[Dawn of War 03] - Tempest

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

  Blood Ravens? The words struck me like daggers and then worked their way deeper in my mind, cutting through my thoughts like a chainsword.

  We are merely defending ourselves and the knowledge that has fallen into our keeping. Knowledge is power, young Blood Raven, and we must guard it well. The great sorcerer paused for a moment, as though to let the significance of his words sink in. Then he stooped over the desk in front of the window, with his back to the balcony, and proceeded to inspect one of the books that he had left there before the battle had drawn him outside. You must understand, friend of Ahriman, that I am doing no more nor less than they would have done in my position: I am protecting this knowledge from agents that will not understand it, or who will use it for the wrong purposes. In protecting it, I am protecting myself. What else could you expect me to do?

  Blood Ravens? The Sword of Vidya? My mind span with the words, as though I had heard them for the first time, or as though a fever had dredged them out of my deepest being and thrown them sizzling into my consciousness. Half remembered images of the red Space Marines charging towards me in the daemonic corridor flashed through my mind. Blood Ravens.

  I staggered slightly, catching my weight against the stone balustrade. Who am I? I am the sword of Vidya. My eyes dropped to the heraldic icon etched into my own blue armour: black raven’s wings with a pristine droplet of blood in their heart. My mind raced to the image on the cover of the book that I had found in the librarium.

  Coincidences are for the weak-minded and the ignorant.

  The maxim came from nowhere, as though I had known it forever.

  Instinctively, I pulled Vairocanum from its sheath and held it up before me, as the battle for the courtyard continued to rage below. Its broken blade glowed an eerie green. I stared at it, letting my mind embrace its image. Something shifted in my thoughts, drawing my spirit down towards the blue-clad Blood Ravens in the piazza—it was as though the blade itself had some connection with them. I am a Blood Raven…

  Yes, friend of Ahriman, you are a Blood Raven. The sorcerer was leaning back against the desk, letting the flood of red sunlight wash over him as he turned a book over and over in his hands. But we are not so different, you and I.

  I lowered Vairocanum so that it pointed directly at the great sorcerer, but I did not move. Instead, I looked down into the plaza and watched the battle rage for a few more seconds. The Blood Ravens and the Prodigal Sons were exchanging fire across the courtyard, but both groups were in heavy cover and most of the damage appeared to be to the beautiful stone structures of the city itself. Such a waste.

  Looking back up at Ahriman’s smiling, calm, unearthly face, I had no idea who I was at all. With my memory still shot to pieces, I could not deny that I felt some affinity for this seeker of knowledge. Something inside me thrilled at his esoteric power; it spoke directly to my being. Did I really need to make an enemy of this Ahriman? We had stood shoulder to shoulder against the Harlequins.

  No, friend of Ahriman, there is no need for us to fight. Except in the mind—for it is in the mind where the most important battles are always fought. The Prodigal Sons are always open to new seekers of knowledge—how else can we survive? We are not so different, you and I, Librarian—you simply deny that part of you which I embrace happily. You need not fight with your own nature, Rhamah, just as you need not fight with me: the only meaningful fight is in your head.

  As his words slipped easily into my mind, Ahriman rose from the desk and took two strides towards me. Drawing to a halt at the tip of Vairocanum he reached out his hand. We were not always so different, friend of Ahriman.

  In his outstretched hand was the book that I had found in the librarium, with the Blood Ravens insignia on the cover.

  There was a time, long ago before the Change, when the Thousand Sons of Magnus the Red wore the blood-red armour of their primarch. But times change. Everything changes. We have changed. This is one of the constant laws of our chaotic times. The key is to learn how to control the changes, how to master them and transform them to your own advantage. Do you think that it is coincidence that the Librarians of your Blood Ravens wear the blue armour of the Prodigal Sons and the Rubric of Ahriman? We are the seekers of truth, friend of Ahriman. We need only ever confront each other with our minds.

  Keeping Vairocanum between us, I took the book from Ahriman’s hand.

