Chapter 288: The Visitor: Malcador
No one had expected that the one coming from Terra this time would be Malcador.
Many times, quarrels between Primarchs did indeed draw the attention of the highest authorities of the Imperium, but normally the emissaries dispatched would be the Custodians. For Malcador himself to appear in person was beyond the expectations of those who knew the truth.
In fact, Malcador the Sigillite did not get along well with some of the Primarchs, especially Horus.
Perhaps it was because the Emperor had given this dark-visaged giant too much power and trust. Or perhaps it was because Malcador had long presided over the massive and tangled bureaucracy of the Imperium. The Wolf of Cthonia did not regard Malcador as someone "worthy of respect."
Maybe Horus's distrust also had something to do with his lost brothers.
Malcador was well aware of how the Primarchs spoke of him in private—especially Horus. But for political reasons, and in accordance with the will of the Master of Mankind, when the ships from Terra slowly emerged from the Mandeville Point, their first destination was the realm of the Luna Wolves.
No one knew what exactly they discussed, but when the other two parties involved in the incident arrived, Horus still maintained a veneer of politeness and political tolerance. On Malcador's long, narrow face there lingered a smile at once humble and imposing.
Hades did not think it was a good idea to let Mortarion and Konrad Curze come together after they had just fought.
But Malcador seemed unconcerned with such things—or perhaps it was simply because this mighty psyker could suppress all the Primarchs present if he so wished.
On the Vengeful Spirit, in a hidden chamber, they invited the Night Lord and the Death Guard.
Mortarion felt irritated. He did not want Konrad Curze to come within a thousand meters of Hades. But Malcador had named Hades specifically.
Damn psyker.
That was Mortarion's opinion of Malcador.
And so here they were, gathered together, heading into the conference chamber aboard the Vengeful Spirit. Malcador's personal arrival had cast a subtle weight upon all three Legions.
The atmosphere was delicate—very delicate.
Hades behaved as though he were a tourist seeing the Vengeful Spirit for the first time, curiously examining the corridors they passed. Others perhaps could not tell, but Hades noticed that along every route they walked, a great number of weapons had been emplaced—
—and the number of mortal servitors was strikingly small. The soul-flames he sensed through the Black Domain were mostly bright and resolute, belonging to Legionaries.
Clearly, that earlier chaos had left a deep impression on the Wolf of Cthonia—not only with regard to his two deranged brothers, but also concerning his Black Domain.
Hades thought to himself silently.
Within his psychic senses, he could see Mortarion's tension: his soul-flame danced like a blaze about to flare out of control. At the far end, in the distance, Konrad Curze's soul-fire seemed meager and chaotic, constantly trying to slip out of the Black Domain's range.
Hades did not let him. Even though the Black Domain was being thinned, he would not allow Curze out of his sight again. He had to stay on guard.
Meanwhile, Mortarion beside him was like an over-wound bodyguard—looking ready at any moment to swing down his scythe, or to hurl one of the grenades at his belt.
Hades thought Mortarion must surely be cursing Malcador's arrangements in his heart.
At last, they arrived.
Malcador was already seated, the eyes beneath his hood scanning the assembly with careful thought. He gave Hades a meaningful look, then swiftly passed over Mortarion (which, for both of them, was a kind of mutual reprieve). His gaze fell upon Curze, the perpetually hunched giant recoiling as though pierced by that look. Then Malcador glanced at Sevatar, and finally closed his eyes.
Horus stood to welcome his brothers. To Mortarion he gave a smile tinged with both weariness and warmth. To Hades, an apologetic smile. But when his eyes turned to Curze and Sevatar, the Wolf's smile faded quickly.
Curze and Sevatar clearly took no notice of the Wolf of Cthonia's change.
In truth, everyone present ignored the aura emanating from Konrad Curze—the Night Lord had changed. He had become… more despondent, more melancholic, carrying the silence that comes after madness.
Sevatar wished he could shield his father from those probing eyes, those malicious judgments. But he was only an Astartes, and so all he could do was stand upright in silence, showing not the slightest hint of fear or weakness.
When Horus's words of welcome faded, Malcador's voice sounded:
"Mortarion, Konrad, who will go first?"
[I cannot allow him to share a room with my commander without my presence.]
Mortarion's voice came calm and cold, while the named Konrad Curze did not stir.
"Then let us speak together."
Malcador did not hesitate. The old man gripped his staff and rose, glancing toward the inner chamber of the meeting room.
Mortarion did not move. The Lord of Death fixed his eyes on Curze with unmasked contempt and hostility.
Konrad Curze, his black hair covering most of his face, looked like some gaunt and crooked monster. In the face of Mortarion's hostility, he acted as though the Death Guard did not exist at all. He lifted a foot and followed Malcador into the inner chamber.
When Curze's shadow had fully vanished, the Lord of Death first cast Sevatar a vicious glare before slowly, reluctantly dragging his steps forward.
Sevatar felt a faint ache in his chest.
Horus gave a nod to the two warriors waiting in the hall, then he too entered the chamber.
Hades casually chose a seat, sitting down. In the shadows of the hall stood Sejanus and Abaddon in full battle-plate, with dozens of Luna Wolves at their command.
But this time, Horus had forbidden his Wolves to take part in diplomacy.
Hades decided to trust Malcador, and shrank the scope of his Black Domain. Malcador's psychic power was terrifyingly immense—within the Black Domain's perception, Hades felt as though he were staring directly into a small sun.
Sevatar silently scanned the chamber.
The atmosphere was heavy from beginning to end. That Death Guard commander sat on his chair in a completely casual manner, as though he were not at the center of this massive vortex.
Even the most violent storm has calm at its eye.
Cautiously, Sevatar walked forward. He was gambling, hoping he might try to do something—anything—for the VIII Legion. So he sat down opposite Hades.
Hades, who still seemed lost in thought, shifted his gaze. He looked at Sevatar. The Death Guard, whose physique was noticeably larger than that of a standard Astartes, gave Sevatar a suffocating sense of pressure.
Sevatar pressed his thin, dry lips together.
"Perhaps we could talk."
Hades smiled.
"Of course we can," he said, his left eye glowing red as it fixed unwaveringly on Sevatar.
Sevatar felt the wound in his chest begin to ache again.
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