The Unforgiven - Gav Thorpe

by Warhammer 40K

  ‘Has Grand Master Dane arrived?’ asked Nakir. ‘Can the conclave begin?’

  ‘He will remain on his battle-barge, commanding the fleet,’ said Azrael. He had thought it better to host only one Chapter Master at a time. Dane was an accomplished fleet commander, and giving him control of the assembled warships allowed Azrael to concentrate on other matters. ‘I expect your flotilla to follow his lead, in absence of any direct command to the contrary.’

  ‘The Consecrators are a sovereign Chapter of the Adeptus Astartes,’ Nakir replied soberly. ‘We will consider any requests from yourself or Master Dane on their individual merits.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Azrael, and then caught the hint of a smile from Nakir. He responded in kind. ‘Far be it from me to ever suggest that the Successors of the Dark Angels should be beholden to a cause beyond their own duties, or hold loyalty to any other than the Emperor.’

  ‘Lord Azrael!’ The shout came from Carlion, one of the Dark Angels overseeing the surveyor systems.

  ‘Report,’ Azrael replied, moving to the edge of the command dais overlooking the sensor consoles.

  ‘The enemy fleet has changed course. New heading brings them directly towards us.’

  ‘They are attacking?’ Nakir held up a hand in apology as Azrael darted him an irritated glance at the interruption. ‘Apologies, the instincts of command.’

  ‘Good instincts,’ said Azrael. He returned his attention to Carlion. ‘Confirm course and speed, do they suggest an attack?’

  ‘The enemy are still accelerating, it’s not certain if they will settle at battle speed.’

  ‘Signal Grand Master Dane to muster the fleet for defence of the Caliban nominal point. It could be an attempt to lure us away from where we are. The Rock will remain in position. Capital ships to form the main line of battle. I want escort squadrons arrayed to intercept any breakthrough.’

  ‘Confirmed, Supreme Grand Master. Relaying your orders to Grand Master Dane.’

  ‘Your last communiqué confided that the enemy fleet is commanded by Typhus,’ Nakir said quietly. ‘Even with the Terminus Est he is hopelessly outgunned. What does he think he can achieve?’

  ‘I have no idea, but let us not be caught by surprise. You will remain here for the time being. Please defer command of your ships to Dane.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Nakir, his confusion obvious. ‘Why am I not returning to my ship?’

  ‘I must hold council with my Masters and I would leave you in charge of the Rock.’

  Nakir’s surprise was matched only by an almost childlike delight that crossed his face. It lasted only an instant until he tempered his response and slowly nodded with an attempt at gravitas. Even so, Azrael could see his companion swallowing hard, evidently coming to terms with the magnitude of what had been asked of him.

  ‘I am honoured,’ said the Consecrator. ‘I will repay your faith in me.’

  ‘I am sure you will acquit yourself with distinction, Grand Master.’

  Azrael turned and had descended a few steps towards the lower level when the great doors slid open once more, revealing Ezekiel. The Chief Librarian entered without ceremony, expression agitated. Azrael met him halfway down the dais.

  ‘What brings you forth from the Librarium, brother?’

  Ezekiel cast a glance up to Nakir and then spoke, leaning close to whisper so that no other could hear what was said.

  ‘Tuchulcha touched my mind a few minutes ago,’ the Librarian said. ‘It warned that we were not alone. I summoned a coven of my brothers and we performed a deep scan of the warp. There are nearly thirty warships in the immaterium close to the Caliban System. They are shrouded by some warp-spell, which blinded our usual sweeps. Definitely not friendly.’

  ‘Thirty?’ Azrael caught his voice rising in shock. ‘Thirty warships. Why have they not broken from the warp? We are still seven or eight days from a safe transition point, they cannot be of assistance to Typhus, surely?’

  ‘We also detected another dozen or more Successor ships, all within a few light years. If the enemy do break into real space, reinforcements are only a handful of days away at most.’

  ‘This situation is rapidly escalating. But it still does not explain why Typh–’

  Azrael stopped when Ezekiel took a step back, eye widening as it turned gold, a hiss escaping from gritted teeth.

