Sons of Corax

by George Mann

  As he followed Aramus along one of these dank passageways, their steps ringing out upon the ancient flagstones, Koryn wondered as to the purpose of the Brazen Minotaur’s occupation of the ruined outpost. As far as Koryn could tell, the outpost could offer them no tactical or defensive advantage, being so far from the bulk of the fighting. Nor would it serve particularly well as a lookout for enemy forces attempting to circle around behind the Space Marines’ defensive lines: the trees would provide the Chaos troops with too much opportunity for cover to make it truly effective. Unless, of course, there was a whole string of these outpost buildings forming a perimeter beneath the rim of the great carapace. Even so, given what Koryn knew of the battle raging nearby, it would seem unlikely that Captain Daed would commit so many troops to guarding outposts when they would serve him better deployed on the front lines.

  No, Koryn knew his instincts had been correct. There was more to this outpost than had first appeared. Aramus had spoken of a ‘charge’ they were there to protect, and Koryn already had his suspicions as to its nature.

  You will know soon enough, Raven Guard.+ The eerie voice spoke once more inside his skull, and Koryn found himself unconsciously shaking his head in an effort to banish it.

  ‘In here,’ said Aramus, coming to a stop in the passageway before a stone archway. Koryn stepped through, ducking his head beneath the man-sized lintel. The room beyond was an ancient crypt with a low, vaulted ceiling and a series of roughly hewn alcoves chiselled into the bare stone walls. Marble coffins – once glorious tributes to their dead, but now buried beneath the dusty detritus of ages – filled these niches, lending the place a solemn, funereal air.

  In the centre of the room a bank of bulky equipment had been erected, the winking diodes and flickering hololithic screens seeming incongruous in such an ancient, reverential setting. A large, faint, blue-tinged projection fizzed and crackled in the air above a low table, showing various aspects of the planet from space.

  ‘The war in the skies does not progress well,’ said Aramus with an even tone. ‘The enemy barges are little more than drifting hulks, but their firepower is unequalled and their ability to withstand damage is beyond even our capabilities.’

  ‘You sound almost as if you admire them,’ said Koryn, his voice level.

  Aramus offered him a hard stare. ‘The only good traitor is a dead one,’ he replied, as if that simple statement was enough. Perhaps it was. The Brazen Minotaurs were known for their single-minded approach to a problem. They would not rest until all of the traitors in the Sargassion Reach had been put down, until they had not only won the war, but the enemy no longer existed. It was admirable, yet it was utterly at odds with how Koryn himself would choose to approach the problem.

  Koryn skirted around Aramus to stand before the hololithic screen. Flickering orbital images of Fortane’s World showed scores of Navy ships as they continued to rain incendiary bombs upon the carapace, to little or no effect.

  Another section of the screen showed further Navy frigates embattled with the bizarre, floating cathedrals of Empyrion’s Blight. They circled each other in a silent, stately dance, showering each other with missiles, shells and gouts of searing plasma. For every traitor vessel that crumpled beneath the pounding of the Imperial ships, it seemed, two or three of the Navy frigates were sent boiling away into the void.

  ‘The tide is yet to turn in our favour,’ said Aramus, and this time the strain in his voice was clearly evident. Koryn saw his fists clench in barely concealed rage as they both watched a Navy vessel break apart as it collided spectacularly with an enemy hulk, splintering into fragments and frozen jets of escaping gas.

  ‘Why does the Navy not commit its other vessels to destroying the traitors’ flotilla? It seems clear that even the constant barrage of the planet’s carapace is doing little to aid the assault on the bastion. If they turned their focus to destroying the enemy vessels they would surely reap better results?’ said Koryn.

  Aramus shook his head. ‘They await word from below, from Captain Daed. The carapace is puckered with hidden gun emplacements – when they are opened to enable the surface-to-orbit weapons to fire upon the Navy ships, they provide the only means of striking into the bastion from above. If targeted efficiently, any explosives dropped down those open shafts will blow the bastion apart from the inside out. Of course, when the traitors open them periodically it is to fire upon our frigates, and they are forced to take evasive action. Captain Daed plans to get inside the bastion, to open up the gun emplacements and allow the Navy vessels to strike. The ships must remain in place, as they may have only a few moments in which to act.’

