“It is,” the young Space Wolf said bleakly, gazing down at Gabriella’s face. Her eyes were closed, as though she were sleeping. The bandage over her chest was already stained red. Gently, he reached down and touched her cheek. “Forgive me, my lady,” was all he could manage to say.
“Bulveye must know a way off the planet,” Torin said. “They got here somehow, after all.”
“No doubt,” Ragnar agreed, “but he’s a day’s march away. I don’t think this place is going to hold together that long.”
“It won’t,” a deep voice growled from the temple entrance, “but we’ll be gone long before then.”
Torvald moved with a limp as he entered the temple, and his left arm hung at an awkward angle. His armour was battered and his face bloodied, but the ancient warrior still lived. He looked at Torin and Ragnar and frowned. “Don’t act like you’re looking at a ghost,” he snapped. “It was just a horde of Guardsmen. I’ve fought worse in my time.”
The Rune Priest surveyed the bloodstained battlefield and then knelt by the fallen Navigator. “This was well done, brothers,” he said solemnly. “Leman would be proud.” Then he glanced down at Gabriella’s prone form and laid a hand gently on her arm. “Can you carry her? There’s no time to waste. We have to get back to Bulveye’s camp—”
Suddenly, the Navigator’s eyes fluttered open. “No,” Gabriella said weakly. “There’s another way.”
The Rune Priest’s brow furrowed in concern. “What is she talking about?”
“The co-location,” she said, “the bridge between worlds. We can cross it.”
Torvald listened and shook his head sadly. “No, lady. Would that I could, but crossing between the realms like that is still beyond my abilities—”
“Not for me,” she said. Gabriella pulled a hand from Torin and grabbed the Rune Priest’s arm. “Open the gate. I can guide us through.”
The Rune Priest considered this. “What you’re suggesting is fraught with risk,” he began.
“Please,” she said. “Please.” Gabriella looked up at Torin and Ragnar. “I don’t want to die in this place.”
Ragnar looked into the Navigator’s eyes, and nodded. “Do it,” he told the Rune Priest.
Torvald’s scowl deepened. “Very well,” he said. “Call the young priest. We need to be quick.”
Torin called for Sigurd, and then gently took Gabriella in his arms. Ragnar stood beside Torvald. “We should go back to Bulveye’s camp first,” he said. “If Gabriella can guide us home, she can bring all of you with us. You can come home, after all these years.”
A strange look passed over Torvald. He looked at Ragnar, and smiled sadly. “The thought tempts me brother,” he said, “but our work is not finished yet. One day, when our oath has been fulfilled, we will return. You may count upon it.”
Sigurd rejoined them swiftly as pale lightning began to crackle from the Rune Priest’s axe. The crackling energies reminded Ragnar of the first time he’d seen Torvald, outlined by the lightning above the shadow world. Suddenly, he glanced over at the Rune Priest.
“Torvald, when I first saw you at the agri-combine, you said you’d been looking for me, but Sigurd had no way of knowing I was on the Fist of Russ. How is that possible?”
The Rune Priest raised his head in the young Space Wolf’s direction. His eyelids opened, revealing glowing orbs instead of eyes. “It was foreseen,” the Rune Priest said in an unearthly voice. “Farewell, Ragnar Blackmane. We shall meet again.”
Before Ragnar could reply the gate opened, and the world vanished in a haze of white light.
Brittle bones snapped beneath Berek Thunderfist’s heels as he returned in triumph to the governor’s audience chamber. Sven and several members of Gunnar’s Long Fang pack followed close on the Wolf Lord’s heels, and a pair of Guardsmen brought up the rear, glancing fearfully around the great chamber, and fingering the triggers of their hand flamers. Berek had brought them to finally put an end to the governor and his household, but by the time they had arrived the huge tapestry of flesh was a brown, shrivelled husk, already disintegrating in the faint breeze.
Small-arms fire crackled in the distance as Guard units began the arduous task of hunting down rebel holdouts. With the Holmgang in orbit, the Imperial forces were able to overcome the planetary vox jamming and had already regained contact with several isolated packs across the planet. Charys had been won back from the brink of ruin, but at a terrible cost.