  ‘The warp spews forth its vile filth!’ the Librarian snarled.

  ‘Lord Azrael! Detecting massive interspatial break!’ Carlion’s warning came just a second later.

  ‘On display!’ Azrael bellowed, dashing back up to the command podium. He glanced back to check on Ezekiel. The Chief Librarian was following at a more sedate pace, his eye still ablaze with psychic power. ‘Show me, now!’

  Two of the windows darkened and hololithic projectors sprang into life, painting a view from the external visual scanners. The view moved left and right for a few seconds and then panned upwards to centre on a point a few thousand kilometres above the line of attack followed by Typhus, roughly halfway between the two fleets.

  The starfield wavered as though water rippled over a lens. The pinpricks of light started to oscillate, some growing larger, others disappearing, a few becoming bright red. They swirled and danced, spinning around each other, leaving vermilion trails.

  A tear appeared, the prismatic energy of the warp ripping through reality in a multicoloured blaze. Silhouettes wavered in the brightness, casting long shadows into the real universe that blotted out more stars. The gash lengthened and widened, as though invisible fingers prised open the edges.

  ‘They are coming through,’ snarled Ezekiel, reaching the top of the command dais. He leaned on the rail, one hand held to his temple, eye screwed shut. ‘Something on Typhus’s ship… A bridge between the warp and…’

  He sank to one knee, golden tears running down his cheeks, face contorted with effort. Nakir took a step forward but Azrael pushed past and crouched beside Ezekiel.

  ‘Where?’ Azrael demanded, grabbing the Librarian’s arm. ‘Where does the bridge end?’

  Ezekiel took in a shuddering breath, teeth bared. He pushed himself upright and opened his eye. In the golden orb Azrael saw a flicker of reflection – an immensely bloated daemonic creature with a dozen fanged maws and a thousand eyes. Yet beyond the daemon, inside its immaterial form, he saw a vast worm, coiled about the core of the daemon, feeding on its own tail.

  ‘Here!’ said Ezekiel, grabbing Azrael’s shoulders, staring deep into him. ‘Through the lens!’

  Alarmed, Azrael spun back to the hololithic display. The shadows in the rift had resolved into the crude shapes of warships – cruisers and battleships that poured from the breach in two lines astern.

  Some looked normal – several of them patterns of ships that Azrael had seen before, others that he recognised from the old databanks. Most were bizarre conglomerations of starship and warp-matter – vessels mutated by daemonic possession and twisted with Chaos energy. They followed the largest of these, a black star of filth-encrusted stone and metal in perverse mockery of the Rock, an anarchic mass of jutting towers, splintered spires and immense barnacle-like growths.

  The outer edge of the Consecrators fleet was closest to the warp breach, their ships turning towards Typhus’s vessels. The plague-star ploughed into the cordon of escort ships that had been protecting the capital ships. Purple light flared from arcane weapons and void shields burned blue against the blackness of space. A destroyer detonated in a plume of plasma as its reactor overloaded.

  Torpedoes raced towards the Chaos ship and weapon batteries sparkled as they opened fire in return. Nakir watched with fists held to his chest, lips tight, eyes narrowed as the ships of his Chapter tried their best to manoeuvre to counter this new threat.

  ‘All ships, engage the new fleet!’ Azrael bellowed. ‘Transmit attack order to all vessels!’
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br />   ‘We have to go,’ Ezekiel said, his composure returned. His intent stare conveyed his meaning more than words. The lens. Tuchulcha.

  ‘Nakir,’ said Azrael, but the other Chapter Master was fixed on watching the first stages of the battle unfolding on the main display. ‘Nakir!’

  The commander of the Consecrators looked round, clarity returning.

  ‘You are in command. My warriors will already be responding to attack protocols. Coordinate with Dane and ensure that we do not get caught between the two fleets. Ignore what I said earlier, the Rock will directly engage the enemy. We need all of the firepower we can muster.’

