by Guy Haley
The Wolf King burst out laughing. 'Again you surprise me. You are a bold one, Garviel Loken, in being so honest. Now, the most important thing you must tell me.' Russ leaned forwards in his throne, his eyes narrowed. 'Can I kill him? Can I kill the Warmaster?' Before Loken could answer, Russ went on. 'In the old days, in the Crusade I thought I could beat most of my brothers. Maybe not Sanguinius. In him there is a fine blend of skill and fury. He is a baresark in angel's garb. Or the Night Haunter, for he has the heedless power of the insane. But the others… Angron? He's too angry. Fulgrim?' He shrugged. 'Too proud. Perturabo and Dorn are too stolid. Guilliman is too stern to enjoy battle and so I would beat him too. Lorgar I could spit on and that would drop him into the dirt, he's so weak from all that kneeling. Alpharius is a wretched serpent. And we all know what happened to the great sorcerer of Prospero. The rest I could defeat as easily as this.' He snapped his fingers.
'Horus though,' he grimaced. 'Put to it, one on one, I could have beaten him. It would have been hard, and close fought, and had fortune favoured him over me, he would have triumphed. But the feat was within my grasp. So tell me, Garviel Loken, is it now? Can I still kill him?'
Loken's face tightened. Russ was proud, they said. He looked from the corners of his eyes at the wolf lords around him. Proud barbarians with an over-developed sense of honour were easy to insult. But they also said Russ was no fool.
Loken made his choice. 'No,' he said. 'You cannot beat him. Not like he is now. I do not think anyone can, save perhaps the Emperor Himself.'
The Wolf King's lips curved in thought and his eyes unfocused. He stroked idly at the pelt affixed to his shoulder. The bluff expression fell away and for a moment Loken was witness to the man the Wolf King hid.
An instant later, the thoughtful man was gone, replaced by the smiling savage.
'I thank you, Garviel Loken, for your honest counsel, but I assure you I will beat the Warmaster. I am going to have to.'
The audience was over. Russ stood. His wolves yawned, one after the other, the second wider than the first as they competed to see who could gape furthest.
'Tell Malcador I shall be borrowing Bror here for a while. Don't worry, I'll bring him back, so long as his thread remains uncut,' said Russ.
'Yes, my lord. I shall report to the regent, then return. When do we leave?'
Russ frowned. 'When do we leave? We do not leave, Garviel Loken.' Russ pointed a grubby finger at him. 'You are staying here.'
'My lord, I beg of you,' said Loken. He had a consuming desire to confront his father again. He wished to face him one more time, with no doubt in his heart. 'Let me come. I have sworn an oath to defy the Warmaster to my dying breath. I want to be a part of this.'
Leman of the Russ shook his head. His copper-blond topknot swayed in the ship's foul air.
'Not you, you remain!' he said sternly. Then he added softly, 'I say to you from one wolf to another, this is not your fight. It is unwise to intrude into the feuds of brothers, as we say on Fenris. They are the bloodiest of all.'
Once more Russ' smile dropped. 'Do not be sad. You will have plentiful opportunity to face your gene-father,' he said. 'If you are right, and I cannot beat him, he will kill me then he will be coming here. Fight him then.'
Two
Runemarked
Loken was shown out by Bror. Without needing to be told, the lower-ranking Space Wolves and their mortal servants began to depart, leaving Russ alone with the Einherjar. Outside of this august group only Bror Tyrfingr and Bjorn the One-Handed remained. Bror's inclusion was understandable to the Einherjar. He had been on Horus' ship. He served Malcador, the Emperor's right hand.
Bjorn was another matter. Russ knew it was a mystery to his Wolf Lords why Bjorn was so often at his side. Russ wasn't entirely sure himself. At Alaxxes the runes had hinted at some important role for the one-armed warrior. The runes did not lie, and so Russ kept Bjorn around.
