by Andy Clark
‘There’s an awful lot of them,’ said Ekhaterina, her battlecannon thumping shells into the horde. Missiles leapt from her steed’s shoulders and slammed into the Stompa’s right track array. Flames leapt, and sections of track link spun away, but the huge war engine kept turning.
‘More souls for the Emperor’s table,’ said Sire Vo-Geiss, marching Void uphill with his gatling cannons howling. Orks dissolved before him in a blizzard of flesh and blood, the survivors crushed underfoot.
‘Void, remain in formation,’ ordered Luk, but the sable Knight showed no signs of slowing. ‘Vo-Geiss! What are you doing?’
As the Stompa swung around, the many-barrelled cannon on its arm spun up to speed. Shots chewed along the edge of the pass, turning several of Gesmund’s Tauroxes into fireballs and shredding a pair of ironlegs.
‘Damnation,’ shouted Luk angrily. ‘Us, not them!’
He triggered his thermal cannon, and the shot melted several of the Stompa’s armour plates to bubbling slag. The range was still too great, however, and he achieved little more.
‘Crimson Death, kill that thing,’ said Ekhaterina.
‘Omnissiah, guide my aim,’ said Sire Hw’ss, and fired his positron driver. The blasts struck the Stompa and caused it to shudder and twitch as lightning crawled over its hull. Fires burst through its armour plates. Smoke billowed.
Still it turned, raking Ranulf’s steed with cannonfire. Void, ranging ahead of its lancemates’ protection, staggered as dozens of holes were punched through its armour.
‘Agh, Throne damnit,’ he snarled. ‘I’m hit. Holy Throne, my leg’s half off.’
Luk felt anger and dismay at his comrade’s gasps of agony. Void staggered, almost toppling back down the slope. One of its cannons was a sparking wreck, and the orks were closing in.
‘Wrath Inescapable,’ said Luk. ‘Keep him alive. Get to the barricades.’ A rune flashed in reply, and Maia’s Knight angled its advance towards Void. Her thermal cannon hissed, and orks vanished in puffs of ash.
‘Sire, I have to detonate the charges,’ came the voice of Captain Schaur. ‘Hurry.’
‘Crimson Death, hit the Stompa again,’ said Luk. ‘Duty Unending, keep the greenskins off us. I’m going to finish this.’
‘Make it quick, Knight of Ashes,’ said Ekhaterina. ‘I sense our friend the captain has a limit to her patience.’
Luk pushed power to his motive impellers, riding out the jolting climb as his steed loped up the slope. A mob of greenskins rushed at him and were trampled underfoot. A pair of looted tanks turned their turrets his way, only for Lady Hespar’s shells to turn one into a fireball, and send the other skidding downhill on its side.
Bolts of light pulsed from Hw’ss cannons, slamming into the Stompa. This time the effigy’s cannon arm exploded as energy ripped through it, and its right track array ground to a halt in a fused and sparking mass.
‘Omnissiah be praised!’ shouted Hw’ss. ‘Take that, xenos filth.’
Luk strode closer, kicking an ork tank out of his way. A volley of rockets hit Sword of Heroes from the side, buckling armour plates and turning cockpit runes red. Damage warnings chimed in his ears.
The Stompa’s remaining arm, a twenty-foot-long chain blade, was revving up to speed. Hydraulics hissed and smoke belched as it swung in his direction, but the angle was poor. The machine had to reach around its own bulk to strike at him, and Luk was easily able to sidestep its clumsy flailing.
In return, he fired his thermal cannon straight at the Stompa’s head. Metal glowed cherry-red, then vaporised even as it melted. Superheated gases exploded outwards in a fierce blast, flames racing down into the war engine’s guts to trigger further blasts that scorched it from the inside out.
Luk stepped back from the dying war engine, trampling orks as he went.
‘Exiles, Vesserines, Sacristans, the way is clear,’ he voxed. ‘Get to the barricades. Go!’
The explosions triggered one after another. Each fed into the last to create a swelling roar that shook the ground and raised clouds of snow and smoke. Thousands of tons of debris swept down upon the orks still crammed into the pass, rushing them away in a roaring tide. The few greenskins fortunate enough to be near the barricades avoided the devastation, but outnumbered, they hurled themselves at the Pegasson defences with little hope of survival.
