by Andy Clark
The runner nodded, bowed, then dashed off into the corridors.
‘I’d march on the Eye of Terror itself for a reliable vox-net,’ said Suset.
‘This will suffice,’ said Danial. ‘Those young men and women are keeping our war effort alive.’
‘True enough, my liege,’ she said. ‘So, we’d better get on and fight, hadn’t we?’
Danial led the way out of the chamber. After another minute’s jog, they clattered up a set of steps through an archway onto the upper western ramparts.
‘Oh, Emperor,’ breathed Danial.
The rampart they had emerged onto was high up on the second western wall, the uppermost of four such firesteps that lined its flank. Turreted towers soared high above them, House Draconis banners flapping proudly in the wind.
Below, everything was mayhem. The outer districts were aflame, seething with orks as far as the eye could see. Many buildings were collapsed ruins of fire-gutted shells, and greenskin heavy weapons blazed from every window and rooftop.
Militia companies lined the battlements, pouring fire down into the attackers. They hurled explosives and rolled burning promethium barrels down angled ramps to plunge into the hordes milling below. The bravest leaned out to rake autogun rounds into the xenos, and more than one man was blown off his feet by return fire.
Here and there, Knights of House Draconis strode up and down the line, clad in their archeotech bodygloves. They bellowed encouragement, and fired bolters down into the foe.
Wall guns were firing, too, their hammering all but drowned out by the endless roar of voices, engines and detonations from beyond the walls. The air stank of smoke and blood, and tasted of ash.
The orks were hurling fire at the walls. Artillery shells and missiles looped in from the Valatane to blast craters in the wall. Hails of bullets and bombs flayed the battlements with concussive fury, while greenskin aircraft roared overhead, dogfighting furiously with the Draconis aircraft.
In the middle distance, towering ork walkers could be seen shouldering their way through the buildings of the outer districts, firing relentlessly.
Markos shook his head, eyes wide.
Danial glanced up and down the firestep, then beckoned to a militia officer. The man hurried over, accompanied by a pair of runners.
‘Lieutenant,’ said Danial. ‘Report.’
‘Sire,’ said the lieutenant, making the sign of the aquila. ‘They’ve been attacking since dawn. Five hours now they’ve been pushing without rest. We must have killed thousands. They claimed the lowest battlement twice with rope and grapnel assaults. We drove them back, but some mobs broke through and pushed deeper.’
‘That we have seen,’ said Danial. ‘Those xenos are slain.’
‘Welcome news, sire,’ said the lieutenant. ‘We’ve sufficient ammunition for another two hours’ fighting at this pace, though Captain Lesinger sent runners to request additional munitions and medicae. They may not have broken through. There’s word of ork infiltrators, sire. Stealthy, ambushing runners and sabotaging ammunition supplies.’
Danial looked to Suset.
‘It’s the first I’ve heard of this,’ she said. ‘But anything’s possible. If there’s a risk to our communications and supplies, we need to deal with it.’
‘Agreed,’ said Danial. ‘Lady Suset, take Bannoch and his men. Get to the Grand Strategium and work with Percivane to coordinate sweep teams.’
‘At once,’ she said. ‘I’ll double the guards on our ammunition stores, medicae stations and Sacristan shrines.’
‘Agreed,’ said Danial. ‘Put guards on our runners wherever possible.’
‘What about you?’ asked Suset.
‘I’m going to circle south along the walls,’ said Danial. ‘Markos, you go north. If the greenskins have gained a foothold anywhere, we lead the counter-attack to throw them back. If not, there’s still value in making ourselves seen and inspiring morale.’
Markos nodded.
‘I’ll find Garath,’ said Markos through a wash of static. ‘Make sure… miserable sod hasn’t got himself killed.’
Danial nodded, knowing the herald’s gruff mockery veiled real concern. Since the loss of his steed, Garath had been grim and withdrawn.
Markos turned and marched away. Suset hesitated for a moment, locking eyes with Danial. He saw fiery emotion burning with them.
‘Be safe, my liege,’ she said.
‘I will, my lady,’ said Danial. ‘And you.’
She saluted, then gestured to Bannoch and marched away without a backwards glance. Danial watched her go, feeling a mixture of love and fear, inspiration warring with chest-tightening dread.
