Shroud of Night

by Andy Clark

  ‘Agreed,’ said Kassar. ‘But Phalk’ir, I’m allowing us ten minutes, no longer.’

  ‘Ten minutes?’ snarled Phalk’ir. ‘Why not just dismiss them as dead now?’

  ‘Any longer and we risk giving Khârn an unassailable lead. That’s if Khordas’ forces haven’t already broken into the hive somehow and stolen the prize. We need to gather intel, learn the shape of the battle and the quickest route to our goal. Besides which, for all we know our brothers may be waiting at rally point beta even now.’

  ‘Vox range amidst all this interference is extremely poor,’ said Kyphas. ‘A few hundred yards at best. Lots of angry data spirits loose in the air. If they have progressed to beta then we would not be able to contact them, or vice versa.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Phalk’ir, stalking out beneath Skaryth’s perch with his blade drawn. ‘Then let us stop wasting time and search…’

  They spread out, combing through the devastation with their weapons drawn. Kassar rooted through heaps of rubble, kicking over smouldering slabs of metal and hefting aside the heat-fused remains of luckless Tsadrekhan troopers. He scanned the ground for any hint of shimmering green-blue armour, tatters of camo cloak or strewn wargear that belonged to his missing brothers.

  All the time he watched his helm chron, and kept his eyes on the gantries above, the firelit approaches to the concourse and the plethora of entrances to the hive pillar. Danger could emerge from anywhere, at any time, and with his few remaining warriors so spread out, the Harrow would be hard-pressed to defend themselves.

  As he searched, Kassar also wrestled with the fact of his own survival. His thoughts felt fractured, his memories somehow incomplete. Again he saw an axe ripping across his chest, a killing blow tearing him open. Yet it was a faded image, the phantom pain nothing but an echo that grew dimmer the harder he tried to recall it. Had such a thing happened at all? Or had he suffered a strange premonition, a death omen that had not come to pass? If the opening of the Great Rift had tainted reality as fundamentally as he had been led to believe, Kassar supposed that such a thing was possible.

  His ruminations were cut short by a shout from Kyphas.

  ‘Is it them?’ asked Kassar as he hurried towards Kyphas’ position. ‘Vox contact?’

  ‘No,’ said Kyphas. ‘I’ve found… Kassar, it’s an arm.’

  Kassar felt a moment of dislocation and horror, flexing his bolter hand as though to check it was still there. He shook his head, frowning in confusion at the sensation, then hurried to join his brothers.

  Kassar found Phalk’ir, Skarle and Kyphas already there when he arrived, stood in the shadow of a partly demolished shrine. Phalk’ir was holding a severed arm up by the wrist. An arm clad in Alpha Legion plate.

  ‘This is all that’s left of him,’ said Phalk’ir, turning and thrusting the severed limb at Kassar. ‘See it? This is what you left of him.’

  ‘You can’t know that that is Phaek’or’s limb, Phalk’ir,’ said Kassar. ‘It could have belonged to any of them.’

  ‘That hardly makes this better,’ said Kyphas, earning himself a glare.

  ‘I know that, Kyphas,’ he said. ‘Whatever this betides is grievous news, but we don’t know which of our brothers has suffered this hurt, or whether they lived or died.’

  ‘It’s Phaek’or’s,’ said Phalk’ir angrily. ‘You think I don’t know my own flesh and blood?’ The swordsman still held his blade in one hand, and now he brandished it angrily.

  Skaryth, Thelgh and Krowl had arrived while they spoke. Syxx looked on uneasily from Krowl’s shadow.

  ‘I think,’ said Skaryth, ‘that you want it to be Phaek’or’s.’

  Phalk’ir rounded on him.

  ‘You think I’d wish death on my twin?’

  ‘I think you want a pretext,’ pressed Skaryth. ‘You want an excuse for your vendetta against Kassar. I don’t think you care whether Phaek’or lives or dies, so long as it gives you just cause to stick a knife in the captain’s back.’

  ‘You’ve let him lead you for too long, if you think I would throw away Alpha Legion lives so cheaply,’ said Phalk’ir scornfully. ‘His contempt for us has poisoned your thinking.’

  ‘The only poison here,’ said Skaryth, ‘is what drips from your tongue every time you speak. This isn’t about Phaek’or, is it? This is about you wanting to take charge, and steer us into the arms of the gods. Again. You’re obsessed.’

