by George Mann
The drop-pod was on its side, half buried in the sticky loam. The klaxon was still sounding insistently, like the shrill cry of an angry bird.
‘Shut that thing off!’ Koryn croaked over the vox-link, and the sound came to an abrupt stop. Koryn glanced up to see Cordae still strapped rigidly into his webbing, immaculate and unmoving, still fixing him with the same blank-eyed stare. Koryn could not even tell if the Chaplain was dead or alive. ‘Are you wounded, Cordae?’ he said.
‘No, captain,’ came the low, even response. ‘I remain unharmed and fully functional.’
‘Argis?’ Koryn called.
‘Here, captain, and unscathed. But Borias is dead.’ Argis’s tone was neutral, clipped.
‘Corvaan?’ Koryn tried to repress the anger in his voice. The traitors would pay for Borias’s death. He would make certain of it.
‘Minor injuries only, captain.’
‘Grayvus?’
‘Scratches, sir.’
The rest of the squad confirmed their situations in turn. They had been lucky, sustaining only minor injuries and damage to their armour and equipment – save for Borias, who had borne the brunt of the surface-to-air missile strike that had sent them veering wildly off course.
Eleven of them had come to Fortane’s World. Now they were ten. The omens were not good.
‘Corvaan, start digging us out of here,’ Koryn ordered, turning over in his mind how the next few moments might transpire. Would the enemy be waiting for them in the forest? There was a part of him that hoped they were. He longed to spill their blood, to rend them limb from limb with his lightning claws. To make them pay for Borias, for stealing from him an honourable death on the field of battle.
‘Yes, captain,’ replied Corvaan, and Koryn heard him disentangling himself from his webbing, cursing as he fought to free himself from the churned up earth that pinned his legs.
‘And Cordae,’ continued Koryn, ‘help me with this shrapnel.’
The Chaplain cocked his head to one side, as if contemplating his response, and then, as commanded, tore away his own harness and clambered free. He scrambled over the mound of heaped earth between them until the beak of his bizarre skull mask was almost touching Koryn’s faceplate. This close, Koryn could see that it was pitted and scarred from innumerable battles, and two long scores had been carved into the beak – presumably knife blows that Cordae had struck while the beast still lived.
Koryn fixed his eyes on the skull’s empty sockets and gritted his teeth as Cordae wrapped both of his fists around the metal spar and wrenched it free, using his foot to gain leverage against the wall. Koryn gave a grunt of satisfaction as he saw the jagged end of the metal post erupt from the front of his chest-plate along with a shower of dark, red blood.
Immediately his enhanced physique and his armour’s systems kicked into effect, stemming the tide of blood and sealing the puncture wounds.
‘Thank you, brother,’ said Koryn, as he tore at the remains of the webbing with his talons. He flexed his left arm, feeling the pull of the wound in his shoulder. It would slow him, but only fractionally.
‘Corvaan, are we free yet?’ he called.
‘Almost, captain,’ came the response, buzzing over the vox like an insect.
Koryn hauled himself up onto the mound of earth, pushing his way past Cordae as he edged his way around the confined space of the drop-pod, clambering over the damaged supporting struts and dropping down to join Corvaan and the others. He heard Cordae following behind him.
Corvaan had almost cleared a path through to the surface, having dug a small tunnel through the damp, compacted earth with his fists. He was currently worming his way up through the small opening he had created, pushing clay and rubble out of his path as he worked. Koryn watched as he hoisted his legs up through the hole, loosing a small avalanche in his wake. He scrabbled to his feet, his bolter at the ready.
Through the opening, Koryn could see only the misty night sky and the shimmering fingers of the nearby treetops.
‘All clear, captain,’ came the report a few seconds later.
‘For now,’ replied Koryn, beckoning Argis forwards and indicating the hole. ‘Clearly they know we’re here.’ He placed his hand on Argis’s pauldron. ‘Move out, brother. And be on your guard.’
It took only moments for the ten remaining Raven Guard to extricate themselves from the ruins of their drop-pod. Siryan and Kayaan worked to dig free the corpse of their fallen brother, dragging it up through the hole behind them and laying it carefully on the ground at Koryn’s feet.
