Horus Rising by Dan Abnett Page B

already made a determination for war, and all he expects of me is to prosecute it to the best of my abilities. A weapon doesn’t question who it kills, or why. That isn’t the point of weapons.’
    Sindermann smiled. ‘No it’s not, and that’s how it should be. I’m curious, though. I didn’t think we had a tutorial scheduled for today.’
    Beyond their duties as iterators, senior counsellors like Sindermann were expected to conduct programmes of education for the Astartes. This had been ordered by the Warmaster himself. The men of the Legion spent long periods in transit between wars, and the Warmaster insisted they use the time to develop their minds and expand their knowledge. ‘Even the mightiest warriors should be schooled in areas beyond warfare,’ he had ordained. ‘There will come a time when war is over, and fighting done, and my warriors should prepare themselves for a life of peace. They must know of other things besides martial matters, or else find themselves obsolete.’
    ‘There’s no tutorial scheduled,’ Loken said, ‘but I wanted to talk with you, informally.’
    ‘Indeed? What’s on your mind?’
    ‘A troubling thing…’
    ‘You have been asked to join the Mournival,’ Sindermann said. Loken blinked.
    ‘How did you know? Does everyone know?’
    Sindermann grinned. ‘Sejanus is gone, bless his bones. The Mournival lacks. Are you surprised they came to you?’
    ‘I am.’
    ‘I’m not. You chase Abaddon and Sedirae with your glories, Loken. The Warmaster has his eye on you. So does Dorn.’
    ‘Primarch Dorn? Are you sure?’
    ‘I have been told he admires your phlegmatic humour, Garviel. That’s something, coming from a person like him.’
    ‘I’m flattered.’
    ‘You should be. Now what’s the problem?’
    ‘Am I fit? Should I agree?’
    Sindermann laughed. ‘Have faith,’ he said.
    ‘There’s something else,’ Loken said.
    ‘Go on.’
    ‘A remembrancer came to me today. Annoyed me deeply, to be truthful, but there was something she said. She said, “could we not have just left them alone?”’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘These people. This Emperor.’
    ‘Garviel, you know the answer to that.’
    ‘When I was in the tower, facing that man—’
    Sindermann frowned. ‘The one who pretended to be the “Emperor”?’
    ‘Yes. He said much the same thing. Quartes, from his Quantifications, teaches us that the galaxy is a broad space, and that much I have seen. If we encounter a person, a society in this cosmos that disagrees with us, but is sound of itself, what right do we have to destroy it? I mean… could we not just leave them be and ignore them? The galaxy is, after all, such a broad space.’
    ‘What I’ve always liked about you, Garviel,’ Sindermann said, ‘is your humanity. This has clearly played on your mind. Why haven’t you spoken to me about it before?’
    ‘I thought it would fade,’ Loken admitted.
    Sindermann rose to his feet, and beckoned Loken to follow him. They walked out of the audience chamber and along one of the great spinal hallways of the flagship, an arch-roofed, buttressed canyon three decks high, like the nave of an ancient cathedral fane elongated to a length of five kilometres. It was gloomy, and the glorious banners of Legions and companies and campaigns, some faded, or damaged by old battles, hung down from the roof at intervals. Tides of personnel streamed along the hallway, their voices lifting an odd susurration into the vault, and Loken could see other flows of foot traffic in the illuminated galleries above, where the upper decks overlooked the main space.
    ‘The first thing,’ Sindermann said as they strolled along, ‘is a simple bandage for your worries. You heard me essay this at length to the class and, in a way, you ventured a version of it just a moment ago when you spoke on the subject of conscience. You are a weapon, Garviel, an example of the finest instrument of destruction mankind has ever wrought. There must be no