‘What more wondrous torment than to possess something you truly fear to lose?’ asked his father’s voice in his mind. Danial shook his head.
‘Mooning after her like a squire,’ he chided himself. ‘Remember, duty and honour.’
‘Sire,’ said the lieutenant. ‘Do you require bodyguards for your tour?’
‘No,’ said Danial. ‘Thank you. We need every man and woman at the walls. I won’t pull anyone else away from their duties.’
The lieutenant saluted, and Danial set off along the firestep. He kept his back straight and his head up, despite the explosions that shook the battlements. It was how his father would have presented himself and, no matter Danial’s feelings on the man and his past misdeeds, Tolwyn Tan Draconis had known how to inspire his soldiers.
Though fire continued to hammer the battlements, and shells screamed in from on high, where Danial walked the militia stood taller, and fought with renewed vigour. Danial understood his own talismanic value. He used it.
‘In Excelsium Furore!’ he cried to his valiant warriors. ‘Keep fighting. Make the Emperor proud!’ They cheered, pouring fire down into the attacking hordes.
Still, for all his bravado, Danial ached to sit his throne, to march out to battle in Oath of Flame. Watching the greenskin walkers lumber brazenly back and forth rankled at him. Their presumption made him angry.
As Danial neared a flight of ferrocrete steps, he saw a commotion ahead. Scorched and blood-stained soldiers were spilling down the stairway, wide-eyed with fear.
‘Orks!’ they shouted. ‘Orks on the walls! Run!’ Militia looked up in shock at their sudden appearance. Some tried to crane out over the battlements and look along the walls to see what these men were fleeing from.
‘Hold!’ shouted Danial, striding to meet the fleeing men. For a moment, he believed they would keep running and trample him into the ground. Yet fealty was a powerful notion on Adrastapol; despite their terror, the militia stumbled to a stop and knelt before him.
‘Explain,’ said Danial.
‘Sire, do not go that way,’ said one of the soldiers, glancing frantically back up the steps. ‘The orks are right behind us. They used rocket packs to gain the battlements. They got a foothold, then more climbed behind them.’
‘You will run no further,’ said Danial. ‘Turn and form a line here. Reload your guns. You men,’ he gestured to several nearby squads, ‘form up with them. If anything inhuman comes down those steps, you destroy it. Understood?’
‘Yes, sire,’ chorused the soldiers, finding a measure of courage in the presence of their High King. As the militia deployed their firing line, Danial strode to the battlements. He looked out over the hordes, and saw that, sure enough, greenskin transport tanks were rolling towards the abandoned section. A Gargant lumbered behind them, and Danial’s heart thumped as he saw the banners of Gorgrok himself rising from its shoulders.
‘The great beast comes to drive home his attack,’ he said grimly.
Danial tried the command channel.
‘This is Danial Tan Draconis,’ he said. ‘Can anyone hear this? Percivane? Suset?’ Static answered, and Danial cursed. ‘And not a runner in sight,’ he muttered. ‘Empe
ror, help me stop them with what I have.’
He pointed to a militiaman.
‘Militiaman, you know the quickest way to the Grand Strategium?’
‘I do, sire,’ replied the soldier.
‘Run, now. Get word to them,’ said Danial. ‘Tell them that the counter-offensive we’ve planned will be insufficient. We hold the orks here, or they break the second wall. Tell them to send all available reserves to this sector, and that I will hold the enemy until help arrives.’
With haste, the militiaman dashed away along the battlements.
Blade drawn, Danial strode to the top of the steps. The militia came behind him, guns raised, faces pale. He had drawn as many men and women from the battlements as he dared, leaving the upper levels virtually empty. Now he was glad he had.
Ahead, orks were cascading along the firestep and battering at the armoured doorways set into the wall. More were scaling up towards the turrets above, whose guns were barely keeping the tide in check. Slain militia lay everywhere, mingled with xenos dead.
‘Grappling hooks,’ said Danial. ‘Thick along the walls. There are more of them on their way.’
