by Chris Dows
‘The Sisters of Battle have fought and died with His Holiness and kept him safe for the past five years. We have no intention of relinquishing this honour now, particularly to the Angels Eradicant.’
Alecia’s nostrils flared as she snarled the last few words. Balacet cleared his throat and looked intently at the cogitator hologram in front of him in the silence that followed. Gaul’s reply was cool and focussed.
‘The best way to protect the Living Saint would be to take him from harm’s way, there is no doubt. I am not suggesting we abandon Salandraxis to its fate, but Lozepath represents a unique opportunity for the forces of Chaos.’
Balacet nodded at Gaul’s words and turned to look at Alecia. Her fingers were interlaced on the makeshift table, her hands trembling and her knuckles white with the strength of her grip. Gaul pressed on, sanguine now that his argument had got her attention.
‘Perhaps it is time the Sisters of Battle put the protection of their charge before their own desire for glory.’
Alecia was on her feet in seconds, sword drawn and moving angrily towards Gaul. Balacet jumped to his feet and shouted a warning, but her sword was swinging down towards Gaul’s head in the blink of an eye. The Chapter Master did not move as the canoness preceptor’s weapon was intercepted by the huge metallic claw of Tentera. Alecia went for a dagger at her belt, but Gaul reached forwards and enveloped her wrist in one huge gauntlet. Her face was barely an inch away from his as she growled her words at him.
‘How dare you question the devotion of my order? Wait until His Holiness hears of this outrage. He will banish you from this planet and disgrace the name of your Chapter forever!’
‘The Living Saint will do no such thing, because he shall not hear of this nonsense.’
Gaul turned towards the doorway to the hangar. Framed in the tall, narrow rectangle of light was Cardinal Astral Pradillo, flanked by two junior clerics. Shuffling forwards, they guided the hooded figure by the elbows towards the table. Gaul released his grip on Alecia’s hand, as did Tentera on her sword, and she sheathed her weapons with practised grace. Returning to her position next to Balacet, she continued to glare at the Chapter Master as Pradillo was helped into a chair by his aides.
‘Cardinal, Chapter Master Gaul has requested His Holiness be taken from Salandraxis and moved to a safer location.’
Gaul nodded once to Balacet, and ignored the hiss of contempt from Alecia. All eyes turned to Pradillo, whose head bowed down slightly beneath his shroud in contemplation. After several moments, Balacet leaned over the table in anticipation of a reply. Gaul’s patience also began to wear thin. Perhaps the old cleric had not heard him.
‘Cardinal Pradillo, we urge you to forward this appeal to His Holiness as soon as possible.’
Pradillo moved his head slightly towards Gaul. Placing his trembling hands on the cold metal surface of the bench before him, he began to rise. His helpers moved to attend him immediately, but he waved them back. Balacet and Alecia looked up to his hidden face as Pradillo stared down at the plans and map holographs before him.
‘His Holiness will not leave this planet, and neither you nor I will ask him to do so. You will combine your efforts to formulate an insurmountable defence without further argument or discord. Any intelligence you receive in relation to the enemy’s strength and disposition, you will relay to me without delay.’
The old man’s voice might have been hoarse, but there was a strength to it that surprised Gaul. Regardless of the tone, he shared the indignation of Balacet and Alecia, who stared at Pradillo with undisguised fury at being chastised in such a way. Tentera had moved to Gaul’s shoulder in a gesture equally of support and restraint. Under normal circumstances the Chapter Master would have made it quite clear who was in command of his battle companies, but in the interest of mounting a successful defence, he was willing to accede to the Saint’s terms. He would hold his tongue, for now. Pradillo took a step back from the table and reached up to his hood as he spoke.
‘I shall give you this warning only once. Do not underestimate the enormous power His Holiness commands. The weapons you wield are formidable, but Lozepath carries in him the might of the Emperor.’
At that, Pradillo pushed his hood back to reveal a skinless, blood-raw face with empty sockets where his eyes had once been. Only now did his voice falter.
‘And his wrath.’
