[Space Wolf 05] - Sons of Fenris

by Lee Lightner - (ebook by Undead)

  “Everyone, follow me,” Ragnar ordered the Blood Claws on his comm. He got off the pavement and immediately broke into a full run, racing past the damaged tank into the building on his left. The only way to eliminate the enemy would be to carve them out of their holes. Skulls of long-dead scribes and bureaucrats stared blankly from the rockcrete facing of the building. Ragnar joked to himself that they had retained their personalities in death.

  Bolter rounds ricocheted off Ragnar’s power armour, pelting him like hail. He took a grenade from his belt and threw it on the run at the main doors to the building. They were large and darkened with a yellow Imperial eagle emblazoned upon them, which made a perfect target. The krak grenade blew the doors to pieces.

  Within seconds, Ragnar and the Blood Claws entered the smoke left behind by the doors and found cover in the building. Now, Ragnar had to lead his men up and find the foe. He hit his comm. “This is the Wolf Lord. My pack has engaged the enemy.”

  Tor and his men had waited for over half an hour in the sewer tunnel since giving the signal. He looked over at Jarl, one of the most experienced Grey Hunters, a warrior best known for his service against orks. Jarl wore a strand of ork fangs as a trophy, in addition to a necklace with a single wolf tooth. He rested a large axe on one shoulder and held his bolter one-handed. “We’re ready, sir, if the time is right,” Jarl said.

  Tor realised that he had been looking to Jarl for consent to start the assault, but that wasn’t Jarl’s decision to make, it was his. Tor knew this was another reason why Ragnar had chosen him. Tor could make sound decisions and he needed to do so again before he let yesterday’s events creep into his brain and make him doubt himself. “The time is right. Let’s move, quickly and quietly. We make sure the ritual is starting before we reveal ourselves.”

  Tor grabbed the rungs and climbed up to the metal grate. He carefully opened the grate and stepped into an alley between two buildings. The alley was dark, the only light coming from the street visible at one end of the alley. Tor could hear the distant echoes of bolter shots and explosions. He raised his bolter and stealthily moved towards the street.

  When he reached the end of the alley, he peered out. His augmented eyes adjusted to the low light just as the eyes of a nocturnal predator would, but he didn’t need any enhanced vision to see. The alley opened to a street that ran into a main square in front of the cathedral. The giant religious edifice rose triumphantly above all of the surrounding buildings. Though he was about one hundred metres from the cathedral, the signs of heresy were unmistakable.

  A large fountain in front of the cathedral was lit up, shining lights on a statue of Saint Harman, who appeared as an elderly monk, having devoted every waking breath to his devotion to the Emperor. Someone had chipped the face off the statue, leaving it to appear as an empty robe, and instead of clean water, the fountain was filled with blood. Just looking at the building, Tor felt something was very wrong, as if the beast within him could sense the unnatural events that the scouts had assured him were happening there.

  A faint greenish light appeared for a moment from the cathedral’s front windows. There could be no question in Tor’s mind. It was time to set matters right and defeat the enemy.

  “Let’s move around the perimeter of the square, keep to as much cover as possible and make your way to the left side of the cathedral. We may be able to find an entrance besides the front,” he said.

  Like true wolves of Fenris, the Grey Hunters stalked through the shadows and made their way along the edge of the square. If they were detected, the enemy gave no sign. Twice more, the greenish glow came from the cathedral.

  The pack reached the outer wall of the cathedral and made its way around the side of the building. A modest door rested in an alcove on the side of the titanic structure, and a carved image of Saint Harman stood untouched over the door. “The Emperor protects,” said Tor.

  As Tor paused to reflect on the Emperor, he caught a faint scent from behind the door, the smell of sulphur and oils. It instantly made him think of the Chaos Marines from the previous day. Waving his men away, he readied his bolter.

  He gave the door a hard kick, smashing it inwards and then whirled away.

  A Night Lord blasted gouts of flame out of the door. In his ornate armour, the light of the flame reflected and burned all the brighter. The Traitor Marine advanced without a word, his flamer held ready to incinerate his target.

  Tor had avoided the worst of the blast. He threw himself into the passage with no cover, trusting that his power armour and natural speed would provide enough protection. He activated his power sword, sending energy cascading from the hilt, without losing a step of his charge. Before the Night Lord could raise his weapon to fire again, the power sword sliced through the barrel. Tor jammed the blade into his foe, piercing his power armour and leaving him thrashing on the end of the sword. With a solid jerk, he pulled the weapon free and led his men up a staircase, and he hoped, into the main sanctuary.

  Ragnar led the Blood Claws up a battered flight of stairs as they raced to the upper floors of the building used by the Night Lords to fire down on the street. Ragnar took the stairs three at a time. He looked forward to running a few traitors through with his runeblade. A door at the top of the stairs marked this as the fifth floor of the building dedicated to the memory of the scribe Leonardus.

