Chapter 1.6 – Reset the Board
"They killed my son."
Malcador looked up from the game board laid out before him to the figure sitting opposite. The board itself somewhat resembled a board of Regicide, yet the pieces and configuration were somewhat unnatural. Looking at a single square would distort the mind, being either black or white, but also a planet, a star system, a city, a field, or any other manner of location. This entire place, this chamber was not limited to simple 3 dimensional geometry. It was a place where the mind had complete authority, for better or for worse.
The Sigillite and His Lord often retreated to this place, somewhere free of distractions of the outside world to consider their plans for the destruction of Chaos. Beyond time and beyond space, there was a simple clarity in removing oneself from the centre of the problem. Many great decisions such as the conquest of Terra and the Great Crusade itself had been decided here, in this place beyond thought.
This meeting however, was not one previously planned.
"Indeed my Lord, it is a travesty," replied Malcador solemnly, "I shall miss him dearly. We always knew there were risks when we started this project. Deaths would be inevitable, especially when the end came. At least we can take some comfort I knowing that he will not be touched by the darkness of The Four. He will remain forever your First Found."
Malcador looked up into the face of the other. Whilst He held the power to conceal His appearance, become anyone or anything He imagined and keep His true feelings completely hidden from all others, to Malcador his Master might as well have had His emotions written in bright lights. Malcador picked up the broken game piece that lay shattered before him. It had been snapped in half, but its original design had been that of a stylized eye motif with the label beneath reading 'The First Found'.
"I understand my Lord. We must reset the board. We are in the strange position of having choice again once more, though not through our own actions. An important choice. One that will define this entire era of the Great Crusade and lead to the success of the Great Work."
Malcador shuffled his deck of cards and drew the top, turning it over. The card read 'The Warmaster', which depicted a valiant figure standing on a pinnacle of rock with storm clouds and lightning reflected behind. Before the figure on the card had a face that resembled Horus. Now it appeared a blur, smudge, like a misprinted card from a cheap store.
"It seems the choice is ours, old friend," said Malcador, quietly, "I see no clues in fate as to which the decision should be, but if you will permit me I shall voice my own suggestions as to who may make a suitable replacement for our plans."
The figure opposite gave a mild gesture with their hand of acceptance. Malcador picked up 5 game pieces and laid them out before his Master.
The first was a representation of Stone Wall with a fist engraved on its structure, labelled 'The Last Wall'.
The second was a sword, with hilt of blue shaped like a U with green laurel leaves crowning, labelled 'The Senator'.
The third was a proud golden two headed eagle top a standard of violet, labelled 'The Phoenician'.
The forth, a red blood drop from which sprouted bright white wings, labelled 'The Angel'.
The fifth and final piece was a book, inscribed with unreadable text which appeared to flow like water, labelled 'The Herald'.
Malcador examined the rest of pieces not pushed forward, as if to confirm his decision on each. The first too he examined were very similar. One depicted a vicious ravenous beast, the other a loyal hound. Malcador put these both to one side muttering, "Leman, you are more worthy of leading your Father's work than you know, but I know you would not want it. Your heart is noble and true, but it always conflicts with your loyal spirit. Angron... well... in another life you might have more, but that was taken from you long ago."
The next 2 were also similar. One depicting a proud raven, the other a sad withered crow. As these 2 pieces joined the others, Malcador chuckled, "Sometimes birds of a feather do NOT flock together… best to keep you both apart. You are both great warriors, but I feel another would be more appropriate for overall command."
Next up was a gauntlet, the head of a lion, and a lizard coiled around a hammer. Malcador seemed to reconsider several of these, before once again moving them to the side, "The purpose is reduce the candidates, or we will never make a choice. You all would rise to the task in time, but we need a strong decisive decision to act now."
Finally, there was a scythe, a scroll, a talwar blade, a hydra of many heads, a suit of armour. As Malcador moved them along with the rest he murmured, "You also have specialist roles to play, but to do so you must not be held back by the burdens of command. One cannot hide in the shadows, nor rush like the wind from the seat behind the lines."
Out of curiosity, as he moved the last piece he drew a card and let out a small sigh of sadness, "Perturabo, no matter what fates unravel it is interesting how you always follow the same path. The more things change, the more you stay the same."
His sorting completed, Malcador looked back at his chosen 5 pieces. The Last Wall, The Senator, The Phoenician, The Angel and The Herald. All were fine sons, fine warriors and fine commanders, but one was needed to enact the Emperor's will most precisely and hold together the Great Crusade in the same way his Master had done for centuries. Whoever was appointed would need to manage the worst tempered of the sons, and needed to best all of them if it came to combat.
With a precise move, like regicide Grand Master performing a game ending move, Malcador moved forward the 1st of the 5 pieces. The Last Wall stood proud and commanding before all of its fellow pieces.