The bridge of the Malevolent Shade boomed with yet another impact from a massive chunk of rock. Locq turned to vent his fury on Odervirk, but the shipmaster was too busy looking to his readouts to notice him. Calmly adjusting an array of dials on his command throne, he barked an order to rotate the cruiser a few degrees to starboard. Locq knew the Malevolent Shade was taking heavy damage, but it was infinitely preferable to the barrage three ships could inflict on them in open space, even if one of them was crippled. Given the situation he now faced, Locq wondered darkly if it might have been better to meet his fate on the transport retreating back to his flagship.
Khârn’s transmission to Locq’s fleet had come only minutes after his landing party had blasted its way from the Skulltaker. At first, Locq could not believe that the berzerker’s rallying cry to join him for the glory of the Blood God would have any effect, but within minutes reports were coming through that fighting had broken out on all four vessels under his command. Locq’s rage consumed him. To have so many Hounds of Abaddon desert his command was stupefying. Over the centuries, many warriors had sworn themselves to new allegiances, to other warbands and causes, but he had lost half of his fleet to Khârn and his berzerkers.
‘The enemy ships have moved out of range, Captain Locq. I would strongly suggest we exit this asteroid field to prevent further damage to ourselves and the Eater of Souls.’
Locq had ordered the retreat of the Malevolent Shade and his only other loyal vessel into the dubious protection of the Phelbic Belt as the last transport carrying Hounds loyal to Abaddon had landed on the hangar deck. He could not risk Khârn turning on his two remaining ships, destroying or disabling them with his superior firepower before continuing on his glorious Red Path. Noticing Odervirk was awaiting his answer, Locq nodded his assent and turned to leave the bridge.
The corridors of the Malevolent Shade were heaving with warriors. As he marched to his quarters, they nodded and grunted at him, clearly outraged at the betrayal to their Warmaster and spoiling for revenge. Their anger was his anger, and Locq took solace in the fact that he now had a warband he could rely on to stay loyal. Stopping at a viewing portal, he looked out into space. Two of the destroyed Angels Eradicant vessels were still on fire in the far distance, and the third had broken into several large pieces. On any other day, he could have claimed this as a glorious victory. A loyalist fleet destroyed, their crews lost to the vacuum of space. And yet he faced the ignominy of presenting another failure to Urkanthos, if he did not already know from his spies amongst the ranks.
But then, had Locq caused this failure? Should he be blamed for a traitorous lack of faith to Abaddon? The Lord Purgator had clearly sent him weaklings and traitors. In that moment, Locq decided what his next course of action would be. He would not send a communication to Urkanthos, but to Abaddon himself. He would confess to the loss of his ships and warriors, and expose the Lord Purgator for choosing the cohort so poorly. Locq would proudly declare his intention to fulfil his oath – to take Khârn captive as he attacked Salandraxis. If he could not prevent him from going to the planet, Locq would ensure he did not leave.
And if that resulted in the berzerker’s head being delivered to Abaddon separated from his body, so much the better.
Gaul needed to see the enemy with his own eyes. Standing on the bridge of the Light of the Emperor, he stared unblinking at the single cruiser approaching his flotilla at flank speed. From the second it had entered weapons range from the Mandeville point some distance from Salandraxis, the vessel had been bombarded by every weapon
available to his diminished fleet. Shipmaster Rendaj Mahal had informed Gaul that it showed signs of heavy battle damage before their relentless attack had begun, presumably inflicted by his three destroyed ships. Gaul did not waste his time hoping that this was the last surviving enemy vessel. Optimism was for the deluded.
‘The ship is travelling so fast, it must be unable to resolve an accurate firing solution, Chapter Master. In fact…’
Mahal squinted at a screen and checked several other readouts before she continued talking from her command chair.
‘It appears to not be firing at all.’
Gaul gripped onto the burnt, distorted vambrace covering his forearm. There had been no attempt to engage the Light of the Emperor or either of the two cruisers flanking the battle-barge. This was as unusual as it was suspicious.
‘Chapter Master, it is increasing speed directly towards us.’
The bridge fell silent as the officers and crew awaited commands. Gaul looked to Mahal. She responded with a single nod.
‘All ships. Concentrate all batteries on the bow of the enemy vessel. Destroy it!’
