Heresy Bk. 01: Prophecy of Betraya

Author's note:

This story and the ones to follow are set in the Warhammer 40,000 universe. Credit goes to Games Workshop and their publication company The Black Library. The events of the story are my own, and though I'm no professional author, I hope I can do some justice to the characters.

To anyone who has read the Horus Heresy novels, this takes place before book 1, Horus Rising.

This story and those to follow are non-erotic. If you are looking for sex, you won't find it here. I hope everyone enjoys. Feedback is always appreciated, good or bad, as are comments.

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Heresy book 1 - Prophecy of Betrayal

It is a time of legend.

The armies of the Emperor of Earth have conducted a Great Crusade and conquered the galaxy, the Emperor's elite warriors crushing the myriad of alien races from history.

Human supremacy has reached new heights. Gilded citadels of marble and gold have been raised to celebrate the many victories of the Emperor, triumphs held on a million worlds. The epic deeds of his most powerful and deadly warriors recorded for all time.

The greatest of these are the Primarchs, superhuman beings who have led the Emperor's armies of Space Marines to victory a thousand, thousand times. They are the pinnacle of the Emperor's genetic knowledge, unstoppable and glorious. The Space Marines are the mightiest human warriors in the galaxy, each able to best a hundred normal men in combat.

Tens of thousands make up each Space Marine Legion. They along with their Primarch leaders conquer the galaxy in the name of the Emperor, bringing the Imperial Truth with them.

Chief among the Primarchs is Horus, the favored son of the Emperor, the brightest star. He is the Warmaster, the commander-in-chief of the Emperor's military, vanquisher of a thousand times a thousand worlds, conqueror of the galaxy. He is a warrior and diplomat without peer.

How will the Imperial truth stand up to fate?

~Dramatis Personae~

The Primarchs

Horus, Primarch and Warmaster, Commander of the Luna Wolves

Fulgrim, Primarch of the Emperor's Children

The XVI Legion "Luna Wolves"

Ezekyle Abaddon, First Captain

Tarik Torgaddon, Captain, Second Company

Hastur Sejanus, Captain, Fourth Company

Horus Aximand, "Little Horus", Captain, Fifth Company

Serghar Targost, Captain, Seventh Company, Lodge Master

Garviel Loken, Captain, Tenth Company

Falkus Kibre, Captain, Justaerin Terminator Squad

Kalus Ekaddon, Captain, Catulan Reaver Squad

Maloghust, equerry to the Warmaster

The XVII Legion "Word Bearers"

Erebus, First Chaplain

The 63rd Expedition Fleet

Boas Comnenus, Master of the Fleet

Hektor Varvaras, Lord Commander of the Army

Regulus, Adept, envoy of the Martian Mechanicum

Imperial Personae

Ardarik Velas, Official Remebrancer, imagist

Marie Kardis, Official Remebrancer, documentarist

Melus Khol, Official Remebrancer, poet

Camille Gaines, Official Remebrancer, artist

Kharri Van Eisen, Adeptus Administratum Representative

Leilani Mollitas, Sister of Silence, Oblivion Knight, Brazen Sabre Cadre

Jerika Erdiss, Neophyte, Brazen Sabre Cadre

Non-Imperial Personae

Hratli, Lord of the White Dragons, Lamaranth warrior clan

Drott, Lodge Master of the Crimson Eagles

Darmios, Prophet of Fate

~Chapter 1~

~Lamaranth

~A Gathering

~A Rare Opportunity

The lush green planet orbiting a small sun had been cut off from humanity for almost ten thousand years. Its people having never set foot on Terra and any memories they have are merely legend. They have survived, flourished even. Their fertile plains being ideal for growing crops and their villages defended from local predators by a warrior caste of knights.

Many knightly orders existed on Lamaranth, each ruling in their own way. They created mighty castles, some of which backed against a wide swath of mountains extending east to west along the only major land mass of the planet while others backed against the vast ocean.

The fertile valleys allowed for the growing of crops. Wheat, native fruits and vegetables were chosen thousands of years ago and have been grown ever since. Locals raised large, scaly Grox for their meat and hides, often earning the favor of knights based on the size and quality of their herds.

For all its beauty, life on Lamaranth was perilous. Huge reptilian creatures called the mountain peaks home, feeding on Grox and the occasional unlucky villager. When not at war with each other, aspiring knights spend their time hunting down these drakes. Only by killing one and returning with its head would one become a knight.

