The Lord of Iron

With their Primarch gone, the Second Legion resumed their preparations, this time with Asghar overseeing everything. It was the first time he had to handle such a large campaign since the Storm Eagles found Thorondor.

The former Legion Master was grateful that the Storm Lord had given Gwaine joint command; with three other Legions involved, it meant a lot of liaisons aboard the Vengeful Spirit, discussing and reaffirming coordination between their respective forces. That took a lot of time, and Asghar was glad Gwaine was there to oversee the Second Legion's preparations. As someone who had served as Thorondor's second for many decades, the Lightning Rider was most able in his appointed role.

The preparations were almost ready; they only awaited the Fourth Legion's arrival. For Asghar, it would be the first time he would fight alongside the Iron Warriors since their reunion with their Primarch, Perturabo.

He had only heard rumours about the Lord of Iron. Many of them unflattering, but nothing concrete.

Being someone who preferred to be prepared, he sought out a fellow Captain who had met the Iron Warriors' Primarch.

He found Adalgrim aboard the Ninth Company's flagship, the Torwald. The Tempestan was in the ship's small roost, tending to his Storm Eagle. Adalgrim's Eagle was an ancient bird, with loose feathers and one bad leg, and if Asghar was any judge from the way it was glaring at him, had a very evil temper.

Adalgrim was cleaning the scales of his Eagle's talons; glinting in the light and as sharp as chainswords. The beast shifted and the old warrior noticed. He turned.

"First Captain," greeted Adalgrim. "Can I help you?"

"I just wanted to talk to you about something, Master," replied Asghar, stopping.

"I'm flattered that you sought me on my ship," said Adalgrim, smiling. "You could have just summoned me."

"This is an informal matter, Master," answered Asghar. "More of a personal fact-finding mission."

"By all means, then," said Adalgrim, inviting Asghar to sit beside him. But the First Captain hesitated, staring at the Eagle that was glaring at him so fiercely. The Tempestan noticed.

"Don't mind Gror here, his fighting days are done. This bird's all bark and no bite now."

Adalgrim laughed when the Eagle cawed reproachfully and nipped at him. The Captain of the Ninth patted the beast on the beak affectionately and shooed it away. Spreading its wings, the old Eagle fluttered up to a nearby perch, from where it resumed glaring down at Asghar.

"Can it still fight?" asked the First Captain, sitting down beside Adalgrim.

"Not as well as he used to," answered the old warrior. "He's old, possibly older than Garuda. He can still carry me but in only in small stretches. I don't use him in battle anymore."

"So you keep him for sentimental reasons?" asked Asghar.

Adalgrim smiled. "He's my loyal friend. And he reminds me of home." He stretched his legs, groaning a little. "Now I'm sure you didn't come all this way to talk to me about Storm Eagles. How can I help you?"

"You've fought alongside the Iron Warriors," stated Asghar.

Adalgrim stared at the First Captain evenly. "As have many of the other Captains."

"But you're the only one who's fought in a campaign commanded by Lord Perturabo," said Asghar.

Adalgrim nodded his head in affirmation.

Asghar leaned forward. "He will arrive soon and I know virtually nothing about him. I don't know what to expect. What can you tell me, Master?"

Adalgrim frowned, thinking long and hard. "Lord Perturabo...I've only been in his presence twice," he said slowly. "What I can tell you is that he reminds me of the Lion."

Asghar grimaced at the comparison. Since they were reunited with their Primarch, the First Legion's rivalry with the Second had intensified. But it was no longer the friendly rivalry it had been in ages past. It was almost hostile, as if they were enemies rather than allies; despite the well-known friendship between Asghar and Merir Astelan. It was largely due to the relationship between Thorondor and Lion El Jonson, which had been very rocky from the outset.

Guessing Asghar's thoughts, Adalgrim hurried to clarify his words. "Not in that way, no. Lord Perturabo reminds me of the Lion in that he has incredible tactical acumen; a cold, almost computer-like mind. He's not much for speeches, but when he does, his words are harsh, blunt but honest. Very different from the Lion in that sense."