  The door fell forwards and the servants of Chaos threw grenades down at the Space Wolves. Ragnar could see two of his foes, both Night Lords. They were tall warriors, even for Space Marines, made taller still by large horns jutting from their helms. “Grenade!” shouted Ragnar as he continued forwards. The sudden attack had momentarily surprised Ragnar and all he could do was keep charging.

  The first Night Lord drew a chainsword and interposed himself on the stairs in front of Ragnar. He showed no fear and no hesitation. With his off-hand, he ripped a large pouch off his belt and threw it at the Wolf Lord. This time Ragnar was ready, lashing out at the makeshift missile with his runeblade, and slashing open the pouch to reveal the bloodied helm of a Space Wolf.

  “Look upon your fate, dog of the Emperor,” the Night Lord snarled then thrust at Ragnar with his whirring chainsword. Ragnar regained his wits and parried the blade with his own.

  Behind him, the other Night Lord readied his bolter, looking for a clean shot at Ragnar.

  These were worthy foes, thought Ragnar. In a moment, they had seized the initiative and blocked the stairs, enabling them to fight the Space Wolves one at a time, while the rest of their squad made ready for battle or made their escape. He decided that he had had enough of the Night Lords.

  With a sweep of his blade and a howl, the Wolf Lord slashed through the chainsword, rendering it useless, and then raised his bolter to the helm of the Night Lord and squeezed the trigger. Round after round impacted the head of the Chaos Space Marine, blowing large holes in his skull.

  Ragnar wasted no time, tossing the body of the first Night Lord aside. The second one mercilessly opened up on the Space Wolf with a torrent of bolter rounds. Ragnar growled and threw himself into the enemy. He took the large man off his feet, and then sat up to give himself enough room to plunge the runeblade into the Chaos Marine’s gut.

  The Night Lord glared at Ragnar even as he lay dying. Ragnar could feel the anger and disgust this traitor held in his heart for the Imperium, a hatred so great that he had sold his soul to Chaos. The Night Lord writhed, but reached for the grenades on his belt. Ragnar saw the move and pinned his foe’s wrist to the ground with the barrel of his bolter and then pulled the trigger, blowing his foe’s hand off.

  With his final chance to kill the Wolf Lord gone, the light in the Night Lord’s eyeplates dimmed, and his ghost left him, taking his hatred with it.

  The Blood Claws rushed up around Ragnar and into a long corridor. Ragnar’s men seemed relatively unscathed from the grenade attack. “Find any more of them that you can, each of these foes costs the enemy dearly.”

  Soon, the Night Lo
rds would try something desperate. Ragnar could hear distant artillery echo from outside. He hadn’t ordered artillery bombardment. If anything, Ragnar was hoping to keep the city as intact as possible. If the forces of Chaos had any artillery, then it would be precious indeed.

  A Night Lord dropped out of an air vent at the end of the hall and began firing. The Blood Claws saw him and howled. Then they charged like starving wolves having sighted their prey. By the time Ragnar stood, the axes and blades of the Blood Claws had struck the Night Lord in dozens of places. He fell and the Blood Claws continued to reduce him to nearly unrecognisable gore.

  Then, a blast shook the building. The Night Lords were willing to fire on their own men in order to kill their enemies. Ragnar looked down at the tall Night Lord he had dismembered and killed. In the remaining hand, the warrior clutched a comm. The attempt to reach the grenade had been a distraction. He might have signalled the enemy to strike the building with their ordinance.

  “We need to get out, now!” shouted Ragnar. He hoped that Tor would be successful and soon.

  Tor raced up a flight of stairs in the darkened stone Cathedral of Saint Harman, hoping that he had chosen wisely and found a way to the ritual site. Nine Grey Hunters followed their Wolf Guard, ready to complete their mission. The sight before them made all of them take pause.

  The entire inner sanctuary of the cathedral had been gutted. Pews were thrown asunder, blood had been poured on the sacred stones of the floor, statues had been toppled and praises to the Gods of Chaos had been written on the walls, proclaiming their power. A billowing emerald bonfire roared between collapsed pews, and robed heretics stood with their arms spread at the edges of the flames, chanting in a strange undulating tongue.

  A figure in a horned helm and long blood-red robes led them. Pale veined long-fingered hands extended from his sleeves, and as he gestured, the chanters changed their words and pitch, as if he was some sinister maestro conducting a choir of blasphemy. The flames also reacted to his every gesture, and Tor knew that this man was the sorcerer.

  Then, there were the Chaos Space Marines.

  Eight Night Lords held positions around the room, standing in four pairs with rubble nearby providing easy cover. Each one of the ancient Chaos Marines had his own distinctive armour, but all of them shared the same look. Spikes and blades designed to inspire fear doubled as practical weapons, while belts of ammunition were strung over their chests. The Night Lords were hard fighters and each individual was prepared to hold out against terrible odds. They showed no hesitation when the Space Wolves arrived, although Tor was certain that they must have surprised their enemy. They raised their bolters at the Space Wolves in well-drilled unison.

