Nareth spoke casually, though his tone hid a deeper intent, as he addressed the newly returned Primarch, Roboute Guilliman, with apparent concern:
"Guilliman, have you decided on the direction for the Ultramarines' first expedition? Do you require assistance?"
The Imperial expeditionary fleets, much like the Rogue Traders who expanded the Imperium's reach, always chose a primary direction for each wave of expansion.
This was the most efficient way to conquer new territories; endless course changes or attempts at circular expansion were not only inefficient but nearly impossible, given the unpredictability of the Warp.
The difference, however, was scale; smaller Rogue Traders Militants usually had only one direction of expansion, while larger Militants and Imperial fleets had multiple branch routes extending from their main push.
Guilliman, who had long pondered this matter, replied:
"My Legion will advance toward Terra, to secure a stable supply route and reestablish communication."
At this, Nareth immediately began analyzing Guilliman's reasoning in his mind.
He knew that the Emperor in golden armor had appeared in dreams to Konor, instructing him to raise Guilliman.
The Emperor had chosen Guilliman's foster father well, an exceptional statesman who had shaped the boy into a skilled political strategist whose every move was deliberate.
'Guilliman's current challenge is to recover from the disastrous rebellion in the Osiris Cluster that once shamed the War-Borns.'
'If I hadn't intervened, his best way to redeem that loss would have been to personally destroy the Osiris Psybrid.'
In M899, during their Legions' campaign against Orks of the Glortian Empire in the Eurydice Terminal, Guilliman responded to a call for aid and slew the xenos.'
'That victory freed the newly founded Ultramarines from the humiliation of their past.'
But thanks to Nareth's interference, Legion Master Gren Vosotho had survived, and the fleet's losses were far lighter than in the history he remembered.
'With the rebuilding of the Legion going more smoothly, and no Psybrids left to avenge themselves upon, Guilliman's new objective was to move closer to the heart of the Imperium, Terra itself.'
'Hence, he chose the western region of the galactic map, establishing a safe route toward Terra.'
Once Nareth understood Guilliman's plan, he began to think of how to use that information.
One of the four worlds he intended to select for the future Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar, Talassar, lay directly along Guilliman's chosen path.
After the invention of the Warp drive, mankind's expansion was no longer gradual or predictable.
Warp jumps could never be forecast precisely: without charts, one jump might land a fleet a few light-years away, or dozens, even hundreds of light-years off, in a completely different sub-sector.
The nearby Sidai System had only been discovered after several waves of expansion by Rogue Trader Louis von Valancius.
Though Nareth doubted Guilliman would discover Talassar in his first expansion, he decided to play it safe.
This time, he would cast the Dice of Prophecy upon Talassar.
'Next time, I'll divine Calth.'
'The closer a world is to Macragge, the more likely it will be found early, certainly more than Firestorm or Aventine.'
'The Eastern Jewel of the Galaxy… or the Northern Jewel, Triken… which of them will shine brightest under my dominion?'
After deciding on the next sequence of his divinations, Nareth suddenly recalled that Talassar would one day become not only the homeworld of the Void Tridents Chapter, but also the birthplace of Cato Sicarius.
'Hmm… so the future Lord of Watch, Champion of the Macraggean Knights, Duke of Talassar, Destroyer of Titans, and, hah, the one toyed with by Titans… Sicarius will be one of mine, then.'
'My apologies, Guilliman, your boy Cato will one day be my child.'
With that thought, he said sincerely:
"A wise decision. If you ever require my help, do not hesitate to ask."
'Knowing Guilliman's progress will also help with my future divinations, and there are others I intend to get ahead of.'
"Thank you for the offer," Guilliman said confidently. "Though my Legion numbers fewer than thirty thousand, I have faith we will succeed. The Emperor entrusted me with the 13th Legion; I will not disappoint him."
The entire War Council could feel the confidence and ambition in his voice.
Horus Lupercal and Ferrus Manus exchanged thoughtful looks.
