Roboute Guilliman: Lord of Ultramar Read online

  promise and its creation. When Hierax spoke again, his voice was strong but cold. He already knew that Guilliman would refuse his recommendation.

  Just as I know what it will be, Guilliman thought. I'm disappointed. It would have been nice to be proven wrong.

  Hierax took a breath. 'If necessary, yes,' he said. 'Our mission...' He stopped, realising he had overstepped. The mission was not his to define.

  'Go on,' Guilliman urged. 'Speak freely, captain. If we cannot do that in this space, half of its utility vanishes.'

  Hierax nodded his thanks. 'Theoretical - our mission here is one of extermination. Practical - the most efficient way of ending the enemy while minimising our expenditure of lives is through the weaponry of the First and Second Destroyer companies.'

  'You see no other value to the world?'

  'Mining will still be possible after the worst of the radiation sub­sides. Its agricultural possibilities are poor. What Thoas offers will survive the worst we can do on the surface.'

  'I see.'

  The Chapter Masters remained silent. You know me well, Guil­liman thought. They knew the debate was about more than a tactical decision.

  'Captain Iasus,' Guilliman said. 'You were on the surface. What are your views?'

  'I respectfully disagree with my brother's evaluation.' The captain of the 166th was younger than Hierax, and a native of Macragge. His features were far less worn than Hierax's. The long, livid scar that ran from his right temple down the length of his jaw made his profile seem even more aquiline. 'The value of Thoas is more than industrial. There was an important culture there. Its mem­ory should be preserved.'

  'That culture failed,' said Hierax.

  'It did, Guilliman agreed. 'Does that mean it should be expunged from our collective memory? Do we have nothing to learn from it? Does that mean its stand against the orks does not deserve to be commemorated? That there were no battles worthy of song?'

  'It does not,' Hierax admitted.

  'No, it doesn't.' Guilliman placed his hand on a stack of bound vellum manuscripts on the side of his desk. 'There is no tacti­cal value to the remembrancers on our vessels. They contribute nothing to the battlefields of the Great Crusade. What they con­tribute in between the battlefields is inestimable. The records of the pacifications. The celebrations of victories. The memorialisation of the fallen. The analyses of the recovered cultures. This is the living tissue of the Imperium's culture, Hierax. Even the dead civilisations are part of the human story. They have a life beyond the dust of their citizens.'

  He turned to look at Thoas. Most of the planet was a dark brown, but it was far from dead. Its atmosphere was turbulent with the flashing energy of storms. The coasts were green with vegetation. Thoas was alive. Even with the cancer of the orks upon it, it was alive. He would not kill it. And he would not kill its history.

  'The orks took Thoas from humanity,' he said. 'We will take it back. We will not lose its heritage in the process.'

  'The radiation levels...' Hierax began.

  Guilliman raised a hand. 'I know,' he said. They are high in the region of the ruins. Will we make them higher yet? We come to reclaim and to build. We will take Thoas back, and we will build a new civilisation here. Of course it will surpass what was there before, but it will also honour this world's history.'

  He smiled at Hierax. 'Do you understand, captain?'

  'I do.' The Destroyer's tone was flat.

  I wonder if you do, Guilliman thought, even more disappointed. Hierax was a good officer, but he was limited. He also symbolised a larger problem Guilliman had seen growing in the Legion, one the time had come to deal with.

  'The Nemesis Chapter stands ready to deploy when and as ordered,' Hierax said.

  'I'm sure the Twenty-second does.' Guilliman's use of the numeral designation sounded like a rebuke. 'And deploy it will.'

  'All of it?' Hierax asked.

  Guilliman raised an eyebrow at the shade of anger in the ques­tion. More evidence of the necessity of what he was about to do. He was glad he had asked Hierax to be here. Listening to the cap­tain had confirmed him in his resolution.

  'No,' he said. 'Not all of it. There are some actions that will not be necessary.'

  Hierax's lips thinned.

  'The time and the place must be the correct ones,' Guilliman said. 'These ones are not.'

