by Mark Clapham
To be in such a relationship with such power. Anto felt envy, but he was not sure whether he envied Huron or the Hamadrya itself.
‘Sorcerer,’ said Huron.
‘My lord,’ said Anto, uncertain of why Huron had summoned him. An audience with the Tyrant could be fatal, and it was impossible to predict what might incur Huron’s disfavour.
‘There is an inquisitor in these Hollow Worlds,’ said Huron. ‘You will locate and kill him.’
‘Yes, my lord,’ said Anto. He knew of the inquisitor already, but was uncertain why a single individual should be of such concern in a campaign spanning worlds, and why Anto should be charged with the assassination when soon the Hollow Worlds would be overrun with Huron’s armies. Huron Blackheart was a madman, subject to fatal whims, but his rages were usually more ambitious in scope than the elimination of one person.
‘Do not take this task lightly,’ snapped Huron, looming over Anto. Clearly some of the sorcerer’s doubts had been betrayed in his voice. ‘Inquisitors are disruptive creatures, filled with guile and skilled in deception. Left free this one will attempt to sabotage my plans in ways the mindless armies of the Corpse-Emperor would never conceive. Use the assets you have in enemy territory – ensure that the inquisitor is dead before he has the chance to disrupt our advance.’
‘Assets? The insektiles, my lord?’ asked Anto. ‘I have no power to direct them remotely, and they cannot pass beyond the Archway–’
Huron moved so fast that Anto had no time to react before the Tyrant’s Claw was nearly in his face. ‘Do not play me for a fool, sorcerer,’ said Huron. ‘Your kind may be used to holding your secrets close, but do not forget who was party to them, and do not forget that without me your Legion would be long dead.’
Huron backed away, looking out to the dark waters of the sea. The sorcerer was in shock, not that Huron knew his secrets – Anto was a fool to think anything less would occur, and he had only kept such secrets for fear that if his experiments failed, it would be safer for them to fail without Huron relying on them – but that Huron Blackheart had referred, even obliquely, to the salvation of the Tiger Claws, long ago when he was still Lufgt Huron. Blackheart never referred to the time before the Astral Claws, to the extent that some even doubted he remembered his former life.
‘A debt that can never truly be repaid, my lord,’ said Anto, head bowed.
‘No, it cannot,’ said Huron, never one for humility. ‘But you will try, Anto, with every power and asset at your disposal.’
He turned back to Anto, his cybernetic eye glowing while the milky, tainted orb of his organic eye stared wildly into space.
‘Find that inquisitor,’ said Huron. ‘Find him, and kill him.’
The Archway dominated the city of Rubicon, a stone curve that cut across the skyline, fringed with crackling, iridescent energy. The space underneath the arch was a blurred void, the transition point between the worlds. At the peak of the Archway’s curve was an ornately inscribed keystone, from which a tower of bright, pure light connected it to the artificial sun. The light was so bright that it was hard to even glance at, and remained a distinct column even at the brightest part of the day. Kretschman held his hand to his brow so he could look at the arch without staring into that light.
For now, he had little to do. He, along with the other Cadians under Ruthger’s command, had shipped out to guard the Archway at the centre of Rubicon and prevent the enemy from travelling through it. A couple of days’ travel crammed into ridge runners had brought them to Rubicon, a city surrounded by a towering wall. While many of the Cadians were posted on that wall, Kretschman was further into the city, posted overlooking a square a short distance from the Archway itself. If the enemy breached the wall, the streets of Rubicon would naturally funnel them towards a number of squares like this, and Ruthger had positioned his forces accordingly.
Kretschman had a rocket launcher and a view of the square, and orders to only open fire under specific circumstances. There were other Cadians posted around the square who would get first blood. Kretschman was fine with that.
So far, all was quiet but everyone knew the enemy were coming since the coastal city of Nulstrom had fallen. Kretschman looked out towards the city wall and the dead forest of towering, blackened trees that surrounded the city, ominous treetops looming in the horizon. On arrival, Colonel Ruthger had ruthlessly begun to lock down and fortify the city, sealing all four great gates in the wall, barricading and fusing them shut.
