by Gav Thorpe
‘We have transition,’ Majula announced calmly, a perfectly manicured finger on the vox transmission stud, the dark red of the nail like a blood drop on the golden sigil.
The warp engulfed them. Njal saw a stream of glittering shapes and little else. The delineation between the real and unreal was established again, and without mortal physics to break, the warp appeared as a moving but placid course of energy.
+What needless drama. Do you know that the Emperor found another way to travel the galaxy? One that would rid us of our dependence on these abominable mutants. The Portal Maze is but a reflection of that star-spanning majesty, a human delving where ancients had stepped before.+
‘What is that?’ Majula asked the question without turning, sparing Njal the sight of her exposed third eye. ‘That muttering?’
‘I heard nothing,’ said Njal.
+How easily lies slip from your false tongue, dog of Russ.+
‘There it is again.’ Majula made a few adjustments to the controls on the panel before her, sending navigational instructions down to the bridge. She slipped on her headband and turned to face the Stormcaller. ‘I felt another presence. We have to run a full diagnostic of the Geller field.’
‘It is nothing,’ said Njal, and the moment he spoke he knew he had already said too much.
‘What is nothing?’ demanded Majula, forgetting all station and decorum in her vexation. ‘What is “it”?’
Njal gritted his teeth. He was not ready to share his damning tale with this youth.
‘The reason we go to Prospero,’ he admitted, choosing his words carefully. ‘Something left over from Magnus and the Thousand Sons. It has to be returned. I have it in my mind.’
‘You brought it onto my ship?’
‘My ship, Navigator.’
‘In this hall it is my ship, Lord of Runes. You stand on territory that belongs to House Belisarius of the Navis Nobilite.’
+She is feisty. In my time the Navigators were more… compliant. You seem to have let them run amok.+
‘I erred,’ said Njal, giving a slight bow of the head in apology. ‘It had not occurred to me that the presence would become known once we were in the warp.’
‘The error was in not informing me at all, Lord of Runes,’ Majula said haughtily.
+This sort of superiority is what comes of being dependent upon inbreeding and genetic manipulation.+
‘What is it saying now? It is like someone talking in a neighbouring chamber, not loud enough to tell distinct words but of sufficient volume to catch the ear. Can I see it?’
The questions took Njal by surprise, and Izzakar also.
+What an interesting thought. She is brighter than you, wolfson. Let her try! Let us find out what she sees with that third eye.+
‘I think not,’ said Njal, self-conscious. ‘It is buried deep within my psychic defences. I would not have you prying into them lest something goes amiss.’
+What was that?+
Njal ignored the sorcerer’s interjection, but he could not suppress a sudden sense of heightened awareness, a physical response to alarm. Majula flinched also and she turned quickly away, ripping her headband free, the silver arc discarded to the deck as she raked the view through the dome with her psychic sight.
+Can you not feel it, barbarian? Open your thoughts!+
Spurred by both the Navigator’s actions and Izzakar’s urgency Njal let free a modicum of his psychic talent. Nightwing set to wing from his shoulder, flapping a slow circuit about the domed hall as Njal’s thoughts probed the immaterium beyond.
‘I feel it,’ he whispered. ‘I can feel it.’
He thrust his thoughts further into the Othersea, as though peering into a murky pool. Something in the swirling energy looked back.
+They have found us.+
CHAPTER 7
INCURSION
Where there was one, soon there were more. Many more.
They were like eels and rays, shark-like predators and formless wisps that slithered along the shell of the Geller field. Insubstantial teeth gnawed at the sphere of reality, noiseless yet leaving a scratching sensation in the back of the head. Nightwing powered back to Njal’s upraised hand as the Stormcaller drew his psychic focus behind the walls of his mental fortress.
The warp churned with activity, the daemonic shoal thicker than anything Njal had seen before. Made of the warpstuff that surrounded the Longclaw, the Chaotic entities manifested and disappeared at whim, becoming whole and dissipating in endless droves. Their thrashing became more desperate, a frenzy of activity to burrow into the Geller field and bring the nightmare realm crashing in with them.