Russ had brought his entire Legion to punish Magnus. With few exceptions they had remained as one force ever since Prospero's burning. Therefore they were all there, the Wolf Lords who had survived. There was Ogvai Ogvai Helmschrot, Jarl of Tra, Lufven Close-Handed of For, Amlodhi Skarssen Skarssensson of Fyf, Skunnr of Sesc, Hvarl Red-Blade, Lord of Sepp, Baldr Vidunsson of For-Twa, Sturgard Joriksson of Tra-Tra, Laughing Jaurtnag of Tolv, recently returned to the Legion from the Watch Pack sent to Dorn, and Scarred Oki who had taken up the burden of Tolvs command while Jaurmag was absent. Russ still had not decided what to do with Jaurmag and Oki. Jaurmag had defied him; but was a better leader than Oki. There was a problematic decision there It could wait Lastly there was Jorin Bloodhowl, who led Dekk-Tra.
The rest, the Great Companies of Onn, Twa, Dekk and Elva, had no leaders. Holmi Longganger of Twa had been killed at Prospero. Vili of Elva slain at Daverant. Elva, Russ reflected, had been struck by a fell-wyrd, running through four Wolf Lords in as many years. Dekk's lord Hemtal was dead at Alaxxes, along with Russ' greatest loss, Gunnar Gunnhilt, Jarl of Onn.
Russ and Lord Gunn had not seen eye to eye at the end. Russ resented him for his insubordination still, but Gunn's death had been a good one. They could settle their differences in the Golden Halls of the Oververse when Russ' own time came. If the Golden Halls was where Russ would go.
The clash between the two sides of Russ was at its most tempestuous when it came to religious belief. He preferred not to dwell on those questions. When he spoke with his priests, he believed the old tales. When he spoke with his father, he believed the Imperial Truth. That was sufficient for living in the now.
He had lost several of his lords, and the state of the Legion at large was even worse than that suggested. The perils of gathering your hersirs together, thought Russ ruefully, is that they can all fall through the ice at once. Prospero had thinned their ranks. Alaxxes had come close to catastrophe. Vanaheim and Daverant had culled more. The VI had thrown itself into Terra's defence and the forays beyond with all its characteristic energy, but they were weaker than they had been for years.
With the jarls were the higher Wolf Priests and other ranking Vlka Fenryka. Two dozen or so all told, hard-bitten warlords. Their warsuits, the pinnacle of the Imperial armourers' art, its existence possible solely through the most refined of human technologies, were draped with a barbarian king's wealth in gold, trophies, runes and furs. They were a contradiction in grey. Russ liked them that way.
The last of the lesser warriors and kaerls left. The armoured doors rolled shut. Firebowls guttered in the changing air currents. Atmosphere processors whined as they consumed the smoke.
'My warriors, my Rout,' said Russ fondly. 'My Einherjar. The finest warriors in all the Emperor's domains.'
He looked them over. The Vlka Fenryka were never truly still. There was an urge to action in them that nothing could quiet. Their wargear and personal effects were so different they could not be called a uniform. His command cadre was a coalition of kings. They were not a Legion in the same way that any of the others were. This too pleased Russ.
'Heed what I am about to say,' Russ said. 'I do not wish to repeat myself, and I do not wish my words to be repeated outside of this hall. I will work the murder-make on any who whisper what I will tell to you.'
His lords shifted and hunched, alpha pack leaders challenged by a wolf larger than they. They could submit, they could run, they could fight. Russ did not threaten warriors like them without good reason. He felt their unease.
'The Luna Wolf Garviel Loken spoke the truth. I cannot beat Horus Lupercal. If we attack now, he will kill me, and this Legion will die.'
Russ did not expect his men to react favourably to this statement, and they did not. Their alarm was mixed with anger. It pulsed from them and through the Wolf King. He felt an echo of their disquiet emanate from the spear on the wall behind him, as if it had gathered up all the bad thoughts in the room and turned them spitefully back upon the gathering. Russ did not like the spear. He did not like spears as a weapon in general. He pre
ferred the nobility of swords. They were hard to make and hard to fight with well. In their laboriously forged edges and the skill required to use them was the legacy of kings. After swords, Russ favoured axes. The axe's smile was a warriors battle joy made manifest. Axes needed strength and cunning. They were heavy and slow. Timing with an axe was all. When handled poorly they were a death sentence for the wielder. When landed correctly they had power no other edged weapon did, breaking armour, carving flesh and smashing bones. They were a murder tool, uncompromising in their brutality. They were joyous, they were honest.