  Koryn nodded. So Daed’s goal was not, as he had thought, to simply lay siege to the bastion until the walls fell and the enemy forces dwindled. It seemed the Brazen Minotaur’s captain was more of a tactician than Koryn had given him credit for. Nevertheless, it was clear to Koryn what he needed to do; how the Raven Guard could aid their golden-armoured brothers here on Fortane’s World. The bastion walls did not need to be breached. The Raven Guard simply had to get inside and open up the gun emplacements to allow the Navy ships to do their work.

  Such a task will try even your subtle abilities, Raven Guard,+ said the voice in his head. +Yet it is necessary if the battle is to be won. On Empalion II we aided you and your brothers. We provided you with the distraction necessary for you to achieve your goal, at great cost to our Chapter. I ask you now to employ those same skills on our behalf, and in the Emperor’s name.+

  ‘Who are you?’ bellowed Koryn, frustrated at the calm, unknowable voice. His question echoed loudly in the confines of the ancient crypt, but went unanswered.

  Frowning, Aramus turned to Koryn, cocking his head slightly to one side as if listening intently to something – or someone – that Koryn could not hear.

  ‘Are you sure?’ he said a moment later, and Koryn realised that the Brazen Minotaur was not talking to him but to the disembodied voice of the psyker who had been invading Koryn’s thoughts ever since he had set foot inside the outpost.

  Aramus stepped forwards, placing a hand on Koryn’s pauldron. ‘He wants to see you,’ he said, quietly. ‘Come, I shall take you to him.’

  Further along the passageway from the makeshift map room was a smaller, but equally ancient, antechamber. Here, the low ceiling followed the same vaulted pattern as the other room, but instead of housing a series of hollowed out niches, the walls had been plastered smooth and decorated with intricate decorations of a type Koryn had never seen. The millennia-old plasterwork was fractured and broken now, with parts of it peeling away from the damp walls, but the illuminations were still largely visible.

  The artwork was stylised but incredibly fine and detailed, depicting scenes of battle, in which Space Marines strode like giants across the worlds of men. The figures wore ancient armour, older than Koryn’s own suit of artificer-engraved ceramite – older even than the corroded models worn by the traitors.

  Koryn saw the blue and white warriors of Ultramar standing shoulder to shoulder with bone-armoured Space Marines of the Death Guard Legion, and realised with surprise that the illustrations must pre-date the great Heresy, during which brother turned against brother and the galaxy erupted into war.

  Here, in these paintings, the Death Guard were portrayed as benevolent ambassadors, visiting world after world to bring the Emperor’s Light to the teeming masses of humanity, or to defend them against the horrors of xenos invasion. Now, of course, the paintings could not be further from the truth. The splintered, corrupted remnants of the Death Guard had been regurgitated by the warp, spat back out of the Eye of Terror in the form of grotesque warbands such as Empyrion’s Blight. Now, they bestowed not the Emperor’s Gift upon the worlds they visited but the blight of pestilence and Chaos. The very thought of their fall from grace left Koryn feeling nauseous. He could not even conceive of the weakness that had led to their corruption. He hoped ve
hemently that he never would.

  Koryn wondered what perverse mind was orchestrating the warband’s attack on Fortane’s World, a planet that – judging by the ancient paintings on the walls – had once been one they had saved.

  His name is Gideous Krall,+ said the voice in his head. +A former captain of the Death Guard Legion, lost to the vagaries of the warp many millennia ago. Little more is known of his origins, save that he is named amongst his kindred ‘The Infector of Worlds’. He has emerged from the Eye of Terror to wreak havoc and spread the foul rot of Nurgle throughout the Imperium. He must be stopped.+

  Koryn turned, dragging his eyes away from the intricate paintings to properly take in the true purpose of the room. A figure lay supine on a raised dais – or, as Koryn realised a moment later – the bastardised remnants of a former marble tomb, now repurposed to support the massive bulk of a Space Marine. A Brazen Minotaur, clad in striking blue armour that was decorated with innumerable scars and imperfections, each telling the story of a past battle. Large patches of the warrior’s chest-plate and vambraces had been recently scoured clean, however, removing the blue paint and exposing the bare ceramite beneath. It was as if someone was attempting to remove stains or corrosion, scratching at the power armour to ensure the marks had been properly removed.