  ‘Obsessed?’ spat Phalk’ir. ‘If anything I’m simply not as blind as the rest of you. This futile quest to stay untouched by the powers of the warp, the influence of the Dark Gods. To stay untainted. We’re already tainted, all of us!’

  Phalk’ir stared around at each of them, knuckles clenching and unclenching on the hilt of his blade.

  ‘Look at Skarle, driven mad by the warp. Kyphas, becoming as closed off and poisonous as the secrets he keeps. Krowl… the Dark Gods only know what Krowl is turning into, but even a legionnaire shouldn’t be able to heal the wounds that he can. For all we know, Thelgh already prays to the pantheon. How would we tell?’

  The sniper maintained his silence, his stance betraying not even the slightest hint of a reaction to Phalk’ir’s allegations.

  ‘And you?’ said Phalk’ir to Skaryth. ‘Oh, I can practically smell the corruption coming off you in waves. You think you hide it, but it’s there for all to see. Kassar just turns a blind eye because–’

  Phalk’ir got no further. Skaryth launched himself at his brother, locking his hands around Phalk’ir’s throat and slamming him back into the shrine’s outer wall. Kassar lunged, grabbing Skaryth and hauling him away. The scout resisted, until Krowl joined Kassar and hefted Skaryth easily backwards.

  Phalk’ir pushed himself off the wall with a cruel chuckle.

  ‘Touchy, brother,’ he said.

  ‘Phalk’ir,’ said Kassar angrily. ‘We have no time for these theatrics. I’ve told you before, if you want to leave and pursue the path to glory then I won’t stop you.’

  Phalk’ir turned upon Kassar, and flung the severed arm at his feet.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘You won’t stop me, because I don’t take your orders any more, you murdering hypocrite. I saw Khârn engage you in combat. You were outside the chamber when we crashed. If this is all that remains of Phaek’or, then how did you emerge so completely unscathed?’

  A phantom pain. A roaring blade. A severed arm hitting the decking.

  ‘I was lucky, Phalk’ir. Abominably so, yes, but we were due some fortune at last.’

  ‘You’re a liar,’ said Phalk’ir. ‘A fraud. I don’t know what you did, but you broke your own damn rules to survive that crash, the rules you’ve held us back with for so long. And I won’t stay and tolerate it any longer. Any of the rest of you who want to join me, feel free. We’ll seek our glories together.’

  ‘Phalk’ir, I can’t let you just break away mid-mission,’ said Kassar warningly. ‘You know that. You could compromise us.’

  ‘I do know,’ said Phalk’ir. ‘Which is why, when I pulled the vox-bead out of an Imperial Fist’s helm a few minutes ago, I kept the find to myself, then kept you idiots talking until they reached our position.’

  Even as Phalk’ir spoke, a hail of bolt shells and las blasts rained down upon the Unsung. Kassar spun to see Battle Sisters and Tsadrekhans running along the gantries above them. Several squads had drawn up in firing lines, while the rest made for ground level. Seraphim dropped on trails of flame, and a Primaris Marine in a crested helm led them with sword drawn.

  ‘And unlike you,’ spat Phalk’ir from behind him, ‘when I say I’ll do something, I keep my warp-cursed word.’

  Kassar wheeled back towards Phalk’ir. He saw the swordsman’s blade thrusting towards him, aimed straight for his throat. There was a loud crack and the blade was driven aside, shattering down its length.

  Phalk’ir fell back
with a cry, clutching the haft of his broken blade. Smoke still wisped from the barrel of Thelgh’s rifle where he had shot Phalk’ir’s weapon in half.

  Kassar levelled his bolter to blast Phalk’ir, but was hit in the back by several shells. He was thrown onto his face, Mortis skittering from his grasp as more shots whistled and exploded all around him.

  ‘Get to cover,’ gasped Kassar. ‘Return fire.’

  He regained his feet, snatching up his bolter in time to see Phalk’ir running full tilt for the mouth of tunnel thirteen. Kassar fired a string of shots after him, but Phalk’ir vanished behind a blazing mound of wreckage and Kassar’s shells flew wide.

  ‘I lost him,’ said Kassar wearily, swinging himself into cover.

  ‘He was lost a long time ago,’ replied Skaryth as he dived into the lee of a ruptured fuel tank. ‘But we will be too if we don’t fight.’

  ‘There’s a lot of them, Kassar,’ said Kyphas, hurling a frag grenade from behind the wreckage of a barricade. It detonated amongst a charging knot of Tsadrekhans. ‘Do we fall back?’

