by Chris Dows
‘Given that the answers you seek to Khârn’s whereabouts are likely held aboard this vessel, I am doing everything I can to ensure you are able to get the information you need. This does not include thundering at full speed towards a potential trap.’
Odervirk’s face remained impassive. Unlike the rest of his crew, he was not frightened by the Black Legionnaires. He had long ago accepted he might die directly at their hands, and it had given him the peace to focus on his work. He could see Locq’s hand tighten on the handle of his chainsword. The shipmaster was not impressed.
‘I am led to believe the White Scars are a significant threat, Captain Locq. I do not doubt your Hounds will be victorious against them, but I need to ensure their weapons are as inoperative as they appear. This will take a few moments longer, and once I am satisfied, I will inform you immediately.’
Locq’s burning stare flicked from Odervirk’s eye to the steel plate that formed most of his face. He knew what Locq was thinking; the instant he delivered Khârn to Abaddon, Locq would execute the shipmaster for his belligerence. Odervirk tried not to show his derision; he was confident enough in his own abilities to believe Urkanthos would not allow it. And besides, the way things were going, he doubted the captain would live long enough to finish his mission.
The hole in the side of the White Scars cruiser was so large it could have accommodated a half-dozen drop-ships side by side. Instead, a single gunship carrying Locq and a small boarding party glided into the smashed infrastructure. As the White Scars ship rotated, it allowed one of the three suns to illuminate the Thunderhawk’s way. It had not taken long to find a rupture large enough for the ship to dock against, and within seconds Locq was leading out a twenty-strong contingent of Hounds into the confines of the vessel. Meledorn, one of his veterans, took point. Like many of the cohort, he had served Urkanthos faithfully for decades. For all the oaths he had sworn to Locq, he would be reporting secretly to the Lord Purgator still. This did not concern Locq at all. Having a favourite of the Chaos Lord as his second-in-command to witness his actions would dispel any suspicions Urkanthos might have of Locq. Meledorn also happened to be an excellent warrior.
Locq was not surprised when their progress became hampered by the damage inside the ship. Even with their ordnance and augmented strength, whole areas were either totally impassable or would take too long to clear, the only route available taking them to the outer corridors of the vessel. What did surprise Locq was the total absence of White Scars and surviving mortal crew.
Coming to a large junction, Meledorn raised his hand and stopped. Locq walked forwards, chainsword in hand, and joined the scout. Meledorn nodded ahead, towards the poorly illuminated walkway stretching into the distance. Nothing appeared as a threat on his auto-senses and scanners, but of all the places they had moved through, the width of this passageway held the most potential danger. Locq smiled to himself. The Hounds of Abaddon were not ones to run from a fight, and gods help anyone who tried to ambush them. He nodded to Meledorn, and the scout moved ahead slowly. Locq signalled behind, and the rest of the raiding party formed up, hefting their blades and training their bolters in all directions.
A blinding flash filled Locq’s vision and something smashed into him, throwing him backwards onto the metal deck. The air was filled with a thunderous roar of escaping air and it took Locq precious seconds to get to his feet and realise what had happened. Before him, a White Scars drop-ship had rammed itself through the corridor into the inner hull, having blasted its way through the outer skin of the crippled ship. They had lain in wait within the shadows of their own smashed vessel, tracking the landing party’s progress and timing their attack to perfection. Locq could see two of his raiding party had disappeared, either crushed by the attacking vessel or eviscerated in its fire. The ship had cut his group in half. Gunning his chainsword, Locq started towards the smoking transporter – just as a hole exploded in its side, allowing its occupants to charge towards him with a scream of fury.
