[Dawn of War 03] - Tempest

by C. S. Goto - (ebook by Undead)

  Ahriman stood motionless at the epicentre of the furore that was gathering around him, his arms beseeching the unseen powers of heaven while his whispered and sibilant words provoked agents beyond the comprehension of normal men. He was a powerful psyker, and it suited his purposes for his Space Marines to believe the rumours that he rivalled the power of Magnus and the Emperor himself.

  In truth, however, most of Ahriman’s power came from the allies that he could enlist. Over the long centuries and millennia, the unmatched sorcerer had learnt the keys that unlocked many secrets: he could call upon the aid of daemons without exposing his soul to their thirst, binding them to his will and his purpose; he could seduce service from the lithe and terrible daemonettes, promising them pleasures that he would never have to fulfil; and he could speak the hidden words that stirred the warp itself, bringing the raw, depersonalised power of the empyrean into his service for short periods of time.

  He had required all of these assets to break the moorings of the portal into the eldar webway at Lorn, and yet his Space Marines grasped only that he had accomplished it with his own power. The irony of cultivating such stupidity in these ostensible searchers of truth was not wasted on Ahriman, but the preservation of his own power was a still higher imperative: if they had his knowledge, they would have his power too. If they learnt too much, Ahriman would kill them himself. If knowledge was power, then Ahriman, Sorcerer Lord of the Prodigal Sons, was its ultimate guardian.

  The sky darkened until it seemed that night was falling prematurely on Arcadia. However, the searing and insufferable heat of the day persisted, as though the shroud over the triple suns was nothing more than an illusion. With a slow movement, Ahriman looked down from the sky and placed his gaze onto the glowing image of a book on the altar. He muttered some more inaudible words, asking the local powers to show him the location of the sacred tome. His Marines watched expectantly, but nothing happened.

  Silence fell, as though the desert wind itself were holding its breath. In his mind, Ahriman smiled: he knew that nothing was more glorious and suggestive of power than a dramatic, tension-riddled pause. He waited for a couple of seconds, and then completed his incantation.

  The rocks under the altar started to tremble and quake, making the altar shake and shift with increasing violence. At precisely that moment, Ahriman nodded a signal to the Sorcerer Obysis, his sergeant, who started to chant the Litany of Placation. His voice was joined immediately by those of the other Prodigal Sons, who each knew the possible consequences of their failure to contain the eruption of power. The choral sound swept around the altar in the ritual crescent, presenting a barrier of sound and will.

  With a groan of cracking rock, the altar convulsed with a sickly energy and then exploded, sending shards of stone and metal raining out over the Prodigal Sons, leaving the holographic book hanging momentarily in the air before it flickered and vanished.

  In place of the altar, a vertical stream of electric blue fountained out of the ground into the sky, like a fiery pillar reaching for the heavens. It would have been visible for dozens of kilometres in every direction, searing out of the desert like the finger of god. At the same time, the rocky ground started to crack and crumble away. The collapse started at the point that used to support the altar, then spread like a growing cave-in, clawing away the ground in a wide crescent, stopping at the boots of the Sorcerer Lord and his Prodigal Sons. In place of the rock, sand bubbled and seethed to the surface, like oil gushing up from a drill-hole. It bubbled and frothed at the surface, overflowing the hole and lapping at the feet of the warriors who chanted and muttered the words necessary to hem it in.

  Glowering with his blazing eyes, Ahriman barked a sudden command at the roiling mass of sand, making it flinch and ripple as though repulsed by his words. But then the chaos of sand started to form into vaguely recognisable shapes, each held together by the unearthly bonds of warp and the unspeakable, glittering will of the empyrean.

  After a moment, the forms resolved into a three-dimensional map of a circular, almost conical city. Then it exploded into turmoil again. Suddenly there were buildings and streets, market places and great, towering cathedrals. The shapes shifted and reformed, as though guiding Ahriman through an unknown city, showing a route to him that would lead him to what he sought. As the sorcerer lord was shown a wide plaza with a vast domed hall dominating one side of it, the holographic book suddenly reappeared in the mire of sand. It pulsed and glowed with a vague green presence, only half visible through the sandy walls of the dome.