"Our first option is Rogal. I realise you had chosen him for your reconstructions on Terra as Praetorian, but he is the perfect balance. Strong but adaptable. Steadfast in his loyalty. His experience in managing an Empire is second only to one other. He might struggle to keep Angron in line but he has the wisdom to commit others to his cause if needed. Even the greatest beast can be tamed if assisted by a loyal hound. You would need to reconsider the plans for Terra-"
Almost immediately came a negatory gesture. Malcador nodded in understanding. Dorn was the master of citadels. If one of the darker timelines came to pass his skills would be needed elsewhere. The other choice for that role, Perturabo, had continued to trouble his Master with the signs portending his questionable nature. It was possible that Perturabo was already too far gone from the Emperor's path to be worth the risk in entrusting such a vital role. This grieved Malcador as he knew the 4th Son had much more potential, but due to way events had played out the Lord of Iron seemed unable to break away from his role as a weapon.
Malcador withdrew The Last Wall, pushing forward The Senator, remarking, "Then perhaps another. Roboute manifests the best of your leadership. He would ensure the Great Crusade is run efficiently, orderly. The outer edges of the compliance would be like a second Ultramar. His only weakness would be if he encounters something he cannot understand, something that cannot be neatly fit into his theoreticals. He would adapt of course, but his understanding would take time."
The figure gave no response. Malcador interpreted this as consideration, or a wish to see all of the options before giving a final indication. He thus pushed forward The Phoenician beside its kin, the gold glinting in the ethereal light of the chamber.
"Fulgrim is one of your highest honoured sons. He is proud, but he does have much to be proud of. The people love him, and his need to improve reflects your own desire for perfection in the Great Work. If chosen he would ensure there would be no flaws in the way the Great Crusade was completed. He would undoubtably conflict with others due to his demands for high standards, but most would rise to the challenge."
Again, no response. Malcador was not surprised. Fulgrim was a controversial choice, but it would be improper not to include him. There were few that could match Fulgrim individually in combat, and his legion was highly effective. He did struggle to form bonds with the more primal of his brothers, and the Warmaster would need to focus on the Great Crusade not solving petty squabbles within the Primarchs. However of those few who could give the The Phoenician a run for his money in the art of war, the next was amongst the greatest of them.
"Sanguinius," said Malcador, sliding forward The Angel, "There is little we can say of him that isn't praiseworthy. Loyal to a fault, precise in his work, skilled beyond may of his brothers in combat whilst still humble. Few amongst the Primarchs would say a bad word about him, and those that might would complain about any chosen as Warmaster. My only concern is that the death of Horus has hit him hard, his pain is only outmatched than perhaps our own. I do believe in time he will overcome this however, and if anyone can replicate what your actions would have been in leading the Great Crusade, it is him."
The silence that met his actions almost made Malcador inquiry after his Master's wellbeing, but he knew it would be futile gesture. What mattered now was the task in hand. Other conversations could wait for later. Finally he slid forward the last piece, The Herald.
"Now Lorgar may be unusual but in the long term there could be many benefits. Since Monarchia-"
An instant refusal. Malcador was almost shocked by the swiftness of the response.
"I realise it might be too late, My Lord, but perhaps if we-"
A second refusal. His decision was clear. Malcador sighed again and withdrew The Herald, going so far as to put it with the other pieces denied a chance to be examined. He did so wish Lorgar had been granted a different fate. His oratory was unparalleled, having him lead the Great Crusade would have seen a thousand worlds submit without firing a shot. The Imperial Truth, if guided by Lorgar, could have latched on in the minds of almost the entire human population of the galaxy. If only the foolish boy hadn't tried to make his Father a God…
This left the final 3 before his master. The Senator, The Phoenician and The Angel. Roboute Guilliman, Fulgrim and Sanguinius. One of these would be made The Warmaster. Rogal Dorn's rejection came only with the knowledge he would be granted another title in time, The Praetorian.
A subtle shift in lighting played across the chamber. Colours which had been grey and dull now took on a new life. A pale golden light began to shine across the board. Hurriedly, Malcador gathered and shuffled his Tarot cards once more, drawing the top most card again. The Warmaster. But something was different this time. This time the figure in the drawing had a face.
"Of course," smiled Malcador, "I cannot say I am surprised. An excellent choice, My Lord."
As Malcador set to gather back up the other pieces, the long sleeve of his robes brushed against the rejected pieces at the edge of the board. One of the pieces bounced headlong towards the 3 that had been picked as candidates. It collided with the New Warmaster's piece and sent both spinning to the corner. Malcador examined both to ensure they were not damaged, and then read the name of the interloper. The Night Haunter.
"Oh Konrad," muttered Malcador, "What are you up to this time?"
