[Space Wolf 04] - Wolfblade

by William King

  “It’s my stomach,” said Haegr. “It thinks my throat’s been cut.”

  “It just might be, if you don’t shut up.”

  “I am not sure I like your tone, little man. I may have to give you a sound beating.”

  Haegr was scanning their surroundings intently. Perhaps, thought Ragnar, a brain did lurk behind that ox-like facade after all.

  “What is it?” repeated Linus. There was an increasing note of desperation in his voice. Ragnar noticed that he had produced a small clasp knife. It would have been as useful against a Space Wolfs armour as a child’s toy. But maybe it could do some damage to an ordinary man if he got close enough. Ragnar could not picture the little scribe being able to use it. He had not liked the sight or the smell of blood.

  “Gunmetal,” said Haegr. His nose was fantastically keen. It must be useful for sniffing out food. “What do we do now?”

  Ragnar was surprised to be asked. He shrugged and waited. He needed more information before he came to a decision. He could sense people in the distance, but there was a scuttling furtive quality to their movements. It was as if they were trying to move rapidly but with caution. It was the sound of troops on patrol in enemy territory.

  Ragnar sniffed again. Faint and far away he caught something.

  “Must be twenty or thirty of them,” said Haegr. Ragnar was surprised again. Whatever he thought of Haegr’s brains there was nothing wrong with his senses. Few men were as keen as Ragnar and, if anything, Haegr was his superior in this area. He could hear Linus Serpico gulp. The stink of fear clung to the little man. “Stand or fight?” Haegr asked.

  Ragnar considered. There was nothing to be gained from standing and waiting. There was nothing to be gained from fighting. They might get wounded, or lose Linus and be back where they started. He did not consider the possibility that they might be killed. “Neither,” said Ragnar. “We run!”

  “Run?” said Haegr. He sounded outraged.

  “There’s no time to argue,” said Ragnar. “Let’s go.”

  He did not wait to see how Haegr responded. He had found it best when giving a command to behave as if it would be obeyed implicitly. He broke into a run, doing his best to keep ahead of his pursuers. He hoped they could reach their goal before they were overtaken. Linus needed no encouragement. A few seconds later he heard a curse, a grunt and heavy footfalls as Haegr did his best to sprint.

  As the statues blurred past Ragnar wondered if he was doing the right thing. Any moment, he expected to feel a las-blast in his back. He half expected to hear Haegr stop running and turn to face their attackers. If that happened it would be bad. He would have no option but to do the same. A Space Wolf did not desert his battle-brothers.

  “They know where we are going,” said Linus. His breath was coming in gasps but he was just managing to keep up with the Marines.

  “What?”

  “They know we are heading for the access conduit.”

  “How?” asked Haegr, who did not sound much better than Linus.

  “Where else would we go? It’s the shortest route to the surface from here.”

  Ragnar considered the possibilities. If he were the enemy leader he would have posted a force ahead of them to cut them off. There was no sense in assuming their enemy would do anything different. In which case the force behind them were not just pursuers, they were like beaters in a hunt, driving the prey into a deadly net. “You’re right,” said Ragnar. “Is there any other way up?”

  “None so easily accessible.”

  “I say we fight our way through,” said Haegr. He was panting loudly. “It beats all this running about.”

  Ragnar glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone was following. He detected no one close. They had temporarily outdistanced those behind them. He ducked through an opening in the wall and found himself in an abandoned chamber. The others followed. Both looked at him as if he were mad.

  “First it’s run, now it’s hide,” said Haegr. “Make up your mind.”

  Ragnar shook his head and smiled bleakly. There was no point in running blindly forward. They were foolishly doing what their enemies wanted.

  “You said there were other ways, although not so easily accessible,” said Ragnar to Linus Serpico.

  “There is a place traders come down by. I have only been there once for supplies.”

  “Can you get us there now?”

  “Maybe.”