‘They say that if you look too hard at the light, your soul will be torn out and fed up to the sun, where you’ll serve the Emperor spreading light throughout the world for all eternity,’ said Kulbard.
‘Isn’t that an honour?’ asked Kretschman. ‘Do these locals think that’s supposed to be a heaven or a hell?’
‘I have no idea,’ said Kulbard, shaking his head.
‘When did you get here?’ Kretschman asked.
Kulbard shrugged. ‘Same time as you, I expect. Shipped out on the big train. Typical we shouldn’t find each other.’
Kretschman shrugged back. ‘It was a big train.’
‘A really big train,’ Kulbard agreed.
They were silent for a moment, an easy quiet which comes when the conversation needs to shift gears.
‘So, how is your inquisitor?’ asked Kulbard.
‘You know about him?’ said Kretschman.
‘I make it my business to know what you know,’ said Kulbard with a sideways grin. ‘Especially if it involves changes to the chain of command.’
‘Well, he’s gone now,’ said Kretschman.
‘You shouldn’t have let him out of your sight,’ said Kulbard ruefully.
‘Exactly what I thought,’ said Kretschman. ‘But a man like that cannot be argued with.’
‘A shame,’ said Kulbard. ‘It would have been useful to have him here, for the battle ahead. Do you know where he went?’
‘Out of the system, according to him,’ said Kretschman.
‘And that’s all you know?’ pressed Kulbard, staring straight at him but before he could answer, Kulbard backed off. ‘Of course it is,’ he said, looking away. ‘Apologies.’
They were silent again, both thinking of the battle to come.
‘I must prepare,’ said Kulbard eventually, stepping away. ‘Look after yourself in this one, Kretschman – we cannot afford to lose men like you.’
Kretschman was going to tell Kulbard to do the same, but when he turned around his friend had already disappeared from the rooftop, presumably back down to street level.
The door was a rusted square of metal in the side of the mountain. Theoretically it opened sideways, sliding across. As Pranix pulled on the handle, the blizzard lashing his face, fingers numb even beneath thick gloves, he was driven by the fact that there was no turning back. It had taken him hours to walk the mountain paths through the storm to reach the door, and there was no way he could find his way back to the vehicle Ruthger had given him. Pranix had set out on foot when the trail narrowed, leaving the Cadian driver dead at the wheel, a las-shot burned in the back of his head. The Inquisition kept its secrets carefully.
Pranix would not freeze to death out here. He refused to. He reached out with his mind and gave the door a telekinetic slam, dislodging rust and ice from around the frame. Slowly, with a metallic grinding, the door opened, releasing a rush of tepid, stale air.
No one had visited the station for a decade or two, to the best of Pranix’s knowledge.
He pulled the door shut behind him, and switched on the luminator clipped to the lapel of the Cadian greatcoat he was wearing. He was in an open, crude cave that trailed off into darkness. The station wasn’t entirely unmanned, but its workforce didn’t need light. He could hear heavy footsteps, rattling breaths, and the endless clicking of mechanical switches. And to accompany the noises, a smell of ancient decay, of he
ated dust and long-dead flesh and bubbling engine oil.
Two servitors, ancient and corroded, stumbled into the light of Pranix’s luminator. Centuries of neglect had left them in poor condition. There was a burble of mechanical chittering as they addressed him.
‘I am Lord Inquisitor Pranix,’ said Pranix, activating his hololithic crest. ‘Here is my identification.’
The servitors let out another chatter, acknowledging his status.
‘Return to your duties,’ said Pranix. ‘I expect all information logs on regional conflicts to be fully up to date, and will consult them later. And prepare the exit launcher.’
The Inquisition had found this place many centuries ago, and had built their station upon a borehole that ran beneath the surface of the world, from beneath the mountain, deep under the crust, to emerge on the outer surface of the planet. A back door to the Hollow Worlds, known only to the Inquisition. It was Pranix’s only route out, but even to him the prospect of such a dangerous flight was intimidating.
