'But there is an even darker tale you must now hear.' Boreas paused again and took another deep breath. This was the point of no return. What he was about to say would change them forever. 'You have been told the names of these traitors, the Legions who we hate and shall hunt whilst even one of them still draws breath: The Emperor's Children, the Thousand Sons, the World Eaters, the Alpha Legion, the Word Bearers, the Iron Warriors, the Death Guard, the Night Lords and the Sons of Horus; you remember these names with fury. But there is a Legion whose name is not recorded on that roll of abhorrence. It is the name of the Dark Angels.'

The others sat in shock; Boreas could see the confusion written on their faces. He knew well the thoughts and emotions that now swirled through their minds. The sudden emptiness, the doubt, the denial. It was Damas who spoke first

'I do not understand, Brother-Chaplain,' the veteran sergeant said, his brow creased with thought. 'How can our Chapter be counted amongst the traitors?'

'I am as loyal to the Emperor as the Lion himself!' Zaul exclaimed, standing quickly, his fist clenched to his chest.

'We are all loyal warriors,' agreed Hephaestus. 'How can you accuse us of such a thing?'

'Your purity and loyalty is beyond question,' Boreas told them, stepping down from the pulpit to stand in front of them. 'But the seed of heresy resides within us all.'

'Is this a test?' Thumiel asked, looking at the others. 'It is a test, isn't it?'

'Our lives are a constant test, Brother Thumiel,' Nestor said calmly. 'I do not think that is the intention of the Interrogator-Chaplain.'

'Listen!' hissed Boreas, waving Zaul to seat himself. The Space Marine returned to the bench reluctantly, eying Boreas suspiciously. 'Listen, and you shall gain wisdom and knowledge. Why do you think it was that the Dark Angels did not fight at the battle of Terra? Why did we not stand at the walls of the Imperial Palace beside the Imperial Fists and the White Scars?'

'We were delayed fighting the forces of the Warmaster,' Hephaestus answered. 'We arrived after the battle was won. Or are you saying this is another lie?'

'It is not a lie, but a half-truth,' Boreas replied. 'We indeed fought those who had turned against the Emperor. We fought against our own battle-brothers who had sided against him. When the Lion returned to Caliban, it was his own Space Marines that attacked him.'

'But that does not make sense,' protested Zaul. 'Wе were the oldest and greatest of the Legions, why would any of us bow to Horus?'

'Who can say what went on in the depraved minds of those who turned upon their battle-brothers?' That was an outright lie, for Boreas knew full well what had turned the Dark Angels upon themselves. He had heard it from Astelan. But understanding was not required here, merely obedience. 'They were corrupted by a man pos­sessed of a great skill with words, whose bitterness he hid behind a falsehood of friendship with the Lion. It was El'Jonson's own adopted kin who turned on him, Luther the Betrayer.'

'Luther was like a father to the Lion,' snorted Damas. 'How could our legends not mention such a grievous act?'

'Because we expunged them,' Boreas replied brutally. 'Because the truth is too dangerous to be left unfettered. Because the knowledge of it is a corruption in and of itself. Because you, my battle-brothers, must think with purity and clarity, and the times of the Horus Heresy are filled with doubt and ambiguity.'

'You lied to us, treated us like children.' Thumiel clutched his head in his hands, his gaze at the ground. 'You doubted us and kept this from us.'

'No!' snapped Boreas. 'It is because this legacy of shame was not yours to bear. Knowledge is a dangerous thing. It clouds the mind, it breeds laxity and heresy. Only the strongest-willed, only the most devout and pure can understand the guilt that lies upon us for this heinous deed at the time of our greatest glory. Only those with the courage to face the darkness within our own souls can strive to restore honour to our Chapter. I believe you are ready for that fight, and I tell you this not to cause you harm, but to give you the strength to prose­cute your duties with zeal and vigour.'

'And why now, Interrogator-Chaplain, do you decide to reveal this information?' Nestor asked quietly. The others looked at him sharply and then turned their atten­tion to Boreas, nodding in assent.

'Because the opportunity for our redemption is at hand!' Boreas declared, starting to pace up and down in front of them. 'This is the vile foe of which I speak. The Lutherites, the Fallen Angels, may be here, in the Piscina system itself.'

