Ravenlord

by Gav Thorpe

  ‘Any other identifiers?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing else, but the ship is too far out for meaningful vox-traffic, commander,’ said the controller. ‘Any message would still not arrive for several more hours.’

  ‘Despatch Fearless to investigate. The ship is to be treated as hostile until proven otherwise.’

  ‘I understand, commander. Full fleet security measures have been implemented.’ Ephrenia leaned closer to the vid-capture, her voice dropping to a whisper. ‘Do you really think it could be more survivors from Isstvan? It seems unlikely.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ admitted Soukhounou. He shook his head. ‘The sheer implausibility makes it a poor subterfuge. I cannot imagine what a force of traitors would think they could achieve with outdated transmissions and a half-crippled scow.’

  ‘My thoughts too, commander. The code is a personal signal for Gherith Arendi.’

  ‘Arendi?’ Soukhounou had thought his surprise at the day’s events could not have increased, but this revelation sparked even more confusion. ‘He led the primarch’s guard. The Shadow Wardens.’

  ‘I know, commander. Gherith was never more than arm’s reach from Lord Corax if possible. If anyone would fight their way across half the galaxy to rejoin the primarch it would be him.’

  ‘That was before Isstvan. A lot has changed since then.’

  Corax’s command had almost been a roar, ordering the Shadow Wardens away. Aloni watched from the back of his jetbike as Arendi flinched from his master. Corax left them then, his flight pack taking him into the blood-red clouds above the Urgall Depression, seeking the traitor Lorgar, whose warriors were cleaving into the Raven Guard flank, attacking, getting pushed back and then attacking again with brutal purpose, like a warped blade repeatedly hacking into flesh.

  Arendi had tried to follow Corax, leading his men forward with bounds of their jump packs, but the Ravenlord’s wings swept him out of reach and the twisted monsters of the Word Bearers intervened.

  Aloni was too occupied with the breakout to keep track of the Shadow Wardens. He was needed elsewhere and only returned with his squadron nearly twenty minutes later, having cut a breach through the Iron Warriors cannons and tanks up on the ridge. Of the three hundred Raven Guard Aloni had led up the hill, twenty-two remained.

  The Shadow Wardens had fared even worse.

  The fighting moved on, leaving piles of dismembered and wounded legionaries in its wake.

  Aloni looked at the carnage and knew, logically, that some of the warriors lying there in mangled warplate might still be alive. In his heart he did not believe it was true. Lieutenant Carakon was requesting urgent reinforcements at the lead-point of the sector four breakout; Corax was withdrawing in a Thunderhawk, and it was up to every company and squad to see to their own exit.

  Others would have died if Aloni had tarried. He had given the dead not a second glance as he angled his jetbike away and soared back up the ridge.

  ‘Could he really still be alive after all of this time?’ asked Ephrenia.

  ‘Possibly. But after what happened at Ravendelve I do not think it wise to accept anything as it first appears. I am glad it will be Lord Corax and not I that must try to see the truth of it.’

  IV

  Scarato [DV -81 days]

  ‘Are you sure it is really Gherith?’

  Corax looked at the Space Marine on the flickering vid-screen, trying to decide for himself. The new arrival certainly looked like the warrior who had been appointed by Corax to the command of his ceremonial guard. Not only his face, but his build, the way he carried himself, were the same as those etched into the primarch’s memory. He didn’t need the voice-match analysis for confirmation either; his superhuman hearing was as accurate as any machine.

  Arendi – or the man claiming to be him – was alone in the room, sitting on a bare bench, arms folded. Now and then he would glance up at the vid-transmitter with a sour look. He wore a thick sarong-like belt of coarse material, having been divested of his armour on arrival. That plate was undergoing examination by the armoury, who looked for any kind of transmitting or tracking devices that might lead them to Arendi’s true masters. Corax had given it a cursory look, impressed by the modifications and field repairs that had kept it functioning; Arendi’s time in the machine shops of the Lycaeus prison had left an aptitude for such things, though his calling had not taken him to the ranks of the Techmarines.