  CHAPTER TEN: CONTESTATION

  On the far side of the piazza was a grand, domed building. Arising out of its smoothly curving roof was a conical spire, like a giant finger pointing into the heavens. To one side was a high-rising tower, bristling with balconies and elegantly circular windows. The sheet of red light from the triple suns washed over one face of the tower, transforming it into a ruddy, reflected blaze. Somewhere near the top, Corallis could just about make out two figures on one of the balconies. They appeared to be clad in blue power armour, marking them out as Space Marines.

  When he turned to inform the others, Corallis found that the three Librarians of the Order Psykana were already staring up at the figures.

  A dark opening in the base of the domed hall, at the top of a flight of white, stone steps that rose out of the plaza, marked an entrance into the complex. The stairs were strewn with the bloodied and broken bodies of Harlequin troupers, some slumped into piles and others lying prostrate down the steps. At the top of the steps were a series of statues and monuments, some of which resembled humanoids—humans, eldar and dark eldar, all intermixed together—but most of them appeared to depict creatures of the warp, vile and snarling with vicious beauty. Like the other artistic structures that decorated the pristine streets of the unusual alien city, these inspired a mixture of awe and disgust from the Blood Ravens.

  Hidden in amongst the statues and gargoyles outside the great hall was a squad of Space Marines. It was almost impossible to determine how many there were, since the statues provided more than ample cover for them, and they never attacked all at once. When the Blood Ravens had first emerged into the plaza, they had seen two of them standing sentinel in front of the entrance to the hall. However, as the first shots had been fired, those two had thrown themselves into cover and a flood of blues and golds had washed out of the dark entrance, flowing behind the monuments. There might have been one or two squads.

  However many there were, there were more than enough to frustrate the attempts of the Blood Ravens to cross the plaza. Instead, the two sides were exchanging sporadic fire, most of which seemed to inflict damage only on the stone monuments behind which they had adopted cover.

  “Jonas,” called Gabriel, leaning his back against a statue of a giant deathmask, which was grinning in the bloody sunlight even as chunks of it were blown off by occasional bolter shells. “Jonas? Tanthius? Can you hear me?”

  The father Librarian nodded from behind the wreckage of some kind of stone animal. He was crouched with Zhaphel and Korinth as the three Librarians attempted to assess the situation. “Yes, captain. I hear you.” As he spoke, Korinth broke cover and unleashed a javelin of warp fire across the plaza, smashing it into the image of a leaping warp beast and blasting its head into shrapnel.

  “Assessment?” asked Gabriel. “Do we need to go around?”

  “Stalemate, captain,” replied Tanthius, who was standing between two statues of dramatic eldar heroes, each of them with swords outstretched to the skies. He held his storm bolter before him and was unloading a relentless tirade of explosive shells towards the Traitor Marines at the top of the steps. He did not believe that a Terminator sergeant should be seen to take cover. “We need to flank them before they flank us.”

  As he spoke, the whistle of a grenade cut through the air. He watched it arc out from within the shadows of the hall’s entrance, rising and then falling in a steep parabola before it clinked onto the ground in front of one the statues next to him. He stepped calmly to one side and watched as it detonated only a fraction of a second later, blowing most of the statue’s base into rubble and revealing the cr
ouching figure of Corallis behind it. As though this presented them with a new opportunity, Corallis and Tanthius opened fire together, sending hails of bolter fire sleeting back across the plaza.

  Gabriel nodded. “Who are they, Jonas? Who are we fighting?”

  “The yellow and blue markings are reminiscent of the Thousand Sons, captain,” offered Korinth as lightning poured from his staff to provide cover for Zhaphel, who was storming towards the huge, ornate, stone fountain in the centre of the plaza. “That would also explain their interest in this world: who other than the Thousand Sons would go through all this trouble for a lost eldar library?”

  “We would,” said Gabriel, with forced amusement.

  “It is possible,” responded Jonas, ignoring the captain’s tone, “that these Marines were once Thousand Sons. But look at them more closely: they have no helmets. According to the most ancient records, the Thousand Sons became fused into their armour in the days after the Rubric of Ahriman. Only a small group escaped the devastating effects of that great and terrible spell. Only they can remove their helmets. These Marines must descend from those who were the children of Ahriman himself.”