  ‘As you will it, Supreme Grand Master,’ Nakir replied, saluting with a fist to his chest. He was about to say something else, perhaps to ask where Azrael was going at this critical moment. Nakir glanced at the Dark Angel and his Chief Librarian and thought better of it. ‘The Lion shall guide my ire.’

  ‘I am sure he will,’ said Azrael as he hurried down the steps beside Ezekiel. He glanced at the Librarian. ‘There is one that knows more than any of us, I am sure. Fetch Cypher. Bring him to the sphere.’

  ‘Is that wise?’ asked Ezekiel as they stopped at the grand doors, waiting for them to open. ‘The two most unreliable elements in this whole crisis and you wish to bring them together again.’

  ‘The Watchers did so before, I must trust to that thought. Have we any other choice?’

  Dark Talons

  The emergency launch clarion continued to blare as Annael hauled himself up the steps onto the wing of his Dark Talon. He paused there and shouted across to Sabrael, who was climbing into the cockpit of the aircraft behind him.

  ‘Any briefing?’

  ‘Not a word from the Huntmaster,’ Sabrael called back. ‘Perhaps the Supreme Grand Master dropped something out of a window and needs us to pick it up.’

  ‘Good to hear that penitence has not improved your wit,’ Annael replied. Sabrael’s canopy hissed closed around him. Annael looked around for Tybalain and saw the Huntmaster in a heated discussion with Grand Master Sammael. The Lord of the Ravenwing was very animated, his hands moving with rapid chopping gestures and thumping one fist into the other.

  Annael stepped into the cockpit and lowered himself into the seat, an interface jack slotting into the spine of his armour where his backpack usually nestled. The thick armourglass canopy snicked into place around him, forming a pressurised cocoon.

  ‘Vox-check.’ Tybalain’s voice was a snarl over the communicator in Annael’s ear. The squadron sounded off one by one. ‘Immediate launch. Interdiction and elimination. Destroy all available targets.’

  Annael’s hearts started to beat faster when he heard this. The Rock was under attack! He wrapped his fingers around the control column and started the aircraft’s engine. There were no more pre-flight checks to make – the armourium deck crews kept every aircraft in the flight bays ready to launch at a moment’s notice. Only one last system needed activation.

  Annael flipped open the plastek cover of the rift cannon firing stud. This simple action connected the main reactor to the dormant warp core situated just beneath him. Though he had never seen or heard of an incident involving a malfunctioning core, there had always been rumours and stories. When he had moved to the Ravenwing his old squad brothers had joked that he would be sucked into the warp by a rift cannon misfire.

  He had laughed back then. He was not laughing now as red lights sparkled into life across the display in front of him. Almost immediately they turned amber and after three seconds the rift cannon system was green across the board. He could feel the steady thrum of the coolant systems beneath him, slow and steady, like the Dark Talon’s heartbeat.

  While he had been doing this, the servitors and armourers had left the bay, leaving only the Dark Talons of the Black Knights. The lighting dimmed to a ruddy twilight, allowing the auto-senses in Annael’s helm to adjust to low light.

  A siren sounded, audible even through the canopy. The huge gate that held back the vacuum of space slid up, immense chains and gears cycling to either side. The exterior pressure gauge dropped as the air in the flight deck rushed out, taking with it a few pieces of machine-cult detritus – empty unguent cans, discarded rags stained with sacred oils, litany-papers that had been removed from ammunition belts and replacement parts.

  The launch bay was located in the lower parts of the Rock, delved into the foundation stone itself, half a kilometre from the Gate of Woes where the Fallen were taken to the dungeons. The invisible wall of the Gorgon’s Aegis was close at this point, extending only two hundred metres from the surface of the fortress-monastery. Annael had expected to see an expanse of stars, perhaps even the local sun. Instead, when the gate had fully opened he was confronted by a swirling melee of asteroids, panning and crashing together, some smaller than his Dark Talon, others several times bigger than the Rock.

  ‘Lion’s blood,’ cursed Nerean.

  ‘They want us to launch into this?’ said Sabrael. ‘That is a truly awful joke.’

  ‘Cease the chatter, launch commands have been issued,’ said Tybalain. It was clear from his tone that he had raised objections and been overruled by Sammael. ‘Initiate launch sequences.’