  The former commander of the Shadow Wardens was Lycaeus-bred, his muscled body leaner than many legionaries, cheeks and eye sockets hollow. He had always been as such, but the years following the Dropsite Massacre had not been kind; bolt scars pocked his massive frame, blade cuts marked his back and shoulders and from his left hip to right pectoral was the swirl of a plasma splash. In places, the flesh had been burned so deeply that it revealed the dark shadow of his black carapace beneath puckered flesh. Such wounds meant nothing, as easily inflicted by weapons carried by loyalists as traitors.

  There was one mark, however, that Corax could decipher easily. It was three lacerations from left ear to shoulder. Someone that had not been fighting in the Urgall Depression might have thought the wound caused by an animal attack, but the primarch knew better.

  Some maniacal traitor beast had tried to rip out Arendi’s throat.

  And all of the evidence meant nothing since the incident at Ravendelve, when Alpha Legion infiltrators wearing false faces and faked battleplate had been uncovered amongst the Raven Guard ranks.

  ‘Gene-testing will take several more hours, Lord Corax,’ said Soukhounou, who had been placed in charge of the new arrivals simply by dint of being on watch when they had first arrived. ‘I have sent for the Librarian, Balsar Kurthuri.’

  Soukhounou turned his back on the display to face Corax, troubled.

  ‘He has been asking for you constantly, lord. Over and over. The others keep telling us that you must speak with Arendi too.’

  ‘Sounds suspicious,’ said Corax. He peered at the small screen. ‘Why would they not pass any information to you?’

  ‘That’s what I thought as well, lord. I asked Arendi that question myself.’ The commander glanced at the monochrome image. ‘He claims he has news of an important target, in some system called Carandiru. He said he needed to speak to you first, before word spreads to the others. I don’t know what he means by that.’

  ‘I cannot see how he poses any physical threat to me, so if he is a traitor I think we can assume it is not an assassination attempt.’ Corax scratched his chin in thought. ‘Very well. I will talk to him.’

  The former bodyguard was in a chamber nearby. Corax glanced at Soukhounou, who had followed him to the entrance. The Raven Guard met the look with a grim expression, and opened the door.

  Arendi jumped to his feet, fist to his chest as Corax ducked through. The sound of the latch rang loudly as the door closed behind the primarch. The room seemed suddenly small, filled with Corax’s presence.

  ‘My lord!’ Arendi’s eyes glittered with moisture. ‘It is good to see you alive!’

  Corax did not return the sentiment. He glared at the Space Marine, fingers knotted behind his back.

  ‘Why are you here?’ the primarch demanded.

  ‘We received the call, my lord,’ Arendi said, confused. He looked around the room. It was not a purpose-built cell, but had been cleared of all furnishings except for the bench. ‘In truth, I did not expect to be made a prisoner again.’

  ‘Trust is a scarce resource in this age,’ the primarch replied, regretting the truth of the statement. ‘Not all are as they appear to be.’

  ‘A truth I know well, my lord.’ Arendi relaxed a little, hands falling to his sides. He grinned suddenly. ‘Really, it is such a relief to see that you are alive and well. We thought… Well, with the Gorgon and the Lord of Drakes dead… It was anarchy, but we always hoped that you had gotten away. If anyone
could, we said, it would be the Ravenlord.’

  ‘We will have time to reminisce later. What is it that you say only I can hear?’

  ‘Apologies, Lord Corax, but it is a matter that might spread discontent should it fall upon the wrong ears,’ said Arendi. He started to gesticulate as he spoke, reminding Corax of his old expressiveness. ‘There is another prison, my lord. A whole world, it is said, where the rebels have incarcerated millions. Some legionaries amongst them, but many Imperial Army and most of them civilians. Bad stories, my lord. Very bad.’

  The thought caused Corax some consternation, and memories of Lycaeus were quick to surface. The primarch pushed them aside to concentrate on the present matter. ‘Why would such news be so dangerous?’ he muttered. ‘It is no surprise. The traitors have been enslaving whole worlds across the galaxy.’

  Corax growled as he dwelt on the notion, bringing his gauntlets up to form fists. Arendi held up a hand, as though he thought the primarch might attack him.

