Domus Discordia Chapter 46
Noise filled the Reclusiam, the chatter of many voices, deep as only Transhumans could be. The source of these voices were the gathered ranks of the Storm Heralds, arranged in their new Company ranks. In three square blocks they stood, on either side of the long nave, Second, Third and Fourth Company's all waiting in their ceremonial robes. Their faces bore the scars of recent events, physical and spiritual, for they had seen woe and discord in abundance yet their zeal was undiminished.
Along with them was an assortment of other Storm Heralds; pilots, drivers, lesser Techmarines and the entire Librarian contingent. Most of the Dreadnoughts were here too, their reactors generating a subliminal thrum and their bulk filling most of the empty space reserved for the lost Companies. Only the fleet crews were absent, for no Chapter would ever allow its defences to be dropped or its orbital space to go unwatched, not even for a moment.
Standing on the dais before the golden arch Toran looked over the assembled ranks and felt his hearts lift. Despite all that had occurred recently the Chapter remained strong, these Brothers remained stalwart and they had lost none of their fervour. From this seed the Storm Heralds would grow, Toran thought, better and nobler than they had been before. His eye passed to the side, where his fellow Captains and Masters were stood beside him. Hakulo, Nimodes, Cyvo, Furion, Echeb and by sufferance Memnos. Toran's eye settled upon the new Captain Cyvo, who looked bewildered by his new rank but proud and eager to prove himself.
Suddenly there was susurrus in the ranks, as all stiffened to attention. Toran stood proudly as a new figure appeared at the far end of the nave. It was Phalros, emerging with his head held high. The new Chapter Master had been invested that very morning, in accordance with all traditions and before the eyes of the Storm Heralds. Under the open sky and blazing sun he had sworn sacred oaths to Him on Terra, then been proclaimed sound in body by Memnos and mind by Echeb, before being presented with the laurels of command by the Equerry of the Techmarines and anointed by Chaplain Furion. Then as one every Brother had sworn fealty to the Storm Herald's twenty-sixth Chapter Master: Phalros the Pure.
Toran watched Phalros approaching, flanked by the sole surviving Honour Guard. Phalros suited his new status perfectly, his patrician features solemn and his senatorial mien bearing the mantle of leadership as if born to it. His robes were simple yet elegantly spun and an Adamantium gauntlet sat upon his right hand, symbolic of the revered relic Power Fist he had been granted on ascension.
Toran had never felt more certain that Phalros would be a far better Chapter Master than he ever could be. Noble, stern and respectful of tradition, while being pragmatic enough to make the hard choices. Toran knew he could never have satisfied this multitude of requirements; he could never have brought the unity and balance so desperately needed. His place was on the battlefield, making snap calls, not weighing ponderous matters of state.
Phalros passed before the gazes of the waiting crowds, then ascended to the dais. Under it were placed a pair of chairs, one plated in gold to represent the supremacy of the Emperor, the other silver to represent the devolved authority of the Chapter Master. Phalros settled into the silver chair and looked out at the crowd with a measured gaze.
After a moment Chaplain Furion cried, "All hail the Emperor and His anointed servant, Phalros!"
As one, hundreds of Transhuman voices bellowed, "Hail the Emperor and Phalros!"
Phalros accepted the acclaim graciously then spoke and his words carried effortlessly to all, "Welcome Brothers, be at ease. I thank you for your fealty and your faultless service. We have seen darkness beset the Storm Heralds on all sides but the dawn has come at last. One day we shall rise to new heights, united in our faith and purity. I wish this could be that day, I wish this was a day of rejoicing, but justice cannot be stayed."
Furion took his cue and cried, "Bring forth the first prisoners!"
From the end of the nave came seven prisoners. They had been granted coarse cilices to cover their nakedness but their wrists and ankles were bound with plasteel chains. They stumbled along, followed by Dreadnoughts Hibernia and Yellico, who kept them moving relentlessly.
These were the surviving Apothecaries, those who had sided with Lessall and Samect. They stumbled along with lowered gazes, as all around them the ranks hissed and growled threateningly. Toran sensed a dangerous current stirring in the ranks and had the Dreadnoughts not been here he was not sure the massed Astartes would not have torn the prisoners apart with their bare hands.
Slowly the prisoners approached, then stopped and waited. Furion proclaimed, "This court is now in session, may the Emperor grant us justice. These here before us stand accused of turning against their rightful lord and participating in the death of Gorgall. They also are accused of conducting Heretical experiments on the sacred gene-seed, resulting in three thousand, seven hundred and thirty counts of dishonourable murder as well as killing without the sanction of the Chapter or the Lex Imperialis."
Everybody knew that they were guilty but Phalros had to hear to their case. As the Chapter Master only he and he alone could judge their case and decide their sentence. Phalros opened his mouth but suddenly there was a stir and gasps arose in the ranks. Toran's eye flashed to the side and he was surprised to see Memnos stepping forward, moving to stand with the prisoners.
Phalros started and called in surprise, "Memnos, what are you doing?!"
Memnos lifted his head and uttered, "I plead guilty to participating in these crimes, I demand to be judged."
Nimodes interrupted to say, "Memnos, your sins were dire but at the last you stood with the righteous. You don't have to do this."
Memnos' face was as stone as he declared, "My fate shall be the same as theirs."
Astonished quiet fell and Phalros said, "Let it be known that none are above the Lex Imperialis. In accordance with Imperial law, are there any whom speak in your defence?"
