed at its centre as he took a bizarre course through the labyrinthine design of the room. It represented the wisdom of Magnus, Primarch of the Thousand Sons Legion and gene-father to Mhotep. Locked in his cabalistic route, Mhotep arrived at an ornate, lozenge-shaped vessel and reverently placed the stave within it. The vessel was much like a gilded sarcophagus, similar to that in which the rulers of ancient Prospero had once been entombed. The item secured, Mhotep sealed the vessel shut, a vacuum hiss of escaping pressure emitting from its confines, and inputted a rune sequence disguised within the sarcophagus’s outer decoration.
‘Yes,’ uttered Mhotep, the task done, absently caressing a scarab-shaped earring, ‘very curious.’
‘IT IS A low turn out,’ muttered Antiges beneath his breath.
Within the stark, grey ferrocrete austerity of the Ultramarines muster hall three Astartes awaited Cestus and his battle-brothers.
The three were seated around a conference table inset with a single arcing ‘U’. A huge tapestry, depicting the auspicious day when the Emperor came to Macragge in search of one of his sons, framed the scene. Clad in glorious armour of gold, a shining halo about his patrician features, the Emperor stretched out his hand to a kneeling Roboute Guilliman, who reached out to claim it.
That day, their primarch had been truly born and their Legion’s inception cemented.
Even now, and rendered as mere artistry, Cestus could not help but feel his heart lift.
‘With such short notice, I had expected less,’ the Ultramarine confessed, approaching the gathering with Antiges. Cestus’s battle-brother had briefed his captain on the attendees. Brynngar he 44
Ben Counter – Battle for the Abyss
knew, of course, but the two others, a Thousand Son and a World Eater, he did not.
Cestus and Antiges were joined by four more of their brothers –
Lexinal, Pytaron, Excelinor and Morar, for the sake of appearances. The rest, Amyrx, Laeradis and Thestor, were with Saphrax on a separate duty. The Ultramarines had called the gathering, so it was only proper that they arrived at it in force to show their commitment.
‘Greetings brothers,’ Cestus began, taking his seat alongside his fellow Ultramarines. ‘You have the gratitude of Guilliman and the eighth Legion for your attendance here this day.’
‘As is well,’ said a bald-headed Astartes with richly tanned skin, ‘but we beseech you to illuminate us as to your plight.’ His voice was deep and powerful. Clad in the panoply of the Thousand Sons Legion, a suit of lacquered dark red and gold power armour, as angular and proud as the monuments of Prospero, he cut an intimidating figure. Antiges had already informed Cestus that the Thousand Son was Fleet Captain Mhotep.
Darkly handsome, bereft of the usual battle scars and functional facial bionics wrought by years of unremitting warfare, this Mhotep had a curious, aloof air. His shining eyes seemed to bore into Cestus’s very soul.
Not all of the assembly
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