Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 4

Through the haunted depths of the Warp the Implacable Judgement sailed. She travelled alone, leaving her escorts and fleet train to secure Fajness as she broke orbit. Two weeks to the warp jump point saw her Translate into the realms of madness and begin her journey to far Deliverance, a passage that once would have taken years shortened to weeks. The fires of the Legionary war were dying, the Imperium was stabilised and the Emperor's Astronomican shone brighter than it had in years, all of this resulted in the Warp calming and travel becoming swift and secure once more.

Implacable Justice was not her original name, once she had fought as the Unbreakable, an Inwit built battle-carrier of the Imperial Fists. She had been broken by the Iron Warriors at Phall and taken for the Traitor's service under the name Victor's Spoils. The Raven Guard had taken her back after the Traitor's defeat at Terra, their headlong flight leaving them exposed to hit and run raids. Nolaro had seized her bridge personally, then renamed her Implacable Judgement and made her his flagship. A Styx-class fleet carrier, refitted with Reflex Shields, the perfect command vessel for long-range operations and independent actions. Her bow was scarred and her hull scorched by many battles, but she sailed true as her knife-prow cast sharp shadows into the unreality of the Warp.

Deep within the vessel Sedaxus strolled nonchalantly along, passing various crew and Astartes without concern. His helm was firmly affixed, for creatures of shadow the XIXth kept their ships annoyingly well lit. He saw various mortals tending to the ship's systems, making good the damage. Some had been sustained over Farjness, driving off the Sons of Horus' ships, the rest was far older. Implacable Judgement had been at war for two decades and the efforts to repair her were an endless task. Mortals averted their eyes as he passed, the Traitor in their midst was a dark legend and all wished to avoid his feral gaze. Newer recruits to the Company glared but kept silent, it seemed the news of Meske's scarring had got about and none were willing to test him. It was only the oldest Marines who gave him the smallest respect, shallow nods as they passed. Those who had been on Istvaan V knew what he had done for them, what he had sacrificed and they treated him with politeness, if not comradery.

In truth Sedaxus hadn't sacrificed much. He'd always loathed Nostramo and been looking for an escape for as long as he could remember. He leapt at the chance to join the Legion simply to escape that fetid pit, only to discover the VIIIth was no better. Thugs, murderers and sadists mostly, only the oldest and saddest Terrans remembering a time when the Legion was anything other than a band of self-serving psychopaths. Sedaxus had volunteered for Moritat duties in an effort to distance himself, and so had been isolated from the treachery of his Brothers. The Dropsite Massacre had caught him as much by surprise as any loyalist, but in it he'd seen a chance to get out of the Legion and the rest was history.

Sedaxus' wandering feet brought him to his destination, a small machine shop, reserved for the use of a single being. He opened the hatch and slipped inside, finding long rows of tables laid out, heavy with tools. There were various devices standing free and bubbling crucibles of alchemical brews. All normal but what was lacking were any Cog icons of the new Mechanicus, no sacred incense burning, no Binaric recitations of code-cant, no hint of appeasement to the Machine Spirits. This was a place for lore not sanctioned by the hidebound martinets of Mars, where private arts of Kiavhar, Terra and less wholesome sources was employed. All Legions had their unique interpretations of matters technical, much to the Tech-Priest's ire.

Hunched over a workbench was Engar, staring intently into a magnifying lens held on a pivoting arm. Bright lamps lit copper shells and micro-capacitors, which Engar adjusted with a micro-lathe. At his side was a line of shells, each one hand wrought and unique. The sniper was famous for forging his own rounds, using esoteric arts known only to him. An odd trait, but the effects were pronounced, nobody who had seen his handiwork would question his methods.

Sedaxus drew in a breath but Engar snapped, "I know you're there, be silent." Sedaxus shut up as Engar made some more adjustments to the shell he was working on, then laid down his tool and sighed, "What do you want?"

"Do you mind?" Sedaxus replied, gesturing at the lamp.

"Oh, right," Engar sniffed as he reached out and turned it off, leaving only the light of flames dancing under crucibles.

In near darkness Sedaxus was able to slip his helm off and breath free. He could see in the gloom as well as daylight and sighed, "That's more like it."

Engar didn't seem amused as he said, "You better have a good reason for interrupting me."

Sedaxus deflected, "Farjness, it went as well as could be expected."

"Yes… and?"

"Damolos fought well," Sedaxus remarked.

"He always does," Engar sniffed.

"Are you sure he's Raven Guard? Sometimes I wonder if Leman Russ sneaked some of his louts into the other Legions as a joke."

Engar retorted, "You didn't come here to banter, quit skipping around the subject and get to the point."

Sedaxus grimaced but finally confessed, "Corax… I need to know what he's like."

"You've been to Deliverance, you should know."

"And I spent the whole time hiding in orbit, trying to go unnoticed. A Night Lord in the Ravenspire, that's trouble I didn't need. Now I am summoned to a personal meeting… I need to know what to expect."

Engar half-turned and demurred, "I haven't got anything to say, I'm hardly his best friend."

"Don't give me that, you were there in the rebellion, one of his original freedom fighters. You are closer to him than most. All XIXth adopt the shadows but you breathe them, you inherited more from him than black eyes and pale skin."

Engar's eyes narrowed as he said, "You speak of things you know nothing about."

Sedaxus replied only, "Mor Deythan."

Engar glared for a long moment, then relented, "What do you want?"

"I told you: Corax. Is he likely to rip off my head as soon as he lays eyes on me or give me a chance to explain myself?"

