by Dan Abnett
You're right, sir.’ he said. 'Lives must always be secondary to victory. But I will not see Ithakan souls wasted where waste is unnecessary.'
He turned, abruptly, and tugged his great power sword from the sheath the waiting swordbearer held. The bearer started in surprise. The blade, great Bellus, glowed and hummed as it breathed air again.
"What are you doing, master?' Rodos asked.
What I must. Wait here. I will render my tactical survey to Captain Phobor when I return.'
Despite their fear and their awe of Petrok, the Guard officers began clamouring to a man. Phobor had left them with one task: to greet the great Librarian and speed his assessment to the frontline. Fear for their lives made them question the huge, armoured figure in the doorway of the tent.
'Shut them up, lexicanium.’ Petrok said softly as he strode outside, beyond the baying chatter of the soldiers.
As the Librarian made off across the green rock, towards the white heat, he could hear Rodos shouting 'Silence!' over and again.
II
In a green rock defile on the eastern edge of Eidon City, washed by the stink of the phosphor vents so close nearby, Brother Andromak of Damocles squad cursed Eidon in the name of every spirit he could remember as he blasted away with his plasma gun. In reply, enemy shots whickered down the gully and blew one of the biting-snake finials off the Chapter standard he wore over his shoulders: the snake crest, double-looped.
'Back! Back!' snarled Brother Pindor from behind, half dragging Andromak towards the cover of the gully wall. 'There's no way through there!'
"You think I don't know!' bellowed Andromak, fussing at his hot weapon, replacing a feed line that was about to melt out.
'Commander!'
Brother-Sergeant Priad heard Pindor's cry over the vox-link as he sheltered from a blistering enemy salvo behind a green boulder.
He tried to make sense of the terrain and find some gaps in the enemy fire. Curtly, he called Calignes, Illyus and Xander forward. They made a few metres before a round tore through Xander's shoulder plate and they dived for cover. Too heavy, too much!
Priad cursed. He'd rather be back home on Ithaka, hunting water-wyrm than caught in a dead end like this.
He had cursed too when Captain Phobor had sent them east to act as a guard in case any of the dark foe tried to break out of the city as it fell. Priad had felt Damocles had been cheated of sharing the victory. He'd wanted his squad to join the main assault.
Now they were sidelined and all but forgotten and none of them could have predicted the fierce fighting they would encounter. Priad couldn't explain it. It was as if the dark ones had already recognised their defeat and were fighting to retreat east out of the smeltery city. Damocles was the only unit in position to quell the retreat. Splinter-fire lanced around them.
Apothecary Memnes was beside Priad suddenly, dropping into cover from the rapid dash he had made. The faceplate of his helm was burnt and dented by a glancing shot.
'Memnes.’ Priad growled. 'Explain this!'
'I can't, brother-sergeant.’ the elderly warrior replied gruffly. We were meant to be a safeguard. So Phobor said. It feels like we're meeting the main force of the enemy.’
Priad fell silent. He surveyed the blistering firelight through the enhanced optics of his helmet. None had fallen so far. Andromak and Pindor were buffered in the gully. Calignes, Illyus and Xander were pinned in the open. Natus, Scyllon and Rules were ranged out behind the position he and Memnes shared.
A hail of gunfire rained down from the steep, stone slopes of Eidon City before them.
Apart from local vox-traffic between the members of the unit, communication was down, drowned out by the static of the erupting phosphor vents. Even through his respirator, Priad could smell the heat-stink of the fire wells.
They could no longer even tell how the main assault was going. Perhaps Phobor and his squads were strewn dead across the western bulwarks of the city. Perhaps they were alone.
Priad slowed his breathing to clear his mind. He looked across at Memnes, and though he saw nothing through his visor lenses except Memnes's buckled faceplate, he could sense the old, wise face beneath it, the compassion, the support.
You will make the right decision. We trust you. Damocles trusts you, brother-sergeant.
Priad flicked out the data-slate from his thigh pouch and checked again across the detailed light map of the city's eastern approach. He studied the ground's swell, the access points, the fortifications. The Imperial planners had built it well.
