Soul Drinkers 06 - Phalanx

by Ben Counter

aside with the haft of his hammer and cracked the butt of the weapon

  into the side of N’Kalo’s head. N’Kalo reeled and Reinez closed,

  driving his shoulder into N’Kalo’s midriff and hauling the Space Marine

  off the ground.

  Reinez hefted N’Kalo into the air and threw him. N’Kalo tumbled over

  the bank of the river and into the water, the powerful stream foaming

  around him. Reinez jumped in after him, dragging N’Kalo to his feet.

  The water came up to each Space Marine’s chest. Reinez slammed a

  headbutt into the face of N’Kalo’s helm, denting the ceramite

  faceplate.

  N’Kalo drove a knee into the inside of Reinez’s thigh. Reinez

  stumbled back a step, feet slipping on the stones and mud of the

  artificial riverbed. N’Kalo crunched an elbow into the back of Reinez’s

  head and pulled his sword from the water again, slicing left and right.

  Reinez deflected each blow with his hammer or glanced them from his

  shoulder pads.

  N’Kalo paused, having created the space he needed between the

  two combatants. He shifted his footing to plant himself more firmly on

  the bed of mud and rocks. Behind him, rapids rushed around several

  large boulders, plunging down a low waterfall. The branches of

  overhanging willows almost brushed the river’s surface. If it were not for

  the two Adeptus Astartes struggling to shed one another’s blood, it

  would have been a tranquil and beautiful place.

  N’Kalo’s breath was heaving. Reinez looked like he had barely

  broken a sweat. N’Kalo had not yet managed to draw blood from the

  Crimson Fist.

  ‘Do you think this will be over?’ said Reinez as he forged through the

  waters, trying to force N’Kalo back towards the rapids. ‘If the galaxy

  turns upside-down and you beat me, how long do you think your

  victory will last? You think you will have any brothers here? They will

  turn their backs on you.’

  ‘They are not so consumed with bitterness as you, Reinez,’ replied

  N’Kalo. ‘They have not let failure make them less of an Adeptus

  Astartes.’

  Reinez’s face darkened. He spat a wordless syllable of anger and

  charged – not at N’Kalo, but at the closest tree that clung to the

  riverbank. Reinez wrenched the tree free of its roots, showering dirt

  and loose stones across the water.

  Reinez’s anger gave him strength. N’Kalo had barely the time to get

  his sword up before Reinez slammed the shattered tree trunk into him,

  throwing him backwards into the water. The impact was enough to

  knock him senseless and his heavy armoured body thudded onto the

  riverbed, waters rushing around him.

  Reinez pounced from the bank into the water, one knee pounding

  square into N’Kalo’s solar plexus. Reinez hauled the Iron Knight over

  his head, out of the water, and slammed him down into one of the

  massive boulders making up the rapids. The boulder shattered under

  the impact and N’Kalo sprawled against it, water foaming white around

  him, unable to move.

  Reinez planted a foot on N’Kalo’s midriff. Both hands free now, his

  hammer holstered, he grabbed the lower edge of N’Kalo’s helmet and

  wrenched it halfway around, forcing it off N’Kalo’s head.

  The helmet came free with a shower of sparks. Reinez was looking

  into a face severely burned, every blister and scour looking like it had

  just been inflicted, red and weeping. N’Kalo’s lips were pale streaks in

  the blackened skin, his eyes kept open only by artificial surfaces of

  milky glass that made them look blind. His jaw and back teeth showed

  through the tears in his cheeks, and segments of cranium glinted as if

  polished between the stringy remnants of his scalp.

  ‘When I am finished with you,’ spat Reinez, ‘you will look back and

  remember how handsome you were.’

  Reinez shouldered N’Kalo over the rapids down the falls. The Iron

  Knight was barely sensible as he plunged into the pool formed by the

  waterfall. Reinez stood on the rapids, hauling another rock up from the

  riverbed. He hurled it down at N’Kalo, who got an arm up to ward off

  the worst of the impact but who was crushed down into the pool,

  trapped by its weight.