'The renegades are here?' gasped Zaul. 'How can you know that? How can we trust anything you say?'

'For centuries you have all trusted in the Chapter, heeded the words of myself and the other Chaplains,' Boreas pointed out. 'We never lied to you, not directly. We sought to protect you, guard you against the stain of our history. It has been this way for ten thousand years. Do you not think I felt this way when I learnt the truth? Do you think I took my vows of secrecy light of heart, gleeful of what I then knew, and what you now know? I asked myself the same questions that now plague your thoughts. I sought meaning in the anarchy of my mind. And I found it, through my brethren, as you shall find it through me. This is your greatest test as Dark Angels. But it is not a test that you can pass or fail, there are no set standards. It is a test for you to judge in your own hearts how you deal with the truth. The truth is hard to bear, and now you are amongst those who must share that burden. You must walk amongst your battle-brothers knowing that which drives us while they do not. That is what it means to be Deathwing.'

'The Deathwing?' Hephaestus asked. 'What connection do the Deathwing have with the Fallen?'

'All those who are or have been in the Deathwing know what you have been told,' Boreas explained. 'You are all now, by the very fact of what you know, warriors of the Deathwing. They are one and same, the honour of the Chapter and the shame of our past shared in a single soul.'

'I'm now in the Deathwing?' laughed Thumiel. 'Just like that, I become a member of the First Company, the elite of the Chapter?'

'There are ceremonies, there are oaths to swear, and your armour to be painted,' Boreas said, stopping in front of the battle-brother, laying a hand on his head. 'But yes, you are now Deathwing, there is no other way. An ordi­nary battle-brother cannot know what you have been told, and so I shall induct you into the Deathwing, and instruct you in the secret knowledge of our Chapter.'

'I ask this again, Interrogator-Chaplain, why now?' Nestor asked.

'The Fallen are in Piscina!' Boreas repeated. 'We hunt their ship as I speak. I declare crusade on this mission, this is a holy war against the most ancient enemy of our Chapter. We shall go from here and prepare for battle. We shall not rest, we shall don our armour and our weapons and they shall not be laid down until the enemy is destroyed. This is a reckoning that has waited a hundred centuries, and our vengeance is at hand. You see, this is the true purpose of the Dark Angels. This is the real mis­sion of the Chapter. Whilst a Fallen still lives unrepentant of his sins, we can gain no true honour, we cannot truly serve the Emperor as his greatest warriors. All else we might do is ultimately in vain, but the hunt, the quest, these are what give us our meaning. Only when we have healed the grievous wounds of the Horus Heresy can we start to build again.'

'I feel the pain burning inside me!' Zaul declared, slap­ping a hand to his chest. His eyes were wide, his muscles taut. He fell to his knees at Boreas's feet. 'I understand, Interrogator-Chaplain! Forgive my doubts! Thank you for opening my eyes to this mystery. Thank you for giving my life purpose. I swear that I will follow you into the Eye of Terror itself to expunge this deed from our past.'

The others followed his lead, kneeling before the Interrogator-Chaplain. Nestor hesitated for a moment glancing at the others, and then knelt at the end of the line. Pride swelled within Boreas's heart as he walked down the line, touching each of them on the scalp. His doubts seemed to dissipate like a mist as he looked at the row of kneeling warriors. Zaul was right. Here was purpose. Here was what he had been seeking these last two years. They were ready to fight to eradicate the shame of the Chapter.

Boreas was ready to fight, to eradicate the memory of Astelan and his own personal shame.

For the next few days, as the Blade of Caliban prowled into the inner Piscina system, the Dark Angels prepared themselves. They were not just preparing for war; they were readying themselves for a crusade, the most sacred undertaking a Space Marine could make. It was not just a mission, it was a sacred oath they had sworn, and they would not rest until it was complete or they were dead. It was more than a simple quest, it was a state of mind that the Space Marines entered, foregoing all other considera­tions in pursuit of their goal.