And these dark eldar had taken it in a night.
Curse them! Damocles would do the same in an hour!
He slid a stud on the side of the slate and overlaid the structural data. It showed the density and thicknesses of the rock walls, the hard points and pilings of the defences. It betrayed the actual physical weaknesses of the land and buildings they fought for.
Something... something...
There was indeed something. Priad switched the overlay back and forth, matching and rematching. According to the old charts, there was a section of the east wall built of compacted rock shards rather than ferro-concrete as an expediency during construction.
Priad felt his palms dampen with anticipation inside his gauntlets. He rolled onto his backside, his shoulders against the rock, and began to copy the data from the slate into a vox-message for Andromak. Dark eldar splinterfire stitched the green rock around him and covered Priad and Memnes with a fine, lime green dust.
Andromak!' Priad rasped over the helmet vox to the squad's standard bearer. 'Open your data-link and stand by to receive!'
Andromak responded, a clipped atonal bark over the metallic vox. A red light on Priad's armour cuff glowed darkly to show that the link was open, and Priad sent the vox-pict.
'I see it, brother-sergeant!' Andromak's tinny voice came back. You want me to hit it?'
'Count of four, Andromak. You have the plasma gun. Bring that wall down at its weak point. Damocles, stand ready to go on five. As soon as Andromak lays in, move out and follow through.'
His voice was a robotic, emotionless growl through the comm, but the other Marines' voices responded as one, unfaltering. Even Apothecary Memnes, who was right beside him.
Priad checked his bolter and his lightning claw. The claw sizzled in the dry air, hungry for blood. Priad prayed to the lost soul of Brother-Sergeant Raphon to watch over Damocles from his place high up in the Lost Heavens where the oceans surged forever, and the Emperor knew each man's name, and the wyrms rose eternally for the Great Hunt.
Let us be sharp and true and fast as a harpoon, Priad thought. Raphon, help us take the foe as we would a wyrm rising from the seas, without flinching, without balking.
Make our thrust the victory thrust.
Priad made the count.
On four, Andromak swept up out of cover and sent a blazing blue spear of plasma energy down the gully with pinpoint precision. Green rock exploded in a vomit of flame, brighter and louder than the white heat crisping and fountaining along the horizon.
Damocles moved. The Space Marines broke from cover, firing as they went, gunning up at the walls.
Smoke washed across them.
They made ten metres, twenty.
Then Priad saw the wall. It was unbuckled, unbroken, still standing despite the oozing, molten burn Andromak's plasma gun had inflicted upon it.
The dark eldar, invisible in their positions above, renewed their fire.
A splinter shot clipped Scyllon's leg and spun him down.
Kules faltered as glancing shots whipped around him.
Natus went down, crying out, as his left arm came away raggedly at the shoulder in a spray of fire and blood and armour shreds.
'Cover! Cover!' Priad yelled.
They fell into cover, Memnes dragging the crippled Natus into safety behind a rock. Enemy shots filled the air around and over them, or chipped and shattered the rocks they clung behind. Crystal dust and weapon smoke washed across the app
roach.
Twenty metres. They had made just twenty metres, and still the wall stood.
The available cover was so slight that Priad was forced to lie face down in the green dust. He turned his head sideways and saw Illyus lying on his back next to him. A smoking hole had laid Illyus's visor open, and blood was dribbling out. Illyus had lost an eye and a cheek to a rebounding splinter round. Priad crawled over, pulling out his medical field pack, spraying jets of wound-sealing skin-wrap into the helmet hole. Illyus was still conscious. His fortitude was astonishing, even for a Space Marine. He mumbled some poor joke to his brother-sergeant, though half his face was gone.
Priad could smell blood. He thought it was Illyus's until he realised that was impossible. He glanced down and saw the raw, black-edged hole in his thigh. A splinter round had punched right through his armour and through the meat of his leg. There was no pain. Adrenaline was washing the agony away – that, and the augmented systems of his body.
Later, there would be pain, but that was not his chief concern. He hoped his Astartes physique would be enough to fight the venoms and filths with which the Dark Ones coated their weapons.
