by Mark Clapham
In this case, it allowed Pranix to rebound off the slope without smashing his limbs to pieces, his telekinetic shell deflecting him from the ground.
He bounced a few more times, and as the slope got shallower Pranix built up tension in the telekinetic barrier, gripping the ground a little closer each time, until he rolled to a stop at the bottom.
Exhausted, he let himself fall to the ground in a heap. Small stones scratched his face and bare hands as he lay there, but the tiny cuts only proved he was still alive.
Breathing deep of the poisonous air outside the contained environment he had been imprisoned in, he realised he might not remain alive for long if he wasn’t found by someone, quickly.
Rolling onto his back, Pranix drew the second of the two flare guns he had seized on board the train, and fired it into the air.
Now he just needed to let someone know that the flare was significant.
He closed his eyes, and reached out, searching for any mind familiar to him, even slightly, and pushed a simple, one-word message out.
Then he passed out.
Anvindr was still on the rooftop when it happened. The loyalist forces storming through the facility had naturally followed the path of the Red Corsairs who had escaped via the ridge, and so had emerged to find their enemies gone, leaving a platform full of burning debris.
As was often the case in the aftermath of a battle that had very suddenly ended, the victors, if that was what they were, were left just standing, shocked, ready for conflict but with no one to fight. Space Wolves, Lastrati, the Tallarn Badya, all looking at each other unsure what to do next.
That was when it happened. It did not affect the Space Wolves, but it affected half a dozen mortals on the rooftop.
‘Pranix!’ they all shouted, simultaneously, their right arms spinning around to point into the distance, down the ridge in the direction the Red Corsairs had escaped.
Anvindr’s gaze followed their pointing arms, and he saw a red smoke flare exploding in the sky in the distance.
‘Blood of Russ,’ said Anvindr in disbelief. ‘This must be some great joke of the universe.’
But even as he spoke, Anvindr was calculating how far away the flare was, and how long it would take to effect the rescue he now knew was required.
‘Yet again, lord inquisitor, your life falls into my hands,’ said a voice in a low growl, drawing Pranix back to consciousness. ‘There is a wyrd at work here, but I am unsure whether it is drawing you towards your thread’s end or not.’
‘And to think some consider your kind savages, Godrichsson,’ croaked Pranix. He kept his eyes closed. ‘When you have such a talent for poetry.’
Pranix’s eyes and mouth were covered by a rebreather, but he could feel Anvindr’s hot breath near his face, the Space Wolf’s voice close to his ear.
‘Do not mock me, inquisitor,’ snarled Anvindr. ‘Last time it was my jarl, Haakan, who stayed my hand. Now he and his pacifying words are gone.’
Pranix opened his eyes. Anvindr seemed older than he had before, a matter of mere weeks ago, what should have been a blink compared to the many decades between their first and second encounter. He recognised the grief that aged the Space Wolf – it was of a kind that he had seen in Hrondir’s tomb.
‘Yet you stay your hand, even though he is gone,’ said Pranix. ‘For that, I am grateful.’
‘My jarl is dead,’ said Anvindr, leaning away from Pranix. ‘Yet the strength of his words stays with me, and makes me think to what he would say now, were he here.’
‘Which would be?’ asked Pranix. He forced himself to sit up. They were in some kind of medicae tent, a temporary encampment. ‘I ask sincerely – I sought your jarl’s opinion many times, and sorely miss it now.’
‘He would say that you and I fought a common cause long ago, and were victorious,’ said Anvindr, his head scraping the fabric of the tent as he stood up, towering over Pranix. ‘And that if there is a wyrd drawing us together again, then it is because we will need to fight side by side once more. And that is why I haven’t killed you… my lord.’
‘I’ll take that,’ said Pranix. ‘How long was I unconscious? And where are we?’
‘Less than a day, my lord inquisitor,’ said Anvindr. ‘And we move for the Threshold Archway, to pursue the enemy to that world. Our remaining forces from Ressial will join us there.’