  ‘It is only rumour, my lord,’ warned the legionary. ‘A tale passed from one to another along an uncertain chain. It might even be a trap, intended to ensnare you.’

  ‘Now I understand your reluctance,’ said Corax. Some of his commanders, and the lower ranks too, might jump at any chance to exonerate themselves, regardless of the consequences. Yet Arendi was quick to point out the flaws in his own story. ‘You were right to remain silent until now. The Carandiru system is some distance away. It would be no small endeavour to investigate these rumours.’

  ‘Yes, several thousand light years, lord. Perhaps it is of no consequence. We came to serve, whatever your orders. We had hoped… That is, when the nights were long and the weather at its most bleak, we had believed nonetheless that the Legion had survived. It was difficult.’ Arendi’s voice trailed away and he looked earnestly at the primarch. ‘We heard other rumours. Wild stories. Legions destroyed, primarchs slain. Those that hunted us, when we caught them, taunted us with tales of the Raven Guard’s destruction. It was hard not to believe, but we held true. We knew they were lying.’

  ‘Not quite,’ Corax said with a sigh. ‘We are not the force that existed before Isstvan. Less than four thousand of the old Legion remain.’

  Arendi stared at the primarch, brow knotting, his expression pained. ‘I suppose it was too much to hope. We should have known. It was hard enough for us to escape. Why did we expect it would be any different for the rest of the Legion?’

  ‘How exactly did you leave Isstvan?’ Corax asked quietly, his dark gaze intent on the Space Marine.

  ‘Luck as much as judgement,’ confessed Arendi. ‘The traitors were so intent on killing they did not inspect the dead for some time. I survived until the night came and then slipped away. I knew it was too risky to broadcast on the usual Legion frequencies, but there were others who escaped, alone and in small groups. Not just Raven Guard but Iron Hands and Salamanders too. The rene­gades tried to hunt us down, and a few fell or gave up, but we kept on the move. Eventually we stumbled across the cargo lighters of a transport dropping supplies to one of the watchposts. We managed to take the lifter and then seized the ship in orbit.’

  Arendi scratched at his brow, skin flaking away. Corax looked at the legionary properly and could see the fatigue in his eyes. Nutrient- and sleep-deprived, his skin was dry and mottled like a pale lizard, eyes bloodshot and dark-rimmed.

  ‘How long ago?’

  Arendi shrugged.

  ‘Hard to say for sure. We were on Isstvan for six hundred and thirty days, give or take a few. After that, the rapid warp jumps made chronology difficult to fix. We’ve been bouncing from system to system just looking for allies or enemies, trying to do what we could to hurt the traitors.’

  ‘Six hundred and thirty days?’ It was Corax’s turn to be shocked, but as his surprise subsided a small measure of pride swelled up within him. ‘A remarkable achievement. What of the others, the Salamanders and Iron Hands?’

  Arendi looked away suddenly and clasped his hands together, fingers knotting and fidgeting.

  ‘Captured, or dead, most likely.’

  Corax looked at Arendi for some time, trying to reach several conclusions. He was almost certain that this was the veteran of Lycaeus that had ascended the ranks of the Raven Guard to become one of the primarch’s most trusted commanders. Everything about Arendi was authentic, from the way he talked to his scent and mannerisms. The story seemed not only plausible but unfortunate, and there was genuine hurt in the Space Marine’s eyes; hurt Corax had seen a thousand times over in the gazes of those that had departed Isstvan with him, thinking on the brothers that had been left behind.

  ‘It was my decision not to return to Isstvan,’ the primarch said quietly.

  It was the first time that he had made such a confession out loud, though similar thoughts had been voiced by others; not out of accusation but lament.

  He met the legionary’s anguished look. ‘I knew there would be other survivors, but there was a greater threat. Stopping Horus was more important.’

  Arendi’s gaze hardened and his jaw tightened, but the Space Marine nodded.

  ‘Of course, my lord. I understand. It probably wasn’t the easiest decision.’