But the wound had self-cauterised. He would not bleed out, at least.
'I smell the blood of a hero.’ said a voice through the vox-link.
'Who's that? Who speaks?'
Priad rolled over, daring more volleys of enemy fire from the fortifications above.
'Who?'
There was a figure behind them on the green rockside: an Iron Snake, tall, bare-headed, swathed in a cloak, stalking forward, oblivious to the rain of fire that doused the ground around him but miraculously left him unharmed. He held a sword aloft, a power sword that sang like the shrill keening of a water-wyrm.
Petrok! It was great Petrok himself!
III
Petrok dropped into cover beside Priad. 'Well met, brother-sergeant!' he grinned.
'Well met indeed, master!'
'Your leg wound, does it pain you?'
'No, sir. I can move and fight if I have to, and I know I must.'
'You honour Karybdis with your bravery, leader of Damocles. Your men?'
Priad gestured sidelong to the nine Space Marines sheltering from the storm of fire.
'Natus is crippled, his arm gone. Illyus, there beside you, has been injured gravely. The rest are more or less intact.'
Petrok rolled over next to the sprawled Illyus. He looked down into his face. 'You'll have a noble scar, Illyus.'
Thank you, sir.'
'Don't thank me. I didn't do it. The wound-wrap is holding and the blood is stemmed. You're strong. Your body will fight any venom or taint. I'll personally ensure you get the best new eye if you'll fight with me.'
'Eye or not, I'll fight with you anywhere, any time!' Illyus said, fury in his voice. He wriggled over and grabbed his fallen weapon.
Petrok looked across at Priad.
A fine squad you have here, brother-sergeant.'
'Thank you, master.’
'Call me Petrok. It's quicker and simpler in the heat of battle. And I like my friends to know me by name.'
'Sir... Petrok...'
'Better, Priad. Now advise me of your situation.’
Priad gestured across at the insurmountable fortifications. 'Captain Phobor sent us back here to watch for a retreat.’
'Typical of the captain's textbook moves.’ Petrok mused with a grin that made Priad smile involuntarily.
'I didn't expect much. Truth is I thought we had been given a secondary role. But the resistance is huge, as if they are already breaking... or guarding something important.’
A good assessment, Priad. I... felt as much. So you know, Phobor is taking the city as we speak. But this here is unwarranted. I came personally because it troubled me. I hate to lose any of our ironclad brotherhood. You're a first cast wyrm-killer yourself, aren't you, Priad?'
Priad started at the recognition and felt a flush of pride despite the tumult around them. 'It was my honour to take a wyrm first cast, sir.’
'Petrok.’
'Petrok. Yes, in the summer of my admission to the phratry. I took a wyrm with my first harpoon in the channel ways beyond the Telos archipelago.'
'So I know. A proud achievement. It took me three harpoons before I took my first. You should teach me sometime.’
'Sir... Petrok.' Priad was laughing despite himself.
'What do you think they're guarding?' Petrok asked directly.
I don't know,' Priad replied, suddenly serious. 'Something of value. Great value to them.'
'Indeed. Your tactics so far?'
Priad flexed his aching leg and checked his bolter clip. 'We assaulted, as simple as that. When we ran foul, I tried to get Andromak, my plasma bearer, to take out this section of wall, where a weakness seemed to be.'
Priad showed the slate to Petrok.
'But the gambit failed, and so we are dug in.’
Petrok regarded the slate Priad had given him for a moment, as further splinter rounds cracked into the green rock around them. When Petrok put the slate down, it was covered in frost.
'You were right, Priad.’
'Sir?'
'Petrok, Petrok.’ the Librarian smiled at Priad. It was unnerving to see an unarmoured face. Priad almost shuddered.
'How was I right, Master Petrok?' he asked.
'You took your wyrm with the first cast, didn't you?'
'I was lucky.’
'How many others have done the same?'
Very few, I suppose.’
'The water-wyrm is armoured and fierce. Sometimes you must expend several harpoons, despite the strength of your lance arm, to kill the beast. So it has been in my experience.’
What do you mean?'
Petrok rolled over again and adjusted his vox-link so he broadcast to the whole of Damocles.
