Corax

by Gav Thorpe

  ‘He needs no guardians, nor reminders from the likes of you.’ Hef regretted the outburst immediately and raised a hand in conciliation. ‘He is as loyal as Russ, you can be sure of that.’

  ‘That remains to be seen.’ Woundweaver cast an eye at the other Raven Guard, his gaze lingering on those that suffered from the worst deformities. ‘I have orders, but your king is a wily one and we cannot find him for many years. Now we hear he is gathering a new army, but we have to come here to the weapons cache first, to ensure we are properly equipped.’

  ‘Equipped to do what?’ Hef looked at the supplies and saw that there were several heavy weapons, crates of demolition charges and a large stockpile of ammunition.

  Woundweaver met Hef’s steady stare without blinking. ‘Whatever needs doing.’

  Hef eventually conceded, glancing away.

  The Space Wolf took in a deep breath. ‘The Sons of Horus arrive a few days after us. Maybe coincidence, maybe not. Who can say? We are outmatched but we can still strike a deadly blow. If we lure the traitors to the surface, they will be vulnerable.’

  ‘I don’t understand. What has that got to do with leaving your ship?’

  ‘We use ourselves as bait, see? Pretend we are crippled, bring them in close and then detonate the warp drive and take us all to Hel.’

  ‘Something went wrong. The bodies we found...’

  Woundweaver looked uncomfortable and turned away as he spoke.

  ‘Five years is a long time, a lot of warp travel, you understand? The weregeld, the price of our Legion’s superiority, takes its toll.’ The packmaster raised a hand to his face. ‘A side effect of the canis helix, the Emperor’s gift to Fenris and her sons. Three of my pack-brothers are consumed, unable to fight the beast within. We subdue them, lock them in the armoury. Think they are too far gone, but they have enough civilisation left in them to remember the melta-bombs.’

  The Space Wolf fell silent and Hef could imagine the rest.

  ‘They tried to take the reactor room, didn’t they? You had to kill them.’

  ‘It was too soon. But they are driven mad, grief-stricken by their curse.’

  ‘But not you? You came here to die, because you’re so happy about everything?’

  ‘The fight with the wulfen-skinned is a distraction, and the plan has to change. I send the ship out looking crippled, knowing anyone will trace the course back to this moon. The Sons of Horus do, and they fall into our trap.’

  ‘Your trap? You must realised that you’re the ones surrounded.’

  ‘That’s right!’ Woundweaver grinned, baring fangs as long as those he wore around his neck. ‘We bleed those traitors for a bit, and when they’re mad and hungry for blood we let them in. That’s when we fire the reactor.’

  It took a few seconds for the packmaster’s words to sink in. Hef’s voice was a whisper.

  ‘Did you just say you’re going to blow up this base? Detonate the reactor?’

  ‘Of course, how else do we kill enough Sons of Horus to make it worthwhile?’

  ‘Why don’t they just eradicate you from orbit?’

  Wounderweaver winked. ‘Defence laser outposts. Two of them, Hef of the Raptors. That was the original plan, to blast them out of orbit, but their shields hold and they run away before the auto-lasers recharge. They keep their distance ever since, so now we have the reactor. It has to be this way, to make sure we take as many as we can. They’ve been probing the defences, not committing themselves. I’m afraid they’ll wear us down eventually if we keep fighting the normal way.’

  ‘Madness. And we’re stuck in here with you…’

  ‘The Sons of Horus will regret the day they faced us, yes? Those few that survive to spread the saga of this battle.’

  ‘I think I’d prefer to take my chances with the Sons of Horus. You’re welcome to stay and seek a stupid death if you prefer, but I have a gunship and I plan to leave on it.’

  Woundweaver glared at Hef, his brow furrowed with annoyance. The packmaster was about to say something but stopped himself. Then he scratched his bearded chin and dragged his fingers through the thick hair.

  ‘Hmm. It would be difficult, but it might just work.’

  Hef was not sure if Woundweaver was talking to him, or simply muttering to himself. ‘What might work?’

  ‘We lure in the Sons of Horus before the reactor goes critical and then… No. No, it won’t work. We stay here to be the bait in the trap.’