‘Threshold?’ asked Pranix.
‘Much has changed in your absence,’ said Anvindr. There was a formality to his manner now that was distinctly unlike the Space Wolves, almost mocking Pranix through excessive respect.
‘Evidently,’ said Pranix.
Anvindr was still standing over the inquisitor, his face a mask, utterly blank. Pranix looked up at him, eyebrow raised.
‘This is your army, my lord,’ said Anvindr. ‘We await your orders, now you are awake. When we break camp, should we proceed to Threshold, or do you have new orders for us?’
‘We proceed to Threshold,’ said Pranix. ‘Whatever this “wyrd” between us is, it seems to lead there, don’t you think?’
Anvindr did not answer, but gave a formal nod and left the tent, leaving Pranix alone to recover.
Hacking his way through the jungles of Threshold, Valthex wished fervently that he had the capacity to bomb the whole area with flaming promethium, razing every living thing and leaving only the hardiest structures standing.
If that had been an option, he could have found this third Archway, or whatever it was, days ago. Instead, without orbital telemetry and with heavy forestation obscuring everything, he had been required to painfully map the planet with servo-skulls.
Eventually, he had obtained the information he needed. Three power flows ran from Threshold’s sun down to the surface of the planet. One connected directly to the Archway from Kerresh, through which Valthex had reached Threshold in the first place. Another led to a second Archway, presumably the one Huron had created to balance the Hollow Worlds, and which led to Trincul. Life signs were accumulating in the area around that Archway, which could mean loyalist forces of the Imperium were beginning to step out onto Threshold with the intent of stopping the Red Corsairs reaching Exultance.
The third power stream led to the geographical position Valthex was slowly approaching. While the other two were, from the correct angle, visible, solid columns of energy connecting those Archways to the sun, this third power flow was stuttering, weak and invisible to the naked eye. Only now, getting close, could Valthex see that energy by adjusting his optics to certain spectra. It was more like a shower than a flow, interweaving lines of energy that appeared and disappeared, trailing between the sun and whatever lay ahead.
Huron Blackheart had sent Valthex ahead so the Techmarine, along with a support squad of Red Corsairs and a host of mindless servitors, were cutting through the jungle in the crudest manner possible, taking a direct route. Huron and his galleons would follow a more practical path through the jungle by which his forces could reach their destination.
Valthex was used to applying his intellect to problems, and having the full technological strength of his warband at his disposal when in battle. While the simple manual task of sweeping a long-bladed machete back and forth, stomping vines under foot with his boots, did not fatigue him physically, he found it deadeningly tedious, repetitive and inefficient.
When he reached the clearing, it was with some relief that the boredom of the long march was over. Valthex tossed the machete aside as he emerged from the jungle’s edge. What he saw ahead of him wasn’t an Archway, or anything that resembled a portal or a doorway.
It was a lake, a wide expanse of dark water. In spite of the ambient temperature no insects hovered on the surface, no weeds or algae gathered in the depths.
Valthex waded through waist-high grass to get to the water’s edge. Through his helmet scanners he could see that the energy flow was hittin
g the water in the very centre of the lake, and this close it was having a physical effect, causing unnatural, overlapping waves to ripple across the lake’s surface, rising and falling in patterns that made no conventional sense.
There was something else, a low hum in the air, coming not from the centre of the lake, but closer. By the lakeside were great lumps covered with leafy vines and moss. Valthex walked over to the nearest, digging his fingers into the vegetation and ripping it away.
Beneath there was stone, old stone, but old stone that vibrated slightly, with patterns and channels similar to the markings that Valthex had seen on the Archways. Looking around the lake, he could see dozens of similar plant-covered blocks, a ring of ancient machinery surrounding the lake.
‘Find the rest of these,’ he told the servitors and the Red Corsairs, pointing to the… console, the stone before him. ‘Find them all, get them cleared up.’
As they got to work, Valthex stared down at the ancient machine before him, then looked again at the disturbance at the centre of the lake.