  Ahriman let the suggestion of a smile play over his lips as his inferno-eyes burned into the image of the book: The Tome of Karebennian. The book was a mythical guide to the location of the fabled Black Library of the ancient eldar; even the foolish old Magnus the Red had never believed that the book was anything more than a legend. But Ahriman had always been a finer scholar than his primarch, and centuries of research had finally paid off. Since his expulsion from the Planet of the Sorcerers, Ahriman had taken his cabal on a rage of erudition, plundering ancient tombs, acquiring forbidden tomes, unearthing magical artefacts, and discovering the most talented of psykers. Even Magnus would not have thought it possible, but he had found Arcadia, and now he would find Karebennian too. After that, there was nothing that could keep him away from the Black Library, the impossibly ancient repository of the wisdom of the eldar. The image of the book sizzled and glittered in the sandscape, but then the shimmering light shifted slightly, as though it had been blurred. Other flecks of light danced through the sand, sparkling and whirling like fireflies or refractions through a prism. After a fraction of a second, one of the Prodigal Sons stopped chanting and unsheathed an ornate force-sword, brandishing it and flourishing it into defensive stances. Then another Marine tugged twin bolters from holsters against his legs, snapping them back and forth at targets that never quite seemed real. Suddenly, all of the Marines had abandoned the Litany of Placation, and the sandscape erupted into a massive, diffuse mist that covered them all. Meanwhile, the Prodigal Sons had braced their weapons and Ahriman himself had his infamous Black Staff poised ready for combat.

  Fleet, multi-coloured shapes danced through the sandstorm with incredible speed and grace, never pausing long enough to present a definite target for the Prodigal Sons. But it was clear that the shapes were not simply tricks of the light: the flashes of arms and legs, the glint of bright eyes, and the eerie songs of battle betrayed a humanoid threat.

  Without waiting to identify the mysterious assailants, Ahriman grinned, letting his mouth open to reveal burning blue teeth, like rows of warp shards. His eyes flared with the sudden thrill of combat. Taking his Black Staff by one end, he spun it around his head, letting a stream of crackling energy lash out into a circle around him. A couple of his own Prodigal Sons shrieked in pain, but Ahriman’s infernal grin broadened as he poured more and more power into his spiralling inferno.

  “I will not ask you again, General Sturnn. The captain is not accustomed to being kept waiting.” Scout Sergeant Corallis held the general’s eye for a moment, making sure that he was aware that the Blood Ravens did not fall under the same command hierarchy as the Imperial Guard. With his one remaining eye, Sturnn glared back at the partially reconstructed, half-mechanised sergeant, making sure that he was aware that he was not intimidated by the Adeptus Astartes. He had seen them before.

  “We fight for the same Emperor, sergeant. I mean no obstruction to your captain.” The officers behind him smiled nervously, proud of their general’s composure but anxious lest he had gone too far with his pompous manner. “The problem—if we can really call it a problem—is that we were not expecting to see you, Blood Raven.”

  “And why is this a problem? Many Guardsmen will go through their entire lives without seeing a Space Marine—”

  “And others will become Space Marines themselves, sergeant. Do not lecture me about the nature of the Adeptus Astartes. I did not become a general in the Imperial Guards without becomin
g familiar with your functions and practices.” Sturnn cut off Corallis in mid-sentence, and there was something about his tone that the sergeant didn’t like: he knew that the Guard were fiercely proud of their name and the association it implied with the Emperor, but Sturnn had bitten down on the word “Imperial” as though it were a bullet. “The Adeptus Astartes and even the Blood Ravens themselves are not unknown to me. I am not as uninformed as you may think.”

  “It is gratifying to know that our reputation precedes us, general,” nodded Corallis with a show of graciousness. “Then you will appreciate the imperativeness of cooperation.”