  ‘Why not just leave with us? I’m sure we can all make it back to the gunship, if you follow our lead and try not to attract attention.’

  ‘Leaving Warmaster’s treacherous cowards to go on their way? Russ will be ashamed of such a thing. I cannot let you go, in case you get captured and reveal the plan.’

  Hef was about to challenge Woundweaver to explain how he expected to stop the Raven Guard leaving, but decided it was better to take a different approach.

  ‘There’s a third option. One that kills lots of enemies and doesn’t result in you getting vaporised in a ball of plasma.’

  ‘I doubt it, but continue, Hef of the Raptors.’

  ‘I leave with my warriors – I promise you, we won’t get caught. We will reach a safe distance and contact my ship. It will disable their vessel and then come into orbit over the station and attack the Sons of Horus. They will have to launch an assault to take the defence lasers if they want to drive us away again. By then, you will have evacuated and set the reactor to detonate.’

  The Space Wolf considered this for some time, gauging Hef with narrowed eyes. Eventually he nodded. ‘You swear on your honour that you carry out this attack?’

  ‘As a true son of Corax, you have my word, packmaster. The Raven Guard have not yet shirked an opportunity to hurt Horus, and we will not do so today.’

  ‘And the other matter...’ Woundweaver vaguely waved a hand, presumably to indicate the altered nature of Hef and his fellow Raptors. ‘That is set aside for the moment?’

  ‘Trust me. I swear that together we will destroy these traitors. No other consideration will be made.’

  ‘Hmm. I am satisfied, and you have my word that we will not abandon the station until the foe are committed to the attack. We will send our location to your ship when we are away from the enemy.’

  ‘Make whatever preparations you need. It would be well if you could provide some form of distraction to mask our leaving.’

  ‘Hef of the Raptors – we will cause such a commotion, the enemy will have no eye but for us. The Sons of Horus will feel the bite of our long fangs.’

  Woundweaver was good to his word. He gathered his small force and led them to the outer defence line, from where they poured heavy weapons fire into the enemy. Goaded into fresh action by this unexpected counterattack, the Sons of Horus gathered for a determined thrust towards the fortified station.

  The Raven Guard departed on the opposite side of the facility, slipping into the shadows as quickly as they were able. Within minutes they were hidden amongst the maze of gorges and spires and moving away fast.

  Despite their rapid progress, it was some time before Hef spied the landed gunship. Boarding with Neroka, he posted the others to guard against any pursuing foe – not that there had been any sign that the Raptors had been followed, but precautions were always taken. It was the code of the Raven Guard that they took the enemy unawares but were never themselves surprised.

  The lieutenant moved directly to the communication controls and sent a short machine-hail to Devor on board the Fearless. A few minutes later he received a series of rapid clicks in response. Any lengthier transmissions ran the risk of being detected by the orbiting Sons of Horus vessel.

  ‘This is Hef, no further response required. I expect you to carry out these commands precisely. Maintain silent running to ambush Sixteenth Legion vessel. When it has been disabled, confirm by vox a
nd take up position over the combat site. The facility is held by allies – do not target the station. Sons of Horus are encircling the facility. They are to be targeted with all capable weapons. An evacuation corridor is to be left free of attack, co-ordinates attached. Continue with saturation bombardment until directly countermanded by ciphered transmission from the ground.’

  Hef used a keypad to enter the spatial reference codes for the route out of the station he had agreed with Woundweaver. As long as the Space Wolves kept to that narrow corridor, they would be safe from the bombardment.

  Neroka looked at him. ‘And now?’

  ‘We have to wait. We can’t risk entering the combat zone again. It’s up to Devor and Woundweaver now.’ Hef took a deep breath. ‘What trouble are they going to cause us, do you think?’

  ‘The Wolves? We can’t just leave them stranded here, brother. What harm can they really do? There’s only five of them, maybe less now.’

  ‘They might return to Russ and tell him what they’ve seen. We’re not the face of the Legion that Lord Corax wishes to be known.’

  ‘I’m sure the Wolf King has more important things to worry about at the moment,’ said Neroka.