  Ragnar assumed the main escape route would be covered by their foes. Was he willing to take a chance that Linus could find this other one? Or would it be best to proceed? There were too many variables here, and he did not have enough information. He supposed they could spring an ambush on their pursuers, who were closing in fast.

  “Think you can take them?” Ragnar asked Haegr.

  “You jest? A couple of dozen of these earthlings against the mighty Haegr - perhaps I should tie one hand behind my back.”

  “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

  Ragnar could hear their pursuers coming closer. They were moving fast, confident that their prey was in full flight ahead of them. That was a very dangerous assumption. “We stay,” said Ragnar.

  “But of course,” said Haegr. He was outraged that Ragnar might think anything different.

  “I want a prisoner.”

  “Why?”

  “Information. We need intelligence.”

  “Speak for yourself,” said Haegr, and then added, “that sounds like something Torin always says about me.”

  Ragnar knew the big man was wondering where his battle-brother was. “We wait here. We let them pass. I will take a prisoner. You will guard Linus.”

  “Why do you get to take the prisoner?”

  “I am the stealthiest.”

  “My heroic form is not best suited to skulking,” said Haegr. “Tis true.”

  “And they might hear your wheezing kilometres away.”

  “I do not wheeze,” said Haegr. “I merely take bigger breaths than you midgets. My mighty frame needs more oxygen.”

  “Your boasting certainly does,” said Ragnar. “Now be quiet and let them pass.”

  Haegr quietened. His stentorian breathing quietened too, after a while.

  They did not have long to wait. The sound of jogging feet echoed outside the doorway. Both Ragnar and Haegr waited with weapons ready in case they had been spotted and needed to fight. Ragnar would not have minded. The beast within him was keen to start bloodletting. He was almost disappointed the pursuers went by.

  “How long to the access conduit we originally headed for?”

  “Perhaps twenty minutes,” said Linus.

  “It will not be long before they realise they have missed us and double back,” said Haegr exhibiting a certain amount of thought. Ragnar nodded. He needed to be swift and sure. He made a sign to tell Haegr to wait and be silent, and moved to the doorway. He concentrated but could sense nothing close. He ducked out and loped swiftly but silently in the direction of their pursuers’ scent.

  He did not have far to go until he overtook them. They were the same sort of warriors they had fought earlier in the presence of the prophet. They were armed with lasrifles with bayonets attached. There was no sign of any psyker for which Ragnar was profoundly grateful. He held back in the gloom trusting that his eyes were better than the men’s and his senses keener. Now all he needed was a little luck.

  He got some immediately — but it was bad luck. As if warned by some sixth sense, one of the men glanced over his shoulder. Ragnar barely had time to duck into a narrow doorway. He held his breath and counted silently to ten but could detect no sign he had been noticed. He risked a quick sidelong glance and saw that the man was standing waiting. In fact the telltale smell and a faint glowing point showed that the man had lit some form of narcotic bac-stick. Were they really so confident, Ragnar wondered, or was this man very addicted? If so, he was going to regret it. Ragnar stalked closer, bolter held lightly in his hand. He could hear the man’s compani
ons recede and as he came closer he could smell sweat and stale bac-stick fumes. He could hear the man’s gasping breath. He was obviously tired and resting. He did not seem to be in such good condition as his fellow zealots, perhaps because of the drug he smoked.

  Ragnar walked right up to him from behind, looped a hand over the man’s mouth and placed the muzzle of his bolter against the man’s spine. The man began to sputter and gasp and Ragnar realised that he had swallowed the bac-stick. Doubtless the flame was burning his tongue. It could not be helped.

  Lifting the man effortlessly, hand clamped over his mouth, Ragnar turned and loped back in the direction of their shelter.

  By the time they had arrived, the man’s face had turned an interesting shade of purple. He had given up trying to free his sidearm from its holster.

  “What have we here?” said Haegr as he entered. “A new toy?”

  Ragnar let the man go. He opened his mouth to shout and Haegr buffeted him to his knees with what for him was a gentle love-tap. “I don’t like zealots,” said Haegr. “I think I am going to pull this one’s arms off.”