Spears were cunning. Spears did not smile like an axe, nor did they possess a sword's majesty. A spear was a darting tongue, wounding like a hag's unkind words. The spear was the mocker in the court, the long reach of shame. A spear put a man at too far a remove from his foe. You could not taste a man's fear sweat when wielding a spear. You could not look him dead in the eye. Might as well use a gun as a spear.
But that was not why Russ did not like his father's gift.
'What are you saying?' said Ogvai. He snarled the words. They vexed him, and he bit at them as they came from his mouth.
'You heard what I said. Horus will not fall to my sword,' said Russ. 'Then we are not to go?' said Scarred Oki.
'Unstopper your ears, Oki!' said Russ. 'I said I could not beat him if we left now. But, my jarls,' he said, standing, 'I shall find a way. We have a purpose to fulfil, and we shall do what we were made for. Horus will fall. Kva!'
Russ called for his chief Rune Priest, Kva, also called He-Who-is-Divided. He walked haltingly, even with the support of his power armour. The Allfather's remoulding of his flesh had stayed the progress of a disease that had plagued him since birth, but it could not reverse it. Beneath his battleplate his body was knotted and gnarled as the rigging on a storm-wrecked ship. Men outside the Legion thought his war-name came from his deformation. That was not so. Kva's spirit was so strong it more than compensated for his enfeebled body. It was said of him that he was more powerful in the Underverse than he was in the Sea of Storms that is this world.
On the face of it such a person was not fit to be a legionary but then, such a person was not fit to survive childhood on Fenris. That he had done both was enough to validate him, never mind his wisdom or his wyrding skill. His disability was invisible to his brothers.
The Varagyr stepped back to give Kva room. The more superstitious among them spat upon the floor. They meant no disrespect to the priest, but the wights crawled close below the surface of the world where warlocks like Kva went.
'Horus' transformation is no surprise to we gothi,' said Kva, addressing the room. 'His altered soul quivers the Underverse. The stench of his corruption is carried on the winds of a thousand worlds. His name is howled in anguish by every wolf in Asaheim. He is a monster, but all here know that no monster is unbeatable.'
'We are to return to Fenris,' said Russ. 'There I will take counsel with Kva and the other gothi. At home, the priests will be protected by the spirit of our world. There we can learn his weakness.'
'You cannot do this here?' asked Hvarl. 'We are at the birth world. The Emperor is the greatest warlock of them all. He will shield you.' There was nothing traitorous in what Hvarl said. He named the Emperor honestly. Men of the Fenryka spoke without falsehood.
'The Allfather is of Terra, we are of Fenris. Perilous things may be done there,' said Kva. 'Things that cannot be attempted elsewhere, even here. We are of the ice and of the fire. Fenris' world howl will drive back the wights and the ghosts and the Neverborn. There we need not wait upon the Allfather's indulgence.'
'What do you hope to find?' asked Huscarl Grimnr Blackblood, chief of Russ' personal guard. 'I do not know,' said Kva. 'A man's wyrd cannot be changed, but if it appears without hope, that does not mean it is so. I was born with this disease already rooted in my bones. My right arm was reed-thin - a sure sign of a poor wyrd. So sure were the elders of my tribe that I could not survive they declined to present me with the child gift. My father insisted that his son at least be given the chance, urged on by the tears of my mother. And lo! I grasped the axe in my strong left hand.' He shook his staff. The runes dangling from the wolf's skull atop it jangled. 'And I would not let it go. They said I would not live, but I did. They said I would not prosper, but I did. When the Sky Warriors came to our aett and took me, they said I would fail their trials, and I did not. They said I would fail the flesh-making, and I did not. Nor did I fail Morkai's test. Here I am. There is often a way, when all hope seems lost. I am living proof.
'Fine,' grunted Amlodhi Skarssen Skarssensson. 'I'll go wherever the primarch says, to Hel and back if need be. I'm not dissuaded by a small thing like death. You want to gather battle-cunning in the Underverse, it makes no odds to my thread. It'll be cut when it's cut. Tell me first though, two-sided man, where is the Warmaster? We can't kill him if we can't find him.'