  Reinez jumped down onto the rock that pinned N’Kalo in place.

  N’Kalo was not quite beneath the surface but little more than his

  ruined face could be seen above the water. Reinez stood and took his

  hammer off his back, holding it with both hands, the well-worn head of

  the weapon aiming down at N’Kalo’s face.

  Reinez drove the hammer down at N’Kalo. N’Kalo forced his sword

  out from below the rock and slashed the hammer aside. Expecting an

  impact and off balance Reinez fell forward, landing face to face with

  N’Kalo.

  The other Adeptus Astartes had by now gathered on the bank of the

  river and they watched as the two Space Marine wrestled in the water,

  Reinez trying to force N’Kalo’s head below the surface, N’Kalo trying

  to wriggle from under the rock and bring his sword to bear. The thunder

  hammer lay in the water, abandoned, as Reinez went at N’Kalo with

  his bare hands.

  The watching Space Marines parted as Vladimir joined them. He

  stood on one of the flat rocks that made up the rapids, no expression

  on his face.

  N’Kalo hurled the rock away. Reinez had to jump back to keep his

  own legs from being trapped under it. N’Kalo slammed the pommel of

  his sword into Reinez’s side and kicked out at him, trying to drive him

  against the stone wall carved by the waterfall. Reinez spun, locked

  N’Kalo’s sword arm in the crook of his elbow and ripped the sword

  from N’Kalo’s hand. Reinez threw the sword aside and it disappeared

  under the foaming water.

  Both Space Marines were bleeding now. N’Kalo’s armour was

  dented from the impacts, to the extent that it was as much a

  hindrance to his movement as protection. Reinez’s nose might have

  been broken, judging by the blood spilling down his chest, black

  against the dark blue of his breastplate.

  When the two closed in and locked up in a wrestler’s clinch, every

  Space Marine watching knew it was for the last time. N’Kalo was a

  fine combatant, but his wounds, more severe on the inside than the

  outside, drained the strength from his limbs. Reinez had been fighting

  for the last few years without any battle-brothers at his side, learning

  to survive by his wits alone, with fists and teeth if need be. Reinez

  pushed N’Kalo down onto one knee, wrenched one of the Iron Knight’s

  shoulders out of its socket, and dropped into a shoulder charge that

  smashed N’Kalo into the riverbank.

  N’Kalo could not raise his free arm into a guard. Reinez slammed

  his fist into N’Kalo’s face.

  ‘They will cast you out!’ roared Reinez, his fist hitting home again.

  ‘They will banish you! You will know my pain!’

  Reinez punched over and over. Ultra-dense Adeptus Astartes bone

  fractured. N’Kalo’s cheekbone caved in, then his jaw. One eye socket

  was stove inwards, half-shuttin
g his eye. Bloody skin clung to

  Reinez’s knuckles.

  ‘Outcast! Pariah! You shall be no man’s brother!’

  ‘Stop,’ said Vladimir.

  Reinez did not stop. Another half-dozen blows rained down. Broken

  teeth clotted the blood that oozed from N’Kalo’s shattered mouth.

  The boot that cracked into Reinez’s face belonged to Captain

  Lysander, who had stepped out of the watching crowd at a signal from

  Vladimir. The blow caught Reinez by surprise and he fell backwards off

  N’Kalo, sprawling in the water.

  ‘I said stop,’ said Vladimir.

  Reinez scrabbled to his feet, wiping the back of one gauntlet across

  his face to remove the worst of N’Kalo’s blood. ‘You see?’ he gasped.

  ‘The Emperor lent me strength. Dorn has spoken. The duel is over.’

  ‘It is,’ said Vladimir. ‘My brothers, the apothecaries among you

  attend to Captain N’Kalo while the Phalanx’s own medicae staff are

  summoned. I must have him conscious to present his evidence.’

