by William King
“Thousands upon thousands. A numberless horde. A sea of howling green faces. We killed so many of them but they just kept coming and coming. And they had huge war machines armed with terrible weapons. Where did they come from? I would not have believed there were so many orks on the planet. Or that they could be so well-armed.”
“They came from beyond the heavens. But do not worry. The Emperor will punish them for their misdeeds. The Imperium always triumphs in the end. Now tell me, Brother Tethys, why did the orks attack here?”
“Who can tell why such brutes do anything? They were drank with bloodlust and the desire to kill.”
“Yet they took prisoners — slaves, you said.”
“Only once the battle was long over and they calmed down. Once they were inside the temple grounds, things were terrible. They swarmed everywhere, killing and looting all as they went. Then their leaders seemed to re-establish some sort of control and they went to the sanctum, and pillaged the ancient treasures. Perhaps that is what they sought — our sacred relics.”
“Sacred relics?”
“There are many such here: the bones of holy men, devices of great sanctity created in ancient days — an amulet worn by the Emperor himself, it is said, broken in some ancient battle. One day it will be repaired and used to resurrect the Emperor.” Ragnar saw the inquisitors stiffen like hounds which had caught a scent.
“What did this amulet look like? Like this one?” She gestured to the fragment of the talisman hanging around her neck. “Have you seen it?”
“It is a holy thing,” Tethys said, suddenly circumspect. “I should not talk of it to strangers.”
“We are servants of the Emperor, trusted ones. It is our duty to preserve such relics from the claws of those who would defile them. It is your sacred duty to help us do this.” She made another pass with her hand. Once more Ragnar felt psychic power flow. Tethys stiffened a little and then seemed to relax. “Yes. I understand that now,” he said in a colourless voice. “I must do my duty to the Emperor most high.”
“Tell us about the amulet.”
“It is a device of silvered metal on a chain of true silver. Within it is set a green jewel of a thousand facets. It looks on one side as if it had been broken from a larger gem. That side is jagged, not smooth and polished. The high abbot wears it on the night of the Blood Moon when performing the rite of ultimate—”
“It sounds like what we’re bloody well looking for,” Sven said impatiently.
Inquisitor Isaan swung her head around and silenced him with a poisonous glare of her dark brown eyes. The meaning was clear: Do not interrupt. She glanced back at the monk, who had opened his mouth to speak once more.
“If you seek the amulet it is too late. The orks have taken it. I saw it around the throat of their leader. I am not surprised. Our visionaries claim it is an object of great power.”
Isaan looked at Sternberg, then at the rest of them. Her face related all that needed to be said.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“There can be no turning back,” Inquisitor Sternberg said grimly. “We must recover the Talisman of Lykos from those ork brutes.”
Ragnar and the other Blood Claws stared at him. Ragnar could tell his battle-brothers shared his momentary sense of disbelief.
“The thing is gone, man!” Sergeant Hakon said. “An ork army has taken it.”
“Then we shall retrieve it!” Sternberg said in a voice that permitted no opposition.
“And how precisely will we find it?” Hakon demanded. “These jungles are swarming with orks. There are ork forces all over the continent. How can we find a single ork amidst them?”
“How did we locate the talisman in the first place?” Sternberg countered.
“I can use my… gifts,” Karah Isaan suggested. “The link between the two fragments still exists — the closer they are the stronger the link gets. Now I can sense the general direction. As we get closer I will be able to pinpoint it exactly.”
“Could we not teleport back to the ship, perform the ritual once more, and teleport back down?” Ragnar suggested.
“The Light of Truth has been driven out of teleport range by ork warcraft,” Sternberg said. “It is moving out to rendezvous with the approaching Imperial relief fleet. It will return with the task force in one standard week.”
“You hope,” Hakon said.
“With the Emperor’s blessing, it will be so.”
“Well if we’re stuck down here for a bloody week anyway. Sven started. A stern look from the sergeant silenced him.
“And what will we do when we find the bearer of the talisman? This is no ordinary ork. It is a warlord. He will be in the middle of the horde and well protected.”