Asghar smiled at that. The Lion had developed a reputation for being a master politician. In the Storm Lord's own words, Jonson would say one thing, but his mind and actions would mean something else. The Lion had a mind that worked an intricate web of scenarios, outcomes and schemes. Something in the way Thorondor had said it made it sound like a backhanded compliment.

"When Lord Perturabo says something, he means it, and it's not usually a good thing."

"What do you mean?" asked Asghar.

"He's not one for giving praise," replied Adalgrim. "The only time he spoke directly to individual warriors during the campaign is to reprimand them for their mistakes...and he is not forgiving."

Asghar hesitated for a moment. "I heard rumours...that when he took command of the Iron Warriors, he performed decimation."

Adalgrim shook his head. "Not rumours, truth."

Asghar sucked in his breath. Decimation was an ancient act of military punishment. It dated back to a time earlier than even the First Millenium of Terra. It involved dividing army units into groups of ten who would then draw lots. The soldier who drew the lot would then be executed by his own comrades. It served to instill in soldiers a greater fear for their commanders than their enemies.

"How did you confirm this?" asked Asghar.

"The officer I served with...Barabas Dantioch," answered Adalgrim. "A good man. He confirmed the story."

"How does he have their loyalty?" exclaimed Asghar incredulously. "With such brutal methods…"

"Dantioch said...it was their penance," answered Adalgrim quietly. "They were found wanting, and were punished accordingly. Iron must be beaten and tempered to grow stronger...at least, that was what he told me."

Asghar looked at the old Tempestan. "And what do you think, Master?"

"I think...that if the Emperor is father to the Primarchs, then the Primarchs are like fathers to the Astartes. And no matter how harsh they might be treated, they love their father," said Adalgrim. "And like all sons, they want to be loved in return."

Adalgrim looked away, and he suddenly looked much more ancient.

"But some fathers do not give their love easily."

II II II

At times, when he was not caught up in his duties, General Brand would wonder how he had gotten this far. He had been a mere line trooper when he first fought in the Unification War of Tempestas. He had risen to senior sergeant by the end of the war. In the peaceful days that followed, Brand would serve as commander of Trident's Peak's garrison. He had thought that was the highest he could ever rise, but fate had other ideas.

Brand's story is that of a simple man with little ambition who had, by a combination of good fortune and his own considerable competence, had risen far beyond his wildest dreams. He had proven himself during his long years of service, eventually rising to the rank of General of the 85th Thunder Bearer Regiment, one of the oldest and most accomplished armies listed in the long history of the Imperial Army.

He was one of the few mortals still alive who could recall the meeting between Thorondor and Leman Russ, as well as the Storm Lord's reunion with the Emperor. It was a tale many of his contemporaries would press him to tell.

As General, Brand had had the honour of seeing many of the Primarchs, though he had only been privileged to talk to only two: Lord Thorondor and Lord Sanguinius. But he had seen many others from afar: Horus, Leman Russ, Jaghatai Khan, Vulkan, Fulgrim, Roboute Guilliman, the Lion.

Now, he would add another to the list.

As General, he had the honour of being among the high ranking officers accompanying Asghar and Gwaine in greeting the arrival of Lord Perturabo.

The General stood behind the Astartes, beside Admiral Jabet. If Brand had had the honour of serving the Storm Lord before the Primarch had been restored to the Second Legion, then the Admiral had the distinction of serving the Second Legion before the return of the Storm Lord. No one knew how old Admiral Jabet was, but he had said that he had been serving as second-in-command to the previous Admiral by the time the Imperium was liberating the Sol System.

As General, Brand had to deal with the Admiral many times over the decades. The Admiral was a stern man, but not arrogant. He had shown Brand respect even when he had been a mere line officer, and as the Tempestan rose in rank, that respect had morphed into an excellent, professional relationship between the two.

But despite their relatively lofty ranks, there was no denying that meeting a Primarch was always a humbling and awe-inspiring experience.

The Iron Warriors transport shuttles had disgorged rank upon rank of the Astartes of the Fourth Legion. They stood in formation, unmoving in their black power armour trimmed with yellow. Moving amongst them towards where Brand waited with the Lords Horus Lupercal and Jaghatai Khan, along with representatives from the Second Legion, was a grim, yet majestic figure.