Koryn stood over it now, fighting the rage that was welling up inside of him. Borias was a mess. The explosion had almost fully disintegrated the right side of his body, blowing his limbs and half of his chest away in a shower of flesh, bone and ceramite. Now damp earth was impacted in the empty organ cavities, as if he had just been disinterred after spending years in the ground, rotting inside the remnants of his ebon armour. His head remained inside the cracked shell of his helm, and Koryn could see that his gorget had been torn open, exposing his pale white flesh, now stained with crimson arterial blood.
‘Argis. Reclaim his progenoids, if you can. We must think of the Chapter now, as well as our fallen brother,’ said Koryn, quietly.
‘It would be my honour, captain,’ replied Argis, reaching for the small incision tool in his belt and dropping to his knees in order to crack open what was left of Borias’s chest-plate.
‘He would have wished to die in battle,’ said Kayaan, bitterly.
‘Then we honour him by allowing his death to mean something,’ replied Koryn. ‘Fate is a cruel mistress, Kayaan, and today she chose Borias instead of you, or Corvaan, or I. We honour Borias by ensuring our own deaths mean something also. We carry his corvia into battle, and if we die, he dies again with us. Here.’ Koryn stooped and swept up the tiny, fragile bundle of bird skulls tied to Borias’s belt, tugging them free so that the slender chains snapped in his fist. He handed the fistful of bleached skulls to Kayaan. ‘Carry them with you, and return them to the distant soil of Kiavahr, should fate grant you the opportunity.’
Kayaan accepted the corvia without question, taking a moment to secure the fine chains to his own belt, alongside the growing cluster that hung above his right thigh. So many dead, thought Koryn, as he watched his brother knotting and looping the chains. Had it been so long since they had returned home?
‘This place stinks of death,’ said Grayvus through gritted teeth, standing on the perimeter of their small circle, his back to them as he watched the forest for any sign of the enemy. Koryn left Argis to his gruesome work and went to join Grayvus.
The clearing – or rather the impact site of their now destroyed drop-pod – was surrounded in all directions by towering trees, which formed a dense canopy of twisted, leafless limbs above, filtering even the dim moonlight until it was nothing but a cold, silvery glow. They were deep in the heart of the arboreal forest that covered almost half of the small globe, and Koryn had no sense yet of how far they were from their intended target.
The trees nearby shimmered and whispered in the breeze, and Koryn felt a deep yearning for Kiavahr, to be surrounded once more by the forests of his home world. Fortane’s World might once have resembled Kiavahr, but now its forest was a sick, twisted parody of those he had known in his earlier life.
The trees here were warped and gnarled, and their branches appeared to coruscate in the moonlight, dripping with a glossy, pustulant sap. They twisted and groaned, their angular limbs and fat boughs shifting and leaning as Koryn watched, as if they were outstretched hands clutching for the small coterie of Space Marines in their midst, yearning to hold the ebon-armoured figures in their deadly grasp. Where they had broken and cracked open following the violent impact, Koryn could see that they were largely hollow, and a thick, green mist dribbled out of their ruptured innards, mingling with the strange miasmi
c layer that already hugged the ground by his boots.
‘The very trees have been infected by the rot,’ said Koryn, glancing over at Grayvus’s chalk-white face and hard black eyes. ‘Find your helm in the wreckage, brother, and engage your respirator. Do not breathe this foul air any longer than you must. It bears the taint of Chaos.’
‘You’re right,’ said Grayvus, studying the tree line intently. ‘It’s as if they have eyes, and they’re watching us.’ He coughed, hacking on the foul air, and then turned and strode purposefully towards the wreckage, disappearing into the makeshift hatch.
Koryn turned to see Argis standing by his side. ‘It is done, captain. The gene-seed is secure.’
‘Very well.’
‘What’s to be done with Borias’s remains? Shall we leave him to the birds?’
‘No,’ said Koryn. ‘Not today. Not in this foul place. Put him in the wreckage and then set a charge. I’ll leave nothing for the inhabitants of this vile forest to pick over.’