“Are you not Space Marines? Is this not the sort of mission you were trained for?” Sternberg said.
A silence came over the small group. It was broken by the distant sounds of the remaining orks letting off their weapons. Everyone present looked at each other warily. Ragnar considered the inquisitor’s words. He was certain that if there was a way, they could find it. After all they were Space Marines, the Imperium’s elite warriors. He was just not sure there was a way to do what the inquisitor wanted in the time they had available.
“You are proposing we locate this ork, steal into its camp, snatch the artefact, and then escape?” Hakon summarised. His tone was one of heavy sarcasm, but from the way he tilted his head, Ragnar could see he was giving the matter serious consideration. The Blood Claw could understand that. If the deed could be done, it would be a mighty feat of arms, worthy of a saga hero. In fact, Ragnar was thinking, perhaps this would be the way into the sagas for all of them. Their names would ring down the millennia in the annals of the Chapter. If they survived. And if they succeeded. He had to admit they sounded like very large “its’.
“Precisely,” Sternberg was saying. “That is, if you think you and your warriors can perform this mission. If you can’t, you can wait in the jungle and Inquisitor Isaan and I will proceed alone” Hakon laughed softly. There was no way he was going to allow that. It would not redound to the Chapter’s credit, for its warriors to withdraw and abandon two servants of the Emperor on such an important mission. On the other hand, that mission might well prove to be suicidal. Ragnar understood the sergeant’s dilemma. “I would not allow that,” Hakon said finally.
“You cannot stop me. I am not one of your Chapter. You cannot command me to do anything,” Inquisitor Sternberg said, his face set.
The sergeant shook his head slowly. Space Wolves were not famous for their respect of any authority save their own leaders, and that they gave grudgingly to men who had earned it. A leader who made foolish decisions did not remain one long, rarely became one in the first place.
Ragnar wondered whether Hakon was going to make all of this crystal clear to the inquisitors or whether he would find another, more diplomatic path. The sergeant gestured at the amulet which Isaan wore. “I am responsible for the safety of the talisman,” he said smoothly. “I will not allow you to proceed if your actions endanger it.”
The two men glared at each other, and for a brief moment Ragnar felt that they might come to blows. He watched with interest. He had no doubts as to who would win under those circumstances.
Karah Isaan, witnessing the mounting tension, looked from one to the other and back. “There is no need for this. We are not enemies here. We all wish to serve the Imperium.” She gazed meaningfully at Sternberg. “Perhaps the sergeant has a point. Perhaps recovering the talisman is not possible.”
“And perhaps it is. We should at least endeavour to find out,” Sternberg insisted.
Ragnar could see the sergeant nod. He could tell Hakon was considering the inquisitor’s words. He wondered whether Isaan was using any of her mind tricks on him. He did not think so. There was no sense of any power flowing here and he was sure he would notice. Unless, of course, he told himself, the power was being used to ensure that he did not. He pushed the thought aside; he doubt
ed whether that was even possible.
“Are there any alternatives?” he heard himself start to say. “Could we not wait for the fleet to arrive and then bring down a strike force from orbit?”
“Time is of the essence,” Sternberg said with a shake of his head. “Who knows how long it will take the fleet to fight its way into position to allow our forces to make planetfall?”
“If nothing else, we can be advance scouts for the invasion,” said Hakon. Ragnar could tell he was starting to warm to the plan.
“Perhaps we should see where the other talisman is,” Isaan suggested.
“I think we can all agree on that,” said Sternberg.
His companion reached up to touch the amulet, where it dangled from her neck. “I will do so at once.”
Inquisitor Isaan emerged from the chamber in which she had performed her ritual. Ragnar did not need her scent to tell him she was troubled. Her face wore a frown and her dark eyes were slitted in thought.
“What is it?” he asked. The others were silent, waiting for her answer.
“Something strange is happening,” she said. “I could sense it through the link. I think the ork chieftain is starting to use the talisman’s powers. He has found some way of tapping into them.”