Locq smashed into the first White Scar, ramming his duelling tulwar out of the way with his left shoulder while thrusting his chainsword up underneath his attacker’s pauldron. The teeth ground and tore into the upper chest armour, digging into the armpit of the Chogorian and rendering his left arm useless. The White Scar roared in rage, bringing his right knee up into Locq’s side. Locq took the impact easily and let himself fall back against the buckled inner hull plates. With the wall behind him, he put more pressure on his blade, not stopping until the Space Marine’s arm clattered to the ground, blood spraying over Locq’s helmet from the gaping wound. Locq pushed himself away from the wall, but he suddenly found himself with little room to move as the rest of his raiding party joined battle. Locq’s opponent took the opportunity to slash at him with his tulwar, undaunted by his crippling injury, but Locq forced himself enough space to block the attack and kick the White Scar back towards the smoking ruin of the drop-ship. Somewhere behind him, two frag grenades went off, and he felt shards of metal thud into the back of his armour. Regardless of who had detonated them, there would now be fewer attackers for him to worry about.
Locq brought his chainsword high, carving through the tulwar from above and slicing into the abdomen of the White Scar. Still the Chogorian did not give up, pulling out a dagger and slashing it across the right lens of Locq’s helmet. Locq hurled himself forwards, driving the chainsword home as they both slammed into the side of the drop-ship. The White Scar finally slid to the ground, shuddering in his death throes as he hit the deck plates. Locq sensed movement coming up fast behind him. Ducking and turning, he brought his chainsword out in a wide arc, slicing into the knee of the White Scar charging towards him and bringing him down. From the smoking corridor behind, two of Locq’s raiding party emerged through a pile of bodies, their armour battered and scored from their own battles. Such was his bloodlust, the first of the two denied Locq his kill by driving his axe into the top of the collapsed White Scar’s head, cleaving a gap wide enough for Locq to see the exposed scalp and black top-knot, then bounded into the hole cut into the side of the White Scars drop-ship. The interior erupted in flashes of light, and Locq threw himself to the side as bolter fire tore out in all directions. His second Hound rolled below the stray fire and lobbed a grenade into the ship’s interior. The second after it detonated Locq was inside, chainsword at the ready. What met him were the remains of the overzealous Hound and the White Scars who had ambushed him, having lain in wait to attack after their first wave.
Through the hole blasted out of the opposite side, Locq was gratified to see Meledorn and several others grappling with around a dozen Chogorians. As he threw himself into the melee, two White Scars turned to attack, slashing and stabbing with their tulwars and ceremonial daggers. It was still difficult to move freely given the number of power-armoured figures, but Locq thrust forwards, the last surviving Hound from his side of the corridor joining in the attack with a volley of bolter fire. One Chogorian spun away, a shot passing through the grille of his helmet in a bloody cloud, but the other rampaged forwards, his weapon raised and pointing towards Locq’s head. Locq dived to the ground and rolled, hitting the White Scar below the knees and toppling him over onto his front as he fired. Turning to his side, Locq got up on one knee and thrust his chainsword two-handedly into the spine of the Space Marine. The blade churned its way into flesh, severing nerves and sinews to totally incapacitate the Chogorian. Unable to move his legs, his attempts to flip himself onto his back and face Locq were futile; Locq severed his head as tribute to the Blood God, a rush of pleasure coursing through his veins as he did so.
Locq was suddenly aware of a stillness in the corridor. Rising, he could see the remains of his boarding party regarding the carnage they had created. To the left, he could just make out Meledorn beneath a heap of White Scars bodies, the handle of a tulwar projecting from beneath his helmet. The enemy dead surrounding him were a fitting tribute to his sacrifice, but not one L
ocq was going to acknowledge. This left ten survivors – half of the original party. He had not anticipated such losses; the White Scars’ tactic had worked well, even if they had been wiped out. The cost had been high, but discovering where Khârn had gone would be worth the blood price.
‘To the bridge. We have work to do.’ Locq turned away from the corpses before him and opened a vox-link.
‘Odervirk.’
‘Yes, Captain Locq.’
‘Scan for drop-ships hiding within the damaged infrastructure of the vessel. They will likely be powered down so you will have to move in closer.’
‘Captain, I would urge–’
Locq was in no mood for the shipmaster’s contradictions.