  “The Rubric of Ahriman?” asked Gabriel, his memory stirring faintly at the mention of the ancient spell.

  “Yes, aboard the Omnis Arcanum we are fortunate enough to have one of the few remaining copies of the Grimoire Hereticus, in which the Rubric is described as a spell of such unimaginable power that even daemonic horrors fled before the singular roaring tempest of magic unleashed by Ahriman and his cabal,” explained Jonas.

  “Ahriman was so desperate to escape the mutating touch of Tzeentch that he cast a spell which rendered his battle-brothers into little more than hollow automata—beneath their power armour the bodies of the Thousand Sons withered away into dust. Without bodies, what could there be to become mutated or corrupted,” added Zhaphel as he skidded to a halt under the cover of the great fountain.

  The vox channel hissed with sudden static. “They became pure consciousness?” asked Gabriel.

  “Perhaps that is a rather too generous way to phrase it, captain,” replied Jonas cautiously. “Better that we should call them inorganic abominations.”

  “Of course. But this Ahriman—he escaped the effects of the spell?”

  “Yes, so the Grimoire reports. Ahriman escaped the effects of the spell, but was banished from the Planet of Sorcerers by Magnus the Red himself, condemned to wander the Eye of Terror seeking clues as to the nature of Tzeentch.”

  “He searches for knowledge of magic,” concluded Gabriel, recalling some of the rest of the story from his time in the Librarium Sanctorum. “As I recall, he refuses to acknowledge that he is a servant of the Chaotic Powers—is that correct? He claims, rather, that he is a servant of knowledge itself—searching for it in its purest and most unadulterated forms across the galaxy.”

  “We need not acknowledge our nature in order to be who we are, Gabriel. Such acknowledgement is an act of truth with which not all seekers of knowledge are comfortable.” Jonas’ voice was suddenly grave. “Do not confuse this seeker of knowledge with our own Great Father’s search for truth. Truth is something with boundaries in the moral and the real. Knowledge is not always so bounded, especially knowledge of the power of Chaos. The Emperor himself decreed this division in the Edicts of Nikaea—remember that. Ahriman may not acknowledge his service to Tzeentch, but his very existence does violence to the memory of our Great Father and to the word of the Emperor of Man.”

  “Enough preaching, Jonas,” snapped Gabriel, suddenly angry as he realised that he had only ever permitted Prathios to speak to him in this way before. “You are not our chaplain.” He regretted his words as soon as he spoke them. “Tell us what you know of the tactics of these Sons of Ahriman: what do they want here?”

  “The Tactica Adeptus Chaotica, which has been assembled in the Librarium Sanctorum, contains very little on the Thousand Sons, except to indicate that they are well known for seeking to avoid direct fire-fights at close range, presumably because this nullifies the advantages offered by their impressive sorcery skills. It notes, I believe, that we should expect illusion, misdirection and feint. If possible, they will avoid armed conflict altogether: their objectives are rarely mere destruction.” Jonas’ tone was efficient and clipped.

  “Objectives?”

  A sudden silence descended on the plaza as the bolter fire stopped abruptly. Without hesitation, Gabriel stepped out from his cover and stared across the pot-holed piazza towards the statues around the top of the steps that led into the grand hall. There was a blur of motion, and flashes of blue and gold streaked between the monuments.

  “They’re moving out?” suggested Corallis. “Perhaps trying to get around to our flanks?”

  “Or perhaps trying to make us think that,” replied Gabriel, raising his bolter and taking careful aim. He squeezed the trigger and watched the shell screech across the plaza and slide between the legs of one of the heroic eldar statues, behind which the Traitor Marines had been encamped. There was a metallic chink followed by a small explosion as the shell impacted against ceramite armour. Then a bank of fire erupted from the top of the steps, raining back down towards the exposed Blood Ravens.

  “Objectives?” asked Gabriel again, stepping back behind cover.

  “Two are possible—one is likely. One is the generation of followers. Because of the Rubric of Ahriman, it is unknown how the Thousand Sons are able to replenish their ranks. They seem to seek to foster cults on dozens of worlds at the same time, cultivating magi who can contribute in some way to the power of the Legion. This network is called the Prodigal Sons of Ahriman—and the name is also used by the Space Marines closest to the terrible sorcerer.”

