WH40K - The Horus Heresy 10 - Kyme & Priestley - Tales of Heresy.pdf

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T HE H ORUS H ERESY
Edited by Nick Kyme & Lindsey Priestley
TALES OF HERESY
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Tales of Heresy
T HE H ORUS H ERESY
It is a time of legend.
Mighty heroes battle for the right to rule the galaxy. The vast armies
of the Emperor of Earth have conquered the galaxy in a Great
Crusade - the myriad alien races have been smashed by the
Emperor’s elite warriors and wiped from the face of history.
The dawn of a new age of supremacy for humanity beckons.
Gleaming citadels of marble and gold celebrate the many victories
of the Emperor. Triumphs are raised on a million worlds to record
the epic deeds of his most powerful and deadly warriors.
First and foremost amongst these are the primarchs, superheroic
beings who have led the Emperor’s armies of Space Marines in
victory after victory. They are unstoppable and magnificent, the
pinnacle of the Emperor’s genetic experimentation. The Space
Marines are the mightiest human warriors the galaxy has ever
known, each capable of besting a hundred normal men or more in
combat.
Organised into vast armies of tens of thousands called Legions, the
Space Marines and their primarch leaders conquer the galaxy in the
name of the Emperor.
Chief amongst the primarchs is Horus, called the Glorious, the
Brightest Star, favourite of the Emperor, and like a son unto him. He
is the Warmaster, the commander-in-chief of the Emperor’s military
might, subjugator of a thousand worlds and conqueror of the
galaxy. He is a warrior without peer, a diplomat supreme.
As the flames of war spread through the Imperium, mankind’s
champions will all be put to the ultimate test.
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CONTENTS
Blood Games
by Dan Abnett
Wolf at the Door
by Mike Lee
Scions of the Storm
by Anthony Reynolds
The Voice
by James Swallow
Call of the Lion
by Gav Thorpe
The Last Church
by Graham McNeill
After Desh’ea
by Matthew Farrer
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BLOOD GAMES
Dan Abnett
quis custodiet ipsos custodes?
H E HAD BEEN circling for ten months. Ten months, and eighteen
identities, most of them so authentic they had fooled Unified Bi-
ometric Verification. He’d faked out three blind trails to throw
them off his scent, one into the Slovakian fiefs, one to Kaspia and
the Nord Reaches, and the other a meandering route down
through the Tirol to the Dolomite Shrines overlooking the Pit of
Venezia. He’d overwintered in Boocuresd Hive, and crossed the
Black Sea Basin by cargo spinner during the first week of ice-ebb.
At Bilhorod, he had turned back on himself to lose an unwanted
tail. He had spent three weeks hiding in a disused manufactory
in Mesopotamia, preparing his next move.
Ten months; a little long for a blood game, but then he was
playing it out carefully, synchronising his movements with glob-
al patterns, following trade routes, inter-provincial traffic and
seasonal labour migrations. He was one hundred per cent certain
they didn’t have an orbital grid fix for him, and he was fairly
confident they didn’t even have an approximate. There’d been no
one on his heels since Bilhorod.
He trekked up-country through Baluchistan, mostly on foot,
sometimes stealing a lift on transports, and crossed the border
into the Imperial Territory three hundred and three days after he
had set out.
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