The two servitors chuntered off into the distance, wheezing and clanking as they went. Stretching his cold muscles, Pranix had a rare moment of hesitation before following them into the dark.
Ten
The forests around Rubicon were long dead. The trees were blackened skeletons, fossilised branches reaching up to the artificial sun above. They were twice as tall as the galleons of the Red Corsairs, but brittle, and the prow of the Unyielding Fist smashed through them as the galleon rolled slowly through the forest.
Rotaka and his squad were on the deck of the Fist, clearing dead wood that fell in huge splinters onto the deck. While such menial duties would usually be left to slaves, the Red Corsairs’ greater strength was needed to keep the deck clear and allow the galleon to keep moving. Lord Huron did not wish their progress to slow. The blood of mortals torn apart by shards of wood when the galleons first rolled into the forest still smeared the deck.
The crash as each tree fell was deafening, and echoed out across the leafless forest.
‘I think they might hear us coming,’ said Malinko, throwing a huge hunk of wood overboard.
‘Let them hear us,’ said Hulpin, using his chainfist to hack apart a log. ‘They still won’t see us.’
In the ruins of Nulstrom, Huron had explained his plan for Rubicon to his officers. The city was accessible by four roads cutting through the forest, each of which led to one of four gates in the city wall. The defenders of Rubicon would doubtless have locked, reinforced and blockaded those gates, set up mines and traps on the approach roads, and concentrated the majority of their forces on the wall close to those gates. Each gate would effectively be a barrier stronger than the wall itself.
Huron Blackheart therefore planned to go straight through the wall, at a point simultaneously distant from the nearest gates and which allowed the quickest approach to the Archway that dominated the city.
‘Brace!’ came a shout across the deck, and the Fist began to turn in the direction of the city, arcing to port. Rotaka looked in that direction and could see that the other galleons were turning to face the city wall, which was obscured by the dense trees.
‘All hands off deck,’ came an order across the vox. ‘Ready cannon.’
‘Disappointing,’ snarled Malinko as Rotaka and his squad, along with all the other Corsairs on deck, ran for the hatches. ‘I was looking forward to this.’
The huge-barrelled guns that dominated the decks of the galleons had been lowered as far as they would go, dangerously low, so that when they fired the shells would barely clear their prows. The blast as the shell streaked above would kill anything on deck.
Wuhrsk was last below deck, and pulled the hatch down behind him. There was a pause as the Corsairs, crammed into an access corridor, waited.
When the order came over the vox-speaker in the wall, it was the Tyrant himself who spoke the single word: ‘Fire!’
There was a colossal blast overhead and Hulpin, still holding on to the handle of the hatch, was nearly pulled off his feet as the slipstream from the shell almost tore the hatch out of the deck.
There was a distant explosion and Garreon’s voice came over the vox: ‘All galleons, forward. All Corsairs on deck and prepare to take the wall.’
The Unyielding Fist started to roll forwards, and as it picked up speed Hulpin threw open the hatch and the Red Corsairs clambered out back onto the deck.
Checking his weapon as he clattered up the stairs, Rotaka looked out to see a blackened, smoking streak bisecting the deck. A swathe had been cut through the forest and a great rockcrete wall loomed ahead, taller than the galleons but shorter than the dead trees, pockmarked and smoking but still intact. Beyond that wall, in the distance, could be seen the prize the Corsairs sought today, the shimmering Archway that provided access to a whole other world.
On deck the Corsairs gathered into their squads, preparing for their attack. Rotaka looked between the members of his squad.
‘Let’s take the wall,’ he said. ‘For Lord Huron.’
‘For the gods!’ added Hulpin.
‘For fun!’ said Malinko.
Wuhrsk made a grunt of disapproval, shaking his helmeted head, while Verbin let out a short bark of a laugh.