  “Is that a threat, Blood Raven? You would do well not to threaten one of the Emperor’s generals.” The theatrics betrayed the fact that only days before Sturnn had been a captain; his promotion was a field-promotion only, but his officers knew that field-promotions were the ones that really counted.

  Corallis was taken aback. He had certainly not meant to imply a threat with his words, but only to indicate the likely importance of their presence on Lorn V.

  Why would Sturnn interpret him with such a lack of charity? What had the general heard about the Blood Ravens?

  “Forgive me, general. It was not my intention to appear hostile. Please explain your problem, and we will see what can be done to solve it.”

  Sturnn regarded him for a moment. “Very well, sergeant. You are not the first of the Adeptus Astartes to have made landfall on Lorn V in the last few days. The first squad called themselves Ultramarines and claimed command of our forces, turning our own plans into ruin. We killed them—does this surprise you?”

  Corallis stared at the general in horror. He glanced back over his shoulder towards Gabriel and the figure of the eldar farseer who was slumped in between the captain and Librarian Jonas.

  “You laid hands on the Ultramarines!” Disbelief fought with the violence of restraint in Corallis’ voice, and his hand twitched over the holstered bolter on his leg.

  Sturnn tilted his head, as though assessing the sergeant’s reaction. “We killed the Marines in question. We surrounded them in the command tent and then blew them to pieces. Dozens of our own men sacrificed themselves so that the traitors would not suspect the plan.”

  “Traitors? I cannot believe that the Sons of Guilliman were traitors to the Emperor or the sacred tenets of the Codex Astartes.”

  “Have you heard enough then?” said the general.

  “What?”

  “Have you heard enough? Do you condemn Lorn and the Cadian 412th already?” The general was goading him.

  “Who were those Marines?” snapped Corallis, unwilling to believe the report.

  “Ah, that is the right question, Sergeant Corallis.” Sturnn smiled as though relieved. “I do not know who they were, but it seems that they were merely disguised as Ultramarines to deceive us and usurp our command structure. These are the markings that were borne on their shoulder plates after we scratched the blue paint from their dead forms.”

  Sturnn flicked a signal and one of the officers behind him threw a shoulder guard onto the ground in front of Corallis.

  The Blood Raven stepped aside so that Gabriel and Jonas could see the evidence: they recognised the green hydra immediately—it was the insignia of the Alpha Legion. This was not uncharacteristic behaviour by the deceitful traitor Marines.

  “As I say,” continued Sturnn, “we identified them quickly and then eliminated them.”

  “They were traitors—Alpha Legionnaires—they do not follow the Imperial creed. You were right to turn on them, general.” Corallis paused as a realisation sank in. “And you suspect the same of us?” He flinched as he spoke, with genuine repulsion written across his face. The story made sense, and it explained the wrecked Ultramarines’ cruiser on the edge of the system, which had crude Alpha Legion markings hacked into it.

  “No. The battle here is won, as you can see,” said Sturnn, sweeping his hand out towards the smoking remains of the ice-encrusted battlefield. “But the Ultramarines did come. They brought us a control team for the Dominatus titan. It seems odd to me that the Blood Ravens should arrive now, demanding access to the site where the titan was found.”

  “I see,” nodded Corallis, not quite sure what might be the point of this exchange. “But I fail to see your problem.”

  “I never said that there was a problem, sergeant. In fact, I explicitly said that I should not call it a problem.” Sturnn smirked. “I said merely that we had not been expecting you, and that we know enough of the Blood Ravens to understand that your arrival is not always… fortuitous.”

  Sturnn had chosen that word carefully, and Corallis picked up on the deliberate ambiguity. What had this man heard about the Blood Ravens, he wondered. Perhaps more importantly, how had he heard whatever he had heard? It was possible, supposed Corallis, that this General Sturnn had some connections with the Inquisition—Ulantus had implied as much.