Huron was coming, expecting to be able to walk through to another world. The gateway was here. Valthex just needed to open it.
It was almost impossible, but he had dealt with worse odds.
Out of each other’s sight, the forces loyal to the Imperium and those loyal to Huron Blackheart and the Ruinous Powers he served moved across the Hollow Worlds, lines drifting closer to each other across the days, but the forces never meeting.
Both sides were slowly moving towards the same place, even if they did not know it. A single location on the world of Threshold, where Valthex and his servitors worked through days and nights to open a gateway to Exultance.
Many of the Red Corsairs passed through to Threshold expecting to take part in an insurrection, only to find the target of their ire absent. Huron Blackheart had moved many of his troops through the jungle to a new location, some kind of Archway that would lead them to Exultance. The word in the ranks was that it was at Garreon’s suggestion that Huron staggered his army, leading an initial expedition, while the rest followed in clusters so that there could be some rearguard defence if required.
This was typical Garreon, to Rotaka’s mind. To the factions within the Corsairs, it was open to interpretation.
On the one hand, breaking up Huron’s forces at this stage kept potential conspirators separate, limiting their ability to conspire.
On the other hand, potential rebels were being allowed to operate away from the Tyrant’s eyes for an extended period, which enabled them to prepare their coup.
It was a political masterstroke. Whatever the resolution, the Corpsemaster’s suggestion could be interpreted as favouring the victor.
Garreon himself had travelled with Huron, while Rotaka and his squad were part of a contingent including the sorcerer Anto and his cabal, as well as Taemar and a handful of other squads.
It seemed a small number, but Rotaka realised it made up a significant percentage of the Red Corsairs as a whole. It had been Huron who, in a previous life, had rebelled against the Imperium’s restrictions on Chapter size and started experimenting with the Astral Claws gene-seed, an act that had eventually led to the Badab War and their banishment.
Yet here they were, traitors all, unbound by the rules and codices of the Imperium, and still their numbers were dwindling. For all their costs, the heresies of Huron and the Tiger Claws had been for nothing. In exile they were closer to extinction than ever.
Two nights out from the Kerresh Archway, they made camp. Reports back from the forward party indicated that whatever means Huron intended to use to reach Exultance were not available yet, and so there was little urgency required. The trail made by the galleons as they broke through the jungle would still be there to follow tomorrow.
Rotaka sat by a fire, the surviving members of his squad facing him across the flames, and in that moment wished that they had kept marching. The Red Corsairs were hardly inclined to small talk anyway, but now any conversation beyond issuing and receiving orders or exchanging straightforward intelligence seemed freighted with dangerous meaning.
‘Well,’ said Verbin, after one exceptionally long silence. ‘This is exciting. I’m glad we came.’
‘Imbecile,’ snapped Hulpin. ‘There is purpose in the silence before battle, to prepare for the conflict to come.’
‘I hope it comes soon,’ said Verbin. ‘I’m not sure how long I can take the excitement of any more empty jungle.’
‘It will come when the gods see fit,’ said Hulpin. ‘We trust in them, and Lord Huron.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ said Verbin.
Hulpin looked up. Helmless, his eyes were hidden in shadow. ‘What does that mean?’ he asked.
Rotaka should have seen this coming. Hulpin was a zealot, and would never notice the rebellious overtones amongst the Red Corsairs, as to Hulpin such impulses were unthinkable. Now would be a dangerous time for him to gain awareness.
‘He meant nothing,’ Wuhrsk interjected before either Rotaka or Verbin could speak. ‘He never does, but the words still come nonetheless.’
Verbin threw a rock at Wuhrsk in response, and Hulpin couldn’t help but laugh.
Rotaka relaxed a little. This mockery was safer territory.
Then Kruvan approached, and Rotaka’s mood fell once more. He knew Kruvan from the old days, long before Rotaka led this squad. Kruvan had become an Astral Claw around the same time as Rotaka and Iltz.
Who else would they send?
‘Rotaka,’ said Kruvan. ‘I would have words with you.’