+You pressed the ship into rapid service partway through a refit. How sure are you of its defences?+
Njal activated his vox and set a channel for Aldacrel.
‘Priority command. Immediate inspection of all Geller field systems.’
‘A problem, Stormcaller?’ crackled the Iron Priest’s response.
‘Better to be wary than lost,’ replied Njal, eyeing the disembodied shapes writhing across the transparent dome. ‘If there is anything amiss, find it and fix it without delay.’
‘So many…’ muttered Majula. Her assertiveness returned. ‘Their presence dulls the Astronomican and I cannot see the flow of the warp beyond their formless massing.’
‘You cannot steer us?’
+Amazing. Adrift in the undervoid without a pilot. We shall never set eyes upon Prospero.+
‘No, I cannot steer us. We are caught in a tempest of these creatures.’
Njal watched the swarm carefully, seeing eyes of black and gold peering back, trying to penetrate what to them would be the fog of reality, just as the warp was anathema to physical sight. They could smell the souls within, their hunger driving them to flash and crash against the boundary shield. Majula was not alone, he could see nothing of the raw warp beyond the teeming flow of fleeting apparitions.
‘Do the best you can, Navigator,’ he told Majula. ‘You have your charts.’
‘Charts that were created before the Cyclopean One returned,’ she sighed. ‘Before the Great Rift. All is in flux again. The invasion caused many ripples through the warp.’
+What does she mean? What invasion does she speak of?+
Njal stepped away from Majula to allow her to concentrate on her task. He kept his voice low, below her hearing but enough vocalisation that Izzakar would be aware of it.
‘Your primarch is not the creature you remember, sorcerer. He fell far after the Wolf King threw down his treacherous creations. He bargained away your Legion for blasphemous power and sought revenge upon those that had sought to halt his slide into damnation.’
+You lie! It cannot be so. Magnus was the greatest mind. The surest guide of all after the Emperor himself. What you speak of is weakness, a weakness far below the Crimson King.+
‘The Allfather had bidden you to stop and you did not. Where else did you think your delving would take you? Arrogance fuelled your quest for knowledge and you ignored the warnings of the greatest of us all. Your master has become a consort of daemons and Dark Powers and he brought that darkness to Fenris.’
There was nothing in return, a sullen silence that nagged in the heart of Njal’s mind. He did not know whether Izzakar believed him or not, though the sorcerer was well placed, in a sense, to know truth from falsehood.
A shudder ripped his thoughts to the daemonswarm. They had started to organise, to coalesce into something more focused. In groups they hurled themselves at the Geller field. Fangs of crackling energy and immaterial barbs snapped and clawed at the defences while others smashed bodily into the barrier exploding into sparkling vapour that was torn away by the raging current of the Othersea.
‘They are going to break in, Lord of Runes,’ Majula said quietly.
‘The Geller fields were designed to withstand such attack.’
‘I speak not of baseless fear,’ the Navigator argued.
She held out her hand, her intent for
him to hold it. Njal laid a massive, gloved hand against hers, her slender fingers curling about two of his ceramite-clad digits. It was the act of acceptance, the proximity rather than the physical contact that allowed her thoughts to slide against his.
‘Close your eyes,’ she said.
He took her meaning and did as she asked. A second later, he felt the white heat of her third eye upon him. It did not burrow into his thoughts, instead it drew forth a little of his awareness, coaxing consciousness out into an investigating tendril. Majula released it and then gathered it like a tether, using his vastly greater mental strength as an anchor while she set loose her own thoughts into the void.
His mind followed hers, a spark against the raging torrent. They moved cautiously but swiftly, both shielding their presence as best they could, unwilling to attract the attention of the forces that besieged them. Spat cries and the scrape of lacerations set Njal’s teeth on edge.
A momentary glow, no more than a split second, showed him what she had detected.
A crack.