‘Sire, their war effigy,’ said a militiaman fearfully, pointing to where the Gargant stomped closer. The engine’s head and shoulders rose higher than the level of the battlement, and ork faces could be seen leering toothily through its eye-hatches.
‘Never mind that. We deal with the immediate threat,’ said Danial. ‘Take aim.’
Orks, big brutes with rockets strapped to their backs, turned their way. The greenskins cheered and clashed guns and blades together as they saw fresh enemies to fight.
‘Fire,’ said Danial. Autoguns barked, and a handful of orks went down, riddled with bullets. Danial fired his boltgun one handed, hitting a particularly large ork in the face and blowing it back over the walls.
Everything moved fast now. The orks charged headlong down the firestep. Danial’s force advanced to meet them, pouring fire into the greenskins even as they moved up to allow more and more militia to push behind.
‘Grenades!’ shouted Danial, and a cluster of explosives sailed over his head to erupt amongst the foe.
‘Steady!’ he cried, seeing the ork charge was about to make impact. A stick bomb flew over Danial’s head and exploded behind him, showering him with his men’s blood. The orks crashed into his force, meeting them on the narrow frontage of the battlements.
Danial hacked and hewed, aiming to reach the grapnels and cut them down. He took a blow to the ribs from a green fist, and another from a boot to the back. A point-blank shot to the face was stopped only by his refractor field, and he lopped off the shooter’s head before they could try again. Around him, his militiamen fought desperately, clubbing with gun butts and stabbing with blades. The orks were huge, tough and obscenely strong. They ripped men limb from limb. They picked them up and flung them off the battlements to plunge screaming into the horde far below.
Despite Danial’s best efforts, more and more xenos swarmed up the ropes and onto the battlements, as the ground shook with the approaching tread of the Gargant. A monstrous figure could be seen, stood on a gantry on the Gargant’s shoulder. The ork had to be fifteen feet tall, clad in piston-driven armour painted in blue-and-white checks. He crashed his power klaws together, causing sparks to rain down as he bellowed exhortations at his warriors, and the strange cannon mounted on his shoulder jerked left and right as it spat screaming blasts of energy into militia and orks alike.
‘This is the High King, west battlements sector ten, second fief,’ Danial shouted into the vox. ‘I need immediate reinforcements. Gorgrok has come.’
A dozen yards to his left, a mass of metal and whirling saw-teeth rammed into the battlements. Danial was hurled from his feet by the shockwave as the Gargant’s enormous chainfist chewed into the wall. Rockcrete flew. Sparks showered. The firestep shook as though in the grip of an earthquake. Militia soldiers and orks howled as they slid down the collapsing walkway and were mangled by the whirling blades.
Danial hung on, gripping the battlements with one hand and his draconblade with the other. He ran a greenskin through and kicked it into the monstrous saw-blades, then eviscerated another one as it tried to grab his legs.
The wall guns pummelled the Gargant, but Danial could see it wouldn’t be anything like enough. Spotting a lower gantry running around the war engine’s chest, and a rickety ladder connecting it to Gorgrok’s perch, he steadied himself and gauged the distance.
‘I can make that,’ he said, voice lost in the cacophony. ‘Emperor, lend me strength. I will slay the beast and end this.’
Danial pulled himself up onto the parapet for the leap, but the stonework convulsed under him. There came a juddering roar, an awful feeling of everything solid coming apart and collapsing around him. Suddenly Danial was falling. Orks and militia and stonework tumbled past him into the void below.
In the Grand Strategium, adepts and serviles worked frantically by the light of electrolumen and chem lanterns. They pored over charts and parchment maps of the Draconspire, marking them with auto-quills and shoving coloured rune-blocks about to show troops movements and crisis points.
Their efforts told a tale of rapidly escalating catastrophe.
Suset stood, arms folded tightly, glaring at the master-map spread out across the top of the holo-projector. Percivane was beside her, a mechanical brace enfolding much of his body, metal pins sunk into his limbs and torso.
‘They’re striking us from the north again,’ he said. ‘Another push from their profane battle-tanks.’
‘The third in that sector,’ said Suset. ‘Whoever claimed orks were wild animals, or that they couldn’t plan and strategise, was a damned fool.’