  ‘No,’ snarled Kassar, feeling a tingle run up his arm from Hexling’s hilt. ‘We’ve run enough. Formation Baphamet. We break their will to fight, then mop up the survivors. And leave a couple alive for Kyphas to interrogate.’

  More Tsadrekhans were charging towards the Harrow through the wreckage. Skarle flung incendiary bombs at them, shrieking with laughter as the luckless men staggered and burned. Thelgh snapped off shots at the Battle Sisters on the gantries above, killing several before one of his rounds struck a heavy flamer’s fuel tank. A ferocious explosion flared above the battlefield, and burning, armoured corpses rained down.

  Amidst the firestorm, Kassar rose from cover, Mortis held out steadily before him. Ignoring the bolts and blasts of the foe, he strode towards them, and the Harrow provided cover. Formation Baphamet was a demonstration of contempt, a shock tactic intended to crush the enemy’s morale by proving the Harrow’s apparent invincibility.

  Kassar strode at a steady pace into the teeth of the fight, aiming and snapping off single bolt shells at key targets. His brothers levelled a storm of fire to eliminate each enemy that turned their gun Kassar’s way. Thelgh’s rifle spat again and again, the sniper picking off special weapon troopers, Battle Sisters and sharpshooters with mechanical efficiency. Ragged streams of shells from Krowl’s bolter-fist ripped through the Tsadrekhans. Kyphas and Skaryth played their bolters along the enemy lines. Skarle advanced in Kassar’s wake, sending tongues of flame licking out to incinerate encircling enemies as they dashed through the smoke.

  Kassar’s first shot struck a Tsadrekhan sergeant in the face, exploding his head as though he’d swallowed a grenade. His second round caught a Battle Sister square in the chest, pulping her insides and spilling her meltagun to the floor. His third and fourth shots brought down the leader of the Seraphim squad, then ruptured a heavy bolter before its Tsadrekhan crew had even had time to finish setting it up.

  All the while, beneath the expert covering fire of his brothers, not a single shot struck Kassar. He strode through the eye of the storm, smoke billowing around him, gun flaring and kicking. He saw the zeal burn out in his enemies’ eyes, replaced by panic as he moved closer.

  A Tsadrekhan raised his lasgun to shoot Kassar, and a bolt from Kyphas plucked him off his feet. A Sister Superior ran at Kassar with a roaring chainsword, only for Thelgh to shoot her in the throat. She crumpled to her knees, and Kassar shot her in the face then stepped over her corpse. Three more Tsadrekhans dropped into firing crouches, lining up their lasguns, only for Krowl to riddle them with shots.

  None but the most exceptionally skilled, veteran, unified warriors could even have attempted such a manoeuvre, yet the Unsung made it look contemptuously simple.

  Untouched, untouchable, Kassar walked into the heart of the foe and raised his blade, pointing it straight at the Imperial Fist. The warrior was clearly some sort of leader, and at Kassar’s challenge he mag-locked his bolt rifle to his thigh and raised his power sword.

  ‘Come and meet your end, heretic!’ he roared. ‘I am Lieutenant Lydanis of the Imperial Fists, and I shall strike you down in the Emperor’s name!’

  ‘I am Alpharius,’ spat Kassar, ‘and I am death.’

  The Imperial Fist charged at him, swinging his power sword in a high arc.

  Kassar shot him three times in the face, deforming his helm and smashing him onto his back.

  Yelling in outrage, the last of the Seraphim Sisters launched themselves at Kassar. Shots struck him at last as their bolt pistols thundered, and he hissed as their volley smashed him off his feet.

  Emerald fire engulfed the Seraphim, Skarle playing his flamer across them with glee. Two of the jump troops crashed to the ground, writhing and burning, while another was hurled spinning into the sky as her jump pack’s fuel reserve ignited. She managed a last scream before the device exploded like a cannon shell.

  Kassar scrambled up and turned to finish the Imperial Fist, only to find that the warrior had regained his feet. His buckled helm lay discarded, and his skull was clearly cracked. Blood ran from a deep gash in his forehead, and wept from around one eye. Still he fixed Kassar with the other, and lunged.

  Kassar turned the blade aside with a deft parry then tried to shoot his opponent in the face again. The lieutenant was ready this time, backhanding the gun from Kassar’s grip. In return, Kassar drove Hexling’s point straight up, trying to ram it through his opponent’s jaw.

