Horus Rising by Dan Abnett Page A

Sejanus.’
    ‘Lost in glory,’ Aximand and Abaddon said as one voice. ‘Mourned by the Mournival. Only in death does duty end.’
    A bond that only death will break. Loken thought about Abaddon’s words. Death was the single expectation of each and every Astartes. Violent death. It was not an if, it was a when. In the service of the Imperium, each of them would eventually sacrifice his life. They were phlegmatic about it. It would happen, it was that simple. One day, tomorrow, next year. It would happen.
    There was an irony, of course. To all intents and purposes, and by every measurement known to the gene-scientists and gerontologists, the Astartes, like the primarchs, were immortals. Age would not wither them, nor bring them down. They would live forever… five thousand years, ten thousand, beyond even that into some unimaginable millennium. Except for the scythe of war.
    Immortal, but not invulnerable. Immortality was a by-product of their Astartes strengths. Yes, they might live forever, but they would never get the chance. Immortality was a by-product of their Astartes strengths, but those strengths had been gene-built for combat. They had been born immortal only to die in war. That was the way of it. Brief, bright lives. Like Hastur Sejanus, the warrior Loken was replacing. Only the beloved Emperor, who had left the warring behind, would truly live forever.
    Loken tried to imagine the future, but the image would not form. Death would wipe them all from history. Not even the great First Captain Ezekyle Abaddon would survive forever. There would be a time when Abaddon no longer waged bloody war across the territories of humanity.
    Loken sighed. That would be a sad day indeed. Men would cry out for Abaddon’s return, but he would never come.
    He tried to picture the manner of his own death. Fabled, imaginary combats flashed through his mind. He imagined himself at the Emperor’s side, fighting some great, last stand against an unknown foe. Primarch Horus would be there, of course. He had to be. It wouldn’t be the same without him. Loken would battle, and die, and perhaps even Horus would die, to save the Emperor at the last.
    Glory. Glory, like he’d never known. Such an hour would become so ingrained in the minds of men that it would be the cornerstone of all that came after. A great battle, upon which human culture would be based.
    Then, briefly, he imagined another death. Alone, far away from his comrades and his Legion, dying from cruel wounds on some nameless rock, his passing as memorable as smoke.
    Loken swallowed hard. Either way, his service was to the Emperor, and his service would be true to the end.
    ‘The names are said,’ Abaddon intoned, ‘and of them, we hail Sejanus, latest to fall.’
    ‘Hail, Sejanus!’ Torgaddon and Aximand cried.
    ‘Garviel Loken,’ Abaddon said, looking at Loken. ‘We ask you to take Sejanus’s place. How say you?’
    ‘I will do this thing gladly.’
    ‘Will you swear an oath to uphold the confratern of the Mournival?’
    ‘I will,’ said Loken.
    ‘Will you accept our brothership and give it back as a brother?’
    ‘I will.’
    ‘Will you be true to the Mournival to the end of your life?’
    ‘I will.’
    ‘Will you serve the Luna Wolves for as long as they bear that proud name?’
    ‘I will,’ said Loken.
    ‘Do you pledge to the commander, who is primarch over us all?’ asked Aximand.
    ‘I so pledge.’
    ‘And to the Emperor above all primarchs, everlasting?’
    ‘I so pledge.’
    ‘Do you swear to uphold the truth of the Imperium of Mankind, no matter what evil may assail it?’ Torgaddon asked.
    ‘I swear,’ said Loken.
    ‘Do you swear to stand firm against all enemies, alien and domestic?’
    ‘This I swear.’
    ‘And in war, kill for the living and kill for the dead?’
    ‘Kill for the living! Kill for the dead!’ Abaddon and Aximand echoed.
    ‘I swear.’
    ‘As the moon lights us,’ Abaddon said, ‘will you be a true brother to