The Light of the Emperor shuddered under the power of its own guns, the very fabric of the huge ship shaking under the strain of constant firing. An alarm went off on the arm of the command throne. Mahal punched it silent without looking down and turned to the lower deck, shouting an order in her clear, deep voice to bring the ship about so the profile they offered to the attacker was as narrow as possible.
‘My lord, attitude change in the target vessel. It is increasing acceleration further and heading between us and the Eradicant Ascending.’
The commander threw herself back in front of her main screen. Something passed over her face that Gaul could not read, and then the entire bridge tilted to one side. As he took hold of a support rail to steady himself, an enormous booming resonated throughout the ship. A dozen alarms cried for attention and steam hissed from overloaded conduits. Another explosion followed, and the lights inside the bridge flickered. Gaul had the advantage of his armour to anchor him to the deck. The ship’s mortal crew were not so fortunate, and many of them lay broken and bleeding around the command centre.
‘Report!’
Gaul knew they had been hit, but not by what. The shipmaster looked dazed, and shook her head to clear her thoughts.
‘The enemy ship… detonated its engines, Chapter Master. We are badly damaged along the port side. The Eradicant Ascending is…’
Gaul leaned forwards and slammed his fist onto the commander’s chair in fury.
‘What? What of it?’
‘Gone, Chapter Master. It has been destroyed.’
Sirens blared and warning lights flashed. The Light of the Emperor was mortally wounded. Gaul knew it, and the shipmaster knew it. She looked up at him, blood trickling down her face from a cut somewhere beneath her short black hair.
‘I suggest you evacuate the vessel with your battle-brothers immediately, Chapter Master. Two more ships have just emerged through the transit point.’
The drop-ship bucked and rocked as it hit the thin air of Salandraxis’ upper atmosphere, but Khârn was too engrossed in cleaning Gorechild to notice. Mica-dragon teeth needed no sharpening, so he concentrated on ensuring the track through which they spun was free of obstruction and damage. It was almost a religious ritual to Khârn, and it was the closest to relaxation he ever came.
A low growling filtered into his ears, and he looked up from the curved span of Gorechild’s rust-red blade to see Samzar staring down at the deck. Khârn could hear him whispering to himself, and noticed that both his hands kept clenching and unclenching involuntarily. Since taking Lukosz’s skull, Samzar’s descent into the grip of his Butcher’s Nails had worsened. Lukosz had been a fine warrior and an asset. Samzar, on the other hand, would soon cease to be of any use. Not that it mattered. As soon as he touched down on Salandraxis, Khârn would leave the berzerkers to fight their own battles. He had but one objective in mind – the skull of the Living Saint.
Khârn felt the transport drop and heard its engines scream in protest as the Warpsmith pilot ducked and slid around the flak exploding all around them. He was a Hound of the Black Legion, and proving to be as good as his claims.
The plan to cripple the loyalist vessels protecting Salandraxis had worked better than Khârn had expected. Roderbar had insisted that the Skulltaker could still serve a useful function in battle, despite its severe damage, and had been proven right. Roderbar had oathed the Skulltaker’s machine priests to destruct the engine core and set her course to slide between the Angels Eradicant vessels. For his part, Khârn would have preferred Roderbar to have steered the ship himself, but the shipmaster had pointed out with forceful indignation how he had played no small part in keeping Khârn on the Red Path, and could continue to do so given the chance. Even Samzar had come to his aid in a moment of lucidity. So, Khârn’s flag had been transferred to the White Scars vessel, allowing the Hounds of Abaddon to retain their ship. Even now, both were engaging the last intact Angels Eradicant vessel and raining down destruction onto Salandraxis in support of the ground attack.
‘Approaching the outer perimeter of the main citadel. I cannot get any closer, Lord Khârn. The air cover is too heavy.’
As if to prove the pilot’s point, a shockwave hit the outside of the Thunderhawk and the transport rocked with the impact. The augur readings of the planet’s surface had shown just how well defended it was, and with a singularly powerful energy signal coming from the High Temple overlooking the citadel, Khârn’s target had revealed itself. In time the Astra Militarum and Adeptus Astartes would reinforce Salandraxis Municipalis from other parts of the planet, but by then it would be too late. This so-called golden pearl would be bathed in blood. Khârn gripped the flesh bindings of Gorechild’s haft and tested his left hand. The swelling had finally receded on his arm but the skin was a mass of open sores. Even so, most of his strength and flexibility had returned. He was ready.