  Lieutenant Lydanis pulled his head to the side, evading the killing thrust, and drove his knee into Kassar’s midriff. Armour cracked and the breath whooshed from Kassar’s lungs, doubling him over. Lydanis smashed the pommel of his sword into the back of Kassar’s helm, driving him onto his hands and knees, then swung his blade down in a beheading strike.

  Kassar rolled aside from the blow, which sliced a line through his shoulder guard instead. Coming back to his feet, he circled the lieutenant, tossing Hexling from hand to hand as gunfire roared around them. Blood dripped from the lieutenant’s chin to patter to the floor.

  ‘What are you?’ asked Kassar. ‘What is Primaris? Some Mechanicus perversion? Another failed experiment of the Emperor’s?’

  ‘We are vengeance given form,’ spat Lydanis. He turned with Kassar, keeping his guard up and his good eye locked on him.

  ‘Yes, but what are you?’ pressed Kassar, feinting then dropping back, circling further. ‘You’re damnably hard to kill.’

  ‘We were made to defeat heretics like you,’ said Lydanis, launching a sudden flurry of blows at Kassar. Hexling parried them all, except for a swift cut across the ribs that shed Kassar’s blood. Kassar slammed his shoulder into his opponent’s chest, a desperate move to gain breathing space.

  ‘We are your bane,’ Lydanis spat. ‘For we are the perfect weapons to fight the servants of Chaos.’

  ‘I see that,’ said Kassar. ‘And you have fought well. But, lieutenant, this is a fight that you will never win.’

  With that he dropped his guard, and then his weapon, ignoring Hexling’s surge of anger as it clattered to the floor.

  Lydanis readied his blade, good eye darting around in search of some ruse, all his attention focused upon his defenceless opponent. A single vox pip sounded in Kassar’s ear and, as the lieutenant drew back his sword for the killing blow, Kassar dropped to the floor.

  Lydanis’ face exploded as Thelgh’s sniper round burst from the bridge of his nose. Gore spattered Kassar, and his opponent’s twitching corpse crashed down next to him.

  Rolling, Kassar swept up his blade, then went to retrieve his bolter. Around him the fight was concluding, the last reserves of courage driven from the Tsadrekhans by their leader’s death. Here and there, knots of Battle Sisters still fought, but they did not last long.

  Calmly, Kassar wiped his blade clean on Lydanis’ corpse, then sheathed it. He
checked the clip in his boltgun, switching it out for a new one.

  His Harrow gathered upon him, those that were left. Kyphas hauled a terrified-looking Tsadrekhan sergeant with him by the scruff of the neck.

  Six, whispered the voice in his mind, but Kassar spat upon it.

  ‘Our brothers may yet live,’ he said. ‘And though we have been betrayed by one of our own, we will not let his cowardice undermine us. He called us tainted, yet he was more twisted by desire for the gods’ regard than any of us. Our objective lies above. Our enemies battle one another, or flee from us in tatters.’

  ‘Let’s finish this,’ said Skaryth. ‘For the primarchs.’

  ‘And for the Harrow,’ nodded Kassar. ‘Unsung, move out.’

  Chapter Twelve

  They set off in tight formation, Skaryth scouting ahead and Thelgh acting as rear guard. Kyphas maintained his vox sweep for their lost brothers.

  Clattering up a corpse-strewn stairway, they filtered through an open hatch into the central pillar, and into the enormity of the hive proper.

  The runic marker for rally point beta flashed on their auspex maps, deeper into the region known as the Underbilge. They had designated it based upon partial maps that Haltheus had inloaded while raiding the cogitators of the abandoned transit hub. However, it soon became apparent that those maps were woefully out of date.

  ‘Another dead end,’ spat Skaryth. ‘There used to be a hatch here, I think, but it’s been replaced with a pipe conduit.’

  ‘Does your captive know anything, Kyphas?’ asked Kassar.

  Kyphas hefted the bleeding sergeant, pinning him back against the wall of the corridor they were in.

  ‘What is your knowledge of this area?’ Kyphas snarled through his vox-grille. The sergeant squirmed and shook.

  ‘I… I won’t tell you anything… heretic…’

  ‘Brave,’ said Kyphas. ‘But pathetic.’ With his free hand, Kyphas unlocked his helm and pulled it off, clamping it to his belt. The sergeant stared into his hard, yet weirdly anonymous face. Kyphas leant in close, holding the man’s head so that he couldn’t recoil. He whispered something in the sergeant’s ear, a subvocalisation that Kassar didn’t catch.