"The War Hounds... the Conqueror?"
Saladin's voice rang out across his magnificent private Bridge, adorned with reliefs of deserts and stars. It held neither shock nor anger, but an almost delighted amusement.
He stood before the vast observation window, his back to Abdullah, Takidin, and the others attending him, watching the colossal warship in the distant sea of stars. It was spewing destructive lance fire, the savage scars across its hull clearly visible.
A cold, confident smile slowly curled his lips.
"At last. Even more punctual than I expected." He murmured to himself like a chess player watching his opponent make a long-awaited move.
Fear? No, not a trace.
There was only the composure of a man who had accounted for everything, and the burning heat of ambition on the verge of fulfillment.
The War Hounds had arrived, and they would hardly be alone.
According to their pact, the preaching Fleet of the Word Bearers, the slow but unstoppable tide of the Death Guard, the blades of the Night Lords hidden in shadow, the steel formations of the Iron Warriors, masters of calculation and siege warfare...
By now, they should all have torn through the false tranquility, converging from every corner of the Sea of Stars upon this appointed battlefield, this altar of betrayal.
Lion El'Jonson should already have "made his move" as well. Perfect timing, perfect bait, a perfect trap.
Rebellion was no longer a conspiracy, no longer a whisper.
Now, with the appearance of the Conqueror, with the blazing guns that embodied the Emperor's wrath, the towering wave that would sweep across the galaxy had officially begun!
Let this war start in the Northern Star Cluster and consume the frontiers the Imperium believed so secure, then burn all the way to tottering Holy Terra!
He turned, the smile