Legion by Dan Abnett

apologise if that’s how it sounded. I meant no disrespect.’
    The boltgun remained aimed at him. ‘You said this Cabal of yours invited us here. Explain that.’
    Grammaticus swallowed. ‘Of all the Astartes Legions, the Cabal believes the Alpha Legion to be most receptive to its message.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘In all truth, sir, I do not know. I am simply a go-between. The Cabal wanted the Alpha Legion to become involved in the compliance war here on Nurth, so that it could see the evidence for itself.’
    ‘See what, John?’
    Grammaticus straightened slightly and looked boldly at the muzzle of the gun aimed at his face. ‘What was at stake. The real enemy. Not the Nurthene, but the Primordial Annihilator that holds sway over them.’
    The Astartes slowly lowered his weapon. ‘You’re talking about their warp-magick?’
    ‘It’s not—’ Grammaticus began. ‘May I stand, sir? This floor is cold.’
    The snouted helm nodded. Grammaticus rose to his feet. The Astartes still towered over him.
    ‘It’s not magick. It’s not some fanciful trickery. It’s the visible manifestation of a deep power – a universal, pervasive abomination.’
    ‘Chaos,’ the Astartes replied. ‘If that is what your masters wanted us to see, they have wasted your errand. We already know of Chaos, and have numbered it in the litany of xenos hazards.’
    Grammaticus shook his head sadly. ‘The simplest name for it is Chaos. You’ve numbered it in the litany of xenos hazards, have you? Then you know it only as a child knows the world. It has always been and will always be, and compared to it, nothing – not mankind, not the Imperium, not the Emperor’s mighty design – is of any consequence. Unchecked, it will poison and stagnate the galaxy. Fuelled and driven, it will destroy everything. The Cabal wanted you to see it properly, to see it with your own eyes, so that you would take its message seriously.’
    He paused. ‘And it needed you to see it quickly.’
    ‘Why?’ asked the giant.
    ‘Because a great war is coming.’
    ‘A war against what?’
    ‘Against yourselves,’ said Grammaticus.
    The giant Astartes stared at Grammaticus for a moment. Grammaticus heard the dull click of his helmet vox operating. A private conversation was taking place. Grammaticus waited. The candle flames trembled. A tiny green house lizard scuttled across the tiled floor and up a wall.
    The giant turned back to look at Grammaticus.
    ‘What is the message your Cabal wants us to take so seriously?’ he asked.
    ‘I don’t know. I was simply sent here to propose a dialogue.’
    The Astartes looked over at the mind-hooded man. ‘I am called for,’ he said. ‘Take him to the parlour and stay with him. Do not allow him to play any tricks.’
    The psyker nodded.
    The Astartes went over to the wooden gate, unbolted it, and stepped out into the sunlight. Just before the gate closed, Grammaticus saw that the intercoiled green reptiles painted on the wood were dragons, each one with three serpentine heads. Hydras.
    ‘This way,’ said the psyker to Grammaticus.
    H E FOLLOWED THE psyker through the rooms of the house, rambling chambers and hallways that followed no more logical a scheme than the streets of Mon Lo. All the rooms were dark and shuttered, and dust sheets covered the few pieces of furniture. This was a place of convenience, Grammaticus decided, a safe house. He had been meant to open that painted gate all along.
    The psyker led the way with a single fluttering candle.
    ‘You contrived to bring me here?’ Grammaticus asked. ‘You baffled my mind and got me lost, so I could be directed to this house?’
    ‘Not on my own,’ the hooded man replied. ‘You are a powerful being. We’ve been aware of you, these last few weeks, operating here, shadowing us, watching us. We thought it was time to ask why.’
    ‘You’re not Astartes.’
    The man turned and looked back at him but, despite the candlelight, Grammaticus could still not resolve his