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strode Lord Rorken of the Ordo Xenos； Lord Bezier of the Ordo Malleus and Lord Sakarof of the Ordo Hereticus； Orsini's triumvirate。
Sonic booms sounded over the hives as honour escorts of Thunderhawks flashed down above us。 Fireworks banged and fizzed；
staining the sky s of colour and light。
At our backs came the triumphal procession of the Warmaster himself。 Honorius rode with Lord Commander Helican； standing in a
howdah built upon the humped back of the largest and most venerable auro…chothere warbeast。 Ten thousand men from their personal
retinues marched together。 Two hundred grunting； snuffling behemoths from the aurochothere cavalry。 Eight hundred Conqueror
tanks。 Lifter bikes skimmed alongside their line。 The frenzied crowd strewed thousands of flowers in their path。
Behind them all came the prisoners。
Like the honoured dead in the funereal Rhinos； the prisoners were an open show of Imperial heroism in general； and the Warmaster's
heroism in particular。 Honorius delighted in displaying their torment to the adoring populace。 The sight of these great； potent creatures
cowed and submissive made his own power manifest。
There were several hundred foot soldiers； chained together at the hands and feet； shambling along in two wretched lines。 Veterans of
the Thracian Guard marched around them； lashing out with force…poles and neural…whips to drive them on。 The crowd booed and
howled； and pelted the subjugated foe with bottles and rocks。
Six Trojan tank…tractors； painted in the Warmaster's colours and teamed together like horses pulling a state landau； came behind the
chained prisoners； towing a vast flatbed trailer designed to transport a super…heavy tank。 On the flatbed； shackled in adamite and
encased in individual void shield bubbles； were the thirty…three psykers； the greatest trophies of all。
They were dim； contorted shapes； barely human； swimming in the milky green cocoons of the imprisoning shields。 Along with the
White Consuls guarding the tractor…team； two hundred astrotelepaths strode alongside it； mentally reinforcing the void bubbles that
were damping the psychic fury of the captives。 Frost coated the metal of the flatbed。 More psychic ball…lightning drifted overhead。
Twenty thousand men and five hundred armoured machines of the Thracian Interior Guard formed the tail of the Great Triumph；
marching under the dual standard of Thracia and the Warmaster。
After barely fifteen minutes of walking in the immense procession； I was utterly numb。 The noise of the crowd alone vibrated me to
the very marrow。 My diaphragm shook every time the flypast came in low or when the great siege sirens of the titans blasted。 The
scale of the occasion was overwhelming； the sensory assault bewildering。 Seldom have I been so in awe of the power of my species。
Seldom have I been so forcibly reminded of my place as a tiny cog in the workings of the holy Imperium of Mankind。
FOLLOWING THE MIGHTY Avenue of the Victor Bellum； the Triumph passed under the Spatian Gate； a monolithic structure of glossy
white aethercite。 The memorial gate was so cyclopean； even the Titans passed under it without difficulty。
It had been raised to commemorate Admiral Lorpal Spatian； who had been killed in the early years of the Ophidian Suppression
during the magnificent fleet action that had taken Uritule IV。
The inner part of the arch was painted with majestic murals depicting that event； and rose to a dome so high； a microclimate of clouds
regularly formed under the apex。 I had known Spatian personally； and like several others in the procession； I paused under the giant
gate to pay my respects to the eternal flame。
No； that is not true。 I had known Spatian； during the Helican Schism； but not at all well。 For reasons I could not explain； I felt
compelled to stop。 I certainly had no great urge to honour him。
'Sir？' Ravenor asked as I stepped aside。
'Go on； I'll catch up shortly；' I told him。
Ravenor moved on with the procession while I lit a votive candle and set it amongst the thousands of others around Spatian's tomb。
The vast tide of the Triumph moved slowly by behind me。 Other figures had detached themselves from the procession and stood
nearby； paying silent homage to the admiral。
'Eisenhorn？'
I looked round； the voice breaking my reverie。 An elderly but powerful navy officer stood before me； splendidly austere in his white
dress jacket。
'Madorthene；' I said； recognising him at once。
We shook hands。 It had been a few years since I'd seen Olm Madorthene … Lord Procurator Madorthene； as he was now。 We'd first met
at Gudrun during the Necroteuch affair when he had been a mid…ranking officer in the Battlefleet Disciplinary Detachment； the navy's
military police。 Now he ran that detachment。 He'd been a useful and reliable ally over the years。
'Quite an event；' he said； with a reserved smile。 Outside； the horns of the immense Titans blared again and the noise from the crowd
swelled。
'I find myself sufficiently humbled；' I said。 'The Warmaster must be loving it。'
He nodded。 'Uplifting； good for public morale。'
I agreed； but in truth my heart was not in it。 It wasn't just the overwhelming cacophony of it； or my deep…seated reluctance to be here
at all。 Since Ravenor and I had stepped out to take our place in the Triumph； I had nursed a sense of foreboding that was growing with
each passing minute。 Was that what had made me pause here； under the great arch？
'There's a look on your face；' said Madorthene。 'This isn't really your thing； is it？'
'I suppose not。'
'What is it； old friend？'
I paused。 Something…
I strode back to the south arch of the Spatian Gate and looked back down the huge river of the Triumph。 Madorthene was with me。
The Warmaster's retinue was just then beginning to pass under the Gate。 Cymbals and horns clashed and blared。 The noise of the
crowd boomed in like a tidal wave surging down。
There were petals in the air。 I remember that clearly。 A blizzard of loose petals gusting up from the flowers the crowd was strewing。
A formation of twelve Lightnings was swooping in low from the south； coming down the length of the Triumph parade； following the
Avenue of the Victor Bellum。 Coming towards the Gate。 They were in line abreast； the tips of their forward…swept wings almost
touching。 A display of perfect formation flying from the Battlefleet's best pilots。 Sunlight glinted on their canopies and on the raked
double…vanes of their tailplanes。
The sense of foreboding I had felt now became oppressively real。 It was like heavy clouds had passed in front of the sun。
'Olm； I—'
'Emperor's mercy！ He's in trouble； look！' Madorthene cried。
The fighters were half a kilometre from the Gate； moving at a high cruising speed。 The left hand wingman suddenly wobbled；
bucked…
…and veered。
The flier directly inside of him pulled hard to avoid a collision； and his starboard wing clipped the wingtip of the next Lightning in
line。 There was a bright puff of impact debris。
One by one； like pearls coming off a necklace； each aircraft was knocked out of the formation。 The once…sleek line broke in utter
disarray Madorthene hurled me to the ground as the jets shrieked overhead； rattling the world with their afterburners。
The two that I had seen strike each other were spinning in the air； somersaulting like discarded toys； splintering trails of metal scrap
behind them。 In the confusion； it seemed to me as if several others had also accidentally collided。
One Lightning； over ten tonnes of almost supersonic metal； cartwheeled down and went into the crowd on the west side of the
Avenue。 It bounced at least once； showering human debris into the air。 At its final impact； it became a massive fireball that belched up
a blazing mushroom cloud a hundred metres into the air。 Shock and berserk panic filled the crowd。 The stench of flame and heat and
promethium washed over me。
There was a flash and the ground shook as a second stricken Lightning spiralled in under the shadow the Gate。 Then； almost
simultaneously； a third and louder blast came as a third aircraft； sent lurching out of control； sheared off a wing on the top corner of
the Spatian Gate itself； right above us； and began tumbling down； end over end。
In the fac