Rotaka left his squad behind, their laughter and howls of outraged offence echoing through the jungle as he and Kruvan crunched through tendrils and pushed aside branches to reach a clearing where they could speak with some privacy.
‘Who sent you?’ asked Rotaka.
‘There are many of us…’ said Kruvan.
‘There often are. But who leads?’ asked Rotaka.
‘We stand with Taemar,’ said Kruvan. ‘Should the day come.’
‘What day?’ asked Rotaka, momentarily leaving aside the issue of Taemar’s suitability to lead anything. Rotaka wouldn’t be coaxed into revealing any signs of treachery first, lest this be some loyalty trap set by Garreon to weed out any pockets of rebellion.
Kruvan prowled the small clearing, restless. ‘Some of us believe that the enterprise we are engaged in is a dangerous one,’ he said, with a delicacy of speech that didn’t come naturally.
Rotaka laughed a hollow laugh.
Kruvan looked frustrated. ‘Not danger in terms of death or injury, nothing so banal,’ he said. ‘Danger of extinction, the possibility that our current course will involve the destruction of the Hollow Worlds with all of us in them, as part of a pact with some daemonic power.’
Something like that, thought Rotaka. Neither Taemar nor Kruvan, nor their allies, seemed to be aware of the instability in Huron that Rotaka had witnessed, the growing daemonic presence that threatened to overwhelm the Tyrant.
‘And what do you intend to do about this failure of leadership?’ asked Rotaka. ‘Very little, if you’re too scared to even mention his name.’
They stared at each other for a while. Both were helmless, but the light was dim in the clearing, and the impassive features of a Space Marine were hard to read at the best of times.
‘Huron Blackheart must die,’ said Kruvan, holding Rotaka’s gaze. ‘We could seek to cripple him beyond the point where he is a threat, but we both know that will be almost impossible. The bastard’s come back from the brink of death too many times. To halt his leadership and remove this threat to us all he will have to die, permanently and irrevocably. It is the only way to save our warband and avert this doom, before all we have fought for is lost.’
‘Why come to me with this treachery?’ asked Rotaka. ‘My loyalty to Lord Huron has never been que
stioned.’
‘That is why we come to you,’ said Kruvan. ‘You think yourself a man apart from your brothers, but we have all known each other for many long years, Rotaka – we watch over each other and even as you stand distant we can tell that you have doubts. If one as loyal as you came to our side, it would mean something to our fellow Corsairs, and persuade them of the worth of our cause.’
He clamped a gauntlet on Rotaka’s pauldron. ‘You struck down one of our own before, Rotaka, back on Badab Primaris,’ said Kruvan. ‘In doing so, you saved us all. If removing Huron can be seen as a similar gesture, a necessary betrayal to save the warband… Well, that will speak to the hearts of the simpler souls amongst us more than the machinations of less-distinguished figures.’
Rotaka shrugged away Kruvan’s grip. ‘So that’s it,’ he said. ‘You need me to provide a loyal face for this enterprise, whereas coming from the likes of Taemar it would be considered simple treachery?’
‘Call it what you want,’ said Kruvan. ‘This is a necessary act for our own survival, and you know it. It is only because you were not there on Kerresh when Hacasta fell that you still harbour lingering doubts.’
Rotaka remained silent, letting Kruvan rage on.
‘Huron Blackheart was willing to destroy us all for some minor tactical advantage, all due to the failure of his own invasion plans. A dozen of us were consumed when Hacasta was destroyed, and if he had considered it necessary Huron would have destroyed Kerresh as well,’ said Kruvan. ‘Think of it, Rotaka – he would have destroyed the Corsairs as surely as Iltz would have destroyed the Astral Claws. You were there when he pressed the button to destroy Hacasta, Rotaka – did he do it in sound mind?’
It wasn’t a button, thought Rotaka, thinking of the Wolf Lord being kicked into the Orrery’s facsimile of Hacasta, an act of violence with planetary consequences.