While Gesmund’s Vesserines added their fire to the militia and gunned down the last of the xenos, the Exiles gathered on a plateau a little way upslope, in the shadow of the higher peaks.
Vo-Geiss was extracted from his cockpit with difficulty, lifted down on a cradle of armatures and swiftly cocooned in a thermal-shielded medicae pod. The Freeblade had not exaggerated, thought Luk; his wounds were severe, his left leg and much of his abdomen a mangled red ruin.
‘Void won’t be fighting for a while,’ said Ekhaterina. ‘That’s if Ranulf makes it at all. The Sacristans don’t seem sure that he will.’
‘My fault,’ said Sire Hw’ss. ‘If I’d just calibrated a more bellicose positronic wave…’
‘If anyone is at fault, it’s me for not seeing the obvious ambush we were walking into, and for not keeping that headstrong fool in line,’ said Luk. ‘But blame is no use to us now. We have a mission, and it cannot wait while we flagellate ourselves.’
‘Here comes the captain,’ said Ekhaterina. ‘I’ve a sense she’s not that grateful for our assistance.’ Luk saw Schaur wading towards them through the snow, straight backed in her thermos-baffled militia captain’s uniform, face like thunder. She raised a hand to hear ear, activating a vox-bead.
‘Luk Kar Chimaeros, yes?’ she asked.
‘The Knight of Ashes,’ corrected Luk.
‘Chimaeros were heretics and traitors,’ said the captain. ‘Your House is destroyed, your people dead. What are you doing here?’
Luk’s jaw clenched. ‘We were hunting the architect of that heresy. We received word of Adrastapol’s plight and returned to lend our aid.’
‘We, being Freeblades and mercenaries, yes?’ asked the captain.
‘Freeblades and mercenaries who just destroyed a war effigy on your behalf,’ said Lady Hespar hotly.
‘And who nearly ruined an ambush that cost me the lives of several dozen good soldiers to orchestrate,’ replied the captain. ‘I ask again – you are in House Pegasson territory. Why?’
‘I am here on the express instruction of High King Danial Tan Draconis himself,’ said Luk. ‘Freeblade I may be, but I still sit a throne mechanicum, which means I have no need to explain myself to you, and you will show some damn respect. We are going on to the Pegasson’s Eyrie, for an audience with the Marchioness. Now. You can either vox ahead and clear us a path or impede our efforts to do the High King’s will.’
On his retinal display, Luk saw the captain’s mask falter.
‘The High King?’ she asked. ‘When did you speak to him? Contact was lost with the Draconspire several days ago.’
‘All the more reason for haste,’ said Luk.
‘Very well,’ said Captain Schaur. ‘You may proceed, but you’ll dismount outside the main south gate and leave your steeds and weapons there. Your Sacristans will stay with them. Your mercenaries can stay here until we know your intentions, Knight of Ashes. I’m sure you wouldn’t begrudge us their aid?’
‘Luk,’ began Ekhaterina angrily. Luk cut her off.
‘Good enough, captain,’ he said. ‘We have a man sorely wounded…’
‘Don’t we all,’ said Captain Schaur, an edge of exhaustion in her voice. ‘I’ll ensure he’s received by medicae at the gates. Proceed, Freeblade.’
‘My thanks, captain,’ said Luk. He turned his steed towards the road onwards. It arced up from the plateau and hugged the mountainside all the way to the gates of the fortress high above. The roadway was armoured, and lined with gatehouses, satellite fortifications and a
nti-air emplacements.
‘That was not a warm welcome,’ said Ekhaterina. ‘I could have stepped on that damned woman.’
‘I have never lied to any of you about the circumstances of my exile,’ said Luk. ‘What sort of welcome did you expect? Banners? A parade?’
‘She has been fighting long and hard,’ said Maia. ‘Still she showed strength. Did her duty. There is beauty in that.’
‘What is it with you and common-born women in uniform?’ asked Lady Hespar. ‘The last one was a bounty hunter, wasn’t she?’
‘My private liaisons are not your concern,’ said Maia coldly.
‘They really aren’t,’ said Luk. ‘A little focus, Ekhaterina? I know you’re angry, but we have a duty to fulfil.’
‘One that would be easier without obstreperous little commoners getting in the way,’ said Lady Hespar. Still, she subsided, and they strode their steeds up the roadway. At each blockade, Captain Schaur’s word proved good as barriers were lifted, gates rumbled open and their way was cleared.
