Brothers of the Snake

by Dan Abnett

  'Contacts, far hallway.’ Kules called out. They slammed home fresh clips and opened fire again, swabbing white smoke into the lofty roof of the hallway.

  'Xander to Damocles.’ Xander called. 'Sound off!'

  'Second section!' Khiron replied, hearing the call via his link. 'Some resistance in this area.’

  At Khiron's side, Dyognes smiled to himself. The Apothecary was underselling the situation. The three of them – Khiron, Dyognes and Scyllon – had stormed the palace compound via the garrison gate, and come up through the kitchen wing. Every step of the way had been haunted by primul skirmishers. He had tried to keep a tally, but had honestly lost count when the number passed forty. They had expended most of their allotted munitions. Soon it would be down to blades and shields, the bloody grunt work.

  There was a very good chance they would die if it came down to hand-to-hand. The primuls had numbers on their side. But the idea somehow lifted Dyognes's spirits. After Ganahedarak, he had believed his life as a phratry brother to be over, and that he would never taste action or glory again. He had been convinced that, although Priad had allowed him to accompany the squad on this undertaking, it was a matter of sympathy alone. There would be no action. It would be a last, symbolic function before his long and shaming retirement.

  And he had only just begun.

  But now, marvellously, they were in war. Combat resounded and blood flowed. Their ancient and particular enemy was about them, seeking victory in their deaths.

  If he lived or if he died, he couldn't have wished for a more fitting final undertaking.

  He was Damocles, cased in his plate, boltgun in his fists, alongside his brothers, death all about them. There was no finer destiny than that.

  The third section of Damocles had penetrated the south wing of the palace. Andromak's flamer had scoured the marble chambers and undercroft stairs. At his flank, Pindor and Natus picked off the stragglers.

  'For Ithaka!' Andromak shouted as he gusted fire along the stone hallways.

  'And for Priad.’ Natus suggested.

  'That's right.’ said Pindor. 'For Priad, our heart and soul.’

  'Sections!' Andromak called. 'Has anyone made contact with the brother-sergeant yet?'

  'Negative!' Xander replied, his voice distorted over the link. 'Heavy fighting here!'

  'And here.’ Khiron's voice cut in. 'No trace of Priad's whereabouts yet.’

  'If he's dead...' Pindor began.

  'If he's dead, what?' asked Andromak.

  'If he's dead, these xenos scum will pay.’

  Natus laughed. 'How can they be made to pay more than they are paying now?' 'I'll find a way.’ said Pindor.

  Autolochus clunked into the main courtyard of the palace. Through his ancient, cracked ocular sensors, he read the heat lifting from the human bodies that littered the yard. Beyond that haze, he detected the warm shadows laying in wait.

  'Show yourselves, then!' he boomed, his voice resounding off the high walls on every side.

  Nothing stirred.

  'If that's the way you want it,' he growled. 'Coming, ready or not.'

  The weapon mounts on either side of his bulky torso cycled up into place, and he let rip with his lascannon and storm bolter. Whole sections of wall exploded and collapsed, bringing stone facings down like an avalanche. The hidden enemy discovered what slaughter meant.

  Autolochus stomped over to a dying primul, sprawled in a lake of blood at the side of the main steps.

  'Where's Priad?' he asked.

  The primul gurgled some obscenity.

  Autolochus lowered his storm bolter. 'Wrong answer.’ he remarked.

  XXIV

  Priad fell, pain flaring through his skull. His visor went blank, scrolling only the malfunction symbol. He heard the primul lord crowing in triumph.

  He tore off his ruined helmet, and hurled it at his foe, forcing the primul lord to back-step and deflect the flying helmet with his spear.

  As it left his hand, Priad saw how deeply his helmet had been damaged. The side of the helm was folded in and crushed. It had only barely spared him from the primul lord's blow.

  He half-rose, the rain streaming off his bare face, but the primul assaulted him again, and knocked him back. Priad swung his lightning claw, and made the primul lord jump aside. He regained his feet, then staggered as the renewed blows of his dark foe drove him back against the prow of the nearest raider craft.

  He summoned his willpower, and put the strength of his back into one devastating swing of his gauntlet weapon.

  The primul lord parried the stroke with the blade of his spear, and rammed Priad backwards, skewering the lightning claw against the raider craft's elegant prow. Pinned and helpless, the claw flickered with discharge, blades moving uselessly.

  The primul lord kept the claw pinned hard with his spear, one handed, as he drew out a bite-dagger to finish Priad off. The twinned blade rose up.