Then Leman Russ's booming voice cut through the hall:
"Nareth! Before you go helping others, how goes your task?"
"If your little witchlings can't manage it, my wolves can lend a hand!"
The other Primarchs frowned at his crude tone, most showing clear disdain.
Even Hannibal scowled; he detested Russ's wasteful destruction of supplies and civilian lives.
Wherever the Space Wolves, Warhounds, or Corpse-Grinders marched, ruin followed.
Even Vulkan, who hated conflict among brothers, was disgusted by Russ's brutality.
Horus showed no overt reaction but considered the wolf's intent. He had long noticed that Russ wore his savagery like a mask, hiding his own brand of cunning.
Guilliman, unlike the others, was not overly offended. He had read Russ's war reports, comparing the recent ones to those from the time when his Legion was still called the Rout.
He noted a difference: the Wolves were no longer the indiscriminate savages they once were.
There was reason, restraint, hidden beneath the feral exterior, though few would bother to look closely enough to see it.
Nareth glanced at Russ, his tone dry:
"No need to trouble yourself. But tell me, since you despise psykers so much, how did you even get here today? Did you run across the stars?"
Russ growled, "The Astropaths are not the same! They are bound to the All-Father in soul and flesh, not like your witchspawn!"
Nareth immediately seized on the slip.
"Oh? Shall I remind you what the Emperor Himself has said?"
He rose slightly.
"The Emperor is not a god."
"And yet you stand here preaching Fenrisian myths, claiming your 'All-Father' descended from the heavens? That, Russ, is blasphemy against the Imperial Truth."
Horus intervened quickly to cool the tension.
"Russ has simply been shaped too deeply by Fenrisian culture."
"Brother, I warned you when we first met, there are no gods, no heavens, no divine All-Father."
Guilliman nodded firmly.
"There are no gods in this universe, Russ. You must understand that."
"He will," said Malcador, breaking the tension and smoothly changing the subject.
"Now, the Fabricator-General is about to join us."
Nareth knew from past meetings that the Fabricator-General of Mars, the symbol of the other head of the Imperial Aquila, always entered the War Council exactly one minute before it began, on the twelfth second, the sacred number of the Machine God.
Clad in red robes, the Fabricator-General stepped into the Golden Hall under the gaze of every Primarch, taking his seat at the far end of the table, opposite the Emperor's throne.
Moments later, two golden figures appeared.
The Emperor of Mankind took His seat upon the central throne, His face grave.
At His right hand sat Constantin Valdor, Captain-General of the Custodian Guard, opposite Malcador the Sigillite.
Valdor's place was not earned by conquest but by trust; he was the Emperor's shield and sword, the First of the Custodians, the Lord Commander of the Ten Thousand.
These four, the Emperor, the Fabricator-General, Malcador, and Valdor, were the only eternal seats of the War Council.
"My lord," said Malcador and Nareth in unison.
"Emperor," said the Fabricator-General.
"Father!" chorused the Primarchs.
The Emperor spoke, His tone solemn:
"This council convenes to address a newly emergent threat."
"The 105th Vanguard Company of the Fifth Legion, after close reconnaissance and assessment, has determined that this threat poses a grave danger to the borders of the Imperium."
"Xenos have seized control of a human colony in that region and are exploiting the population and resources to create vast armies of slave-soldiers."
Unlike most Legions, the Star Hunters did not wage war as a single cohesive host.
They were pathfinders, scouts, explorers, spread thin across the edges of the galaxy.
As Malcador manipulated the hololithic star map, a region in the northern galaxy flared into light.
A projection expanded, a star system rendered in fine detail.
Nareth's eyes narrowed as he read the name:
"Advex-Mors."
Its six crimson-marked worlds were labeled Threat Level: Extreme.
His pupils constricted as he thought.
'Advex-Mors… Rangdan.'
Then the Emperor's voice drew him back:
"The purpose of this council," He said, "is to determine which Legion shall be tasked with eradicating this new and dire threat."
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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