‘Carry out my orders, Odervirk, or I will find someone who will.’
There was a gratifying silence over the vox, which Locq took to be agreement.
‘Prepare a contingent of your machine priests to board this vessel once we have retrieved the information from the bridge.’
Odervirk’s answer was loaded with suspicion.
‘May I ask why?’
Locq signalled the Hounds to follow him. They did not have time to take their trophies for the Blood God.
‘We shall claim this vessel for the glory of Abaddon. See that it is done.’
Locq deactivated the link as soon as he had finished. He could not care less about the work involved in such a task. He needed to find this accursed berzerker, and find him fast.
Klaxons blared on the Skulltaker, rousing Khârn from his meditation. The visions he had experienced on Haeleon were still vivid in his memory. Open firepits had roared for three days, stoked with oils and chemicals that had brought the temperature of his private chamber to that of the planet. For three days, he had refused water and attempted to commune with the Blood God, but still, nothing. As he rose and took up Gorechild, he vowed swift and bloody punishment on whoever had raised the alarm.
Lukosz was about to demand an explanation from Roderbar and Samzar about the call to general quarters when Khârn stormed onto the bridge, his face a mask of fury. He cursed silently to himself; this was not the time for such distractions. Khârn’s command had been clear. He was only to be disturbed under the direst of circumstances, a state of affairs that had left Lukosz to watch for further sedition within the warband. For now, they seemed satisfied to wait for Khârn’s promises of greater glory to crystallise. With his own Butcher’s Nails scratching at the back of his mind for action, Lukosz was not fool enough to think the calm would last for long.
Lukosz stepped to one side, allowing Khârn room to wedge Gorechild into the deck and grab a hold of the shipmaster’s ornate tunic. Khârn lifted Roderbar’s huge form out of his reinforced command throne in a swift, effortless movement and raised him into the air. For a human, Roderbar was unusually large, and because his duties kept him almost constantly at his station it meant he was running to fat. Lukosz had little respect for those who did not master their own physique, but there was no denying his experience of space combat and his brilliant tactical mind, the agility of which was belied by his corpulent frame. That being said, his explanation for rousing Khârn from his self-imposed exile would need to be good.
‘We have a ship of unknown origin just outside our weapons range. It appeared from the warp only moments ago. The vessel is a good match for us but not taking any hostile action at this time. They are clearly interested in us.’
Despite being lifted from his chair, Roderbar’s deep, rich voice was remarkably calm. Sweat dripped from his jowls, but his gaze did not leave Khârn’s burning eyes. Lukosz could hear the seams of Roderbar’s tunic begin to pop and split under his tremendous weight as the whole bridge watched. From the humblest rating to the most senior officer, Lukosz suspected they were calculating an unexpected promotion within the next minute or so. Roderbar’s breathing became heavier, but he did not struggle or protest. After a few seconds, Khârn threw him back down onto the command chair with a snort of disgust. Samzar took up the interrogation without bidding.
‘What configuration is the vessel? Are there any identifiable markings?’
Roderbar wriggled back into position and composed himself. After clearing his throat a couple of times, he looked straight at Samzar, ignoring the glowering form of Khârn, who slowly walked back to where he had left Gorechild stuck in the deck plating to lever the ancient axe loose.
‘It is a strike cruiser, lord, and an old one at that. Its current attitude is not revealing any identifiable signs or sigils. Wait…’
Roderbar looked down to an officer seated at one of the myriad consoles below deck level, and Lukosz followed his gaze. Unlike the rest of the miserable wretches who busied themselves in the gloom, the officer was mostly intact as a human being, with only one arm replaced by a mechanical device.
‘There is a request for communication coming in.’
Roderbar straightened his tunic and turned to his vox-unit. Before he could issue the command to transfer the call, the officer spoke again, her eyes averted to the unseen deck.
‘The request is addressed to you, Lord Khârn.’
The whispering from Lukosz’s Butcher’s Nails grew louder, into a murmured warning.