  ‘Lord Vladimir!’ protested Reinez. ‘He was defeated! The duel was

  won! I demand N’Kalo’s silence as is my right by victory!’

  ‘The duel is won, Reinez,’ replied Vladimir, ‘but you may claim no

  victory. We are not at war, and Captain N’Kalo is not your enemy. In

  showing such brutality to him, even at the moment you became the

  victor, you abandon all semblance of honour. In an honour-duel, that is

  as good as a physical defeat. You have forfeited the duel, and Captain

  N’Kalo is the winner.’

  Reinez stood speechless in the rushing river as the Space Marines

  on the bank picked up the winner and carried him off to the

  apothecarion.

  The first thing Sarpedon noticed as he was led to the dock again was

  the Iron Knight without his helm. He had encountered the Chapter

  once before but there had been no way of telling, beneath the feudal

  helm, if the Iron Knights’ commander was the same Adeptus Astartes

  he had spoken with on Molikor. Now, there could be no mistake. It

  was the same man.

  Half of N’Kalo’s face was still hidden, this time by medical dressings

  covering fresh wounds. The rest, however, was that familiar mask of

  burn tissue, and the one visible eye was the same glassy prosthetic.

  Sarpedon tried to hold N’Kalo’s gaze, but he was shoved into the

  accused’s pulpit by the Imperial Fists who had escorted him from his

  cell, and found himself looking at Lord Vladimir.

  ‘Justice Lord,’ said Sarpedon before anyone else could speak. ‘I

  would know of my brothers.’

  ‘They are safe and well,’ said Vladimir.

  ‘And Daenyathos?’

  ‘He is captive, like them. And like them, he has not been harmed.’

  ‘I know that I am to die here, Lord Vladimir. I wish to speak with my

  battle-brothers before that happens. And I must have leave to speak

  with Daenyathos, even if only to ascertain that the dreadnought you

  hold indeed contains him. My Chapter thought him dead for thousands

  of years. I must at least see for myself that he lives.’

  ‘What you ask is a luxury that cannot be afforded to the

  condemned,’ replied Vladimir. ‘The nature of your crimes means that

  you cannot be given the chance to conspire further with your fellow

  accused. Such requests are denied.’

  Sarpedon did not argue. It was a motion he had to go through. He

  had to show that he had not given up, not completely. It was a feeble

  gesture among so many warriors, but it was made.

  ‘Brethren,’ began Vladimir. ‘During the last adjournment the matter

  of the Soul Drinkers’ defence was decided. Commander N’Kalo?’

  Sarpedon realised that among the assembled Space Marines, he

  could not see Reinez.

  N’Kalo stepped forwards. ‘Brothers,’ he said, and Sarpedon

  recognised the grating voice of an improvised vox-unit. It was hooked

  up to N’Kalo’s dented breastplate, amplifying the voice that struggled

  to get past his shattered jaw. ‘I must speak to you of a world called

  Molikor.’

  Chapter 6

  Molikor’s endless expanses of broken delta, islands of swampy

  grasses and gorse separated by the sludgy children of the planet’s

  great rivers, were a good place to hide. An entire nation hid there

  among the rotten trees and root cages, the odd chunk of rock eroded

  clean by the passage of the shifting waters. They had their strongholds

  among the mangrove swamps closer to the shore, where the biting

  insects swarmed so thick they could pick a man up off the ground,

  and the waters were infested with a thousand different forms of sharptoothed

  creature. That nation, which called itself the Eshkeen, was as

  much a part of the landscape as the dour grey-streaked clouds

  overhead and the way the soft ground threatened to swallow up a

  power armoured foot. That nation had risen up in defiance. That nation

  had to die.

  Commander N’Kalo took the magnoculars from the eyeslit of his

  armour. His augmented vision was enough to tell him that the foe had

  no intention of making itself seen, and a closer look had confirmed it.