  He was very convincing. Even Ragnar wondered whether he meant it. Perhaps he did. He advanced on the man and jerked him to his feet as if he were a puppet. He held an arm in each massive fist. The zealot tried to scream but nothing came out. His face looked even paler. It was framed by long dark hair.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Crawl back to your hellworld, off-world scum,” said the man. Haegr imprisoned the man’s wrists in one hand and casually buffeted him with the other. “Talk or I’ll rip your nadgers off and eat them,” he said. He radiated uncompromising malice as he said it.

  “Antoninus,” There was defiance in the man’s voice, but it had a brittle quality. The man was very afraid although he was trying to hide it.

  “How many of you are waiting at the access conduit?” Ragnar asked.

  “Go to hell, mutant lover,” said the zealot. His voice was hoarse and rasping. Eating that burning bac-stick must have hurt. There was an odd grinding sound as Haegr closed his grip and the man screamed. It sounded like bones were about to break in the man’s wrists.

  “How many?” said Ragnar.

  “Twenty,” said the man. His scent said he was lying.

  “I smell a lie,” said Haegr sounding like an evil giant from old legend. The grinding continued. The man gasped in pain. “Fifty,” It was obvious he had reached his threshold of tolerance. Ragnar was glad. He did not enjoy torture, no matter how much the Imperium claimed some people deserved it.

  “Heavy weapons?” Ragnar asked.

  “Yes — covering the main approaches. Heavy bolters.”

  Ragnar looked at the man. That was military hardware. He did not know why it should gall him that these zealots have access to it here on Terra but it did. It niggled at him for a moment, and then he realised why. Unless they had their own armaments manufactories they had to be getting them from somewhere. Somewhere off planet most likely. Mars was the nearest forge world, but he could not see the Adeptus Mechanicus engaging in arms smuggling within the Holy System - although stranger things had been known to happen. More likely the weapons were being brought in from somewhere further. He wondered what he would find if he searched some of the Navigator’s bonded warehouses. He doubted he would ever get permission to do so, but he might attempt to find out on his own.

  All these thoughts flashed through his mind in an instant and he kept his full attention on the zealot. He needed to know more. “Who is your commander?”

  “Edrik — he… he reports direct to Pantheus.”

  “The merchant!” said Haegr. It seemed the fat man had been high up within the hierarchy. Perhaps this had not been such a bad lead after all.

  “You have heard of him?”

  “Who has not? He is rich as Mithras and twice as pious. Always giving money to good causes.”

  “And one of those is your Brotherhood?” Ragnar felt like they had stumbled over something very important, if only he could get to the bottom of it.

  “It sounds like he is giving more than money,” said Haegr.

  “Are you sure this is true?” Ragnar demanded. The man nodded. He certainly believed it to be so. Ragnar could tell from his scent. “How can you be so certain?”

  “Edrik was at his mansion. He has also been to his palace in the belt.”

  “The asteroid belt?”

  “He’s so fat he prefers to live in low gravity,” said the prisoner. There was a note of contempt in his voice and it shone in his wild, wide eyes. “He likes the world to think he’s holy, but he has many secret vices.”

  “Not unlike yourself,” said Ragnar, indicating the man’s bac-sticks. If the man saw Ragnar’s point he gave no sign. The certainty of the fanatic was starting to seep back into him, the longer they let him live.

  “I quite like the sound of him,” said Haegr, not letting on that Pantheus had been captured. “Certainly more than I like the sound of you.” Antoninus’s certainty was shattered by another twist of his wrist. There was more than physical pain involved here. Haegr’s strength was so overwhelming that it increased his sense of helplessness and eroded his confidence. Haegr gently bashed his head off the wall a couple of times, just to make sure he got the point.