‘Are we combat ready, Roderbar?’
Lukosz was surprised at just how calm Khârn’s voice was.
‘Yes, Lord Khârn. The gun crews are in readiness. The shield generators are… Lord Khârn?’
Khârn did not seem interested in the confirmation from the shipmaster, but instead stared down at the communications officer, contemplating the unexpected turn of events. Lukosz knew better than to offer an opinion. If it was wanted, it would be asked for. He cast a glance over to Samzar, who was struggling to control a twitch in the side of his face. After long seconds, Khârn spoke directly to the officer, his voice low and heavy with suspicion.
‘Open the channel. Let us hear what they have to say.’
Lukosz watched the officer turn back to her flickering screens, and noticed she favoured her unaltered arm to manipulate the controls. A crackling spat from the vox speakers set around the bridge, then the low hum of an open transmission rolled around the bustling room. Roderbar turned a brass dial, and the volume increased to compensate for the background chatter of machinery.
‘This is Talomar Locq, captain of the Black Legion and the Hounds of Abaddon. I will speak with Khârn the Betrayer. Immediately.’
This was a voice accustomed to command. While Lukosz knew Khârn’s view of the Black Legion to be less than favourable, he admired their discipline. It was something his warband lacked, and he felt they were often the weaker for it. Lukosz looked over to Khârn. The threat in the captain’s address had not even registered.
‘Black Legion,’ Khârn murmured to himself.
The hum from the speakers grew louder for a few seconds, then Locq spoke again, his voice noticeably strained.
‘Khârn the Betrayer. I would speak with you and you alone. Prepare for my arrival.’
Khârn raised his hand to mute the transmission. He turned and walked a few paces around the deck, Gorechild resting on his shoulder as all eyes followed him. Samzar hissed to Lukosz. His comrade was getting increasingly agitated.
‘How dare this cur make demands of us? We should destroy him before he attacks us. It is clearly a ruse. Shipmaster, bring us about and–’
‘Samzar, silence.’
Khârn’s words were like Gorechild cutting through flesh. Lukosz watched as his brother’s face turned to confusion and then anger. He looked down to Samzar’s shaking hand as it drifted towards his chainsword. Lukosz stepped forwards, placed a firm hand on his comrade’s arm and stared directly into his wild eyes. Samzar’s broken face was straining with convulsions that threatened to take over his entire body. Lukosz silently willed Samzar to fight the Nails. They were close to consuming him. He only tor
e his gaze away when Khârn spoke.
‘Khorne has brought these Hounds of Abaddon to us. We will find out why.’
Lukosz took a step back from Samzar, whose eyes were red with fury. He watched Khârn nod once to the communications officer, and the bridge’s transmitters crackled back into life.
‘I am Khârn. I will speak with you, messenger of the Black Legion. But you shall not set foot on this vessel if you want to keep your head.’
Lukosz could sense the Black Legion commander’s blood boiling. The bridge crew listened to static for long seconds before Khârn spoke again.
‘Nor will I travel to yours. Whatever you have to say, say it now or leave before I obliterate you, your ship and your men.’
More alarms triggered on the bridge, coming from several different stations above and below the main walkway. Lukosz turned to Roderbar, whose bloated fingers were gracefully moving over the controls set into his command throne’s reinforced arms.
‘The Black Legion ship has opened its torpedo hatches and brought itself to bear. Shall we respond?’
Lukosz was about to give the order as Khârn barked a sharp laugh. His voice became thick with mockery.
‘I take it you are not willing to communicate over vox. Very well. We shall meet face-to-face. Our shipmasters will find a suitable location. We will bring fifty warriors apiece. Agreed?’
Lukosz had no idea what the Black Legion wanted. Unlike Samzar, however, he did care. But a feeling he had thought lost rekindled in his breast. Perhaps this was part of the Red Path.
The humming from the speakers continued for long seconds, then a voice struggling with the effort of self-control responded curtly.