Perturabo, the Lord of Iron, was almost as tall as Horus. His power armour was ebony, and he wore a great black cloak over his shoulders. Multitudes of thin cables extended from the back of his skull into his armour, providing a neural link.

Brand had often said that meeting the Storm Lord was like meeting the human embodiment of the Eternal Storm, and Sanguinius like the angels from the ancient myths of Terra. Every Primarch he had the fortune to lay his eyes on, Brand said, seemed to be a primal aspect of the natural world given human form. The Primarch of the Iron Warriors was no different in that regard.

But if Vulkan was like the eruption of Nocturne's supervolcanoes, Leman Russ the wild blizzards of Fenris and Horus the radiance of a supernova, then Perturabo, to Brand's perception, was like a black hole. The Lord of Iron gave away nothing, no emotion, no inkling to what he was thinking, absolutely nothing. Even the light, which should have been reflected off his armour, seemed to instead be sucked in. His patrician face, with the hard mouth and eyes like onyx did not even shift as he approached his brothers.

But there was no denying the gravity of his presence. His every step seemed to reverberate throughout the entire embarkation deck...no, the whole of the Vengeful Spirit itself.

Looking at the magnificent, yet frightening being, Brand found himself struggling to breathe, and sweat trickled down his neck.

Perturabo came to a halt before Horus and Jaghatai Khan. The sight of three Primarchs together had such a gravity of its own that for a moment, Brand believed the fabric of time and space itself would warp around the sons of the Emperor.

How could it not?

And then, Horus spoke.

"Perturabo, welcome."

And just like that, everyone on the entire embarkation deck collectively released the breath they had not realised they had been holding. It felt as though a great danger had just passed.

Horus stepped forward to clasp wrists with Perturabo, and the Khan followed suit.

The Lord of Iron looked around before speaking, his voice as hard as the metal for which his Legion had been named.

"Where is Thorondor?" he asked.

Horus smiled easily, not at all unfazed by the expressionless mask of Perturabo's face.

"Father has issued Thor some new orders, I'm afraid," he answered. "The Storm Eagles stand ready to fight on in his absence."

Horus indicated Asghar and Gwaine, who both bowed.

"Lord Perturabo, I am Asghar, First Captain of the Storm Eagles, and this is Commander Gwaine of the Storm Riders. My Lord Thorondor sends his deepest apologies for his absence, and he hopes he will be able to join you before this campaign is done. Until then, Gwaine and I have the honour of serving as his representatives."

Perturabo's eyes flicked over to Asghar and Gwaine for the briefest moment before moving over to where Brand and the other officers stood.

Though it was only for a short time, no more than a few seconds in fact, Brand felt as though he would suffocate under that onyx gaze.

And then Perturabo looked away, turning back to Horus without even acknowledging Asghar.

"Let us move on from these formalities, we have a war to win," said the Lord of Iron.

Horus smiled again. "Yes, we do."

II II II

"Astartes or not, I'm amazed that anyone can stand in a Primarch's presence without imploding."

Admiral Jabet chuckled. He and Brand were on a shuttle back to the Eternal Storm, their presence aboard the Vengeful Spirit no longer necessary now that the ceremony was over.

"Did you see how he looked at us, Jabet?" asked Brand. "I'm a general of one of the finest regiments to serve on the Crusade, and I still felt two feet tall when he looked at us."

Jabet chuckled again. "I know. Lord Thorondor has that same effect every time he talks to me. I have to look at his shadow or his feet to stay coherent. If I look him in the eye, I wind up blubbering like an idiot."

Brand laughed.

"Did you ever think you'd end up here?" asked Brand, once he subsided. "Being Admiral of a fleet and rubbing shoulders with Primarchs?"

Jabet shrugged. "When I think of it that way, it can be a bit unnerving. But then I remember the important thing."

"What's that?"

"I'm a Navy man," answered Jabet with a smile. "All I need is a good ship and a good crew to boss around. I know my place in this galaxy. As long as I have that, everything makes sense to me. And not even Primarchs can knock me off course."

Brand smiled. "I understand. As long as I'm with the Army, I've got nothing to worry about...except staying out of the Legion's way and mopping up their mess."

Both men had a small chuckle over that.