Berek surveyed the ruined chamber one last time. “Let’s go,” he told his men. “There’s nothing left to see here.”
But as the Wolf Lord turned away, Sven’s eyes widened and he pointed back at the dais. “You may want to take another look, my lord.”
The Wolf Lord glanced back. A white haze was taking shape where the governor’s throne had once stood. It thickened, like mist, and he could see vague figures moving within it.
There was a clatter of bolts and a hum of power converters as the Long Fangs rushed forward, weapons at the ready. Berek held out his hand. “Hold your fire,” he said. His nose caught a faint, familiar scent.
The figures grew more distinct, as though they were approaching from a great distance.
“Ragnar!” Sven shouted.
The young Space Wolf appeared first, the Spear of Russ held upright in his hand. Torin the Wayfarer followed, with the limp body of a Navigator in his arms. Bringing up the rear was a young Space Wolf Priest with eyes far older than his meagre years.
A vague, towering figure stood beyond the limping, battered Wolves. Berek studied the silhouette, and despite the gulf that lay between them, he knew that he was looking at one of his kin. The warrior raised a mighty axe in salute, and then vanished in the haze. In moments, the strange fog was gone.
Ragnar approached the astonished Wolf Lord, his face pale as alabaster. Blood dripped onto the stones with every step he took. He sank slowly to his knees before Berek, and with both hands he offered up Russ’s spear.
“We have won back our honour, my lord,” the young Space Wolf said. “The Spear of Russ is ours once more.”
EPILOGUE
War Within, War Without
Ragnar stalked down the ruined passageways of the Dominus Bellum, feeling the ghosts of old friends loping silently in his wake.
It had taken four more months to pacify Charys, as bands of cultists and rebel Guardsmen fled the capital and took to the hills. The Chaos uprising across the subsector had virtually ended with Madox’s death. When the ritual collapsed, the agents of the Thousand Sons abandoned their campaign and vanished back into the shadows. The Space Wolves and the battered Imperial Guard regiments across the region restored order swiftly and brutally, but rebuilding the damage wrought by the Chaos forces would take decades.
Victory had come at a terrible price for the Chapter. Many battle-brothers had been lost in the fighting, and many more had sunk into the Red Dream until they could recover from their injuries. Some warriors who survived the campaign bore scars on their souls that would never fully heal. Mikal Sternmark was given over to the Wolf Priests after the events on Charys, and spent many years in seclusion as he struggled with the things he’d done during the battle at the starport. He returned to serve with Berek Thunderfist during the Wolf Lord’s last campaign, fighting with honour and dying beside his lord as a champion ought during the awful battle on Hadsmbal.
The Imperial authorities never learned the truth of Lady Commander Athelstane’s fate. As far as anyone knew, she died as a hero of the Imperium, which wasn’t very far from the truth. It was assumed that she’d been slain fighting the daemons that had penetrated the perimeter wards, and none of Berek’s warriors contradicted the official account. The Chapter looked out for its own.
Ragnar and the Spear of Russ were placed aboard a strike cruiser and despatched to Fenris as soon as the warp was safe to travel. Much of the time he spent in the Red Dream while his body recovered from the terrible wounds he’d received, but back at the Fang he was quest
ioned at length by Ranek and the Old Wolf himself. Ragnar spoke of the Thirteenth Company to Logan Grimnar alone. After he’d told his tale, the Old Wolf had the Spear of Russ brought up from the vaults, and made Ragnar swear upon the relic never to tell another soul of what he’d seen.
For many years afterwards Ragnar tried to learn what Grimnar knew of Bulveye and his secret mission, but the wily Old Wolf claimed that such things had been lost in the mists of time. Eventually, Ragnar had stopped asking, but he remembered the last words that Torvald had said to him. Sooner or later, he’d see the Rune Priest again, and then he’d have his answers.