‘Approaching the landing zone. Ready yourselves.’
Khârn relaxed his body as much as he could for the inevitable hard landing. All but one of the power-armoured figures around him did the same.
‘Lukosz? Report! Lukosz…’
Samzar was looking around the interior like a caged animal, the broken horn on his helmet only adding to the illusion. Khârn knew once the red mist descended upon him that his focus would be on carrying out his mission, but until then his mounting confusion was making him unpredictable. Khârn kept Gorechild at the ready in case Samzar decided to start his killing before they landed.
The drop-ship crashed to the ground, its weapons booming in a constant protective barrage as the frontal assault ramp fell open. Buckles were unhooked and weapons drawn in the blink of an eye, and Khârn stormed down the ramp at the head of two dozen berzerkers. Before him, huge smoking craters revealed the bombardment that had been visited upon a smashed and broken avenue. A few hundred yards ahead, a line of Astra Militarum troops had dug a long trench into the rockcrete expanse. Tanks and personnel carriers fired at him from irregular intervals, the line peppered with gaps where the orbital attack had torn the ground asunder. To his left and right, Khârn felt the roar of further transports landing and disgorging their raging cargoes, swelling his numbers with a sea of scarlet-and-black armoured figures. An approaching Thunderhawk exploded in a fireball, showering flaming debris and bodies in all directions. Khârn ducked a spinning chunk of metal and bridged the remaining distance towards the line of troops, their ordnance sailing wide or ricocheting off his armour. The ground exploded just before him, and he ducked towards the remains of a building. Scaling its collapsed roof, he used the angle to throw himself into the air, landing on top of an advancing Leman Russ and driving Gorechild into its astonished commander. Within seconds the khaki line was consumed by a wave of power-armoured figures, and the cries of terror filled Khârn with
joy.
In the near distance, Khârn could see the high wall that surrounded Salandraxis Municipalis. With its huge metal gates, the city truly did shine with a golden light, but with Khorne’s blessing he would extinguish it before the day was out. Under the bright sunlight, Khârn could see the unmistakable glint of sun on power armour. Figures emerged from the decorative battlements, spreading out equidistantly across its expansive length. Khârn did not need any of the filters or amplifiers in his helmet to confirm who they were. The Angels Eradicant awaited him.
The canoness watched the landing pattern of the enemy’s drop-ships and gritted her teeth with fury. In the courtyard below, her Sisters of Battle were checking weapons and attending to their prayers, readying themselves for an all-out assault. Alecia’s desire to slaughter the heretic was raging through her, and the sight of the Chaos ships descending from the clear blue sky like a plague of insects had stirred her blood. She knew her order would have to fight for the life of the Living Saint today like they never had before.
From her position on the ramparts, she could see the main force of Angels Eradicant readying themselves to her right. Below her, just less than half of her Preceptory were marshalled in the huge courtyard, boarding Immolator and Rhino tanks. Within the next few minutes, the ornately decorated portcullis beneath her feet would open and she would be at the head of a counter-attack. It would not be a moment too soon. The bombardment had already reduced much of Salandraxis Municipalis to rubble and had broken Balacet’s ‘line of steel’ – deployed to ring the entire city – into a fractured mess. What was left was currently being hammered out of existence. Balacet’s plan had been simple and quite bold, but there were limits to what a static line of defence could achieve against these superhuman heretics. Their air cover had done as much as it could to reduce the number of enemy drop-ships that had landed, but the few Navy wings that had been stationed on the planet had been decimated. She had warned Balacet that the enemy would not spread out their attack across the planet, and that they would thrust straight for Municipalis. Still, he had refused to commit all of his troops and aircraft to defending the citadel. They would return here now that the enemy was committed, but exactly what might be left to defend by the time they arrived only the Emperor knew. Gripping her power sword, she angrily dismissed such negative thoughts. If the enemy managed to get through the Angels Eradicant, which was highly unlikely, they still had to deal with her faithful Sisters.
