I understand, Isador, just like you, said the voice, finding his name for the first time. And I am also able to thank you for your conscientiousness.
I do not want your thanks, sorcerer, replied Isador, realising the nature of the voice at last. And I will use the powers I glean from this ancient knowledge to destroy you.
Oh, Isador, you poor, misguided fool. I will be waiting for you on Mount Korath, and then we will see who will do the destroying… whispered the voice, trailing off into silence.
I’ll be there, sorcerer, thought Isador as he crested the rise. He nodded a greeting to Gabriel, without meeting his eyes, and turned back to the crater in time to see the three Space Marines blast into the air, flames pouring out of their jump packs as they distanced themselves from the altar. A sudden explosion shook the ground, sending a plume of smoke and sodden earth mushrooming into the sky, chasing the trails left by Matiel and his Marines.
After a slight delay, a second explosion sounded with a tremendous crack—flames and fragments of rock blew diagonally out of the crater, and the sides of the pit started to collapse. Isador and Gabriel took a step back as the ground subsided beneath their feet, and waves of earth slid down the banks to drown the shattered remains of the altar.
“Jaerielle’s storm squad have caught the tail end of the Chaos Marines’ column near the summit of the mountain, farseer. He has engaged them, but he is badly outnumbered. A ranger detachment is with him, but they are no match for the heavy firepower of the Marines,” reported Flaetriu as he swept into an elegant bow.
Seated in meditation upon a large, smooth rock which held her clear of the foliage in the forest, Macha opened her eyes and looked at the ranger. “Yes, Flaetriu, the Storm squadron will not be able to hold the Chaos forces on their own. They will need help, but it is not clear that we will be able to provide it.”
“Are you saying that all is lost, farseer?” asked Flaetriu, raising his head and staring at her, his eyes flashing with stung passion.
“Calm yourself, ranger. I am saying no such thing; we do not have it all to lose,” replied Macha cryptically. “And what of the other humans? The soldiers in red?”
“They have found the altar, farseer. One of them, a psyker I think, studied it briefly, but then they destroyed it. Those mon-keigh have no idea what they are doing, farseer. They just stumble on blindly, destroying everything that they do not understand,” said Flaetriu, his voice dripping with disgust.
“And yet they are coming this way.” Macha was talking to herself as much as to Flaetriu—pondering the role of the Space Marines in the larger picture. “Perhaps they are not as stupid as you think. This psyker, did he know that you were watching him?”
“No farseer, we were cloaked in the edge of the forest. There is no way that he could have seen us. And we made no contact with our minds. There was something…” Flaetriu trailed off, unsure of the words.
“Something else, ranger?” prompted Macha.
“I’m not sure. But it did seem that there was more than one psychic presence in the area,” replied Flaetriu, unconvincingly.
“Perhaps one of the other humans is also a psyker. It is of no concern to us,” dismissed Macha, her mind already on other things. “Let us set an ambush for these red Space Marines. Flaetriu, take a detachment of Falcon grav-tanks and a wraithguard squad back down to the Korath Pass—that is the perfect location for an ambush, especially if the mon-keigh are on their way to the summit of Mount Korath.”
“Excellent, farseer. The humans will walk straight into our trap,” replied Flaetriu, the passion of battle already beginning to flow into his temperamental soul.
“Yes, they will walk into the trap, Flaetriu, but they will not be unprepared; you can never ambush a Space Marine, for they expect treachery and war around every corner. However, we should be happy to validate their paranoia…” said Macha, already sliding off into meditation as she spoke.
“We will destroy the Space Marines, and then concentrate our wrath on the forces of Chaos,” said Flaetriu, flourishing his cloak into an ostentatious show of deference for the farseer.
“Perhaps, young ranger, perhaps,” said Macha, her eyes closed and her voice barely a whisper. “But just as we have locked the mon-keigh into their path, so they have surely locked us into ours. As we lay traps for the humans at our heels, they trap us between their own forces and the forces of Chaos that we chase. I do not trust the mon-keigh to understand their importance on Tartarus—they have already failed us once. But the future is hazy and confused, and I am not sure that we can do this on our own. Only time will reveal the full character of our respective paths. For now, we must fight everyone: war is not an end in itself, ranger, but it is the most powerful tool we have.”