  ‘It was,’ Corax said firmly. ‘One of the simplest I have ever taken. I have never thought of any warrior as expendable – and I still do not – but I have never regretted or doubted my decision. The scales were tipped so far that there was no other choice.’

  Taking in a deep breath, Arendi straightened and stood to attention.

  ‘And what of the prisoners at Carandiru?’

  ‘Do you think we should rescue them?’ Corax asked, stepping towards the door.

  ‘Aye, my lord, I do.’

  Corax directed an inquisitive look at the legionary, so Arendi offered explanation.

  ‘You taught us that war is not won simply by force of arms. Some foes must be utterly annihilated, but many can be defeated in their minds long before they are broken militarily.’

  ‘And what bearing does that have on this mission?’

  ‘The converse, my lord. Even if a mission is not obviously of military benefit, it has value. If we are willing to let millions suffer torment and degradation for who can say how many years, I am not all that sure we deserve to win this war.’

  It was a remarkable statement, made all the more stunning for the bluntness of its delivery. Corax had not heard the like from his warriors, and for a moment he considered admonishing Arendi for such seditious talk.

  The primarch stopped himself, thinking about the traumas that Arendi must have undergone. It was no excuse for poor behaviour, but it gave the former commander an almost unique perspective. If anyone knew about the value of hope, sometimes blind hope, then it would be those men and women like Arendi who had striven in the face of hopelessness and utter defeat.

  Corax laid a hand on the legionary’s shoulder, bending low to be eye to eye with him.

  ‘There is much to be done, so I do not promise that we will liberate Carandiru. I will, however, take heed of what you have said and bring all thought to bear on the matter.’

  Arendi nodded in thanks and Corax moved away. As he reached the door, he glanced back.

  ‘I want to believe you, Gherith.’

  ‘I know,’ said the Space Marine. ‘That is why you can’t.’

  ‘A day, maybe less, and you will be reunited with the rest of the Legion. We are not so numerous that we need another commander, but your insight into the traitors’ workings will be much valued.’

  Arendi said nothing and Corax felt his eyes on him as he left. Soukhounou was outside, obviously agitated and out of patience.

  ‘Is it him?’ asked the commander. ‘Can he be trusted?’

  Corax did not reply immediately. It was not a simple question to answer. He thought about everything that had happened in t
he last few years – the treachery of Horus and others of his brothers, the Alpha Legion and their machinations, the schism of the Mechanicum – and he knew that though his instinct told him that the man in the chamber was Gherith Arendi, and that he was still loyal to the Raven Guard, such instinct and judgement could not be considered infallible.

  ‘Not yet,’ he said eventually, gesturing for Soukhounou to accompany him back up the corridor to the monitoring chamber. ‘But I feel he will prove true.’

  ‘Looks likely that we’ll know soon enough,’ said Soukhounou, as they entered the monitoring station and found Brother-­Librarian Kurthuri waiting for them.

  The psyker greeted the primarch with a nod and a salute, shoulders hanging heavily, his eyes weary. He had seen much employment in the past few days, probing into the minds of each new group of arrivals.

  ‘How goes it?’ asked Soukhounou while Corax bent to the vid-screen and watched Arendi.

  ‘The others are who they say they are, and they believe that the warrior who led them off Isstvan is Gherith Arendi.’ The Librarian glanced at the monitor, brow creasing. ‘There is something they are holding back, though – a secret they are reticent to share.’

  ‘Could you delve deeper and find it out?’ asked Corax, not looking up.

  ‘No, my lord, not without some preparation and even then with some risk to the subject and myself. I am not as gifted as some among the Librarius were – breaking the subconscious of a legionary requires a great deal of my willpower.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Corax, thinking on what Arendi had told him of the prison world. ‘I think I already know this secret. If you are able, I would appreciate it if you could test the identity of Arendi right away. I know that you must be exhausted but he is the last for now.’

  ‘Of course, my lord.’ Kurthuri drew in a deep breath and wiped a hand across his waxen face. With a nod to Soukhounou he left the room.

  Corax adjusted the view-screen display, turning on the audio feed. They heard Kurthuri approaching and then the clank of the lock and the quiet creak of the opening door.