  Hierax bowed his head. He said nothing.

  To the Chapter Masters, Guilliman said, 'You have seen the intel­ligence gathered by the Scouts of the 166th and 223rd Companies.' He emphasised the credit. He had just informed Hierax he would, once again, not be seeing action. He wished the captain to know, also, that the contribution of his Chapter had value.

  'We land in the plain?' Banzor asked.

  Guilliman nodded. 'Your thoughts?'

  'A good staging area. The orks have the high ground, but our pres­ence will draw them down.'

  'Their high ground is a dead end,' said Atreus. 'If we force them back there, that is where they die.'

  'And they will be a diminished enemy in retreat,' Klord Empion of the Ninth mused.

  'That practical depends on the theoretical of the orks abandon­ing the ruins,' Banzor said.

  'When have greenskins ever resisted the bait of a fight?' said Gage. 'Good point,' Banzor admitted.

  'We see no chance the ruins are so important to them that they might hold their ground?' said Vared of the 11th. 'Highly unlikely,' Guilliman said, 'It would be unprecedented,'

  “The unprecedented,"' said lasus, quoting Axioms 17,vi, '"is the catalyst for adaptability. Do not hope to expect every eventuality. Meet it instead.’”

  Hierax frowned at the other captain's temerity. Gage raised an eyebrow, amused.

  'The very words,' Guilliman said, grinning.

  He ended the briefing a few minutes later. The target was clear. So was the strategy. This wasn't an attack that called for finesse. It would have bored Lion El'Jonson or Fulgrim senseless, Angron might have appreciated the straightforward application of over­whelming force, though he would have been baffled by the decision to capture and preserve the ruins. This was the strategy the enemy and the goal called for, though, so it was the strategy that would be employed. The difference between doctrine and dogma is the gulf between triumph and defeat.

  'Evido,' Guilliman called to Banzor as the Chapter Masters and the captains filed out of the compartment. 'A brief word, if you would.'

  Banzor walked back to the front of the desk. Gage remained where he was, off to the side and between the desk and the crystalflex walls. Guilliman had told him some of what he had planned, but not all. He was visibly startled by the fact Guilliman had asked the Chapter Master of the 16th to stay. Banzor merely looked puzzled.

  When the doors had closed behind the others, Guilliman said, 'What is your evaluation of Captain lasus?'

  'In what sense?'

  'In general. And in his ability to command, in specific.'

  'A fine warrior. An excellent captain.'

  'He inspires loyalty?'

  'He does. He doesn't just lead from the front. He's fought at one point or another with just about every squad in the company. They know he knows what they do and what they need to do it.'

  'So his mission with the squads was typical rather than unusual.'

  'Exactly.’

  'Adaptable, then,'

  'Very.'

  'And his overall command of the company? I appreciate his fine knowledge of the workings of the squad, but a captain needs to be more than a very flexible sergeant.'

  'You need have no reservations on that score, primarch. The 166th has been exemplary under his leadership.'

  'I'm glad to hear it. Thank you, Evido.'

  Banzor left, still puzzled. He had questions, but he did not ask them. Guilliman did not offer him answers. He had not made a final decision yet. Until he did, there were no answers for Banzor's questions.

  Guilliman moved to his seat behind the desk. He looked at Gage. The Ch
apter Master Primus looked less puzzled. He's guessed, Guilliman thought. Even so, he would not open this particular dis­cussion with Marius. He wanted the quiet of his own counsel first.

  Gage understood. Gage knew him well. So Gage spoke of some­thing else. 'Thoas,' he said. 'Are the ruins that important?'

  'You think I should let Hierax off his leash.'

  Gage shrugged. 'The Destroyers haven't been planetside at all on this campaign.'

  'Their tactics and their weapons have not been called for. We are not fighting that kind of war.'

  Gage hesitated. 'Will we ever?'

  'For those companies as they are presently constituted, I hope not.'

  '"As they are presently constituted"?' Gage asked.

  Guilliman waved off the question. 'Later,' he said. 'To answer your first question - yes. The ruins are that important.'