  Behind him the strikeforce of nearly forty Iron Knights Space Marines

  was forming a perimeter lest the enemy close in from an unexpected

  angle, the bolters of Squads Salik, K’Jinn and Tchwayo scanning the

  indistinct horizon for targets. Sergeant Borasi’s Devastator squad had

  left its anti-tank weapons behind and sported a complement of heavy

  bolters, perfect for chewing through forested cover and ill-armoured

  enemies. Though the delta could have been deserted for all the Iron

  Knights could see, the Devastators were still ready to deploy,

  weapons loaded and shouldered.

  ‘They give us good sport,’ said Sergeant Borasi, standing just

  behind N’Kalo. ‘It disappoints me so when the enemy show

  themselves too early.’

  ‘Would that this was mere sport,’ replied N’Kalo. ‘The Eshkeen

  revolt against the rule of the Imperium. Books of atrocities have already

  been written about their campaigns of violence against the Imperial

  cities of this world, and if Molikor falls the whole of this frontier could

  follow.’

  ‘Nevertheless, captain, I am reminded of the best hunting grounds of

  Seheris. Below the equator, where the great rivers of the Zambenar

  meet the oceans. I lose count of how many reapermaw tusks my

  bolter has won for me down there.’

  ‘Then the hunting will be good,’ brother,’ said N’Kalo, stowing the

  magnoculars in a belt pouch, ‘if it is a hunt you see unfolding here.’

  On Seheris, the home world of the Iron Knights Chapter, the

  unforgiving deserts and plains bred a thousand hardy peoples divided

  into tribes that treated the land as an adversary to be conquered. The

  Iron Knights were drawn from such people, and their wish to test

  themselves against an environment, as much as against a foe, never

  left them. They took pride in the fact that they fought in warzones

  which would have been deadly whether any enemy waited there or not

  – radioactive rock deserts, carnivo
rous jungles, archipelagos scattered

  across an ocean that seethed with sea monsters, and every other

  Emperor-forsaken place that a man could imagine. When the

  Parliaments of Molikor had requested help against a foe bent on

  exterminating the Emperor’s presence on their world, the Iron Knights

  had seen not only a task to be achieved to keep the Ghoul Stars

  Frontier intact, but the chance to test themselves against Molikor’s

  own dangers.

  Too often, thought N’Kalo, his brother Space Marines treated war as

  a sport. The fact that he could see beyond that had marked him out as

  commander material. That was why he had been sent here to Molikor,

  to oversee his eager battle-brothers as they killed every Eshkeen on

  the planet.

  Mile after mile, the Eshkeen drew the Iron Knights in.

  It was clearly their tactic. Even as he walked the paths laid out for

  him through the winding delta paths, N’Kalo knew that the enemy had

  laid on Molikor a trap to cut off, surround and butcher anyone the

  Imperium sent to fight them. He read the landscape like a book, like

  any Iron Knight would, and he saw the thinking behind every dammed

  stream and felled copse.

  The easiest path into the delta forests and swamps, where the

  Eshkeen surely waited, passed through two towering forests separated

  by a stretch of swamp where the shallow waters rushed over the

  sodden grassland. The soft-edged shadows, cast by a sun hidden

  behind the overcast sky, rendered this gap dark and its footing

  uncertain. The ways on either side were deep and difficult to traverse,

  and N’Kalo’s magnoculars had picked out the log dams on the distant

  highlands that had helped flood those regions to force any attackers to

  take the path between the forests.

  N’Kalo’s strikeforce reached the first shadows cast by the tallest

  trees. The forest was dense and tangled, an unmanaged mass of

  broken branches and diseased trunks, clustered around rocky hills

  that broke the surface of the marshes and trapped enough soil for the

  trees to grow. N’Kalo could see no sign of the Eshkeen, but he knew

  they were there as surely as if they were standing there in front of him.

  ‘You cannot trap a Space Marine,’ said Sergeant Borasi over the

  strikeforce’s vox-net. ‘You can shut yourself in a room with him, but it

  is not he who is trapped.’