Tyrant of the Hollow Worlds
Page 44
‘The battle is not won while a single enemy still breathes, Samzar. And do not invite the attention of Khorne. He will not be content with our work today.’
Looking to a cluster of abandoned bikes, Khârn threw Gorechild onto his back and strode over to the machines. Lukosz could see most were clearly beyond use, while a couple of others seemed to be intact. It came as no surprise to him when Khârn mounted one and rode away in the direction of the fleeing White Scars. As the sound from his engine drifted into the distance, both captains turned to see that every berzerker had stopped what they were doing. Lukosz felt the tension rising in the burning air, and barked the order to continue their salvage into the valley complex below. Most obeyed immediately. Half a dozen looked to each other before they, too, returned to their grisly work.
‘Do we follow him?’
Lukosz turned to Samzar, who was squinting at the exhaust trail drifting into the distance. The harsh light emphasised the deep gashes and scars across his face, his right cheekbone sunken to almost cadaverous effect from a blow he had received centuries before. Lukosz remembered the attack well; had it not been for his intervention, Samzar would have been killed. In those days, Samzar had been as sharp a soldier as he both on and off the battlefield, sharper even. But now there was a dull, sullen quality to the World Eater, a sure indication the Nails were eroding every aspect of his being. In combat he was still brutally efficient, but in the quieter times… there was something slipping away, and Lukosz missed it.
‘I do not think Khârn would thank us for it. You know him as well as I, Samzar. He will have his trophy for the Blood God.’
‘And what is the reward for the rest of us, Lukosz?’
Whirling around, Lukosz saw six berzerkers standing abreast before him, and immediately recognised from their armour that they were the ones that had exchanged glances with each other a few minutes before. Five of them kept their helmets on, but the one who spoke for them had removed his. Across the battlefield, the rest of the warband had stopped again, warily observing a situation that Lukosz could feel was rapidly deteriorating. Samzar took a step forward to the side of Lukosz. A head taller than them all, he regarded the six with a look of bemusement.
‘Is your thirst for blood not sated, Morenna? Has Khârn not led you to glorious victory once again?’
Lukosz could see fingers begin to twitch amongst the group. Their weapons were holstered, a couple of the bolt pistols still ticking away as they cooled in the ferocious heat of the planet, but they were easily accessible. He and Samzar were completely out-gunned, and he could feel his Nails whispering a need for readiness. Lukosz could see that Samzar already had his hand on a newly acquired White Scars chainsword.
‘What of it, Samzar? Where is our prize from the Blood God? Khârn goes off once again to claim the greatest trophy for himself. What kind of “leader” is that? Where is our glory?’
The other berzerkers began to walk towards the confrontation. Lukosz knew this had been coming for some time now. The six standing before him knew the glory days of the Legion were long gone. Some of them had not even been there back then, and only joined the berzerker warbands after forsaking sacred vows and giving in to their insatiable bloodlust. The nihilism that was eating through their ranks was as deep as it was dangerous. The warband were made up from so many different contingents but, like the World Eaters he had once proudly served, they were united in losing so much more than their belief in the Emperor or their Primarch. But they had gained new purpose – to serve the Blood God – and it was undeniable Khârn had given them ample opportunity to do that.
Samzar took a step forward, clearly ready to take on the entire group single-handedly. As the group’s eyes flicked to his chainsword, so too did their hands move towards their own weapons. Morenna matched Samzar’s move, his broken and deformed chin thrust forwards.
‘Khârn forgets we are all in the service of the Blood God. The Red Path is nothing more than a fantasy of his own creating. The Chosen of Khorne is following an illusion. Perhaps it is time we had a leader who will bring glory to us all.’
Lukosz saw Morenna’s free hand slam down on Samzar’s, pushing his gauntlet onto the reclaimed White Scars chainsword. Samzar was shaking with fury from head to foot, his eyes bugging wildly. Morenna tried to smirk, but with most of his lower jaw missing it was difficult to judge what expression he was attempting. No one moved to stop him.
Lukosz caught a glimpse of sun on metal. Samzar continued to stare at Morenna, but the expression on his old comrade’s face had changed. It had a look bordering on amusement. Morenna’s eyes showed confusion. Behind him, Lukosz watched his five-strong cohort shift uneasily on the diamond-hard ground, and they began to back away from him, hands moving from weapons. Morenna tried to turn his head to bark an order, but Lukosz could see he was unable to move. When he tried to speak, what came out of his mouth was a gurgle of red and purple froth. It drooled in a thick line down the remnants of his jaw onto his breastplate.