Engar drummed his fingers for a second then explained, "I haven't spoken to him in years, and barely a few words were exchanged when we did, but rumours get about. All the Primarchs were a combination of what the Emperor made them to be, and what their environments shaped them to be. Some played true, like Guilliman and Dorn, and others… well I can't imagine the Emperor meant to make twisted freaks like Angron or Lorgar. There's a tension in all of them, between what they should have been and what they are."

"And Corax?"

"The divide in Corax is sharper than in any of his Brothers. Raised by political prisoners and dissidents, those unjustly imprisoned. He grew up in a hellhole but was gifted dreams and ideals, a vision of a better world. He holds fiercely to those ideals, even when the galaxy proves too brutal to allow such fragile dreams to live. He has it in him to be the best of the Primarchs… and yet sometimes what he was made to be breaks through. He can be vengeful, driven, focussed beyond the point of madness on a single goal. At times he's abandoned whole campaigns to chase down a single tyrant, and what the Traitors did consumes his thoughts. From what I hear he's straying into a dark place and I'm not sure where that road ends."

"Darkness," Sedaxus sighed as he stepped over and rested his hands on the table, "Night Lords know all about falling into darkness."

"There was no falling, you were born in the dark," Engar snorted.

Sedaxus lowered his head and lamented, "How little you know us. The things we did, the role we were fashioned to play, yes it was abhorrent but not by our choice. We were made to be monsters, but monsters with purpose. I listened to the oldest Legionnaires, the Terrans from the first days, they remembered a time when the Night Lords fought fire with fire, because it had to be done, because someone had to walk into the dark and meet the monsters in their own home. We were necessary, that made all the difference to us. Then came the Night Haunter and it all changed."

"Many Legions had to cope with difficult fathers," Engar remarked.

"Not like us, there was no Legion worse off for finding its gene-father than the Night Lords."

"I think the World Eaters might disagree with that assessment."

Sedaxus spat, "At least Angron met his sons halfway, else why mutilate their brains to be like him. Curze… he despised us from the outset. He loathed his own sons, treated us like captured murderers, and as he saw us so we became. He filled the ranks with cut-throats, gang-lords and rapists, bleeding any trace of our noble purpose from us. I heard the oldest Legionnaires lament that Curze made us into the very thing we were meant to be fighting."

Engar frowned as he mused, "I do wonder what would have occurred had their fates been switched, Corax landing on Nostramo and Curze on Deliverance. Would events have played out differently, could Curze have been noble had he been taught by wise scholars and those who sought justice?"

Sedaxus snorted, "Don't believe it, Curze was a broken thing from conception. The Emperor should have ripped his head off the moment they met. Why the Master of Mankind spared him baffles me, I can't imagine he didn't know what the Night Haunter truly was. Whatever the reason, he gave us into the charge of a madman and Curze shaped us in his own image."

"You could have refused," Engar stated.

"Refuse a Primarch? That's funny. We had no choice but to obey, but we saw how the other Legions looked at us and knew what it meant. We denied it, pretended the others were self-righteous hypocrites and blind fools… but when we encountered you we couldn't pretend anymore."

"Us?" Engar asked curiously.

Sedaxus nodded, "The Raven Guard are what the Night Lords should have been, sly but brave, cunning but noble, vengeful but with purpose. Hell, you owned the shadows in a way we never could. Every time we looked at you we saw how lacking we were, and that was a knife to the heart."

"You were jealous?" Engar probed.

"Homicidal more like," Sedaxus snorted, "And I always wondered how you saw us in turn."

"Ah, I see. You think Corax will look at you and see all the failures and mistakes of the Legionary War. You think he'll take your head as punishment for Curze's actions."

"I know he's fought alongside Loyal splinters of the Legions, Annovuldi of the Iron Warrior, Jharaca of the Emperors Children… but Corax allowing Night Lords to stand at his side?"

Engar cocked his head and said, "There was Kasati Nuon."

"And look how that turned out for Kasati."

"That wasn't Corax's doing."

"Kasati still died, and I don't intend to join him. I'd rather live, if it's possible."

Engar sniffed, "I can't tell you what to say, but I can tell you not to lie to him."

Sedaxus mused, "Nolaro suggested repainting my plate to XIXth black."

"Don't do that, it would be worse than keeping your colours. Be truthful, be frank, be yourself and trust he'll give you a fair chance."

"That's not much help," Sedaxus spat as he knocked the table hard.

The motion caused the table to rock and the fashioned shells wobbled dangerously. Sedaxus moved like quicksilver to catch them but Engar moved faster, grabbing one specific shell before it could topple. The others fell to the floor with a clatter but Engar held that one grimly in a hand that could have been carved from stone.

"Don't touch that one," Engar hissed.

Sedaxus blinked and said, "I didn't…"

"Don't, just don't," Engar warned as he carefully set it back on the table.

Sedaxus sensed his welcome was worn out and replaced his helm saying, "Three more weeks to Deliverance, give or take warp tides, I better be scarce till then."

Engar turned to pick up his scattered rounds as he warned, "Keep out of trouble and remember what I said, don't lie to Corax, he'll know if you do."

Sedaxus left him to it as he departed, slinking away to lurk in the bowels of the ship. He tried to reassure himself all would be well but in truth he was troubled. All his life he had avoided Primarchs, now he was set to confront one who had good reason to hate his bloodline. As he disappeared into the dark he wondered if he may not be better off staying there forever.