  “Unlikely to be the objective in this case,” agreed Gabriel.

  “Agreed. The most likely is that these Prodigal Sons are searching for a specific artefact or artefacts. It is reputed that Ahriman himself conducts raids on museums, librariums, scholaria and reclusia all over the galaxy, searching for items of power and knowledge.”

  “The Sword of Lanthrilaq,” concluded Gabriel swiftly. “Taldeer was right. So these Marines are not trying to kill us, they’re just trying to buy some time for their brethren to find the Blade Wraith? They are a diversion.”

  “Corallis—see if you can get around behind that hall and find another way in. If we can do this without fighting, we will. In the meantime, we will provide a diversion of our own. Tanthius, if you please.”

  As Corallis sprinted back out into the plaza, Tanthius strode forward towards the fountain behind which Zhaphel had taken cover. Korinth stepped out of cover and dashed to flank the massive Terminator sergeant, letting his force staff spit and hurl warp flames in a continuous barrage against the statues as he ran. By the time he reached Tanthius, Zhaphel had taken up a position on the other side of him. The three of them formed a short, blazing, firing-line in the very centre of the plaza. Storm bolter shells whined in a relentless tirade while lashes of warp fire crashed out of Korinth’s staff. Zhaphel raised his force axe above his head and then drove it down into the flagstones. As the axe-head struck, it sent a crackling line of lightning jousting through the ground and up the steps, exploding the legs from one of the statuesque warp beasts that served as cover for the Prodigal Sons.

  “Gabriel. There is another possibility,” said Jonas, catching the captain just as he broke cover and started to advance to join the others.

  He paused and turned. “Yes?”

  “Have you ever heard of the Sacking of the Etiamnun Reclusium?”

  “No, Jonas. Should I have?”

  “The story is not shared with many outside the Order. Etiamnun III was a small, distant world on the edge of the Eastern Fringe—a barren and inhospitable planet. Not wholly dissimilar from Rahe’s Paradise, in some ways.”

  “Father, is this really the time for a history lesson?”

  Bolter shells whistled past them, and the battle cries of Tanth
ius, Ephraim and the other Librarians could be clearly heard as they unleashed the fury of the Blood Ravens against the Prodigal Sons.

  “This is important, Gabriel. You need to be aware: I am not your chaplain, but I am your Librarian.”

  Gabriel nodded. Jonas was right. They were Blood Ravens, and they were nothing without knowledge.

  “The population of Etiamnun III was limited to a few recluses in the reclusium, which was established in the ancient and forgotten past on a site… on a site bequeathed to the Imperium by the eldar of Altanzar, before that craftworld was lost to the Eye of Terror.

  “For a number of decades now, the world has fallen under the direct protection of the Order Psykana. It appears almost completely insignificant, but its worth is immeasurable.”

  “The Order Psykana has a force sufficient for the defence of a world?” Gabriel’s astonishment was obvious. In front of him, he could see and hear the destruction being wrought by Korinth and Zhaphel together, and he wondered how many such Librarians would be needed to stand sentinel over a small, backwater world.

  “That is not the point of this story, Gabriel. Another time. About a century ago, the reclusium was attacked by a force of Thousand Sons Marines, apparently led by a terrible sorcerer lord. They conquered it easily, since it had no defences other than its obscurity.”

  “I don’t understand why I need to know this, Jonas. If there is a point, get to it.”

  “The sorcerer lord led his Marines deep in the mountain complex that lay under the reclusium. In its heart he found what he had come for: the central chamber housed a long hidden and all-but-forgotten portal into the eldar webway.

  “The Order Psykana was summoned to expel the sorcerer, but by the time we arrived the sorcerer was gone, vanished into the webway. Left behind in the hurry was a handwritten copy of a book, The Tome of Karebennian. You have probably heard of that book, Gabriel? It’s supposed to show the various routes through the webway to the Black Library of the eldar. That is what the Thousand Sons are looking for, Gabriel.”