  'Why?'

  'Their symbolism. Thoas is a culmination. We will crush the ork empire here. We will reclaim a world that we know was once a human one. Another piece of what is and must be inherent to the Imperium will be restored.'

  'All that would be true regardless of the state of the planet.'

  Guilliman gave the old veteran a sideways look. 'Since when are you such an advocate for the Destroyers' way of war?'

  'I just don't think we should reject Hierax's approach out of hand.'

  'I haven't. I said the symbolism of the ruins is important. It is for two reasons. We are not destroyers, Marius. That isn't why my Father created us. It can't be. It won't be. So preserving a city, even a dead one, is important. Especially now.'

  'Because of the one we destroyed,' Gage said after a moment.

  'Yes,' said Guilliman. 'Because of the one we destroyed.'

  Monarchia. Lorgar's pride. The city raised to glorify the Emperor. The city razed because it had deified the Emperor. A place of archi­tectural wonder. A beautiful city. The XIII Legion had come to the jewel of Khur. The Ultramarines had taken possession of the city. They had rounded up the population. They had reduced the empty city to ash and glass.

  The people of Monarchia had committed no crime. They were loyal to the Emperor. Loyal to a fault, Guilliman thought. They were guilty only of believing the lie taught them by Lorgar, a lie Lorgar had believed himself. The memory of the grief on Lorgar's face during his confrontation with the Emperor haunted Guilli­man. It had been the terrible agony of a son punished for doing what he had thought would be pleasing to his father.

  The Ultramarines had destroyed a city and the spirit of its pop­ulace to chastise Lorgar. To humble his pride.

  To make a point.

  Symbolism.

  'I keep wondering,' Gage said, 'why us?'

  'Because my Father could trust us to perform the task as it needed to be done. Would you have wished it on any of the others?'

  Gage shook his head.'And Angron might have enjoyed himself,' Guilliman added. 'We did what we had to. We were deliberate. We were dispassionate. My Father's chastisement was measured.'

  With a sigh, Gage said, 'I did not feel measured when we flat­tened Monarchia.'

  'None of us did.' The destruction had taken its toll on the Word Bearers. That had been its purpose. There had been a cost for the XIII Legion too. 'We suffered a blow because of what we did there. We took that blow because it was necessary and because we could stand it. Do you see what Thoas can be for us?' Symbolism. He tapped a data-slate, summoning the picts Iasus and the Scouts of the 166th had captured. 'There is majesty there. Majesty worth preserving, and worth building upon. We will take back this city, and in time we will see a new civilisation rise here'

  'We'll be creators again,' Gage said.

  'Thoas will wash the bitterness of Monarchia from our mouths.'

  As he spoke, Guilliman turned his seat to look out through the crystalflex at the planet below. He saw the plain where his legions would land. His eyes locked onto the spot where he knew the ruins stood. He thought of absent cities. He tried to make him­self think of cities yet to be, not of cities unmade. He failed. He thought of both.

  He thought of the force of symbolism, and of the choice he knew he had already made.

  Though there are circumstances where elevation may be inevitable, it must never be perceived as such. The alter­native is disastrous : the foregone conclusion bypasses the necessity of die theoretical. What is preordained can never be questioned. Thus, ossified tradition rules without the benefit of reason. In the worst cases, the errors it leads to are so far from identified and corrected that reality itself is misread, misrepresented and denied. Elevation must therefore always have a clear reason. Its justice must be undeniable. Inevitability must only be perceived in retrospect.

  No principle is beyond the perception of envy. Consul Gallon demonstrated this. His ambition led him to see my elevation as manifesting the wrong sort of inevitabil­ity. He could only see with the eyes of a member of the old order on Macragge. His misunderstanding was thus itself inevitable. This perception is the spawning ground of schism and betrayal. Key, then, is the creation of a mili­tary culture where such perception is unthinkable. Such a culture goes beyond its warriors being able to see that devotion is based on merit. Rather, they take this fact as an unquestioned truth, as self-evident as the truth of the lmperium itself.