‘The view is remarkably optimal, for all that it is war-torn,’ said Sire Hw’ss.
Luk couldn’t argue. As they scaled the mountainside, a magnificent vista opened below them. Snowy slopes dropped steeply away towards lower peaks and passes, some thick with evergreens, others swarming with the dark stain of orkish hordes. Knights could be seen, wading into battle down below, holding narrow passes and exchanging fire with ork war engines. The skies were busy with skirmishing aircraft, their contrails criss-crossing through the tattered clouds.
Around and above them, the Pegassus’ Eyrie directed a rain of fire into the fight. The stronghold of House Pegasson was not one structure but many, towers and fortifications radiating out from huge central keeps that were themselves spread over several neighbouring peaks. Countless sky bridges, walkways and armoured overhangs connected the proud white-and-blue structures, and gun turrets in their hundreds flared in their walls.
‘A spectacular war,’ said Maia.
‘And one that Pegasson looks, for the moment, to be winning,’ said Luk.
‘Let’s hope that doesn’t count against us when we ask them to abandon their stronghold and rush to the Draconspire’s aid,’ said Lady Hespar.
‘Ever the optimist, Ekhaterina,’ said Luk. ‘Keep an eye on your thermogauges. The wind’s high up here, and the temperatures exceptionally low. When we dismount, be sure to dial up the thermoregulators on your bodygloves, and cover as much exposed skin as possible. Rebreathers, too.’
At the summit, the main south gate of the Pegassus’ Eyrie loomed above them. The Exiles disconnected from their thrones, quieting their steeds and dismounting. Luk knew they must seem a strange group, him in his battered attire, Hw’ss the robed cyborg, Lady Maia as small, delicate and reserved as Lady Ekhaterina was haughty and flamboyantly garbed and tattooed.
Luk suspected that their outsider status would also count against them, and felt a pang of guilt at the thought that maybe Ranulf – with his skeletal war paint and morbid cowl – was better off in a medicae pod for now.
As the wind wailed around them, and snow skirled past in flurries, they were met outside the tall adamantium gates by a compliment of militia. The soldiers were led by a Knight whose long, silver-white hair was tied back in an elaborate weave.
‘Lady Eleanat Dar Pegasson,’ said Luk, grinning despite himself. ‘It has been long years, my lady.’
Eleanat offered him a reserved smile.
‘Not since that business on Donatos,’ she said. ‘It is good to see that you live, Luk.’
‘There are plenty who wouldn’t agree with you, my lady,’ said Luk, startled by her kindness.
‘They weren’t there,’ she said disdainfully. ‘They didn’t see you fight at the High King’s side. Let them mutter into their wine all they wish.’
‘Thank you, my lady,’ said Luk, surprised at how grateful he felt for her words. He glanced at Ekhaterina, who quirked one corner of her mouth.
Perhaps there was hope after all, her look said.
‘Follow,’ said Lady Eleanat. ‘The Marchioness awaits you in her throne room. She has a war to win though, Luk, so when you see her, be brief.’
Eleanat leant close, dropping her voice so only Luk could hear. ‘Also, beware her spiritual advisors.’
Luk was taken aback at the distaste he heard in Lady Eleanat’s voice.
‘You don’t approve of these advisors, my lady?’ he asked.
‘Better you see for yourself,’ she said. ‘But be prepared for hostility.’
They made their way through the fortress. The interior of the Pegassus’ Eyrie was light and airy, with walls and ceilings made of glass and crystal, and sculptures of light and ice hanging in stasis fields at major junctions. Banners and long carpets in the house colours decorated the hallways, and elegant gold servitors stalked by on telescopic limbs.
Luk saw war’s touch, too. Ballrooms and feast halls had become barracks, refugee encampments and triage stations. Blood-stained stretchers spilled out into the hallways and injured militia moaned in pain. Ammunition carriages rumbled past, towed by muscular servitors with Pegassus heads, while militia and Knights jogged down the corridors with their weapons at the ready.
The Exiles crossed one of the soaring sky-bridges, and Luk felt a moment’s discomfort as he realised the floor was clear armourglass. The drop below was dizzying. If Eleanat and her soldiers noticed his discomfort, they showed no sign, instead marching on over the gulf as though it wasn’t there.
