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its movements. The distortion robbed the image of clarity, but the figure’s face – a wraith’s visage of black eyes, gaunt cheekbones and filed fangs – was set in a vicious grin of sincere amusement.
    The image died as Talos deactivated the orb. For a long time, neither of them said another word.
    ‘Was there no one to lead you after his death?’
    ‘The Legion broke down into companies and warbands, following individual lords. The primarch’s presence was what inspired unity within us. Without him, the raiding parties sailed farther from Tsagualsa, staying away for longer periods. As the years passed, many stopped returning at all. Many captains and lords claimed they were the Night Haunter’s heir, but each claim was refuted by the others. No one soul can bind a Traitor Legion together now. It is simply the way of things. As much as I loathe him, Abaddon’s success is what sets him apart – and above – the rest of us. His is the name whispered across the Imperium. Abaddon. The Despoiler. The Chosen. Abaddon . Not Horus.’
    Octavia shivered. She knew that name, she’d heard it whispered of in the halls of Terran power. Abaddon. The Great Enemy. The Death of the Imperium. Prophecies of his triumph in the final century of mankind were rampant among the psychically-gifted in thrall to the Emperor’s throne.
    ‘There was only one,’ Talos said, ‘who could have held the title without his brothers betraying him. At least, there was only one who would have survived his brothers’ betrayals, but even he would have struggled to hold the Legion together. Too many ideologies. Too many conflicting desires and drives.’
    ‘What was his name?’
    ‘Sevatar,’ the prophet said quietly. ‘We called him the Prince of Crows. He was killed in the Heresy, long before our father.’
    She hesitated before speaking. ‘Mercutian has spoken of him.’
    ‘Mercutian comes to speak with you?’
    The Navigator grinned. Her teeth were whiter than any of the crew’s, from so few years spent in the filth of slavery. ‘You are not the only one with tales to tell, you know.’
    ‘What does he speak of?’
    ‘He’s your brother. And one of the ones you don’t spend your time trying to kill. You should be able to guess what he speaks of.’
    The prophet’s black eyes glinted with some repressed emotion. She couldn’t tell if it was amusement or annoyance.
    ‘I still do not know Mercutian well.’
    ‘He speaks of the Heresy, mostly. He tells me stories about brothers that died in the Siege of the Emperor’s Palace, or the Thramas Crusade against the Angels, and the centuries since. He likes to write about them, recording their deeds and deaths. Did you know that?’
    Talos shook his head. He’d had no idea.
    ‘What did he say about the Prince of Crows?’ he asked.
    ‘That Sevatar wasn’t killed.’
    The words brought the ghost of a smile to the prophet’s lips. ‘That is an entertaining fiction. Every Legion has its conspiracies and myths. The Eaters of Worlds claim that one of their captains is the chosen of a bloodthirsty god.’
    Octavia didn’t smile. ‘When will you make planetfall?’
    ‘My brothers wished for me to see you first.’
    She raised an eyebrow, smiling as she clutched her blanket tighter. ‘To give me a history lesson?’
    ‘No. I do not know what they wished. They mentioned some problem, some flaw.’
    ‘I don’t know what they could mean. I’m tired, but the flight here was hellish. I think I earned a little sleep.’
    ‘They said it concerned Septimus, as well.’
    She shrugged again. ‘I still can’t guess. He hasn’t been lax in his duties, and neither have I.’
    Talos thought for a moment. ‘Have you seen him often, recently?’
    She looked away. Octavia m ight have been skilled at many things, but she was a poor deceiver. ‘I do not see him much, these nights. When are you making planetfall?’
    ‘Soon.’
    ‘I’ve been thinking about what comes next.’
    He regarded her