Either side of the Fist other galleons were moving in closer. Just as it seemed the galleons were going to crash into each other and the wall ahead, they came to a sudden halt. The Red Corsairs on deck jerked forwards, only their magnetic boots keeping them in place. There came a great rumbling of machinery from belowdecks, and a hook was fired from just beneath the prow, a huge rusty claw dragging a chain behind it that shot forwards, smashing into the wall of rockcrete and digging deep. From the other ships of the line came similar hooks, digging into the wall in a cluster. The galleons began to pull back, but the walls held as the chains tightened.
‘Attack!’ came the order, Garreon’s voice once again echoing across the vox. ‘Launch all grapples.’
Three Red Corsairs at the prow of the Fist used a deck-mounted launcher to fire grappling hooks up to the battlements on the wall. The launchers, firmly secured to the deck, reeled the cables back until they went taut, and the first Red Corsairs began to swing over the prow of the Fist, climbing hand over hand as they hung to the cables. Similar assaults were being made from the other galleons.
Rotaka had just begun to climb when the defenders of Rubicon, clearly taken by surprise by this sudden attack on a remote stretch of the wall, began to counter-attack. Las-fire rained down from above, largely ineffective against the power armour of the Red Corsairs. Rotaka kept climbing as fire was returned from the deck of the galleons, temporarily driving back any resistance that might dislodge the grappling hooks from the top of the wall.
‘See, fun!’ shouted Malinko over the vox. Rotaka ignored Malinko as well as the stream of abuse Wuhrsk replied with.
Rotaka was halfway between the deck of the Fist and the wall when a rocket streaked overhead in the opposite direction. He didn’t see where the missile landed on deck but he could take a wild guess when the cable in his hands went slack, torn free from the deck behind him, and Rotaka and the others started swinging towards the rockcrete wall.
Holding tight, braced for impact, Rotaka glanced back as he swung towards the wall, only to see that Hulpin had lost his grip and was falling to the scorched forest floor below.
Rotaka let go of the cable too and flung himself towards Hulpin, twisting his armoured body around in the air. Hurtling down, aware that to ignite his jump pack at the wrong time would send him down even faster or into the hull of the Fist, Rotaka moved agonisingly slowly as he fell, keeping his eye on the flailing Hulpin.
At the last moment Rotaka managed to arc his back right and activated his jump pack. He shot forwards, crashing into Hulpin, awkwardly grabbing on to the other Red Corsair’s arm. The jump pack shuddered and spluttered as the two boosted upwards, b
urning fuel even quicker than usual. Rotaka only had a few seconds of thrust left. He began to feel a loss of momentum as they lifted past the giant chain that extended between the Fist and the wall, and arced towards it as the jump pack spluttered and died.
Rotaka and Hulpin fell once more, only for Hulpin to be caught in one link of the chain. It was his turn to hold on to Rotaka, who dangled uncomfortably over the edge before Hulpin pulled him up.
‘Try to hold on this time,’ said Rotaka, uneasily standing up on the oiled link, a loop of ancient metal the size of a Space Marine.
‘Yes, brother,’ said Hulpin and they resumed their advance towards the wall.
When the cable had broken, Malinko had clung on as he swung towards the wall, his boots smashing holes in the rockcrete as his full body weight crashed into it. He began to climb up, hand over hand, boots kicking small indentations in the surface of the wall, sending little torrents of rock dust into the air with every impact. He looked down and was delighted to see the sheer drop below. Looking up, the air was criss-crossed with grappling lines, las-fire and the smoke trails of rockets as the mortals on the top of the wall exchanged fire with the slaves on board the galleons, who had returned to the decks to man the gun batteries and provide covering fire for the Corsairs.
Such wonderful carnage. Malinko started climbing faster so he could get closer to the destruction.
He was not alone climbing the wall. As well as those Red Corsairs still clinging to the same cable, others had used jump packs to reach the wall and were punching their own hand and footholds. Rotaka and Hulpin had somehow ended up crossing the gap by walking on top of the chain connecting the Unyielding Fist to the wall of Rubicon.
Above, there were shouts, and a patch of shade fell over Malinko as some great object was tipped up. He swung to the side, dodging as burning liquid rained down on his previous position. He doubted the mortals had anything that could burn through power armour, but he didn’t want to take the risk.