  The hum of the engines increased to a whine as the five Black Knights powered up vertical thrusters. Annael’s craft lifted two metres from the floor, wobb­ling slightly as the systems warmed up.

  Tybalain led the way, easing his Dark Talon forward, nose dipped slightly, the main engines glowing with a faint blue light. Annael slid into place next, followed by Sabrael, then Calatus, and Nerean took up the last place in line.

  The Huntmaster hit the boost controls and white fire flared into life, powering the Dark Talon out of the bay. Almost immediately, Tybalain pulled his aircraft into a steep climb to avoid an asteroid just a few hundred metres outside the bay gate.

  ‘Wait!’ snapped Sabrael as Annael was about to hit the forward thrust ignition.

  A jagged piece of rock spun past the opening, three metres across. Annael saw what looked like a pair of legs standing on a pedestal – the remnant of a statue.

  He had no time to remark on this sight. There was a clear opening of several hundred metres ahead. The Black Knight fired the main engines and was launched out of the flight bay, his warsuit compensating for the immense acceleration.

  The moment the display indicated he was free of the gate, he pulled back on the control column, guiding his Dark Talon after Tybalain. His eyes searched the surrounding space, taking in the unfolding spectacle.

  Beyond the immediate asteroid cloud, the darkness was split with trails of plasma and fire while flickering traceries of laser lances crisscrossed the heavens. He could see the sparkle of gun batteries firing on distant ships and the azure halos of blazing void shields.

  Rolling his craft, he looked back at the Rock. Gigantic trios of cannons, each capable of hurling macro-shells larger than his aircraft, pounded out their wrath, their thunderous ire silent in the void. Asteroids turned to dust as the bombardment guns cleared an opening through the debris, the explosions filling the Dark Talon’s scanners with splashes of energy. Lance batteries projected slicing beams of red energy that slashed across the asteroid field, opening fire paths for massed torpedo tubes and rocket silos to pour forth their deadly projectiles.

  In seconds he had reached the limit of the Gorgon’s Aegis and ascended from the protective bubble of energy. The Dark Talon’s proximity alarm shrieked into life, the circular scanner display almost whited out with signal returns.

  Impact danger ahead

  Impact danger to port

  Impact danger ahead

  Impact danger to starboard

  Impact danger ahead

  He silenced the whining of the collision detection system, stabbing at the runekey with a snarl. Relying on his boosted reflexes and the vector thrusters of the D
ark Talon he followed the jinking twin blue stars of Tybalain’s engines, rolling and curving around the intersecting courses of the asteroids.

  He entered a trance-like state, his hand on the column and feet on the rudder pedals moving unconsciously in response to the data-stream entering his auto-senses, easing the Dark Talon through the gaps, ascending and descending, accelerating and decelerating as easily as if he were on foot. His head was in constant motion too, checking every angle, calculating the vectors of the incoming asteroids. The flash of firing thrusters illuminated spinning chunks of rock passing just a few metres from the canopy. Occasionally he unleashed bursts of fire from the hurricane bolter arrays under the wings, obliterating smaller chunks of rock and masonry that spun into his path.

  A flash of blue to starboard caught his eye. Sabrael accelerated past in a display of flying that matched his skill with a bike. Like an insect darting from one spot to another, Sabrael’s Dark Talon thrust forward and then stopped, it spiralled and rolled, twisted on the spot, dropped and rose, every manoeuvre seamlessly woven together as though rehearsed a thousand times.

  Annael tried not to think too much about his own more mechanical responses. Engaging his conscious mind would stunt his reaction time. Sabrael was showing off, and with good reason. There was no need to get drawn into some kind of exuberant contest that Annael could never hope to win. Rather than allow himself to be annoyed and distracted by his companion’s antics, he let his Dark Talon drift in behind his battle-brother, making it easier to admire his dazzling skill.

  Eventually they broke free of the asteroid cloud, accelerating into open space on plumes of plasma. Annael increased the magnification of his auto-senses to maximum and looked around.