  ‘We don’t know that, not for sure. Woundweaver was sent to keep an eye on Lord Corax for a reason. If they don’t aim to respond directly, I would swear that they’ll make trouble some other way.’

  ‘We’re battle-brothers now. Things I’ve heard, the sons of Fenris are big on honour and oaths. You saw what had become of them. They understand what it’s like to have the bodies of beasts but the hearts of loyal men.’

  Hef shrugged as best he was able. ‘Perhaps, but Commander Branne might say otherwise. They’re big on oaths, of course, but it seems that Russ considers himself above certain rules. Always keen to keep others in line, but equally ready with a reason why the Space Wolves are different. You didn’t see the way Woundweaver looked at us. He hates what we are, but he’s trying to hide it.’

  Before Neroka could reply, the vox came to life.

  ‘This is Devor, transmission only. Enemy ship has been destroyed, proceeding to target zone to complete fire mission as ordered.’

  Neroka gave his commander a congratulatory slap on the shoulder pad.

  ‘Well done, lieutenant. It seems that the first part of the plan has succeeded. All we have to do now is rendezvous with the Space Wolves.’

  Hef hesitated.

  The sky was lit by strobing flashes, and the ground began to quake as the orbital bombardment commenced.

  ‘We are going to pick them up, yes?’ said Neroka. ‘You gave them your word.’

  ‘I had to. Woundweaver wouldn’t have let us out of that place otherwise.’

  ‘An oath is still an oath, Hef.’

  ‘Is it? Does it count if all of those that heard it are dead?’

  Neroka’s tone became more fierce. ‘I heard it, brother.’

  ‘I could have ordered the station annihilated from orbit, along with the Sons of Horus. Perhaps I should have done.’

  ‘I suppose we could strand them here. Maybe drop them supplies. We’ll leave them out of the way until we tell Lord Corax and he figures out what to do with them.’

  ‘No,’ said Hef. ‘Lord Corax will want to welcome them, as he has all the others that have responded to his call.’

  ‘And why shouldn’t he?’

  ‘I just told you – these warriors are different. Woundweaver is acting on orders from Russ himself, and from the Regent of Terra. He is on a mission. He’ll see it through to whatever end he thinks necessary. Five or five thousand, if they decide that Lord Corax is acting beyond his authority, then they could destroy everything we’ve been fighting for.’

  Neroka was incredulous. ‘You don’t really think they would try to hurt the primarch?’

  ‘They might try, and the distraction, the damage to his faith in the cause, could be catastrophic. If he thought Russ and the Wolves were against us, he might lose hope, and that would be a disaster. The weapons in that station could take down a Battle Titan. Why would they need those, sergeant? Tell me. This can’t be the only supply depot they have. Over-gunned, protected by anti-orbital weaponry, located in dead systems – why do the Space Wolves have caches of high-powered ordnance hidden across the galaxy?’

  Neroka looked at Hef for a long moment, but only shook his head.

  ‘I can’t make an argument for something I don’t know. It feels wrong, that’s all.’

  A buzz on the gunship’s sensors alerted Hef to a sudden energy surge outside. He donned his helm and sprang down the fuselage to the boarding ramp and looked back to the station. A hemispherical blast of blue and white lightning rose up from beyond the jagged peaks, so bright that Hef’s auto-senses cut out for a moment, dulling the input to almost black to prevent the sight blinding him.

  When the light filtration ended, the plasma detonation had dissipated to a glittering shell of purples and reds.

  ‘We might get lucky,’ said Neroka. ‘Perhaps they didn’t get away in time.’

  Hef was not hopeful, and the vox hissed just as he returned to the cockpit. The joy in Woundweaver’s voice carried even over the crackling link.

  ‘Do you see that, Hef of the Raptors? Like Hel’s own fire to consume the traitors, eh? Long will the telling of this saga be heard.’

  ‘We’ll see you at the rendezvous location, packmaster.’ Hef closed the channel and turned to his companion, shaking his head. ‘The luck of the Raven Guard.’

  ‘He sounded happy, Hef. I don’t think he would speak out against us, but the command lies with you. Your word will be final.’