“What does that mean?” Hakon asked.
“I do not know exactly what yet,” she said. “But I doubt that it can mean anything else but trouble.”
Somehow Ragnar was not surprised to hear this. “Where now?”
“The orks are south of here, along the river. I saw a city under siege.”
“Gait Prime,” Brother Tethys spoke up. “Our capital.”
From the distance came a sound like thunder. Ragnar wondered what it was. He turned his face to the sky and soon worked it out. Three long exhaust contrails slashed across the blue like a swipe from the claws of a giant cat. Even as Ragnar watched he noticed the dots that were the source of the vapour. They grew in his field of vision until he could see that they were stubby winged, crudely fabricated aircraft.
“Get down!” he yelled. And threw himself flat.
Karah did the same. The ork warplanes passed directly over the temple complex. They were flying low, looking for something.
“I think we should get as far from here as we can before the orks start looking for us,” said Karah.
Ragnar could see she was scared. He did not blame her. He too wondered if it was a coincidence that the ork craft had appeared so soon after she had made her psychic link with the ork warlord. Perhaps if she could sense him, he could sense her. It was not a reassuring thought.
Bringing a reluctant Brother Tethys with them, they ventured into the maze of tunnels within the walls of the huge stone pyramids. It was quiet and cool and the walls blocked off all sounds from outside. Ragnar wondered how safe this was, and then realised it didn’t matter much. If the orks were looking for them, it was most likely safer than being in the jungle. Ork troops would be out there right now, trying to pick up a trail.
Brother Tethys held one of the ancients’ ever-burning glowglobes in his hand. The light made the pinkish fingers of his flesh seem translucent. It was an illusion Ragnar had seen before but nonetheless a potent one. All around him he was aware of the smell of death. He noticed that the walls were full of alcoves and in each alcove lay a desiccated corpse. This was obviously some sort of burial place. Beneath each alcove was carved the name of a monk, in Imperial runes, to make them sacred but there was no air of holiness about this place, no smell of sanctity. It was a bone-yard, pure and simple, and they were heading ever deeper into the middle of it.
“The temples are huge,” Tethys said. “They have been sinking underground for years. The pyramids you have seen on the surface are only part of much larger structures beneath the grounds. They go down a long way. We could hide here for months and never be found.”
“Not much food down here…” Sven muttered only half-seriously.
“There’s always this salted meat,” Nils said, gesturing towards the corpses. Hearing the sharp intakes of breath from the inquisitors and the diminutive monk, he added hastily, “I was joking.”
“We’ll have less of your humour, Brother Nils,” Sergeant Hakon said.
“How are we going to get to the fragment of the talisman?” Ragnar asked, to break the tension.
“These tunnels lead to the river; the river leads to the city of Gait Prime. We can take a boat down there towards the ork lines.”
“Then what?” Ragnar asked. He knew it was a question that had been on all the Blood Claws’ minds.
“Then we’ll see,” said Sergeant Hakon.
“And how are we going to get down the river?” asked Sven. “I don’t fancy swimming.”
“Once we’re out of the temple complex we’ll build a raft and head downstream. According to Brother Tethys the current’s strong, so it shouldn’t be too much work.”
“What if those warplanes come back?” asked Nils.
“We’ll spear that orka when we see it,” Hakon said, then lapsed once more into silence.
The river was broad and brown, and it stank. It reeked of rotting vegetation and algae and wastes pumped into it from the temple complex. Ragnar wondered how much longer that would happen. He doubted that the orks would maintain the machinery there. From what he had seen they had already begun the business of dismantling it all and incorporating it into their crude engines of destruction. As a race they seemed inveterate scavengers and tinkerers. Still there was no doubting that their primitive-looking devices worked. Those warplanes had been effective enough.
Cloying mud sucked at his boots as they struggled along an overgrown pathway between the trees, away from the tunnel that had emerged in the riverbank. Once they were sufficiently far away from Xikar to feel safe they would begin the construction of their raft and start the perilous journey downstream. Ragnar felt eyes upon him and looked over to see Inquisitor Isaan was watching him thoughtfully.