  In the final second, Priad remembered his benediction. He was still envenomed from that lucky omen on the Cydides Isthmus. He was a striking snake. He tensed the Betcher's glands in his hard palette, where the green-back viper's toxins had been contained, and spat into the primul lord's eyes.

  The primul screamed and fell back, clawing at his mask.

  Priad tore away the dark eldar spear staking his left hand and hoisted it up in his crippled fists. It felt remarkably light, as if it was barely there.

  'Ithaka!' he grunted, as he drove all his weight behind the blow.

  The primul lord's magnificent helm bounced off the rain-swept flagstones and his beautifully armoured body toppled slowly onto its side, blood jetting from the neck stump and splashing on the yard, where it was diluted by the downpour.

  Priad sank to his knees and cast the odious spear aside.

  He heard a slow, heavy tread approaching him.

  'Done?' asked Autolochus, towering over him, a grim monolith in the dismal rain.

  'I think so. Is Damocles here?'

  'Purging the palace as we speak. They are fine men, Priad. You should be proud of them.’

  'You presume I'm not?'

  'I'm certain you are. Notables. What glory to be called by that rare name. I was a Notable once.’

  'You still are, Autolochus.’ Priad said.

  'Thank you. But I was. I tmly was. Skypio was my squad. Notable Skypio. How well we wore that title. Ah me. Happy days.’

  Priad shook his head and laughed. He tried to rise. Autolochus extended his cannon mount for Priad to brace against.

  'Look to your wounds, lad,' Autolochus said, 'or you'll end up in a combat chassis like me.' 'There are worse places to be,' said Priad. 'Are we finished here?' asked the ancient dreadnought. 'I think we are.'

  'And was it worth it? Was Petrok right?' Priad nodded.

  XXV

  It took ten years, ten years by whatever measure of time a man cares to employ for the consequences of the second Baal Solock undertaking to have any lasting effect.

  Using the dark and calcifying teeth – which High Legislator Antoni had finally discovered, two days after the end of hostilities, in the bowels of the Treasuiy, locked in a small casket labelled 'other' - the Apothecaries and flesh smiths of the phratry fashioned a copy of the relic. They crafted it from inert organic matter, lacing the artificial bone with the genetic codes extracted from the original teeth. This work, though ingenious, was a simple extension of the genetic applications they had mastered through the ritual creation of altered humans. The relic was grown in a vat, fed with minerals, its shape slowly defined by the template writ within the teeth.

  Later, it was conveyed into disputed territory, and displayed during a number of conflicts, so that the greenskins could identify it. Several worthy squads of the phratry undertook these dangerous actions: Veii on Banthus, Manes on Triumverate, Thebes on Calicon. Twice, Damocles carried the relic into war to goad the orks.

  Once the lure was set, the phratry's Librarius, working under Petrok's instruction, and aided b
y the massed astropaths of twenty-eight worlds, reinforced the ploy, saturating the greenskin horde with psychic propaganda, stirring their loyalties and their hungers, forcing them to turn and seek the holy relic.

  A final mission, conducted by the reconstituted Parthus squad, who won the honour after a drawing of lots, carried the relic far outside Reef Star territory, and secured it on one of the primuls' own raid worlds.

  Eight months later, the swinekin hosts descended on that world, and reclaimed their trophy. The primuls suffered a terrible fate at their hands, ultimate victims of their own deceit.

  By that time, the inexorable ork muster had turned away from the Reef Stars, drawn off by the ruse. The green host receded into the darkness of the outer systems, chasing the recovered relic and making war with their own kind to claim its ownership.

  The greenskins did not return to the Reef Stars for a thousand years.

  The primuls did. But the phratry was always there to greet them.

  On the morning of their departure from Baal Solock, the brothers of Damocles assembled in the palace yard at Fuce. They stood in a line, with great Autolochus at the end of it. The rain still fell, with unseasonal vigour.

  The corpses of the enemy had been cleared from the palace and the city, and burned in a quarry pit to the west of Fuce. Fires had been put out. It would, however, be a long time before the devastated palace and the city surrounding it were fit for comfortable habitation again.

  High Legislator Antoni came out to review the squad. She walked the line of them, leaning on a cane, for the past few days had been hell on her back. A servant scurried alongside her, holding up an umbrella to shield her mistress from the rain.

  Antoni studied the bare faces of the Iron Snakes carefully, one by one, as she went along the line.

