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faint, but unmistakable signs of Fulgrim’s annoyance at being so questioned, though he must surely have known that virtually the entire expedition was aware of the assault on Atoll 19 and that he would face such interrogation.
    Such was the price of cultivating openness within the expedition, Julius realised.
    ‘There was indeed such talk,’ said Fulgrim, ‘but it was ill-founded and singularly failed to appreciate the value of this planet to the Imperium. The attack underway is an attempt to gather a more thorough appreciation of the war capability of the Laer.’
    ‘Surely the destruction of our scout ships demonstrated that amply, my lord,’ said Fayle. ‘It seems to me that you already have your course set on war without consulting us.’
    ‘And what of it, lord commander?’ asked Fulgrim, his eyes flashing with dangerous anger. ‘Would you back down from the effrontery of a xenos species? Would you have me compromise my honour by meekly avoiding this fight because it might be dangerous?’
    Lord Commander Fayle blanched at Fulgrim’s tone, realising that he had pushed too far, and said, ‘No, my lord. My forces are at your disposal as always.’
    Fulgrim’s features settled from annoyance to conciliation in a moment, and Julius knew that his outburst had been carefully orchestrate to manipulate Fayle into ceasing his questions. Fulgrim had already drawn up his perfect plans for war and was not about to be dissuaded from his course by the doubts of mortals.
    ‘My thanks, lord commander,’ said Fulgrim, ‘and I apologise for my abruptness. You are right to ask such things, for it is said that a man’s character can be judged by his questions rather than by his answers.’
    ‘There’s no need to apologise to me,’ protested Fayle, uncomfortable at the suggestion he had angered the primarch. ‘I spoke out of turn.’
    Fulgrim inclined his head in the direction of the lord commander, accepting his apology, and said, ‘You are gracious, Thaddeus and the matter is already forgotten, but we are here to discuss matters of war are we not? I have devised a campaign that will see Laeran delivered to us, and while I appreciate the counsel you all give me, this is the kind of war for which the Astartes were forged. I will outline its particulars to you in a moment, but as time is critical, I hope you will forgive me if I unleash my war dogs first.’
    The primarch turned his gaze towards him, and despite himself, Julius felt his pulse quicken as Fulgrim’s inky black eyes bored into him. He knew what question would be asked and only hoped his men could deliver on what Fulgrim was to demand of them.
    ‘First Captain Kaesoron, are your warriors ready to take the Imperial Truth to Twenty-Eight Three?’
    Julius stood to attention, feeling the light from the dome’s room bathe him in radiance. ‘I swear by the fire, they are, my lord. We await only your word.’
    ‘Then the word is given, Captain Kaesoron,’ said Fulgrim, casting off his robes to reveal his magnificently polished battle plate. ‘In one month’s time, the eagle will rule Laeran!’
    T HE L AER ’ S ARMS tore at Solomon’s armour, dragging great gouges from its immaculate surfaces, the talons tearing through the gold eagle on his breastplate. The two warriors fell to the base of the crater as the ground shifted again and Solomon found himself pinned beneath the weight of the creature. Its mandibles opened wide and it screeched deafeningly in his face, spraying him with hot spittle and mucus. Solomon shook his vision clear and punched upwards, his fist cracking bone beneath the ruddy red flesh of the alien warrior. It screeched once more and a burst of green light exploded from its fists as it stabbed one of its lower arms towards him. He rolled aside as the silver gauntlet sheared through the rock, as though it were no more solid than sand.
    Solomon scrambled away from the creature, his back against the walls of the crater. The Laer howled,