During a crusade, they did not rest or sleep, spending only an hour each day in the semi-conscious meditative state allowed by the catalepsean node implant. They spent the remainder of their time readying their battlegear and in prayer. Now that Boreas had made them members of the Deathwing, they repainted their armour in the bone-white colour of the Dark Angels First Com­pany, and applied new markings. They were now entitled to personal heraldry, and spent hours with Boreas and the old texts he possessed, researching their crests and colours according to Chapter tradition. The Interrogator-Chaplain taught them new battle hymns - the secret Catechism of Hate reserved for the Fallen, the Opus Victorius in honour of the loyal Dark Angels' victory over the Lutherites, and the Verses of Condemnation that listed the uncovering of the Fallen and their misdeeds since the quest had begun.

All the while, the Blade of Caliban cut through the ether searching for the Saint Carthen. Sen Neziel was in regular contact with the Thor Fifteen, and after eight days had passed, they had proceeded beyond Piscina III and were heading further into the inner reaches of the system. There had been a few false alarms, when one or other of the ships had detected an anomalous reading. Most turned out to be system malfunctions, radioactive asteroids, and once they came across a merchant trader that had suffered damage dropping out of the warp and had drifted in system, their long range communications array out of operation. The Blade of Caliban had nearly passed them by when they encountered the distress call. Boreas had a short and explosive exchange with the trader's master, refusing to abandon his search to guide the stray vessel back to the trade routes. A message of concern from the cap­tain of the Thor Fifteen and Commander Kayle followed, but Boreas ignored them. He was focussed on the crusade, and would countenance no distraction or deviation from the goal of their search.

Boreas spent much time with the others, helping them come to terms with the revelations they had heard. He guided their prayers until they came to some rough understanding. Zaul had responded with anger, his hatred of the renegades fanned into a barely-controllable fury as Boreas taught him more of their betrayal and the civil war that had riven the Chapter. Damas's ire was colder, more introverted. He took every moment he could to work on his weapons and armour, painstakingly writing out the Opus Victorius on his power armour in tiny script, the act itself giving him release and focussing his thoughts on vengeance. Hephaestus similarly laboured in the ship's forge and workshop, blessing every gun, every bolt shell, every energy pack and blade with the strength of the Machine God. Thumiel spent his time on the firing range, chanting breathlessly as he fired round after round into static and moving targets, cursing the Fallen with every shot. For him, the confrontation could not come soon enough.

And then there was Nestor. He seemed least changed by Boreas's unveiling of the Chapter's hidden past. He gave them all a thorough physical examination, the most rigorous he could devise, and declared them all to be in perfect fighting condition, ready for the holy war. He had perhaps changed in one way though - he seemed even quieter. He became even more closed and uncommu­nicative the longer the search dragged on, as if he wanted to be free of the ship itself. Whenever Boreas broached the subject, he would reply that he was intent on con­cluding their mission as soon as possible, for he feared for Piscina while the Fallen might be in the system.

This fact also troubled Boreas. In his urgency to pursue the Saint Carthen, he had brought all of his command with him. For the first time in millennia, there were no Space Marines on Piscina IV, only their attendants. Always, even on the short recruiting missions to Piscina V, Damas, Zaul or Thumiel had been left behind as com­mander of the keep. Boreas fretted that he had misjudged the situation, that perhaps he had been lured from Piscina by his foe. He dismissed the idea but it kept com­ing back to him, nagging at the back of his mind during prayer, teasing him as he practised battle drill with his brethren. But there was nothing he could do except fol­low to its conclusion the course of action he had chosen. It was his sacred duty as a member of the Deathwing to seek out the Fallen wherever they might be, and here was a golden opportunity to fulfil that duty. He had declared crusade and the future was now set, for good or ill. Piscina IV was still garrisoned by fifteen thousand Impe­rial Guard and the Imperial commander's own troops; even the Fallen would not be able to face such numbers if they attacked.

After nine days of searching, contact was made. The Thor Fifteen had detected a ship just outside the stellar orbit of Piscina II and was moving to investigate. Boreas ordered the Blade of Caliban to power with all speed to the area. Outwardly, there was nothing more significant about this contact than any of the others, but he felt inside that this time they were on to the foe, that the ulti­mate moment of confrontation was fast approaching. It was still two days' journey to intercept the rogue vessel, and he gathered the Dark Angels in the chapel. All was physically ready for the coming battle, now they were to make the last preparations of their minds and souls.