Half way up the sparsely forested side of Mount Korath, two eldar Vypers skimmed out to the flanks of the Alpha Legion column, hissing through the evening air as their anti-gravitic engines propelled them up the mountain slope. Each skimmer was supported by a pack of jetbikes that spread out in wakes behind them. They were racing against the armoured column of Chaos assault bikes that roared with brutal power as they bounced and tore their way over the ground behind them.
The Vypers wove and slid gracefully between rocks, trees and the hail of fire that spasmed out of the horde of Chaos bikes. Their weapons-turrets spun smoothly, and their gunners released a constant tirade of shuriken fire from the heavy cannon fixtures. Behind them, the jetbikes bobbed and swerved with incredible manoeuvrability, darting between obstacles and cutting through the crossfire as they flew past the Vypers and pushed on towards the summit.
At the head of the Alpha Legion bikers, Krool screamed into the reddening dusk as the engines of his bike roared with passion and hunger. A splattering of shuriken projectiles clinked into the armour of his left leg, sending pins of pain darting through his nervous system as they penetrated his skin, parting his armour at the molecular level. His bike responded to his rage as though it were an extension of his body; it snarled and spat energy as the Chaos Marine struggled to direct the twin-linked bolters mounted on either side of the front wheel. He clicked the thumb-triggers, and parallel streams of bolter fire seared out of his bike, tracing the wake of a fluttering Vyper but finding no target.
Roaring in frustration, Krool demanded more speed from his bike and it let out a high pitched shriek as it strove to satisfy his bidding. He banked abruptly to one side, throwing his weight towards the ground to tighten his turn as he peeled off to the left of his comrades. Then, flipping the bike back over to the right and almost laying it on its side, Krool brought himself into the slipstream of the offending eldar vehicle. Nobody was going to flank a squadron of Alpha Legion bikers, and certainly not a delicate bunch of effete aliens.
Krool could see the gun-turret on the back of the Vyper spin round to face him, and he laughed out loud at the idea that the eldar would have time to get off even a single shot. Again he clicked the thumb-triggers, and a stuttering burst of fire flashed out of the twin boltguns. This time he found his target, and the bolter shells punched into the rear of the Vyper, shattering one of the stabiliser-fins and spinning the Vyper laterally. Its gun-turret spun wildly as it tried to compensate for the erratic motion of the vehicle, and a gout of shuriken sprayed out towards the rest of the Alpha Legion bikers.
As his bike closed on the hobbled Vyper, Krool drew his bolt pistol and placed the reticule directly onto the head of the rear gunner, clicking off a single round that cracked the eldar’s helmet and lifted him out of the turret. Before he hit the ground, Krool had riddled him with fire from his bike’s guns.
But the Vyper was not finished yet, and the pilot spun the destabilised vehicle around to face the charging figure of Krool. The nose-mounted shuriken catapults sputtered a sheet of projectiles into the path of the roaring biker, but Krool yelled his defiance into the storm and pushed his bike even harder.
The shuriken clinked, thudded and ricocheted off the front of the bike, shredding the t
yre and ruining the huge suspension coils. The front of the bike dropped as the wheel rim ground into the dirt, and the boltguns dipped their fire short of the Vyper, strafing back through the earth.
Krool let out another yell, screaming into the onslaught of alien projectiles as they sliced and punched into his armour. His bike snarled with power and then bucked, pulling the front wheel out of the soil and pushing it into the air, presenting the undercarriage to the tirade of eldar fury.
In another second the bike smashed into the grounded Vyper, crunching into its thin armour with the full weight and force of the assault bike. The long spikes that adorned the frontal plates of the bike punched straight through the walls of the Vyper’s cockpit as the front of the bike crashed back down to earth. The pilot was killed instantly as a spike pushed unstoppably through his face. As the momentum of the bike was suddenly arrested, Krool was bucked over the wreckage of the two vehicles, landing in a crumpled heap on the other side of the Vyper.