Its oceans were bright, warm and inviting. Were it not for sharks and large, predatory squid a hundred feet long, one might enjoy a swim. The life of a fisherman was one of short life expectancy, for those fish he intends to sell at market also attract larger animals.

Designated Sixty-three Eighteen by Imperial charts, it would be the eighteenth world brought to compliance by the Sixty-Third Expedition Fleet. It would be restored, with its long lost brethren brought into the Imperium of Man. One way or another.

The vessels gathered in the void, silently shifting in the darkness. Their hulls like gothic monuments, crenelated and cathedral-like. Great, sculpted bows like lethal arrows aimed at the luminous globe in the middle distance. Plasma fires burned blueish white, propelling the thousands of feet of gunmetal hulls toward Lamaranth.

The lead vessel was made of steel the color of a stormy sky, with a prow of shining white. The only decorations those of a martial nature, lines of script the size of a man which detailed worlds conquered, battles fought and honors won. The only things of note were twofold: the single vertical slit on a pale yellow background signifying an eye, and the roman numerals XVI on either side of the knife edged prow.

Other ships fell in line behind her, assuming a formation much like the warriors that they carried. Many were the same storm cloud color, while others were a rusty red or olive drab. In tribute to those borne within, this vessel had a name, proudly displayed on the iron hull in high gothic script: Vengeful Spirit.

Others joined her, ranging in size and class, larger and smaller, each markedly different yet having the same purpose. Pride of Cthonia, Holy Execution, Mortis Probati, Armorum, Salvation and others. These vessels carried the will of the Emperor, the iron gauntlet which would see humanity rule the stars. Each one serves its Legion proudly, bearing the furious cargo that is the XVI Legion, the Luna Wolves.

Hastur Sejanus entered the strategium, an ironwork platform above the command deck which supported a raised central dais of plain ouslite three feet deep and thirty feet in diameter. The Warmaster had never cared for a throne or seat, preferring to stand as equals with his men. The walk space around the dais was half covered by tiered galleries which extended high into the chamber behind it. Approaching the dais, he pulled a small coin out of his pocket, a coin made of burnished steel displaying a black wolf head behind a crescent moon. The symbol of the legion. Placing it in the ouslite disc, Sejanus turned and looked down upon the command deck.

The command deck was busy, officers of the Imperial Navy working on this and that, performing their jobs with practiced efficiency. It always amazed him how so many people could work in one place and seem to largely ignore one another. He turned his attention back to the room as the armored glass doors opened with a slight hiss of pressurized air. Boas Comnenus entered the large chamber with a few officers in tow.

Comnenus took a seat near the raised dais in the strategium, one metal hand rested on the dais itself, the red ocular lenses which replaced his long dead eyes whirred as information was gathered and processed. His ancient body encased in a silver and steel exoskeleton and covered with a cobalt robe. He took off his hat and placed it on the dais.

Others began coming in through the armored glass doors. Lord Commander Hektor Varvaras, commander of the Imperial Army forces of the Sixty-Third Expedition entered, along with several Army aides. He was a tall, bulky fellow, aristocratic in his movements and style. Were it not for several scars across his face, one might mistake him for a noble, lost on his way to some gala event. He placed his gloves on the dais

Sejanus was amazed at how big the strategium was, the sheer scale taking his breath away. He scanned the room, looking for his fellow captains. He sighed, resigning that they hadn't yet arrived. He did however notice a slender female figure, barely visible in the shadows beneath the overhang. Her lithe form scanning the room, watching those in it with judging eyes. Not far away was the less hidden form of another woman, younger and conversing with an army aide.

He had heard of the Sisters of Silence, the Emperor's weapons against psychic powers. Most people knew them as Blanks or Untouchables; such was their connection to the warp. Most beings have a connection to the warp - a soul, if you will. Those individuals who have a strong psychic connection to the warp have a brighter soul, while Blanks have no presence in the warp, going so far as to create a null zone around them. The Silent Sisterhood travels where the Emperor wills in great Black Ships, seeking out witches in defense of the Imperium.

Hasur's thoughts were disrupted by the arrival of his fellow Captains. Ezekyle Abaddon of the First Company, Tarik Torgaddon of the Second and "Little Horus" Aximand of the Fifth. Each man made up a part of the mournival, the informal council to their Primarch.