  The figure was unmoving, its arms folded, its hands resting peacefully upon its chest. A large hood – the hood of a psyker – curled up from behind its head.

  Two other Space Marines, both wearing the shining golden armour of the Brazen Minotaurs, were washing the figure with rags and water, working constantly to clean every armoured plate, from the soles of his boots to the top of his helm. Koryn watched them for a moment as they wiped again and again, ceaselessly, working in perfect concert and starting over as soon as they had finished.

  ‘What are they doing?’ asked Koryn, and Aramus moved over to stand beside him.

  ‘Move closer and you will see,’ said Aramus.

  Koryn took another step forwards, careful not to interfere with the ministrations of the two Space Marines who tended the Librarian. At first he wondered if the washing was some form of strange ritual performed by the Brazen Minotaurs, a cleansing rite, echoing a powerful belief from their home world. But as he watched, it soon became clear that this was in no way a ritual; it was a form of defence.

  Small globules of green fungus were forming all over the Librarian’s armour, bubbling into life unbidden, growing and spreading, crawling over the joints and seams between the ceramite plates as if searching for a means to worm their way inside. It was one of the most disgusting things that Koryn had ever seen: an invasion on a microbial level, mirroring the system-wide invasion that was taking place all around them.

  ‘Our brother is under attack. The foul god of the traitors recognises him for the threat he poses to its minions and works tirelessly to infect him with its appalling rot. Thankfully, he is not alone, and our brothers are just as vigilant in their efforts to ensure the purity of his body,’ said Aramus, not even bothering to hide the discomfort in his voice. Clearly, he was as appalled as Koryn by the sight of the Librarian and the crawling spawn of Chaos that assailed him.

  ‘Would it not be easier to strip away his armour?’ asked Koryn, as yet another bloom of lurid green matter formed amongst the concertinaed joints of the Librarian’s left arm, quickly blossoming into a strange, mossy carpet that spread almost instantaneously, coating his chest-plate in a matter of seconds. One of his attendants moved around the dais and swiftly washed it away before it had time to take hold. Even as he did so, another patch exploded into being on the prone Librarian’s face, and just as quickly, his brother-attendant was forced to clear it off, rinsing the foul detritus away in a runnel on the floor.

  ‘We dare not,’ said Aramus. ‘The integrity of his armour protects him from the spores. His respirator is as much a weapon against these insidious traitors as any bolter. Remove that and he is exposed.’

  Koryn stared into the silent face of the Librarian’s helm. ‘I know him,’ he said, quietly. And then: ‘I know who you are.’

  You were on Kasharat,+ came the voice in his mind. The tone was calm and even, and showed no sign of perturbation or strain at the war being waged across his armoured exterior.

  You were present when Daed fought the daemon-creature at the heart of the labyrinth.+ It was a statement, not a question.

  Yes, thought Koryn. I was there. I shed the blood of traitors amongst the ruins of that dead world. I stood shoulder to shoulder with your brothers in order to repay a grave debt.

  Your intent was noble, Raven Guard. It will not be forgotten. Your actions allowed my brothers to save me from an abominable fate. The traitors would have denied me even an honourable death. +

  Koryn stepped closer to the dais, staring down at the unmoving figure. He looked somehow peaceful, as if lost in deep meditation. His chest rose and fell only fractionally with each breath.

  ‘Theseon,’ said Koryn, aloud. It was the Librarian he had helped Captain Daed to extract from the mortuary world, still locked inside his own body in a deep sus-anic coma.

  I see you recognise me, Raven Guard.+

  You are the weapon, thought Koryn. The weapon that could win the war.