  It was certainly the case that a number of factions within the Ordo Xenos would be interested in keeping track on the movements and activities of the Blood Ravens Third Company, especially after the affairs on Tartarus when one of their own inquisitors was lost whilst under the Blood Ravens’ protection. Hence, it was not altogether impossible that Sturnn had been briefed before their arrival.

  It was also possible that one of the officers of the Ultramarines contingent was similarly connected, and that he had passed on dubious information to the general when they learnt that the Blood Ravens were en route. Chaplain Varnus was certainly well-connected.

  Whatever the case, the pointed nature of Sturnn’s comment implied that he had little faith in the judgement or honour of the Blood Ravens. This was the only way to explain the way that Sturnn tried to test Corallis’ response to the Cadian 412th’s treatment of the alleged Ultramarines: would the Blood Ravens wait for an explanation or simply blow the place and leave?

  Corallis fought back the urge to kill the general on the spot for slighting the honor of his Chapter. “We do not seek a role in this conflict, General Sturnn, and it is clear to us that you have secured the theatre already. Nonetheless, we must request access to the site of the excavation of the Dominatus titan. There is reason to suppose that there is more to that site than even that venerable machine.”

  “I can assure you that my men examined the site thoroughly. What kind of reason would you have to doubt this?” As he spoke, Sturnn let his eyes fall past Corallis and alight on the sickly, broken shape of Taldeer.

  “We have our reasons, and they need not concern you, general. Will you give us access or… not?” Corallis could be ambiguous too. His patience was wearing thin.

  With Taldeer hanging off his shoulder, limp and almost weightless, Gabriel pushed through the cordon that marked off the excavation site. Jonas and Corallis followed behind, with Sturnn striding along between them, making a show of being escorted by the massive Space Marines. The encampment was ringed by a series of Hellhound tanks, gunnery emplacements and several full squadrons of Armoured Fist troops. Given that the titan had been removed days before, the security around the site certainly suggested that Sturnn knew something else of value remained within the cordon.

  After a few steps, the ground fell away into a wide pit. Mounds of earth and piles of rock around the perimeter suggested that the cavity had been excavated only recently. The bottom of the crater was uneven and skewed; to one side a wide, low tunnel had been hacked out of the wall of the pit, leading off under the ground. Even from the rim of the crater, Gabriel could see the half exposed runic markings that poked through over the apex of the tunnel mouth. They had not been fully uncovered, as though a decision had been made to ignore them. Gabriel bristled at the casual disregard for knowledge acquisition that the site demonstrated. “You located the titan inside that tributary?”

  “No captain. The titan was uncovered in the main pit.” Sturnn gestured around the crater, implying the great size of the titan and the impossibility that it could have been pushed through th
at tunnel.

  “Of course,” answered Gabriel. “And what of the tunnel?”

  “Our engineers unearthed it when they drilled the trial hole in this area. We made it about one hundred metres along its length before a second team found the titan in this area in front of the tunnel’s mouth.”

  “I understand. Did your men finish excavating the tunnel even so?” Gabriel’s tone suggested that he doubted that the Guardmen would have understood the importance of such exploration.

  “We pushed the tunnel through into a large chamber under the ice, but it appeared empty… We were at war, captain. It was not the time for searching for trinkets.”

  Gabriel just nodded. He understood Sturnn’s position on this, and he knew that it would be shared by most men in his position. However, Gabriel’s view was radically different.

  “Did you establish why the Dominatus titan was preserved at the mouth of this tunnel?”

  “We supposed that it was guarding the inner chamber,” conceded Sturnn, realising the direction of Gabriel’s questions.

  “And you yourselves are guarding the tunnel entrance now? It seems that you suspect the chamber holds more than mere trinkets, general.”

  Nodding slowly, Sturnn sighed. “The ice of Lorn V is riddled with caverns and tunnels, captain. A number of them resemble this, and some are marked by that foul alien scrawl. Legends suggest that the eldar once lived here, long ago, before the ice and the wrath of the Emperor purified this world.” Sturnn’s eyes twitched to the eldar farseer and discomfort settled over his face. “I am sure that you would know more about this, Captain Angelos.”