"As usual, Sejanus is early," Torgaddon quipped. "It's no wonder the Warmaster favors you."

"Tarik, it's good to see you're in good spirits," Sejanus said, returning his greeting.

"When is he not?" Remarked Abaddon. His noble face was accentuated by his shaven scalp. He, like Horus Aximand was known as 'Son of Horus', nearly identical in looks to their beloved Primarch. His wide-spaced eyes were bright, enhanced by the lume-globes above the dais.

Sejanus bowed to the First Captain, honoring the rank as well as the man. Abaddon was a warrior without equal among the Luna Wolves, winning many victories and honors, fighting by the side of Horus himself many times. Turning slightly, he bowed to Torgaddon and Aximand in turn.

"Little Horus, it's good to see you again," Sejanus said, noting his brothers normally melancholic mood was ever present.

"It's good to see you too brother. I wish it were under better circumstances."

"Emperor's bones man, it's just a briefing!" Torgaddon remarked with a laugh.

"True, however this one in particular makes my skin crawl. Especially with them here," Aximand groaned, nodding toward the women in the shadows.

"Who are they?" Asked Tarik, risking a glance in her direction.

"Sisters of Silence, Witchseekers," spat Abaddon as if it were a curse.

"Shouldn't we be happy to have Blanks around?" Asked Sejanus. He had never met a Sister of Silence, nor fought beside one. Still, the null spaces they were reputed to create didn't sound like such a bad thing.

"Maybe, but it means that someone suspects we will encounter psykers," Aximand said.

The glass doors opened again and booming laughter filled the room, driving those inside to silence. Through the doors came the mechanical figure of Adept Regulus of the Martian Mechanicum. His gold and steel armature still bearing some of his original flesh. Several mechadendrites extended from his back, each ending in a mechanical connection of some sort or another. The Tech-Adepts of Mars believe that flesh is weak, the body being nothing more than housing for information. Many have replaced their fleshy bodies with mechanical ones.

Behind Regulus came Kharri Van Eisen, her small frame covered in Golden robes bearing the symbol of the Adeptus Administratum, charged with overseeing tasks such as Imperial tithes and acquisition of supplies for expeditionary fleets. Her place here was merely in support of future planetary governors or aiding in diplomatic relations with new worlds. Adept Regulus placed a small cog inlaid with the symbol of the Mechanicum, while Van Eisen placed a small stamp used for sealing parchment wax. A personal item placed on the dais registers a desire to be heard and acknowledged.

Two giant forms entered behind Van Eisen, easily recognizable as Space Marines. Maloghust, tall and muscular with rough, angular features walked beside the Warmaster. Maloghust was once a captain before becoming Horus's equerry. He had a natural affinity for politics, extending assistance to the Primarch when needed.

The Warmaster was a full head taller than any of his sons, a product of his gene-seed mixed with the Emperor's own DNA. He easily stepped onto the raised dais as silence filled the room. Everyone acknowledged him with a bow, his Astartes sons - his Space Marines - dropping to one knee.

"Come now my friends, up with you. Enough formalities please," Horus said to the assembly before him. His voice like honey, with a subtle undertone of cold steel.

He rotated slowly around the dais, nodding to everyone, pointing out some with his infectious laugh. The mournival had moved to the shadows of the overhang and Sejanus felt his smile broaden as the Warmaster acknowledged them. As was the norm with these formal briefings, the mournival was back amongst the shadows, present, yet silent. Abaddon stood near the dais, his Luna Wolves coin on the dais, his position as First Captain granting him a position to be heard.

Warmaster Horus was the most perfect sculpture given life, a demi-god in human form. His face chiseled, yet soft. His eyes shone brightly in the light of the strategium, a tempest waiting to be unleashed. Sejanus felt a pleasant and familiar fear shudder through him, something only a Primarch can do.

"Once again my friends, we must face the tedium of briefings. This time I promise to keep you no longer than necessary." Horus's voice easily carried to through the room. Those who had regularly attended briefings laughed at his statement.

"Once again, we have come upon a segment of our brethren, our long lost family who have been separated since Old Night," Horus continued, referring to a time when Warp Storms had separated many planets outside the Sol System. "What do we know about them?"

Lord Commander Varvaras stepped forward. "These people are divided into clans, warring constantly for land. Scans indicate that the grasslands and valleys are populated, while the forests and mountains are largely devoid of humans."

