By James Swallow
Within the wake of the Dropsite bloodbath, Imperial forces and people unswerving to the Warmaster Horus unharness assassins to lead to a quick finish to the clash
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The railgangers took this as a signal and broke into a run, scattering away down the curve of the street. For a split second, Yosef was possessed by a fury so high that all he wanted to do was race after the thugs and beat them bloody into the cobbles; but then he forced that urge away and bent down to help the injured youth to his feet. The young man’s hand was wet where he had cut himself on the broken glass. ” said the reeve. The youth took a woozy step away from him. ” “I won’t,” he told him.
You are the personal guard of the Lord of Earth, as pure a warrior-kindred as many might aspire to become. And in that, I would have thought you of all men would consider the tactics of the Assassinorum to be…” He paused, feeling for the right word. “Underhanded. ” Valdor’s face shifted, but not towards annoyance as Malcador had expected. Instead he smiled without humour. “If that was a feint to test me, Sigillite, it was a poor one. ” “It’s been a long day,” Malcador offered. “The Legio Custodes have done many things your assassins would think beyond us.
THE TRANSPORT RUMBLED through the thermals rising from the surface of the Atalantic Plain, and inside the aircraft’s cargo bay, the bare ribs of the walls creaked and flexed under the heavy power of the thruster pods. Beneath the transport’s belly, a blur of featureless desert raced past, torrents of windborne rust-sand reaching up from the dusty ground to snatch at it. In the distant past, thousands of years gone, this region would have been deep beneath the surface of a vast ocean, one of many that stretched across the surface of Terra; all that was left now were a few minor inland seas that barely deserved the name, little more than shrinking lakes of mud ringed by caravan townships.