  I'm sorry if I appear inquisitive,' she told them, 'but I've only ever seen one of you before. Ten of you, like this. It will make a damn good new story. I'll be the toast of the Legislature for years to come.'

  She glanced at Priad. 'They all look alike,' she whispered.

  'They're not.’ he assured her.

  'I'm sure they aren't, but they all do look so very much alike. Except him, the one with the funny eye.'

  She pointed at Natus.

  'But only.’ she continued, 'because he has a funny eye. It's a nice feature. It makes him stand out.’

  Priad couldn't immediately form a decent response.

  'And as for that.’ she said, nodding at Autolochus. 'I don't know what to make of that.’

  'You're quite a piece of work yourself, lady,' Autolochus grumbled.

  'It heard me!'

  'It can hear a pin drop on the other side of the mountains.’ Priad said.

  'Have I offended it?' she hissed, her voice as low as it could be.

  'Only by referring to me as an "it",' Autolochus croaked.

  Antoni turned and looked up at Priad. Will you not stay? We do a nice line in celebratory feasts, and you missed the last one.'

  'We have to go.'

  Well, here they are then.’ she said, and produced the peg teeth from the pocket of her gown. He took them from her carefully. 'Are you sure you won't stay?' she asked. 'There's a very fine artist on his way up from Caddis. I had fancied to have a glorious portrait of you made, if you'd sit for it. It could hang beside the one of me looking young and beautiful.’

  'We have to go.’ he repeated.

  Antoni shrugged. 'Off you go, then.’ She reached up with a thin hand and ran the tips of her fingers down the side of his face.

  'You are such a very beautiful man, Priad.’ she said. 'For a giant, I mean. You look just like a hero should.’

  'I don't know what to say.’ he replied.

  A simple "thank you" will suffice. Will you ever come back?'

  'I don't know. I hope I won't ever have to. Will you still be here if I do?'

  Antoni grinned. 'I should expect so. There's no killing me. I'm immortal, you see. I have the blood of an Ithakan in my veins.’

  'I'm not sure-' he began.

  'I was joking.’ she said. 'You don't really do jokes, do you, Priad of Damocles?'

  'No.’ he admitted.

  'Get going then.’ she said. She limped away towards the palace, and did not look back.

  Priad turned the squad and marched them out through the palace gates. Their lander was waiting in the main square. Priad watched them board and lift away in a shower of spray, then walked alone back through the palace complex to recover his own lander from the water meadows.

  There was mist in the air. A watery sun fought with the clouds to be seen.

  As he passed through the outermost gateway, he heard a sound behind him. He turned.

  The black dog was following him, trotting eagerly at his heels.

  He sighed, and knelt. 'Go home.’ he said.

  The dog dropped onto its belly and looked up at him with doleful eyes. 'Go on!' he gestured. 'Go home!'

  The dog whined and wriggled its crouching body towards him.

  Priad rose to his feet. 'Go on home, Princeps.’ he said.

  The black dog rose and turned. It ran back to the gateway and stood there, watching as Priad continued on his way.

  When he was almost out of sight, it barked twice.

  He turned to look, but the dog had disappeared.

  XXVI

  The world enveloping him was warm and blue and crushing. Priad dipped his head against the current, and pulled with his bare arms. The wounds on his palm and wrist were healing, just dark bumps under the skin wrap.

  How long now? Twenty-one, twenty-two?

  He'd lost count, but he didn't really care.

  The cold gloom of the trench enclosed him. He saw the offerings, spread out across the base of the trench, so many, so fine. Some of them were so old their nature had been worn away by the sea.

  He pulled lower, and hooked his own offering out of its pouch.

  Pressure roared in his ears. He planted the grey, blunt peg of the ork's tooth in the soft sediment, between a munition clip and a golden figurine of Parthus. It seemed like the right place to leave it.

  It felt liberating to be foolish for a change.

  Rite done, he turned and kicked out, planing the water with his arms.

  He swam upwards, into the warmer, sun-pierced waters, towards the surface, where the brothers of Damocles waited for him on a golden strand in the endless light of Ithaka.

  About The Author

  DAN ABNETT lives and works in Maidstone, Kent, in England. Well known for his comic work, he has written everything from the Mr Men to the X-Men.

  His work for the Black Library includes the popular strips Titan and Darkblade, the best-selling Gaunt's Ghosts novels, the Inquisitor Eisenhorn and Ravenor trilogies, and the acclaimed Horus Heresy novel, Horus Rising.