Not so much a fissure but a disjoint in the layers of the Geller field. It was minute, but Njal knew that Majula’s assessment was correct. Given time, the daemons would find the weakness and when they did all their strength would be bent to breaching it.
He let go and their minds snapped back from the excursion. Majula gasped in pain, the separation unexpected.
‘Sorry,’ Njal said, turning away before he opened his eyes.
‘Can you fix the fracture?’
‘I would not know how.’
+I do. It is not a complicated thing.+
‘Aldacrel, concentrate your search on the aft starboard projectors.’
A hesitation before the Iron Priest’s reply betrayed his uncertainty.
‘You have found something, Stormcaller?’
Had he been dealing with a crew of normal men and women, Njal might have chosen to mask the truth for fear of creating panic, hampering efforts to address the threat. Aldacrel was incapable of such fear and he needed to know the truth.
‘The Geller field’s coverage is imperfect. I need you to investigate the starboard aft projectors immediately.’
‘Aye, I’ll head there myself.’
The vox crackled its disconnection.
+You know his errand is a waste of time. The weakness cannot be put right at a distance There is another way. You must seal the break yourself.+
‘You’re saying I have to go out there?’ He waved a hand towards the slew of insubstantial half-seen monsters cascading across the field.
‘What?’ Majula turned at his outburst, only just remembering at the last instant to throw up a hand to obscure the full power of her oracle. Even so, Njal caught the wake of its power, a flutter of colour and static that buzzed through his senses for several seconds.
‘The presence in my thoughts speaks to me,’ he told her. ‘It is a remnant of a mortal. He is suggesting I repair the Geller field myself.’
‘Is that possible, Lord of Runes?’
+Your projectors are not aligning properly, causing the fault line. It might be damage within the system itself, a directional crystal scuffed or off-centre. A problem with the lattice core even. I do not think you have time to investigate all of the options. But it will not take long to telekinetically alter the overlap and seal the fracture.+
‘You have done this before?’ Njal said.
Silence replied.
‘You have seen it done?’
+The Thousand Sons built a psychic network that spanned time and dimensions. Look upon our works not out of jealousy and fear but with objectivity, and then ask yourself if you think I am right.+
‘This might be what you intended all along. Perhaps you have brought these creatures here to free you.’
+I am dead, rune-flinger.+
‘Therefore you have nothing to lose.’
+If you die, my spirit will flee into the warp and be consumed by these monsters. If I can return to the Portal Maze I can resurrect my body. I can live again!+
Njal pondered this. It might all be a lie, but a terribly convenient one, iterated over and over since Izzakar had become locked in his thoughts. He could not trust the sorcerer, but he could also not fathom a motive for the Thousand Sons psyker to get him killed in such fashion. Arcane were the plots of Magnus and his ineffable patron, but it seemed very wasteful to set such an intricate and easily thwarted plot into motion. It was all the more unlikely given that the Crimson King had been given opportunity to kill the Stormcaller in person.
‘Valgarthr, have Arjac and his Wolf Guard meet me at Void Gate Six.’
‘You’re going outside, Stormcaller?’ The pack leader’s tone verged on incredulous. ‘Now?’
Majula had her browguard on once again and looked at Njal, hearing the exchange.
‘Bolts and power fists are no use against daemons in the warp, Lord of Runes.’
‘If they get inside the Geller field, they will have to create semi-mortal forms. That makes them vulnerable to our weapons.’
‘I will come also,’ she said decisively.
‘You won’t,’ Njal replied. ‘If I fail, someone must remain to steer the ship.’
‘If you fail, how will I steer?’ She indicated the frothing of daemon-tossed energy that splashed and thrummed against the dome. ‘Your warriors do not need me to activate the warp drives. We cannot be more than a few light years from Fenris. They can retreat back into real space. My eye can protect you.’
He looked down into her steady eyes and saw no sign of trepidation. She had been raised as special amongst a whole caste of the gifted. Certainty and confidence radiated like warmth from every part of her young body and soul.
‘Very well. Find a void suit, and quickly.’