Silence was the only reply so Phalros proclaimed, "The plea of guilty is recognised by the court. For your many crimes each of you most assuredly deserves dishonourable death and were it possible I would see you all burned at the stake and your gene-seed with you. Regrettably the Chapter yet requires your service, we cannot survive long without an Apothecary order and sending Brothers away to train with other Chapters would take too long. Therefore it is my judgement that your sentences shall be commuted."
A sudden angry mummer erupted in the crowd as voices were raised and the prisoners glanced up with hope in their eyes but Phalros rapped his gauntlet down loudly on his armrest and disabused them, "Do not think that your crimes are forgiven, for they are not. Your fetters shall be broken but your shackles will not be removed, they shall remain forever as marks of your dishonour. You shall bear the Chains of Shame to your dying day, so that all who look upon you will know of your disgrace and as a warning to the next generation of Apothecaries."
Some in the crowd actually winced at that, for this humiliation was harsh indeed. An Astartes was a proud creature, who fought for honour and glory. To strip an Astartes of his pride so was excruciating and Toran heard Nimodes mutter, "Kinder just to kill them."
Furion raised his voice and called, "Take them away, bring in the rest."
As the Apothecaries were marched away another, much larger group approached. This time under the stern visage of Ajax and Tonnant. These were the rest of the True Believers and among them Toran spied Wrethan, Tygra and Erathor, who had to be pushed in a wooden cart. Toran's eye settled on Wrethan and his breath caught in his throat at the sight of his cantankerous former Chaplain, bound and shackled so.
The group was led to trial with jeers and threats ringing loudly from the crowd. Once they stopped Furion called, "These here before us stand accused of rebellion against Terra, of murdering their rightful lord and killing fellow Storm Heralds."
Phalros imperiously called, "How do you plead?"
"Guilty!" called Wrethan, his voice clear and confident, containing no trace of deception or trickery. He sounded like a man who was happy to be here, eager to have his sentence pronounced. Many in the crowd muttered scornfully but Toran couldn't tear his eyes away from Wrethan, from the Chaplain who had been with him for so long. All their previous battles flashed in his mind and he could not square the gallant memory of Wrethan with the sight before him After all they had experienced together he couldn't believe Wrethan was welcoming his dishonourable execution without a fight.
It wasn't right.
Suddenly Toran stepped forward and said, "I would speak for the defence!"
A roar of denial arose from the crowd, angry protests as the Astartes yelled their disapproval. They sounded outraged, they sounded like they wanted blood and their roar filled the Reclusiam. But Echeb slammed his staff down and exclaimed, "Silence! Are we the Inquisition to condemn out of hand?! We are noble warriors and our traditions allow for a defence."
A resentful hush fell and Toran drew in a breath to state, "My lord, the plea is guilty but I ask for clemency in the sentence, I ask for honourable executions. Let their gene-seed be harvested, let their names be recorded for posterity."
Hakulo's voice arose, "Mercy for the likes of them, never!"
Yet Toran responded, "Did not the Apothecaries not receive the same?"
"Because they were useful," Hakulo spat.
"Is that the measure of justice?" Toran argued, "How useful someone is?"
"They are traitors!" Hakulo snarled, causing roars of approval from the crowd.
But Toran pleaded, "They were misguided and badly led but they never bent the knee to Chaos. Even at their worst they still acknowledged the rule of the Emperor. Their deaths are deserved but to destroy their legacy is too far. Let them die with honour."
"Never," Hakulo roared, "Burn the Heretics!"
Desperately Toran pleaded, "Are we completely without shame? Have we too not spilled our own blood?"
From the crowd a voice cried, "Burn the Heretics!"
Frantically Toran shouted "Do we embrace victor's justice? One rule for the victor and another for the loser?!"
Yet his words were drowned out as the crowd booed and jeered. Calls rang out, "Burn the Heretics! Burn the Heretics! Burn the Heretics!"
Over and over the crowd roared and the noise drowned out all else. But then Phalros slammed his gauntlet down hard, causing all eyes to turn to him as he cried, "Enough, Enough! you make this a farce! You sound like squabbling Inquisitors not noble Astartes!"
"But…" Hakulo said.
"I had no idea our standards had slipped so far into disrepute," Phalros overrode him firmly, "This Chapter is not above the Lex Imperialis. Imperial justice is many things, harsh, brutal and unforgiving but it is always impartial and always unprejudiced. It is clear to me that this court is neither of those things and since we cannot render justice, I declare this a mistrial."
Stunned silence fell over all as Phalros stated, "Since this court cannot deliver justice we must seek it from the Emperor himself. Therefore the accused shall throw themselves upon His mercy, by leaving this place and seeking out war across the stars."
The crowd gasped in shock and incredulous whispers rang, "A death oath. A Penitent Crusade."
Toran couldn't believe it either, he had never expected this. A penitent crusade was a near-certain death sentence but it was also a chance at redemption. To fall in battle against impossible odds was an honourable fate and in the slim chance that any survived such a quest then any and all past shames would be expunged.
Phalros lifted his voice and pronounced, "In His name you shall go forth from this place and seek out the forgotten and the helpless. Those who have been abandoned by the high and mighty, those with no one else to protect them. You shall not turn your gaze from the least of His subjects; you shall not scorn the weakest cry for aid. You shall claim no glory, win no honours, you shall seek only to serve until your shame is expunged. You shall do this until you have achieved some deed so noble that it earns His forgiveness or failing that until one hundred years have concluded."
Shocked silence filled the Reclusiam as all were rendered speechless by the verdict. Then Phalros slammed his gauntlet down and proclaimed, "In the name of Him on Terra, judgement is passed."