  Hef walked down the ramp of the gunship, feeling as though he carried a crushing weight despite the low gravity. His warriors followed him, fanning out to either side as they reached the rocky ground.

  Woundweaver and two other Space Wolves had escaped from the station, which still burned with plasma fire, its glow bright above the ridges and peaks. Occasionally the explosion of another shell from orbit would illuminate the shadows, its detonation punctuating the stillness.

  The packmaster had no helm, his breath coming in clouds of vapour. Hef took off his helm too, so that he could face Woundweaver, eye to eye. He stopped about ten metres away from the Space Wolves.

  ‘The enemy are dead,’ he said, flatly. ‘We have kept our word.’

  ‘So you have. I admit I was having doubts, but you come through.’

  ‘Aye.’ Hef drew his chainsword and revved the motor. ‘For what it’s worth, I’m sorry it has to end this way.’

  Woundweaver realised what was happening and threw himself forwards as the other Raven Guard opened fire. Whickering bolts engulfed the two other sons of Fenris, detonations sparking across their armour, throwing out chunks of ruined ceramite.

  The packmaster’s bolt pistol spat rounds at Hef, a trio of shots smashing into the lieutenant’s shoulder and breastplate. Hef ignored the prick of shrapnel piercing his flesh – he was all but inured to any pain these days, above and beyond the tolerance of other legionaries. He counter-charged, sweeping his chainsword towards Woundweaver as the Space Wolf dragged his power axe free.

  The gleaming axe head carved through Hef’s weapon, scattering half-melted adamantium teeth and chain links. The lieutenant twisted aside, turning with the shock of the blow, and retreated a few steps as Woundweaver’s momentum took him past.

  The packmaster growled, a feral sound more animal than human. ‘I see now you are nothing but monsters.’

  ‘Fenris must lack mirrors.’

  ‘We are the weregeld, the price of greatness! You are lowly savages! The remnants of inglorious meddling by your master!’

  The Raptors closed in a tight circle around them, the blood from the corpses of Woundweaver’s companions the same colour as the hard rock onto which it spread. The packmaster snarled
, glaring at Hef.

  ‘You leave the deed to your minions, worthless scum. You cannot beat me. You lack conviction, just as you lack a weapon.’

  ‘I have both!’ Hef roared as he pounced, clearing the gap between them with one leap. His claws erupted from the sealed sheaths that tipped his gauntlets, shining in the glare of the gunship’s lights. Woundweaver tried to bring up his axe but Hef was too close, his left hand grabbing the packmaster’s wrist while the right carved three bloody furrows across his cheek and forehead.

  Woundweaver swayed, using the strength of Hef’s assault to turn the lieutenant. In the weak gravity, the two of them left the ground, spinning around each other as though locked together in some bloody dance. They landed and rolled, Hef slamming his claws into his foe’s chest while Woundweaver still struggled with the axe.

  The Space Wolf kicked out, flinging Hef back a few paces. Eyes now a gleaming blue, threads of saliva drooling from his jaw, Woundweaver pushed himself to his feet. He threw back his head and howled.

  Hef did not hesitate, but ploughed into the packmaster shoulder-first, barrelling both of them to the ground again.

  Snapping and snarling, the axe pinned beneath Hef’s knee, the Space Wolf tried to bite off his face. The lieutenant drove his bony forehead into Woundweaver’s snout, breaking bone and teeth. Despite this, the packmaster spat damning words.

  ‘You will be Corax’s weregeld, beast! You are his curse, and no good passes while you live. You are creatures of Hel that will be sent back to the dark pit.’

  Hef smashed a fist into the Space Wolf’s canine face and thrust a claw into his eye. ‘I’m sure you’ll wait for me...’

  Sinking wicked talons into flesh, piercing windpipe and arteries with ease, the lieutenant stood and tore out Woundweaver’s throat.

  Panting, he stepped away. Sensing the others around him, Hef glared at them as he wiped the blood from his hands. ‘No word of this reaches the Legion. None of the Space Wolves survived the traitors’ final attack – that is all the others need to know.’

  There were nods from the Raptors, and Hef was grateful for their understanding. He glanced back at the dead Space Wolves.