Eventually, they halted before a high stone arch inlaid with theldrite carvings that sparkled like ice and diamond.
‘Here,’ said Eleanat. ‘Proceed within. You may keep your weapons, but do not unsheathe them, even with honour. This is a time of war.’
Luk nodded, glancing to his companions. The grand doors whispered open, and the Exiles passed through.
Lauret’s throne room echoed the stylings of the rest of the Pegassus’ Eyrie, a haven of beautiful carvings, cold light and high, airy spaces. Few courtiers had found the time to attend an audience at short notice, and at such a fraught time, meaning no more than a few dozen adepts, courtiers and minor nobles occupied the chamber’s galleries.
Lauret herself sat atop a tall throne that looked as though it had been carved from ice, set on a podium reached via a set of silvered steps. Circuitry pulsed and glowed throughout the throne’s structure, and the datacables wound into the Marchioness’ elaborate tresses connected to its various sockets. Imperial aquilas were much in evidence, the trappings of the faith displayed on banners, braziers and auto-shrines around her.
At the throne’s base stood several Knights of House Pegasson, along with a gathering of priests and a compliment of blue-armoured bodyguards.
One of the Knights stepped forward.
‘Knight of Ashes,’ he said. ‘You are welcomed to the throne room of the Marchioness Lauret Tan Pegasson. I am the lady’s herald, Quensil Dar Pegasson. Please make your companions known.’
Luk bowed deeply.
‘My thanks for your welcome, Sire Quensil,’ he said, before briefly introducing each of his companions in turn as protocol demanded. ‘There is one other amongst our company, Sire Ranulf Vo-Geiss, but he is sorely injured. He is with your medicae now.’
The Marchioness looked down at Luk, her expression unreadable. He in turn looked back at her, marvelling at how she had restored herself after her agonies of Donatos.
‘Welcome, Knight of Ashes,’ she said at last. Her throne pulsed with light in time to her words. ‘I am told that you bring word from High King Danial Tan Draconis. Is this true?’
‘I come on his behalf, and at his behest,’ said Luk. ‘We spoke shortly after I made planetfall. Before transmission failed, he gave me urgent instructions, and asked a great task of me. One that I would entreat your aid in completing.’
<
br /> ‘My lady,’ said one of the priests, ‘I urge caution.’ He was a hulking man in a heavy cowl and sleeveless robes, whose muscular arms were wrapped with chains. ‘This mercenary bears the name of House Chimaeros, who have been declared hereticus diabolus upon this world. He speaks with a serpent’s tongue!’
‘He has taken the Freeblade oath,’ said one of Lauret’s Knights angrily. ‘Still your ignorant prattle on matters you don’t understand.’
‘A few oaths cannot expunge the taint of Chaos,’ said the priest. ‘No matter how solemnly they may be spoken.’
Luk held his temper, studying the gaggle of holy men around the throne. They were ragged and dishevelled to a man, and covered in aquila tattoos and scriptures. Many wore chains or iron masks, and they all bore the scars of self-flagellation.
‘My Lady Tan Pegasson,’ he said. ‘The message I bring to you is urgent in the extreme. Am I to suffer the interruptions and scorn of these fanatics throughout its delivery?’
In the galleries, postures stiffened and voices murmured.
‘Knight of Ashes,’ said the Marchioness. ‘These men attended me during the darkest days of my recovery. They are strong in the Imperial faith, and they speak from the heart, not the mind. That is a valuable trait, even if they may not understand the intricacies of the Code Chivalric. If you have news of the Draconspire, speak on. You will not be interrupted again.’
The outspoken priest bowed his head in contrition, and made the sign of the aquila.
‘Marchioness,’ said Luk. ‘When I spoke to the High King, he reported that a massive greenskin horde had laid siege to the Draconspire.’
‘This much we know from orbital auguries,’ said Sire Quensil. ‘Atmospheric interference becomes more troublesome by the hour thanks to the ongoing deployment of macro-ordnance and the like, but we believe that the ork presence around the Draconspire continues to increase.’
Luk nodded, feeling some small relief. He had feared the worst when Danial’s vox transmission had failed.
‘High King Danial charged me with breaking that siege,’ said Luk. ‘He said that the greenskins’ warlord is leading the fight in person.’