Struggling to his feet, Krool turned to look at the ruin that he had wrought, and let out a howl of victory as the two vehicles convulsed and then exploded. He threw up his arms and yelled, watching the Alpha Legion bikers press on towards the summit of the mountain, now flanked on only one side by an eldar Vyper. He screamed after them, punching the air to will them on.
A burst of fire punched into his back, shredding his organs, and the bladed prow of a Wave Serpent transport sliced him neatly in two. The armoured panels on the sleek, green and white sides bore the runic symbols of the Guardian Storm squad, and Jaerielle stood dramatically on the roof, directing the anti-gravitic transport after the speeding column of Chaos Marines, determined to prevent them from reaching the marker on the summit.
Standing on top of a majestic but stationary Blood Ravens’ Rhino transport to improve his line of sight, his red armour resplendent in the reddening light of the dusk, Gabriel peered through a set of image-enhancers, studying the narrow mountain path before them. Purpling in the sunset, Isador stood stoutly next to his captain, his blue power armour shimmering in the dying light.
The mountain rose from the edge of the river valley, sheer and imposing, bursting out of the tree-line and casting a deep shadow across the oranging landscape. Deep in the valley below, a rough circle of burnt out forest marked the location of the altar, and gentle wisps of smoke still floated into the air from the smouldering remnants of the forest fire caused by the explosions.
Gabriel took the binocs away from his eyes and shook his head. “Are you certain, Isador?”
“Yes. The Pass of Korath—the only traversable route to the summit of Mount Korath. This is where the inscriptions on the altar said that we must go,” said Isador firmly, as a gust of dusty wind brushed across their faces, whispering inaudibly. “Do you question my findings?” he added, as though giving voice to another’s doubts.
Yyessisador, hedoubtsssyou. The wind blew stronger, whipping up the sand from the ground and blowing it into clouds.
“I do not question your abilities, brother, but I wonder about the tactical sense of this move. That mountain pass is the perfect location for an ambush—see how the crags reach over the path at its narrowest point? There are too many enemies of the Emperor on Tartarus for us to be complacent,” replied Gabriel, surprised that Isador required an explanation.
Ssseeisador, sseee how he doubtss you, the whispers in the wind were beginning to resolve themselves more clearly. He fearss your powerss, Librarian. He calls you mutant behind your back. You must placate the child for now. Lead him, but let him lead.
“I do not deny that this is likely to be a trap, Gabriel,” responded Isador, narrowing his eyes as though disturbed. “But a trap would at least be proof that we are going in the right direction. If the Blood Ravens were being pursued, you would take them through this pass, would you not?”
“You are right, old friend,” said Gabriel warmly, with a faint, weary smile. “We will follow this path. Stay alert, and follow my lead. I want no mistakes here.”
“Agreed,” replied Isador, nodding his confirmation.
“Corallis!” called Gabriel, crouching down to talk to the sergeant as he approached the side of the Rhino. “Send a scout squadron ahead into the pass. Tell them to be careful, and to keep off the main path—I suspect that we are expected. We will follow in force with Brother Tanthius’ Terminators and Matiel’s assault squad. The tanks will be too slow and may clog the pass, so the assault bikes and a squadron of Typhoon land speeders will provide support.”
“Understood,” nodded Corallis as he turned to distribute the captain’s orders.
“What about the Tartarans?” asked Isador. “Shouldn’t we send word back to the camp to summon Brom and a detachment of Guardsmen? We should make use of their numbers—and we could push them through the pass first, to spring whatever trap might be waiting for us.”
“There is no time to send for the Tartarans,” said Gabriel, regarding his friend closely, “and no need. The pass is narrow, and greater numbers would not help. In any case, their numbers are dwindling, Isador. Besides, the Blood Ravens do not require anyone else to do their fighting for them. We will take swift death to the enemies of the Emperor, as we have done for millennia. Brom and Inquisitor Toth can relax in the soft comfort of the camp for a little while longer—their times to fight will come soon enough.”