  - Guilliman, Essay on the Principles of Command, 8.17.xxiii

  Two

  Elevation • Tradition • Theoreticals

  'At least we were warned,' Sirras said. 'At least we know why we’re here.'

  Hierax grunted. Sirras was right, but the mercy was a slight one. The shock was still real. The humiliation was just as sharp. He was spared being caught off-guard during the ceremony. But he had had several hours for the injury to fester. His anger had devel­oped layers. And teeth.

  The warriors of the XIII Legion's 22nd Chapter stood to attention, row upon row, in the vast landing bay of the strike cruiser Cavascor. They were here to await the arrival of their new Chapter Master.

  The ten captains of the Nemesis Chapter formed an honour line before the bay doors. Hierax, the longest serving, was at the centre. Sirras stood to his right. The captain of the 223rd was a veteran of almost as many battles, but he looked decades younger. His skin was tight around his skull, and his short hair was so pale it was almost translucent. On Hierax's left was Laches, captain of the First Destroyer Company, who had succeeded Phalaris when he had been elevated to Chapter Master.

  'Why is he doing this?' Sirras asked. His aquiline features were pinched in anger.

  'Because it is his will,' Hierax said. He did not want to talk about the elevation. The other captains were silent. He had not spoken with any of them since the announcement had reached the Cavascor. The humiliation was too deep a wound. He did not trust his reactions. His anger might break out, and he was determined to salvage his honour at least.

  Klaxons sounded. The bay doors were about to open.

  'Our new Chapter Master is here,' Hierax said. It took him a moment to realise he had spoken aloud.

  'It should be you,' said Laches.

  I thought it was going to be, Hierax thought. This time he held his tongue. He disliked displays of hurt pride. He would not let his become a spectacle.

  'It should be you,' Sirras echoed.

  The bay doors rumbled open. The void shield held the atmos­phere in as the Thunderhawk Masali Spear entered the bay. Its retro exhaust nozzles blasted downwards as its main engines cut out. The gunship lowered itself to the deck on a cushion of flame. The rum­ble of its arrival still echoed as its forward assault ramp lowered.

  Hierax braced himself for the ceremony. He gave in to his pride then. His face was still, and he was silent. His thoughts were a roar. It should be me. He had held the thought away for hours. It had been at the root of his pain, yet he had forbidden himself to articulate it. It was too strong, though.

  It should have been me. I am proud. I am angry. But I am not wrong.

  Heavy footsteps from within the Thu
nderhawk. They would be those of Marius Gage, Hierax thought. The Chapter Master Primus come to do the honours. Under protest? Hierax wondered. He hoped so. Gage knows damn well what an insult this is. Not just to me, but to the entire company. Gage was Terran, after all. He under­stood. He had to.It was not Gage who first emerged from within the Thunder- hawk's troop hold. It was Guilliman. Gage appeared a few steps behind him. They stopped at the base of the ramp.

  A ripple passed through the psyche of the company. Sirras gasped. Hierax's resentment became confused. He was no less angry. He had been furious since the briefing aboard the Macragge's Honour. But to keep his anger directed at Guilliman... That was impossible. Not when he stood there, his presence filling the bay.

  Hierax was confused. The primarch's actions enraged him. Yet he could not look upon the primarch with fury.

  He is the greatest of us. All that we are comes from him.

  And this too was true. Hierax's memory of his first sight of Guilliman had the strength and vividness that came only with revelation, with epiphany. Hierax had been fighting in the XIII Legion for decades when the Emperor found his lost son. Dec­ades of victories, decades of glory, but decades too of an absence, perpetually felt if never understood. And then the day had come when Guilliman stood before the Legion, and the absence had vanished. Hierax had experienced a completion that was individ­ual and collective. He had gazed upon his leader and his father, and known himself to be an Ultramarine. Guilliman towered over them all. His face was carved by war, his eyes sharpened by study. He was a living idol fashioned into something that partook of the human while being greater than that state.