Six months after Ragnar placed the spear in Berek’s hands on Charys, the Thunderfist’s company made a solemn pilgrimage to the ancient shrine on Garm. The world still lay in ruins in the wake of the great uprising years past, but the Chapter had spared no expense to restore the resting place of the legendary Wolf Lord to its former glory. Ragnar walked behind Berek, carrying the spear that he and his companions had won in battle. With most of the great company bearing witness, he returned the relic to its rightful place and fulfilled the oath he’d sworn. Then Berek declared to his men that by winning back the Chapter’s honour, Ragnar had redeemed his own as well. The Wolf Lord declared that, by Logan Grimnar’s decree, Ragnar’s time among the Wolfblade was at an end.
Hours later, Gabriella and Torin found him in the shrine, standing before Garm’s ivory sarcophagus. The Navigator had never fully recovered from the terrible ordeal she had suffered at Charys. She seemed weak and frail as Torin led her into the shrine, and there was a thick streak of white in her long black hair. They said farewell to one another beside the tomb. Torin and Ragnar spoke of Haegr, and laughed once again at the memory of the burly warrior with an ale bucket on his foot. Gabriella listened, and smiled, but her eyes were haunted and her expression distant. She told Ragnar that he would always be welcome in her house on Terra, and invited him to return one day, if the Fates permitted. By then she was growing tired, and so took her leave. Torin led her gently away, her hand resting upon his arm. The next day her ship departed on the long journey to Terra. Ragnar hadn’t seen either of them since.
That night, Ragnar stood vigil before the silent tomb. He left Haegr’s ale horn upon the sarcophagus when he left at dawn the next day. As far as he knew, it remained there still.
A howl echoed from the darkness. Ragnar stopped in his tracks, still so deep in his reverie that he thought he was back on Charys once more. Then he heard the vile screech of a xenos beast and he was back aboard a derelict Imperial battleship, hurtling towards Corta Hydalis, and the warrior he sought was somewhere up ahead.
The Wolf Lord crouched, peering down the long, debris-strewn passageway. The sounds of battle were unmistakeable, steel ringing against bone and claws hissing across ceramite. From the sound of it, Hogun was facing off against a horde of alien horrors.
Readying his bolt pistol, Ragnar raced towards the fight.
A hundred metres ahead the passageway opened into a small, debris filled room some thirty metres across. Shafts of weak light shone down into the space through access shafts overhead, providing just enough illumination for Ragnar to see by. There, in the centre of the room stood Hogun, surrounded by a pack of genestealers.
Two of the beasts lay dead at Hogun’s feet, split open by the Wolf Guard’s power axe. Blood streamed from a number of minor wounds along Hogun’s chest, arms and back. Four more genestealers circled Hogun warily, waiting for their prey to weaken and make a fatal mistake.
The genestealers were so intent on their prey that they didn’t realise Ragnar was stealing upon them until it was too late. The Wolf Lord raised his bolt pistol and fired two quick shots. One of the creatures let out a hideous screech and collapsed, ichor streaming from wounds in its side, but Ragnar was already on the move, charging another of the genestealers before the first body hit the ground.
“For Russ and the Allfather!” he roared, hacking at the genestealer with his frost blade. The blow was swift, but the genestealer was swifter, ducking beneath the blow and lunging forward. Talons pierced the Wolf Lord’s armour, digging deep into his chest. Clashing jaws snapped at Ragnar’s face. He bellowed a curse, shoved his pistol under the creature’s chin and pulled the trigger. Ichor and bits of chitin splashed against the far wall as the body slumped to the floor.
A heavy weight crashed against Ragnar’s back, driving him to his knees. Clawed hands reached around his suit’s backpack, grabbing for his neck. The Wolf Lord spun, trying to dislodge the genestealer, but the alien monster clung like a swamp tick. Talons raked across Ragnar’s cheeks. Any moment those same talons would find his neck, and then he was done for.
Ragnar hurled himself backwards, smashing the genestealer against one of the walls. He heard chitin crack, but the creature refused to let go.
There was another hissing screech across the chamber as the last of the monsters fell before Hogun’s axe. Then the Wolf Guard loomed in front of Ragnar, his dripping axe ready to strike. His yellow-gold eyes shone in the faint light.