Njal gauged the strength of the daemonstorm. The Longclaw shook constantly, bucking underneath the pressure of so much warp activity. Larger entities slid through the roiling mass – guiding, directing and testing. The daemons had started to methodically explore the ship’s defences, moving to the will of the more powerful members of their pantheon. It could be hours or just seconds before they located the disjoint in the field.
There was no time to waste.
Void Gate Six was also known as the King’s Gate, in keeping with the Fenrisian tradition for the main entrance to a settlement or fortification. It was located at the prow end of the main arterial transit-way, a pair of sealed gates ten metres high and twenty wide. Beyond lay a chamber just long enough to accommodate a gunship, which came to a set of field-sheathed void doors within the mouth of the wolfshead ram upon the Longclaw’s bow. Its main use was for victualling – the rapid strike vessel boasted only two flank launch bays, each almost filled with the bulk of a Thunderhawk gunship.
Arjac arrived with his squad. He had brought six of his brothers on the mission, leaving two behind as honour guard to Logan Grimnar. The Great Wolf had protested but Arjac had insisted that he was right to leave them to stand watch in absence of the hearthegn.
All wore fully enclosing Terminator plate decked in the totems of the Space Wolves. Through the link of their sensorium data-feed each was connected to the others, able to focus through the eyes of their brothers and sense what was all around them. When Arjac turned to face his squad, he saw himself as they did in sub-fields of his vision.
The dorsal corridor was wide enough for half a dozen Stormwolf and Stormfang assault craft, stowed along the port side of the broad thoroughfare, stubby wings almost touching. They looked out of place, like discarded weapons, but with the dedicated flight bays in use, the main conduit and the neighbouring King’s Gate were the only other part of the ship large enough to store and launch them.
When the Stormcaller emerged from a conveyor door a few metres along the grand passage, Arjac lifted his hammer in salute. The sensorium crackled. Vision blurred for an instant as the spirit of the Rune Priest’s armour communed with that of the squad, sending and receiving greetings from their war-plate
systems.
‘Switch off your sensorium,’ Njal told them. He did not break his stride, forcing the squad to part to let him pass. ‘We have a potential Geller field breach. If one of you takes wyrd-taint it will spread into the other systems like a cancer. Stay close to one another and double-check everything because your perception may be skewed. I will do my best to shield you from the attentions of any warp denizen, but my focus must be on locating and repairing the damage.’
‘You can do that, Lord of Runes?’ said Ingvarr Thunderbrow.
‘Guard my back and each other, that is your only concern,’ said the Rune Priest, ignoring the question.
He stepped up to the control panel and pressed an armoured thumb against the activation rune. With a loud groan the bay doors opened to reveal the void chamber within. At the far end the outer doors were shut and triple-barred, the glimmer of an energy field across the surface of the portal. The walls were lined with emergency pneumatic rams and explosive bolts so that the entire void gate could be ejected in the case of intrusion, sealing the inner doors.
Pict-scryes stared down at them with their red-lensed gaze, whining as they tracked their progress across the ferrocrete floor. The vox crackled from the monitoring station on the command deck.
‘I have you on visual. Detecting no readings outside the main doors. I’m sealing the inner doors on your command.’
‘Wait,’ said Njal as Arjac was about to voice the order. ‘Another is coming.’
The light tread on the decking beyond the doors drew their attention. A diminutive figure in a thrall’s void suit, a little too big for the wearer, limbs crumpled, the round helm oddly bulky on the slender shoulders. Within the glassite dome was a dark-skinned face, a silver band about her forehead.
‘The Navigator,’ grumbled Berda Ironbreak. ‘Are we to protect her too?’
‘Majula, you will remain at the King’s Gate until I call for you,’ said Njal, once again ignoring the Wolf Guard. Arjac was not sure if the Stormcaller had heard at all. He seemed distracted, which worried Rockfist. He could not ignore the possibility that this was a ruse by the thing inside the Stormcaller’s head, to lead the others out into the Geller field where they would be weakened.