* * *
The column of warbikes split in two as it hit the eldar defences, peeling left and right to encircle the Wave Serpents and warriors that had ringed the strange menhir on the summit of Mount Korath. The eldar had got there first, as their anti-gravitic vehicles had skimmed over the rough terrain as though it were a perfectly surfaced road. The Chaos bikes had bounced and powered their way across the rubble, skidding over the loose sand and smashing through the increasingly sparse foliage.
Eldar jetbikes seared around the ring, their engines whining as they pursued the circling Chaos bikes in a lethal spiral. Bursts of bolter fire and sleets of shuriken sizzled through the air, gyroscoping around the menhir and the eldar emplacements that surrounded it. Jaerielle watched the dogfights impatiently, taking the occasional pot-shot at a warbike as it roared by, waiting for the melee to begin when the rest of the Chaos Marines arrived. He waved his Storm squad into a fan formation, facing down the mountain side towards the rumble of the Alpha Legion’s Rhino transports, shielding the menhir behind them.
A screeching sound made him look round to the left, and he saw one of the Biel-Tan jetbikes burst into flames, spinning on its axis as its stabilisers failed. A hulking warbike ploughed after it, its boltguns flaring with firepower as it continued to pound the spluttering eldar. The jet-bike could no longer hold the curve around the menhir and it broke away from the circle, rolling and spinning like a drill, whistling down the slope towards the advancing forces of Chaos.
Just as the first Chaos Rhino crested the rise at the summit of the mountain, its fore-guns blazing with fire and with two horned Chaos Marines dousing the field with flamers from the hatch in its roof, the jet-bike reached the ridge from the top, drilling straight into the front of it. A huge explosion shook the ground as the jetbike detonated like a warhead, blowing open the front of the Rhino and enveloping its occupants in superheated chemicals.
A squad of Chaos Marines spilt out of the rupture in the front, thrown by the force of the impact and the arrested momentum of the Rhino. They tumbled through the flames, diving and rolling to control their falls. And then they were on their feet, their bolters braced and coughing at once, spraying the first salvo of fire directly into the eldar defences, clipping at the circling jetbikes and riddling Jaerielle’s line with venom.
The Storm squad reacted instantly, moving into new formations like a fluid organism and releasing disciplined volleys of shuriken fire back into the face of the advancing Chaos Marines. Jaerielle watched as two giant warriors strode out of the blazing remains of the Rhino, stepping through the chemical fire as though it were a cool river. One of t
hem must have been over two metres tall. He was bare-headed and carried a huge scythe, its blade easily the length of a human. The other was slightly shorter, but the ornate blades on his helmet thrust viciously into the sky, making him seem even bigger. In his hand he carried a long, dual-pronged force staff, which sizzled and hissed with purple energy, repelling the flames effortlessly.
Behind the two huge warriors, two more Rhinos crested the summit of the mountain, skidding to a halt and spilling two more squadrons of Alpha Legionaries into the fight. As they did so, the circling warbikes broke off from their ring and arced back round to provide flanks for their battle-brothers—forming a single, wide line of fire that advanced steadily towards Jaerielle’s small unit.
The eldar may have made it to the menhir before the Chaos Marines, but they had sacrificed power for speed. Jaerielle’s Storm squadron contained ten eldar warriors. He had one Vyper left at his disposal, and three jetbikes. Looking down the slope from the menhir, with the last red rays of the sun flooding down the mountain face from behind him, casting his own deep shadow right up to the feet of the enemy, Jaerielle could count five bristling bikes, two hulking armoured transports, and nearly twenty-five mammoth Chaos Marines. For the first time in his long life, even the supreme arrogance of the eldar could not convince him that victory was certain.
The pass of Korath was little more than a narrow path cut through the cliffs, providing a hazardous route from the Lloovre Valley to the summit of the ancient mountain. On both sides of the rough path were steep cliffs, sheer and unforgiving, and in the half light of dusk the pass was cast into near darkness by their shadows.
Up ahead, already at the narrowest point of the pathway, barely wide enough for a Rhino to pass through, Gabriel could see his scouts. They had paused momentarily, and he could see them looking from side to side, scanning the rock faces for signs of trigger mechanisms or mines. So far, there had been nothing, and Gabriel was beginning to feel uneasy.
[Dawn of War 01] - Dawn of War Page 15