“Don’t worry,” he said to her. “We’ll make it through safely.”
“I don’t doubt it,” she replied. “The Emperor is watching over us.” She didn’t sound or smell as certain as her words implied, Ragnar thought. But she managed a smile and strode softly forward into the gathering gloom.
The rafts were hefty enough to be stable, made from tree trunks cut down with chainswords and lashed together with constricting vine. The Wolves had made two of them, together with punting poles from the bamboo reeds that grew all along the jungle edge. Not that they were needed, Ragnar had seen: the current was strong enough to carry them at a speed well beyond that even a Space Marine could march at through the dense jungle.
The expedition had split into two groups, one for each raft. On the leading raft were Inquisitor Sternberg, Sergeant Hakon, Strybjorn and Lars. On the second raft were Ragnar, Karah Isaan, Sven, Nils and Brother Tethys. Nils stood at the back of their raft, guiding it with the long bamboo pole. Lars was doing the same on the other raft.
Even the threat of ork air patrols had receded. In many places the jungle was so overgrown and entangled that the huge multi-trunked banyan trees grew right over the river, blocking out all but a few blinding rays of sunlight. It was like sailing down a tunnel beneath the trees. It was as Brother Tethys had said. There were few of the greenskins left in the temple complex and they seemed to be savage and purposeless, mere flotsam left behind when the tide that was me great ork horde had moved on.
The jungle was alive with life. Large, shaggy ape-like creatures crashed through the canopy overhead. Massive panther-sized beasts, mottled and six-limbed, lurked on the branches and studied them with enormous unblinking eyes. Now and again Ragnar caught sight of an enormous serpent-shape slithering through the branches. It must have been thirty strides long at least with a body thicker than an ale barrel. He wasn’t too troubled. There was no beast in this jungle he couldn’t handle. In his experience few natural living things were impervious to chainsword blades and bolter shells.
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He shook his head and told himself that such overconfidence was dangerous. What if he was attacked by surprise? Or while asleep? What if some creature was strong enough to crunch through his armour? He knew it was unlikely. His Space Wolf senses were such that they would alert him to almost any threat even while asleep. And ceramite would prove impervious to any natural fang or claw.
Don’t be so certain, a part of him told himself. You don’t know that. Men have died in far less dangerous places than this by thinking the way you do. After all, he was a stranger here. What did he really know of this world? Some of the plants and animals were similar to those on Fenris, that was all.
In a way this was hardly surprising. Most of their ancestors had probably come from distant Terra all of those tens of thousands of years ago during the first great human Diaspora, when Man had set out to colonise the galaxy and remake it in his own image. They were the descendants of those old creatures and plants, reshaped to fit their new homeworlds.
Around the next great bend, huge, dusty brown reptiles basked along the riverbank, presumably some species of dragon. Their immense jaws looked as if they could down a man in one gulp — even one armoured in ceramite. Ragnar kept his hand near the holster of his bolt pistol as one of the creatures slithered down the muddy bank and into the water. For such a large creature it moved with surprising stealth, the splash it made when it entered the water would have been barely audible to any man save one with the enhanced hearing of a Space Wolf. The creature very much resembled a log as it floated down the river towards them. Ragnar could see that the colours of its leathery hide could almost have been designed to mimic old or rotting wood. He wondered how many innocent river fishermen had been deceived by that, how many animals that had come to the river to drink or cross the waters. Well, he was not fooled, and he could tell by the scent of his companions that they were not either.
He looked at Sven and the inquisitor, who had already drawn their weapons. Nils held the pole one-handed and waited to see what the creature was intending to do. By the tension in his body Ragnar could tell he was ready to draw his pistol at a moment’s notice and open fire. A swift glance told him that the folk on the other raft had perceived the threat as well, and were ready to help. It seemed apparent that the monster would reach Ragnar’s raft first — and it was coming on quickly. Brother Tethys had finally noticed what was going on, and was unshouldering the autorifle.