‘This must be it,’ said Percivane. ‘Their big push to carry the second wall and herd us back into the inner ’spire. Rumours of Gorgrok’s presence have been confirmed.’
‘It’s working,’ said Suset. ‘Look at this, they’re hitting the north, south, east and western walls all at once. Super-heavies spearheading every attack. Three confirmed forces of infiltrators located and destroyed so far, throne only knows how they’re getting in or how many more there are.’
A runner dashed up, bowing and handing Suset a scroll. She read it, face an impassive mask.
‘Damn,’ she said. ‘Master of maps, the thirty-forth and one-hundred-and-forty-second militia companies, both annihilated by heavy shelling in south sector twenty-two, third fief. Update, please.’
Another runner skidded to a stop and handed her scroll to Suset. Again the Gatekeeper’s scowl deepened.
‘Orks have broken through at east sector thirty-one,’ she said, hastily scrawling out orders. ‘Take this back to Captain Rance,’ she said, and the runner saluted and sped away. ‘I’ve told them to pull the medicae stations back and lock down all bulkheads through neighbouring sectors,’ she said. ‘There are no reserves left to send in.’
‘Lady Suset,’ said Percivane. ‘I fear that–’
‘Not yet,’ she said. ‘Not while there’s a chance we can hold them.’
‘There has been no further word from the High King,’ said Percivane, his face a mask of sympathy. ‘I understand, my lady, but the greenskins broke through in that sector more than an hour ago, led by Gorgrok himself. They have overrun two neighbouring sectors since, and our counter-attacking forces have yet to make it back to the safety of the inner walls. I pray to the Emperor that he is safe…’
‘But you suspect he is not,’ she said bitterly. ‘You may be right. I’ve been telling myself that I delay out of duty, but I can convince myself no longer. We’re overrun. Send runners to every sector and initiate a fighting retreat. Spike the guns, lock down the bulkheads, and pull all remaining forces back to the inner spire. All available air crews are to cover the retreat, then pull back to defend the spaceport. May the Emperor forgive
me.’
‘The Emperor has only love for those who serve him well, especially when their duty is hard,’ said Percivane, placing a hand on her shoulder. ‘In this, you do his work, my lady.’
‘I hope so,’ she said. ‘Because there’s nowhere left to run, now, Percivane. With this order, I trap us all within the Draconspire, and place our fate in the hands of a son of Chimaeros.’
‘He will come, my lady,’ said Percivane. ‘And Danial may yet live.’
Suset’s jaw clenched tight, and she stared at the map as though she could burn away the proliferating ork rune-blocks with her fury alone.
Act Three
The journey from the Pegassus’ Eyrie to the Iron Maze of House Minotos progressed far more swiftly than Luk Kar Chimaeros could ever have hoped. It was well that it did, for matters across Adrastapol had become desperate indeed.
Even as the warriors of House Draconis fought on at the Draconspire, they could not know that Mount Imperius had fallen. Though the Knights and militia fought bravely there against the encroaching greenskin hordes, they could not prevail. Profane alien weapons brought sections of the mountain down with fearsome tectonic blasts. Others trapped the defending Knights within impenetrable force fields, their pilots able to do little but watch as militia and refugees alike were slaughtered around them. At the last, a jeering cabal of the greenskins’ foul psyker caste fell upon the surviving Astropaths and wrought horrible violence upon them. Their death agonies would cause storms of nightmares to plague the surrounding regions for decades to come.
Elsewhere, the defenders of Adrastapol fought to hold back the tide. Forts Ironpeak, Shield and the Typor Battery held out against each fresh wave of enemies. The armoury at Lanceguard and the defenders of Imperatus Dam were both overrun, the orks demolishing the latter structure with close-ranged shelling that saw a catastrophic collapse occur, and both Imperial and greenskin forces annihilated in the ensuing flood.
Meanwhile, the lances of House Minotos were driven ever back. Lacking the orbital defence infrastructure of their neighbouring houses, the Minotane forces had little reply as the ork Roks rained down. Without aircraft to support their forces, they suffered against the marauding squadrons of ork aircraft that filled the skies. At the Battle of the Chasm, the Defence of Hallanspoint and the Ironfields charge, they had been soundly beaten by the xenos invaders.