Ragnar felt the genestealer’s razor-sharp claws dig into his neck. Trusting to the Fates, he turned his back to Hogun.
Hogun’s power axe hissed through the air, and steel rang against chitin. The genestealer let out a shriek and fell heavily to the deck.
By the time Ragnar had turned around again, Hogun was racing down a passageway on the far side of the room. “Wait!” he called after the Wolf Guard. “Remember your oaths to me, Hogun, and stand fast!”
Years of training took over, stopping the fleeing warrior in his tracks. Hogun turned like a wolf at bay, his teeth bared and his shoulders heaving. “No oaths bind me now, my lord,” he said in a ragged voice. “I’ve slain my packmates in a fit of madness. I’m wolf bitten, and damned for all time.”
“Not true,” Ragnar said, edging slowly towards Hogun. “Did you not just save me from certain death? What is that, if not fealty to one’s lord?”
“All I wanted was to kill something,” Hogun snarled. “If I had not run I would have tried to kill you next.”
“Is that what you think?” Ragnar said. “Do you hold yourself in so little regard that you think you could raise your hand to your sworn lord?” He bolstered his pistol and sheathed his sword. “Very well,” the Wolf Lord said, taking another step forward. “Strike me down, if you can.”
Hogun’s eyes widened. “What madness is this?” he said, taking a step back.
“Stand your ground!” Ragnar roared. He took another step closer. “I said strike me, Hogun. Slay me with your axe if you can.”
The Wolf Guard snarled in fury. His hands tightened on the haft of his axe, but he made no move to attack. “I cannot,” he said through clenched teeth. “I cannot!”
“That’s right,” the Wolf Lord said. “The wolf does not rule you, Hogun. Fight it! Master the beast and make its strength your own! That is what we do. That is who we are.”
Hogun wavered, torn by shame and rage. “Slay me then, lord,” he cried. “I spilled the blood of my pack-mates. My life is forfeit.”
“So it is,” the Wolf Lord said. “You have killed my liegemen, and so your life belongs to me, as tradition demands. Do you agree?”
The Wolf Guard straightened, accepting his fate. “That is so, lord. Do as you will.”
“Then hear me: you are a part of my company until the Fates deem otherwise, and you will fight alongside me until there is no life left in you. You are wolf bitten, and you have lost your honour by spilling the blood of your packmates, so from this moment forward you will fight to win it back. Do you understand?”
Hogun stared at Ragnar. “Is such a thing possible?”
“That, and more besides,” the Wolf Lord said. “Follow me, and serve the Allfather, Hogun. That is all I ask. Will you do this?”
The Wolf Guard fell to his knees. “I will, my lord,” he said. “I will follow you into Morkai’s jaws if I must.”
Ragnar clapped Hogun on the sh
oulder. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he said with a faint smile. “Right now, we’ve got to get the company back together and fight our way to the ship’s reactors. Now get on your feet.”
The Wolf Lord headed back the way he’d come with Hogun following close on his heels. As they emerged into the chamber where they’d fought the genestealers, they found the Wolf Priest waiting for them.
“Petur’s found Einar’s pack off Jotun Three and is leading them to us,” the priest said. “The rest of the packs are assembled back at the junction and are awaiting orders. Jurgen has checked his data-slates and believes he’s found an accessway nearby that should take us right to the reactor deck.”
Ragnar took in the news with a curt nod. “Well done,” he said, and then indicated Hogun. “I commend this warrior into your keeping, priest. Whatever else he may be, he is still a member of my warband, and he will fight alongside us as any other warrior.”
The Wolf Priest studied Hogun for a moment, and then reached up with one hand and disengaged the clasps on his wolf skull helm. Sigurd lifted the helmet away and smiled grimly at the Wolf Guard. They fell into step behind Ragnar as the Wolf Lord rushed back to the junction, his mind already working on the tactics he would need to defeat the genestealer threat.
Behind him, the jarl’s son spoke to Hogun in quiet tones. “Listen closely, Hogun, and mark me well. I’ve a story to tell you of the Wulfen, and of the heroes they can become.”
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[Space Wolf 06] - Wolf's Honour Page 33