'Wyrms are hard to kill. You may know where to strike them but still it may take many casts, Brother Andromak. Prepare your plasma gun and repeat your strike on my command. Damocles, let us repeat our cast.’
Petrok looked back at Priad. 'With your permission, of course.’
'I grant it gratefully, but I'm not sure-'
'Any who are brave enough to take a wyrm with the first strike have not the benefit of knowing it is wise to strike again.’
'Sir?'
'Now, Andromak!' Petrok bellowed.
Brother Andromak swung back out of cover again and sent a boiling spear of plasma fire across at the wall. It blistered and scorched the Eidon City fortifications. As soon as the blast stopped, the enemy renewed its shooting. A blitz of splinterfire and las-rounds hosed the approach. Rock and earth threw up in thousands of individual impact geysers. The green boulder sheltering Xander fractured and exploded, sending him scrabbling for better protection.
Again, Andromak!' Petrok cried over the vox-link. 'Strike again.’
Andromak did, staying on his feet and taking a glancing deflection to the shoulder as he triggered his massive weapon.
Something shivered as his plasma fire touched it. A split low down branched up into jagged cracks. It was like watching a leafless tree grow. Andromak blasted again for good measure.
A section of wall buckled and tore down, spilling dark, shattered bodies with it. A further explosion blew the wall out. Debris rained down, and a tidal wave of green dust choked its way down the approach.
'Now! For Karybdis!' Petrok cried.
Enhancing their optics against the wall of smoke, Damocles squad advanced behind him towards the breach.
Crushed, broken bodies lay in the rubble: black, lean, hooked things, or burst pallid fleshy things with gaping mouths. The Marines chose not to look at either. They scrambled up the rubble after Petrok and Priad, bolters barking up into the darkness that welcomed them. The city's eastern flank was open to them, and they were biting into its innards.
Petrok led the way, his power sword shrieking in the air. Priad kept his distance from the charging Librarian, blasting with
his bolter, fanning the men into the breach.
Within ten minutes, they had captured the first section of the wall. Petrok was pressing on, his sword cleaving through the defenders: shadowy, flickering beings who darted around him quickly, but none so quick as to avoid his blade. Bellus drank well of the dark kind's blood. Petrok left a trail of pieces behind him: severed scissorhands, cloven horned helmets, split torsos.
Damocles closed in after the great hero, following the trail of destruction. They moved wide in support, edging around into side corridors and chambers, flanking Petrok. The city had been raised centuries before, built from local stone cut into huge blocks and smoothed into almost seamless walls. Ornate light globes ran along walls or were suspended from the ceilings, and the white light reflected off the green stone, making everything lambent and pale. It reminded Priad of the waters of Ithaka, of the times he had dived down beneath into the green, into the silence.
There was no silence here. Rumbling blasts, screams, shrieks from the fallen foe, the chatter of bolters, and the wail of the plasma gun. Vox-traffic snapped back and forth between the Space Marines, and they could all hear the angry hum of Petrok's power sword. Priad ducked back as a salvo of rounds tore the corner off a wall before him, flaking green stone in all directions. Then he was on top of the foe, a gibbering thing in segmented red armour, its eyes yellow slits in its visor. It reeled at him with a bi-form blade weapon, raising a bladed firearm in the other clawed hand. Priad hit it with a bolter round that exploded in the middle of its chest and blew it across the chamber where it dropped, squealing, limbs thrashing in a death frenzy. Its blood painted semi-circles across the wall above it.
Andromak burned corridors and hallways out with his plasma gun, chanting the Hymn of Karybdis as he went. Any movement, any twitch of dark limb or slender blade, and he boiled the air of the chamber, scorching the stonework.
Calignes and Pindor found a way to the right held fast by piled furniture and flak boards. Single splinter shots stung down at them from the makeshift strongpoint. They rushed it together, their power and weight bringing the entire barricade down over the dark eldar defending it. There was a brief, confused hand-to-hand fight in the jumbled wreckage. Pindor shot one at close range and then smashed the head of another into the wall with his right fist. Calignes throttled the third.