Words of agreement rose up in the group, making it seem three times their number were in the hall.
Kva looked to Russ. The primarch inclined his head in permission. Kva reached into a tasselled hide pouch at his side, and tossed a handful of fragile bark squares into the air.
They fell partway to the floor before coming to a gentle stop, and rose up. On every one was carved a single rune. Behind Kva's leather mask, his golden yellow eyes closed, and a sense of power bellied out from him, like wind filling the sail of a wolf ship.
The Einherjar spat upon the floor again.
'Bror and Malcador's champions marked the Vengeful Spirit for attack. They carved the futharc into its ways. These signs will guide our boarding parties, but they do more than that. Through these marks, I and the other gothi can find the Warmaster's ship within the Sea of Souls.'
'What if the Warmaster's devils have found the marks?' asked Ogvai Ogvai Helmschrot. 'We could be walking into a trap.'
'They won't,' said Bror. 'We were careful.'
'He has many witches,' said Hvarl.
'The power they contain is alien to the Warmaster's servants,' said Kva. 'They will not sense it.'
'If he finds some, he won't find all,' said Bror. 'And he'll think they are only what they look to be, scouting marks for important locations aboard his ship, because that's what they are, but they also aren't.'
'Attacking him is too risky,' said Skunnr. 'Horus is too battle-canny. We can't attack the traitor head on, we are too few. What do your brothers say?'
'You're too timid, Skunnr!' shouted Lufven. 'There's glory here.'
'Timid? It is you who are unwise!'
Shouts rose.
'Of course it's risky,' said Russ, interrupting the brewing argument. 'Of course he'll see through everything we do. We go against the arch traitor, the Warmaster, the greatest general in human history. This is no land-raid. Compared to this our greatest campaigns will be as nothing. The Wheel of Fire? Nothing. The Rangan Xenocides? A day's friendly brawling.' His warriors bristled at his words. There was a bitter undertone they were not used to hearing in their lord's voice. 'This battle will define us. This will make us. By this deed will our Legion be forever remembered,' said Russ. 'I want Horus to guess what we are doing. I want him to expect us. A good hunter uses the land against his prey. He makes his prey confident in its might I want him to think us foolish, to charge back. In this way can mere men bring down an algr, the Great Razor Elk. This is how we will beat Horus. He is arrogant that is our greatest weapon.'
'I laud your courage, great jarl,' said Skarssensson. 'But first you have to find a way to kill him, or the cleverest trap will do nought.'
'As always, Amlodhi, you have a fine grasp of the strategic detail,' said Russ with a grin.
'Just so long as I know,' said Skarssensson.
'You shall know as soon as I do,' said Russ. 'My jarls, we return to Fenris soon! Prepare yourselves. Prepare your Great Companies. Rejoice that you shall see home again, but be mindful that we shall be there but a while, for once the truth is revealed to me, we strike for Horus witho
ut delay. Fenrys hjolda!' he proclaimed.
'Fenrys hjolda!' they replied.
Three
Question Not, Learn Not
Among the multitudes of the Mechanicum's cults were many who despised the human form. Whether they were a modest proportion of an outpost's small crew, or the entire populace of metal-clad forge worlds, or if they openly expounded their loathing of flesh or hid it, they were legion. Their opponents argued that a biological machine honed by millions of years of evolution was difficult to better. The tinkerers, cyber-surgeons and gene-hackers paid them no heed.
In sustenance hall 46 in the Septa station of the Heptaligon, the chief facility of the Trisolian System, two natives of Mars were debating the relative merits of the pro and anti forma naturalis positions. It was the week the Warmaster came, though at the time of their conversation that was several days away.
The interlocutors were low-ranking tech adepts, elevated from the mass of the Mechanicum's slice of servile humanity, but not far along in their careers. They were natives of Mars and of a similar age, having taken installation of their intelligence cores only a couple of decades before, though they did not know each other then. Upon posting to the Trisolian System, their paths had crossed Finding common ground - a few old haunts they both knew a smattering of shared colleagues - they had struck up a fragile friendship.