‘Very good, captain,’ said Argis. ‘And after that?’
‘We move out,’ replied Koryn, decisively. ‘We head towards the carapace.’ He glanced up at the horizon, taking in the vastness of the rocky canopy that curved away above the tops of the trees: a distant, foreboding ridge in the sky, dark and unyielding. ‘And beyond that, the battle.’
‘Aysaal?’
The vox hissed with unfiltered static, like the subtle entreaties of a snake. ‘Aysaal?’ Koryn repeated, his voice level. He glanced up at Argis, his pauldrons heaving in a dismissive shrug.
‘I fear the worst,’ said Argis, scanning the trees intently as if he expected the enemy to be upon them at any moment. He was clutching his bolter firmly across his chest, his finger on the trigger guard. ‘If Aysaal’s drop-pod was struck in the same manner as our own…’ He trailed off, the implication clear.
Behind the flared grille of his respirator, Koryn grimaced. Aysaal’s Tactical squad represented an entire third of the Raven Guard’s small guerrilla force, and if they too had been lost like Borias…Well, the implications were grave indeed.
‘Will we search for the wreckage and attempt to ascertain what occurred?’ queried Argis.
‘Negative. The mission must take precedence. It is imperative that we aid our brothers in breaking the siege. The bastion must fall,’ replied Koryn.
Argis gave a curt nod. Koryn stood, resting a hand on his brother’s shoulder. Argis was a veteran of many hundreds of campaigns and understood his duty. He had fought by Koryn’s side for well over a century and would see the mission through without question, or die in the attempt. Nevertheless, Koryn recognised the pain in Argis’s voice, the need to understand what had become of his missing brothers. To watch his fellow Raven Guard die in glorious battle was a thing to be cherished; to lose them without word in a Chaos-infested forest provoked quite different emotions.
‘What of Syrion?’ asked Argis. ‘Is there word of the others?’
‘Not yet,’ said Koryn, solemnly. He glanced over at Kayaan, who was heaping damp loam over the remains of their drop-pod, now wreathed in the swirling, unearthly mist. The earth would go some way to muting the sound of the explosion when the charge went off.
Kayaan looked up, noticing that Koryn was watching. ‘Preparations are complete, captain.’
Koryn nodded. ‘Then let us take our leave of this foul place. There is much to be done.’ He glanced around looking for Cordae and caught sight of the Chaplain on the edges of the clearing, studying their surroundings intently. He strode over to join him.
‘There is a strange quality to the darkness here, captain.’ Cordae’s voice was quiet and tinged with melancholy, as though it carried a deeper warning. The thought unsettled Koryn, sending a cold sensation running down the fold of his back. ‘There are forces at work on this planet more powerful than we anticipated. We must tread carefully.’
The Chaplain turned to look at him, and Koryn nodded in acknowledgement. ‘Darkness and death are our bedfellows, Cordae. We must embrace them if we are to prove victorious.’
‘I stand with you, brother,’ came the ambiguous response.
‘Grayvus, the char–’ Koryn stopped suddenly as the bead in his ear buzzed unexpectedly to life.
‘Captain?’ hissed a distant voice. ‘Captain, are you receiving?’
‘Syrion,’ said Koryn. ‘Report.’
‘Our landing target has been achieved, captain,’ replied Syrion. Koryn allowed himself a momentary grin of satisfaction. ‘We are five kilometres east of the carapace, close to the edge of the battle. What are your orders?’
‘Proceed with the mission as planned. The bastion must be breached. Maintain vox silence and remain vigilant. May Corax guide your hand.’
‘Understood, captain.’ Syrion was silent for a moment. And then: ‘I witnessed Aysaal’s drop-pod go down under enemy artillery fire, captain. Have you made contact?’
‘Negative. Contact has not been established with Sergeant Aysaal. Honour our fallen brothers in combat, Syrion.’
‘Yes, captain. Emperor be with you.’ The vox went dead.
Grayvus was still looking at Koryn expectantly. ‘You know what to do, Grayvus,’ said Koryn, and a moment later the remnants of their drop-pod – and their fallen brother – were consumed in a superheated ball of flame.