  “What is your connection with House Feracci?” Ragnar asked on the off chance that the question might dislodge a tasty nugget of information. The expression of contempt on the man’s face returned, hardened, and intensified a thousand fold. “I have no connection with those mutant bastards,” he said. “The sooner the sacred soil of Terra is cleansed of their worthless Chaos-be-damned lives the better… And yours too,” he added as after thought. “Only the pure blood of humanity should set foot on the sacred soil.”

  There was certainty and fervour here that went bone deep. “Why do you work for a mutant then?” he asked. The man glanced at him as if he were mad. If Ragnar had spoken Fenrisian to him, he could not have received a more blank look of incomprehension.

  “Tour prophet was a psyker. We killed him.”

  “The prophet was blessed by the light, granted his powers by the Emperor himself so that he might continue the Emperor’s work. He will rise again! Or another will rise to lead us.”

  “If there are more like him then the Inquisition will be down here to scoop out your warrens like a fishwife gutting a sea bass.”

  “The Inquisition blessed his work.”

  Ragnar somehow doubted this, but the man seemed certain. Ragnar wondered whether the Inquisition hated the Navigators so much that they would sponsor acts of terrorism and assassination against them?

  He shook his head. His mistake was thinking in terms of organisations. Organisations had rules, guidelines, principles. They did not think or feel. Only people did that. All it would take would be one man high up in the Inquisition. It would not be the Inquisition itself. He filed the thought. They were sailing in waters that were deep and murky indeed.

  “This is taking too long,” said Haegr. “His comrades will be coming back this way soon. Who knows, they might even have missed him. I say we kill him and be done.”

  Ragnar shook his head. This man might have more useful information. Ragnar wanted him alive so that the Belisarians might pick his brains. Doubtless they would be better at it than he and Haegr could ever be. Antoninus lifted his head and spat at Haegr. “Do your worst. I am not afraid to die.”

  Haegr laughed. “On second thoughts, let him live so that I can cut the blood eagle in his back. I don’t think I will even cut it, I might just break his ribs and pull his lungs out with my bare hands.”

  Antoninus’s glance shifted to Haegr’s gauntlets. Both of them knew that it was no idle threat. The huge Marine was capable of doing exactly as he said. At that moment Haegr lifted his head and seemed to strain to hear something.

  “I think his comrades are coming back now.”

  Ragnar was once again astonished by the keenness of his senses. Only now
could he make out the faint distant sounds.

  “We must away!” he said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Antoninus smirked in triumph. Haegr caught him and said, “You will not live to greet your friends. You might say hello to them in hell though.”

  “I am not afraid to die!” said the zealot.

  “That’s twice you’ve said that,” said Haegr. “Third time is the charm. Just remember, not all deaths are easy.”

  Antoninus paused for thought. Ragnar put the muzzle of his pistol to his head. “You can make your choice now. You can come with us or we can decorate this wall with your brain.”

  It was one thing to say you feared nothing when surrounded by friends, it was another when staring at your enemies. It was one thing to defy your enemy and tell yourself you were not scared, it was another to actually make the decision whether to live or die. When the moment of crisis came most people could find reasons why they wanted to live. This was not a heroic death in battle or a glamorous martyr’s doom on the flames. This was an anonymous execution. It served no purpose. And Ragnar had sensed the brittle nature of Antoninus’s courage.

  Antoninus swallowed. Ragnar could almost see thoughts swimming across his face. If he lived he might help his companions to bring the Wolves down. If he lived he would be able to smoke another bac-stick, and see his family if he had one. Abruptly the bravado leaked out of the man, like wine from a pricked skin. He deflated visibly. The glow remained in his eyes but they had taken on a more furtive look.

  There was an almost guilty expression on his face which mixed with hatred when he looked at Ragnar. This was not a man who would thank him for making him reveal the brittle truth about himself or being there to witness it. Ragnar felt a moment of sympathy for him, even though they were enemies pure and simple. And he felt shame that was the mirror image of Antoninus’s self-hate. This did not fit his heroic self-image as a Space Wolf either. He forced a snarling grin onto his lips. He would live with it.

  “Shouldn’t we gag him?” Linus asked.