"Their technology is primitive, lord," Regulus said, stepping up. His voice was metallic with a hint of static. "Estimates put them as relying on swords and bows, with only the most powerful warlords having black powder."

"My lord," Kharri Van Eisen spoke, her soft voice high, yet commanding. "I would be honored to lead an envoy to the surface and bring these people into the fold of the Imperium." Her tone indicated she was used to commanding such things, not requesting permission. She was used to being obeyed, not having to obey.

"Of course, Mistress Van Eisen," Horus spoke softly. "I shall let you assemble your team; however you will not go without guard. Lord Commander, would you be so kind as to provide the military escort?"

"Sir," Abaddon said harshly. "With all due respect, the First can handle this."

"Of course they can my son," Horus answered, turning to face him. "Nobody here doubts that. However, you will be kept in reserve, should your strength be needed."

Abaddon was fuming just under the surface; however there was no arguing with the Primarch, his word was law. "As you wish, my lord."

"What do we know about the indigenous life on the planet?" Horus asked.

Regulus stood a bit straighter as he spoke. "Our sensors have picked up large heat signatures coming from many of the mountain peaks. Our suspicion is that large creatures call that area home. The lowlands are slightly different, with many herbivores on the plains. Creatures living in the forests are still largely unknown, only occasionally coming up on thermal scanning," Regulus said. "Our biologis group aboard the Mortis Probati is studying what we can from this distance. As we move closer we should get more accurate readings."

"Thank you Magos," Varvaras said. "I shall pass this on to my men."

"Thank you all," Horus added. "Is there any other pertinent information to add at this time?"

The room fell silent, almost deathly so. The Warmaster looked at each person who had placed an item on the dais, receiving no comments as he went. As he scanned the room, he came upon the shadowy faces of the mournival, smiling at them. Sejanus felt an almost uncontrollable urge to bow to his father, though he did not have to at present. Such was the power the Warmaster commanded.

"Very well, let this briefing be adjourned. If any new information comes to us, those who have need will be informed as soon as possible," the Warmaster spoke as the assembly bowed and went about their business. Sejanus and his fellow mournival members met with Abaddon and Warmaster Horus.

"My sons, what do you think about all this?" Horus asked.

"Sir, I have a bad feeling about this place. Somehow I feel like a trap," Aximand said honestly.

"Why do you say that my son?" Horus followed Aximand's gaze, resting on the pair of Silent Sisters. "Is it because of them?"

"Partly so sir."

"Their presence should be reassuring, the protection they bring against psykers and witches may be helpful."

"Of course my lord, still something doesn't feel right about this."

"There is nothing we can't handle captain Aximand, make no mistake," Horus said before turning to Abaddon. "Ezekyle, ready the First, I want them suited and oathed to the moment, ready to deploy at a moment's notice."

"Yes sir," Abaddon replied as he bowed, moving to pass word to his men.

Ardarik Velas was the happiest man aboard the Vengeful Spirit. He had just spoken to Maloghust, the official equerry to the Warmaster, and procured a once in a lifetime chance. The chance to record the party that would bring compliance to another world.

He had received a pass that would grant him access to the gantry above one of the massive launch bays of the Vengeful Spirit. From there, he could capture images of the departing envoy, as well as several high ranking Army aides. His picter in hand, his robust body scuttled past Astartes warriors clad in shining white suits of Mk IV plate.

Ardarik Velas was short, his pot belly evident of the fortune his work had brought him. He had been an imagist for thirty years, working alongside planetary governors and scribes of the Adeptus Administratum. His works usually of an environmental nature, his landscape works featured prominently on Terra. When asked to join the Remebrancer order, he jumped at the chance, much to the dismay of his wife. He remembered how she had pleaded with him not to go, that they would spend the rest of their days apart. He couldn't turn down the opportunity, or the pay, so he had headed off to the Sixty-Third Expedition.

As Ardarik reached the stairwell leading to the gantry, his heart sank. A pair of other remembrancers had also been invited, unbeknownst to him and much to his displeasure. Melus Khol, a shapely young man with a sharp tongue and quick wit stood with Camille Gaines. Her tall, slender body and olive skin stood against the railing, chatting with Khol. His choler began to rise, not because of any romantic pursuits he may fantasize about, but about the fact that he wouldn't be alone.