‘Now,’ said Koryn, standing over the wreckage so that the guttering flames cast dancing light upon his ancient, ebon armour, ‘Let us douse our weapons in the blood of traitors. Let us avenge our dead. For Corax!’
‘For Corax!’ echoed his brothers, raising their weapons in bold defiance, before melting away into the trees. Within seconds there was no trace of the ten remaining Raven Guard, and no sign of their passing, other than the smouldering wreckage of their downed vessel.
Koryn couldn’t see the others, but he knew each and every one of their precise movements as the ten Raven Guard moved swiftly through the cover of the trees. They made hardly a sound as they passed, fleet-footed and determined, skilled in the art of silence.
It was two days on foot to the lip of the canopy, and from there, no more than a kilometre, perhaps two, to the base of the siege itself. Or so Grayvus’s auspex had indicated. The green mist appeared to be interfering with the instrument, causing ghost readings and false positives, as if the mist itself – or something lurking in it – was instilled with life.
Then, of course, there was the sinister darkness that seemed to cloak everything, affecting even the Raven Guard’s acute vision. Not that it troubled Koryn unduly. He could already sense the raging battle in the distance and the darkness offered them cover to move unimpeded through the forest. Koryn had long ago learned to trust his instincts, and he relied on his other senses as much as he did his keen vision. If anything, the perpetual twilight offered the Raven Guard an advantage, rather than a hindrance.
Koryn paused amongst a nest of coiled tree roots, bringing himself to a sudden, silent stop. He had sensed movement, somewhere ahead of them and to the right. He cocked his head, listening intently.
He did not speak, but he knew that the others had responded in kind, coming to a halt around him, taking cover at the unexpected noise.
There it was again – the sound of a footstep, crunching the soft loam nearby.
Slowly, Koryn, readied his twin lightning claws, assuming a defensive posture. He glanced across at Siryan, who was barely visible, crouching behind another nearby tree, his bolter drawn and presented, ready to open fire when the incoming target presented itself.
Another sound, from behind them this time, and then a third, off to the left.
‘Captain!’ Argis hissed urgently over the vox. ‘They have us surrounded.’
‘Impossible…’ muttered Koryn beneath his breath, but then the forest around them erupted in a cacophony of sound, of pounding feet and terrible, primal screeching, as wh
atever it was that had managed to encircle them drew its circle ever tighter.
Koryn readied himself for battle, flexing his damaged shoulder as he prepared to face their attackers. He sensed movement to his right, and then again to his left, and caught sight of something massive pounding through the undergrowth, barrelling towards him at speed. He danced back, keeping another tree behind him to protect his flank, fixing his gaze on the dense foliage for signs of where the ambushers might emerge.
Seconds later, the beasts were upon them.
The things that came out of the trees were like no creatures Koryn had ever seen in his centuries-long existence.
They were birds, of a kind, although in no way did they resemble the graceful flocks of ravens that soared high above the leafy canopies of Kiavahr, nor even the man-sized rocs that inhabited the cave systems high in the Diagothian mountains.
These brutish creatures towered over the Space Marines. They were enormous: two-legged monstrosities, with huge barrel chests and ferocious, glistening beaks, sharp enough and powerful enough, Koryn judged, to tear through the toughened ceramite of the Raven Guard’s power armour.
Their bodies were covered in thick, downy feathers of exuberant colours: rich indigos, bright yellows and deep crimsons. The colour, Koryn mused of the last, of spilt blood.
They were clearly flightless, with short, useless wings that stirred and buffeted as the creatures thundered through the dense undergrowth, their pounding steps like the rumble of distant mortar-fire. They shrieked and squawked, their heads flitting from side to side as they sized up their quarry.
Subconsciously, Koryn counted them off, his enhanced senses processing every sound, weighing up the odds in order that he might choose how best to react.
Twelve of them. Ten Raven Guard. He only hoped they were easier to fell than they looked.
‘Victorus Aut Mortis!’ he bellowed, leaping from behind the cover of the tree and directly into the path of one of the charging birds. His lightning talons crackled and sparked as he readied himself, his twin hearts pounding.