  I am but a tool of the Emperor,+ replied Theseon. +As are we all.+

  But how? thought Koryn. What is it that you know? If you can communicate with me now, why not tell us what we must do to defeat the enemies of the Imperium.

  There was a momentary pause.

  Leave us.+ The command was clipped and firm, leaving no room for argument. The two Brazen Minotaurs who were tending to Theseon placed their rags on the ground and stepped away from the dais, turning and leaving the room. Even Aramus retreated to a respectful distance, waiting in the shadow of the archway as Theseon and Koryn shared their private communion.

  ‘But the infection, the rot?’ said Koryn, out loud, watching as fungal blooms burst into life all across the prone form of the Librarian, spreading swiftly until he was shrouded in a blanket of hazy green.

  I would show you, Raven Guard,+ replied Theseon, +how zealously the traitors assail me, so that you might better understand my role in the conflict still to come.+

  ‘Very well,’ said Koryn, feeling more than a little uneasy as he watched the strange fungal growths proliferate before his eyes, erupting into colourful blooms that withered and died within seconds, degenerating into sticky mulch.

  The Librarian’s next words were tinged with sadness, the first time Koryn had heard Theseon express any emotion at all. +It is not what I know that could help the war effort, but what I am. I cannot tell you, nor Daed, nor the Emperor Himself what to do to defeat these minions of the dark gods. That is not within my power. I wish that were not so. +

  Koryn frowned. ‘What do you mean, “what you are”?’

  There are no secrets locked inside my skull, brother of the Raven. No hidden codes or schematics, no knowledge of the enemy’s weaknesses, no strategies that will bring about an end to the conflict. I am a weapon. I am the sword in Daed’s fist, the spear in the huntsman’s arsenal.+

  ‘I do not understand,’ said Koryn, stepping back as the green spores began to spill over the side of the Librarian’s armour, crawling in a putrid tide across the dais. Strange fronds and fungal pods were now forming atop the shell of ceramite plate, as if an entire poisonous ecosystem had sprung to life, feeding off his psychic energy and attempting to smother the life out of him while he lay there immobile. Clearly, whatever sort of weapon Theseon represented, the enemy did not want him to survive long enough for it to be triggered. Good enough reason in itself to ensure that he did.

  The power that surges through me is the raw energy of the warp, + said Theseon, slowly. +I am but a vessel, a repository. I can channel it and shape it. I am the bomb that will destroy Gideous Krall.+

  ‘And you’re awake, now
. Why do you not move? Why do you not use this power to aid your brothers, to help them crush the enemy that swarms across the surface of Fortane’s World like the spores upon your armour?’ asked Koryn.

  I am yet weak, brother of the Raven. I do not yet have control of my physical aspect, and my mind is locked in constant battle with the psychic insinuations of the dark god’s minions. My sphere of influence extends no further than the ruins of this outpost building.+

  ‘But you will wake?’ asked Koryn, taking another pace backwards as the spreading spores hit the flagstoned floor and continued to inch slowly towards him.

  In time. But the enemy are clever and unrelenting. They know we are here. The outpost comes under constant attack, and my energy and focus are drawn away to aid my brothers in its defence. Even now, the foul warriors of the Death Guard approach.+

  Koryn heard Aramus take two steps into the room, then became aware of the sound of running footsteps in the passageway beyond.

  Grayvus appeared in the archway a few moments later, flanked by two Brazen Minotaurs, who immediately set about reclaiming their discarded rags and cleansing their brother of the weird flora that now completely covered him.

  ‘Captain?’

  ‘What is it, Grayvus?’ said Koryn, although if Theseon was to be believed, he already knew.

  ‘The enemy approaches, captain. A large party of Plague Marines and traitor militia. They’re heading directly for the outpost,’ said Grayvus hurriedly.

  ‘What? My brothers have reported no sightings of the enemy,’ said Aramus. ‘It has only been a matter of hours since their previous attack.’

  ‘I have seen them,’ said Grayvus, levelly. ‘I have been out amongst those twisted trees, watching the perimeter, and I tell you, brother – they approach from the east.’