  Tor knew what he needed to do. The Night Lords would be content to engage the Space Wolves in a fire-fight until the ritual brought something unholy from the warp to finish them off. Tor wasn’t about to wait for that to happen. It was time to charge.

  Bolter rounds crashed into the Grey Hunters as they charged. The Night Lords mercilessly fired shots as fast as their bolters allowed. Tor felt the rounds battering his power armour, but he clenched his teeth and focused on the sorcerer — his objective.

  A Night Lord leapt over a crumbling statue and launched himself at Tor, realising that the Wolf Guard intended to kill the sorcerer. Circular chainblades spun on the Chaos Marine’s armour, and he leapt at Tor, thrusting the blades forwards to slash through the Space Wolfs armour and then his flesh and bone. He moved with a speed that rivalled Tor’s own.

  Tor paused to bring up his power sword to defend himself, but even as he began, he knew that he would be too slow. Fortunately for him, Space Wolves ran in packs. Although Jarl was a step behind Tor, the Grey Hunter had been watching for an attack. He threw his body up as a shield and the Night Lord crashed into Jarl instead of Tor. Sparks flew as the Night Lord’s chainblades ripped into Jarl’s power armour. The decorated veteran with his ork trophies roared rather than screamed from the pain as he wrestled with the foe.

  Tor turned back to the sorcerer. He would not let Jarl’s effort go for naught. The mage gestured at Tor, breaking the ritual as he did so. Immediately, the emerald flame flickered and died. The monks screamed as one, while bolts of power flashed from the sorcerer’s fingertips at Tor.

  Ozone and brimstone mixed in the air as the bolts crashed into Tor. He felt all of his hearts seize up at once, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. He kept moving as if he were an automaton. The sorcerer clenched his fists and as he did, Tor’s chest tightened. The Space Wolfs eyesight dimmed and his ears rang. He thought to himself that no matter what, even if it meant death, he would reach the sorcerer and complete his mission. He would justify Ragnar’s faith in him. He had been given a chance to redeem himself and nothing, not even the dark magics of Chaos would prevent him from succeeding.

  The Chaos sorcerer gazed at the Wolf Guard, and although his eyesight blurred, the Space Wolf glared back. The Space Marine’s reaction surprised the sorcerer, and Tor watched the malicious confidence leave the robed figure. As it did, Tor almost felt his strength return. He closed the gap between them.

  One of the monks tried to intervene, much as Jarl had gone to Tor’s aid, but even half-blind and in agony, Tor still possessed enough strength to lash out with his power sword and cut down his blocker.

  The energy flickered on the Chaos sorcerer’s fingers. Tor couldn’t tell if his foe said anything — the rushing in his ears was too great — but there was no longer any distance to cross. The sorcerer broke the spell and attempted to draw a blade to defend himself.

  Breath flowed back into Tor’s lungs and his hearts pounded. His sight instantly improved and the rushing in his ears faded. Instead of pausing to cherish the return of his senses and breathe, Tor brought his power sword up into the body of the sorcerer. Mystic robes, flesh and bone couldn’t stop the stroke as Tor cut the sorcerer in half. The monks screamed again as one and then fell, like marionettes suddenly without strings.

  The Night Lords redoubled their attacks against the Space Wolves. They had failed to protect the sorcerer and the Chaos Marines knew that only death would satisfy their Dark Gods. Tor felt power fill his body. He had completed the mission for the Wolf Lord. He activated his comm quickly. “Wolf Lord, the deed is done,” he said and without waiting for a response, leapt to the aid of his fellow Space Wolves.

  Ragnar and the Blood Claws had escaped the building where the ambushers had lain in wait for them, but only moments before artillery fire rained down upon it. The bolter fire had stopped on the street and, cautiously, the Wolf Lord led his men forwards.

  The Wolf Lord’s comm crackled to life, “Wolf Lord, the deed is done,” said Tor, triumph filling his voice.

  “Well done,” said Ragnar, although he heard the sounds of battle on the other end of the comm. Still, he knew the battle would be over soon. Without the sorcerer, the Night Lords wouldn’t have access to their daemonic allies and their material resources were too little for them to continue to hold out. Ragnar knew the enemy would have to retreat with whatever forces they had left.

  Ranulf came running through a cross street with a pack of men. “Hail, Wolf Lord! The foe appears to be in full retreat.”

  “Good, that’s how it was supposed to happen. Well done. Give me a moment, Ranulf.”

  Ragnar opened a comm channel to Hoskuld, the old Space Wolf scout. “Tor succeeded. Go ahead and help him.”

  “Aye, Wolf Lord, we’re there to back him up,” said Hoskuld.

  Ranulf looked over at his Wolf Lord. Quietly, he asked, “Why didn’t you just have the scouts try to kill the sorcerer?”

  Ragnar placed his hand on Ranulf’s wide shoulder, “Because, I’ll need Tor’s spirit on the next planet. He deserved a chance to take responsibility. It’ll make him a better warrior.”

  After a moment, Ragnar added, “It worked for me.”

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