Lukosz spotted why Morenna could not speak at exactly the same point the berzerker dropped his weapon. Eyes wide in surprise, Morenna reached up with his left hand to investigate the object sticking out of the side of his neck. Lukosz looked back over to Samzar, who had not blinked. His eyes bored into Morenna’s with a dark intensity, and Lukosz saw the telltale twitching of pleasure from his comrade’s mouth. Morenna traced his fingers over the hilt of the White Scars duelling tulwar sticking out into the arid air from the side of his neck, and Samzar smiled. It was clear to everyone watching that the chainsword had not been the only weapon Samzar had taken for himself after the battle.
Samzar reached forwards and withdrew the ritual weapon, twisting it as he did so. Blood fountained from both sides of Morenna’s neck, spraying over his pauldrons in a gaudy display. Lukosz could see the satisfied look on Samzar’s face as Morenna stared ahead, eyes glazing over. Lukosz went to his own weapon as Samzar turned his attention to the five would-be supporters of the new regime, their spokesman choking on his own blood at the raging champion’s feet.
‘Who else seeks to challenge the Chosen of Khorne?’
Samzar swept his chainsword slowly from left to right, in turn pointing it at every berzerker assembled before him. Lukosz drew his weapon now, expecting a second challenge to come – from more than one of them this time.
‘A challenge to Khârn is a challenge to me!’
Samzar’s voice was near hysterical. He was not finished with killing yet. Lukosz made the decision to stop this before it escalated even more, and stepped forward over the twitching body of Morenna.
‘Return to your duties and this mutinous action will be forgotten – for now. Khârn will be back with a trophy for us all to share, and a path for us all to follow. Blood for the Blood God!’
The berzerkers did not move. Lukosz shouted again.
‘Blood for the Blood God!’
Oaths and curses floated on the air.
‘Blood for the Blood God!’
Lukosz screamed the words, and this time, the warband chorused back. Everyone present knew the moment had passed, that an uneasy truce had once again been reached. Two of the five supporters stepped forward to retrieve Morenna’s body, but Samzar blocked their way. While he had managed to regain a semblance of control over the Nails, his words were laboured and slurred.
‘I will be taking his skull, and I will wear it as a reminder to you all.’
The berzerker closest to Samzar readied a response, but thought better than to deliver it. Turning away from the seething champion, the other four fell in and followed him back to the spoils of the battle, accompanied by the unmistakable clicks of internal vox chatter. Lukosz waited for them to get well out of range before he spoke to his old comrade.
‘The challenges become ever greater, Samzar.’
Samzar knelt to the unmoving form of Morenna and inspected his disfigured skull.
‘Challenges are inevitable, Lukosz. We both know that. I welcome them all, as does Khârn. Let them step forward to die at my hands or their own. It matters not to Khorne where the blood comes from, only that it comes.’
If Lukosz was bitter at the actions of Morenna and his band, Samzar’s reply only made him slip deeper into melancholy. They all lived to serve the Blood God, of that there was no argument. But the lack of a common goal had destroyed the World Eaters, and now, faced with the considerable forces of the Emperor as they marauded ever further away from the Eye of Terror, the last thing the warband needed was to find themselves fighting on two fronts – from within, and without.
Samzar’s reason had just about deserted him. Stooping to retrieve his helmet for respite from the furnace heat of Haeleon, Lukosz watched his brother-in-arms of so many conflicts struggle for self-control. After all the years they had shared on the battlefield and off, he could read his subtlest of gestures. It pained Lukosz to admit there was no subtlety left within Samzar; the champion was muttering darkly to himself, glaring at the five who had stood by Morenna and clearly trying to decide if he should kill them now and be done with it. How the rest of the warband would react to these events in the absence of Khârn was impossible to judge, and anger flared in Lukosz’s chest. Morenna was right; Khârn did indeed live to serve himself. As yet another honour duel broke out amongst the scavenging berzerkers, he wondered just how much longer he could keep the warband and Samzar under control – or whether he even wanted to any more.
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For Liz and Georgina
Thanks to Sarah Cawkwell for Taemar consultancy and Chris Wraight for Space Wolves timeline tips. Any errors are the author’s fault, not theirs.
A Black Library Publication
First published in Great Britain in 2016.
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Produced by Games Workshop in Nottingham.
Cover illustration by Roman Tishenin.
Internal artwork by Paul Dainton, Hardy Fowler and Neil Hodgson.
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