For the first day they fasted and meditated, each Space Marine alone with his own thoughts. Boreas spent this time on contemplation musing on the future. Unless the Chapter was engaged in a full-scale war, the Tower of Angels would be redirecting itself to Piscina, dropping into the warp in response to Boreas's warning. Part of him worried that his fears were unfounded, and that his actions would be deemed rash and selfish. There was also part of him that wished that were true, for it would mean there were no Lutherites at Piscina, and he would not have to conduct another interrogation. He had per­formed one other since his encounter with Astelan, but it had been more straightforward than the first. The Space Marine had ranted and raved, totally corrupted by the Ruinous Powers, and despite the agonising attentions of Boreas had refused right to the end to repent his sins. He had finally died screaming from his numerous injuries, cursing the name of Lion El'Jonson. There had been none of the innuendo and guile of Astelan, none of the supposed revelations about the Horus Heresy, which even now disturbed the Chaplain's thoughts.

But the greater part of him wished for another con­frontation with the ancient enemy. Boreas wanted the chance to prove his loyalty again, after many months of doubt and introspection. As much as Zaul, he longed for the cleansing of holy battle to wash over him, to wash away his questions and fears with the blood of his foes. Truly, Boreas realised with a shock as he prayed through the night, we live for battle and battle alone. A Space Marine never felt so strong of purpose, so alive and aware of his own potential, as when he was on the battlefield, and it was a feeling that Boreas had too long been denied. Even the clash with the orks had been perfunc­tory, clinical, a mere brawl compared to the battle of the basilica - a cold, precise engagement that had not tested him or distracted him from his problems.

On the second day, Boreas led the battle-brothers in final prayer.

Born in the darkness, a dream given life,

Holy warriors to bring forth the light.

Armed with zeal, armoured with faith,

Gods of battle at the fore of the fight.

Swords of the Emperor, shields of Mankind,

Destined for war, fated for death.

Protectors of the weak, slayers of evil,

We fight 'til we draw our last dying breath.

There is no retreat, there is no surrender,

Our hate of the foe drives us eternally on.

While aliens live, while heresy festers,

There can be no peace until the last war is won.

Strengthen your heart, harden your soul,

Launch yourself gladly into death's hungry maw.

There is no time for peace, no respite, no forgiveness,

There is only war.

Physically ready, and spiritually pure, the Dark Angels waited impatiently as the Blade of Caliban neared the interception point. The Thor Fifteen was approaching from the inner planets, having made the detection on a return pass. It was partway through the middle watch of the day when the attendants at the rapid strike vessel's own augurs reported an energy source close at hand.

The Thor Fifteen had encountered the Saint Carthen first and was engaged in a long-range duel. The Thor Fif­teen's captain, Jahel Stehr, was calling for aid when Boreas strode onto the bridge. He glanced at the main display screen and watched the battle for a moment. Flickering lasers rippled out from the gun decks of the renegade ship, strobing across the system ship's void shields in explosions of undulating blue waves. Missiles fired in return streaked across the starry backdrop but passed harmlessly beneath the Saint Carthen. The pirate vessel was closing on the Imperial ship, and within a few minutes would be able to pass her stern and fire into her engines. On all fronts, the Thor Fifteen looked outclassed.

'She's heavily armed for a merchantman,' Stehr's crack­ling voice reported. Boreas knew only too well what the enemy ship was capable of, having heard from Astelan how he had her fitted out as a pirate vessel that had laid waste to many convoys under his command.

The Thor Fifteen was ill-prepared and poorly com­manded, Boreas assessed, and ordered maximum power from the plasma reactors in an attempt to close the dis­tance as quickly as possible. He commanded the others to stand ready in the loading bays. His plan was to crip­ple the Saint Carthen's engines and then make a small strike at her command deck. Once under control, he would turn off the life support systems and kill everyone inside. He could take the vessel with minimal losses and, more importantly, if there were Fallen aboard, only he and the other Dark Angels would encounter them. As he had done a century ago, he and the others had sworn to protect the Chapter's dark secret with their lives. Like him, they would go to any lengths to prevent knowledge of the Fallen becoming widespread, for the shame was of the Dark Angels' making and it would be they alone who atoned for it.