Spear of Macragge
Page 14
Realising the interlopers were attempting to escape, the necrons had brought all of their siege cannons into the city itself and were now strafing the heavens.
Entire flotillas of ships, Thunderhawks and Arvus lighters, soared desperately into the deadly beams as the last defenders of Damnos finally accepted defeat and fled.
Chronus was amongst the last.
After taking more punishment than any battle tank had a right to endure, the Rage of Antonius had shut down a quarter of a kilometre from the space port. Its saviour appeared out of the night, screaming down towards the tank commander on its turbine engines. Two other Thunderhawks alongside it, Gladius and Thunderstorm, peeled off from their flying formation in the direction of the space port itself.
The familiar sight of magna-grapnels came down out of the darkness, took hold and began hauling the Predator into the transporter’s waiting vehicle clamps. Then they were aloft, engines blazing again.
Despite his better judgement, Chronus cranked open the side hatch and looked out in the direction of the Courtyard of Thor.
Far below him, diminishing as the Thunderhawk rose up, he saw Agrippen.
Debris was hitting the roof of the transporter, Chronus could hear and feel it resonating through the dormant shell of the Antonius. It was from other vessels, torn down by enemy flak fire. Soon they would be headed into that maelstrom and Hera help them.
Agrippen was far from these concerns, though. He fought gloriously, an end worthy of the great Dreadnought. Necrons swarmed the Courtyard of Thor, their broken remains lying thick around Agrippen’s feet. He could no longer move, only swing with his power fist. Still he refused to fall, and for a moment Chronus dared believe he could somehow prevail.
When it came, the end was swift.
His armoured frame already split, oozing blood and oil, Agrippen staggered at last. Thick fumes were spewing from his reactor, suggesting an imminent meltdown. A cascade of beams erupted from the shadows at the edge of the courtyard, ripping through the thronging necrons to strike the Ancient.
Chronus was reminded of a beast of myth, the great drakon or khimeraera, pierced by a dozen lances as its hunters finally brought it down.
Agrippen stood transfixed for a few moments, his last breaths devoted to his Chapter and his brothers, before his reactor overloaded and took most of the courtyard and the necrons around him with it.
Falka had to turn away as the light blazed through the vision ports of the gunship they were riding in. He caught the impression of an immense and terrible fire raging through Kellenport, one much too bright and fierce for him to watch. His gaze went to the Ultramarines instead. There were just under ten of them in the hold and all were staring out at the blaze engulfing his city.
One of them even stood by the open side-hatch of the gunship, letting in the light and the distant reek of flame.
Someone had died. It was ash Falka could smell on the hot, whipping breeze. Ash, and retribution.
Standing in the hold of the Gladius, Scipio watched as the sun rose for one last time over Damnos, banishing the perpetual night. It was a firestorm that emanated from the Courtyard of Thor, bright, beautiful and fierce. It obliterated hundreds of necrons. The resultant shock wave warmed the air with atomic heat and buffeted the ships aloft upon it, and it tore the enemy siege guns apart. Rolling outwards in a vast trembling wave, it immolated everything in its path.
Vantor’s voice crackled through the hold’s vox.
‘Rough skies ahead, Sergeant Vorolanus.’
‘Agrippen has shown us the way, brother,’ Scipio replied.
Above them, the lattice of gauss beams promising certain destruction flickered and broke apart, until only a few sporadic salvos cut into the night.
As they prepared for atmospheric entry, Scipio closed the side hatch and looked around the hold.
Together with those that had escaped aboard the Thunderstorm, there were barely four squads of Ultramarines and half that in Damnosian Guard and militia that had escaped. Thousands of refugees had made it aboard the Valin’s Revenge and her frigates. But it was small recompense for the millions who had lost their lives.
He met the gaze of Iulus, who was wounded and slumped against a bulkhead. A thick-set, bearded man sat next to him and the two were in conversation when the other sergeant nodded to Scipio.
Praxor had survived too, though Scipio had seen little of him during the conflict. He was aboard the other gunship, both of which now broke into the upper atmosphere, beyond range of the necron guns and bound for the Valin’s Revenge.
EPILOGUE
OATHS
Antaro Chronus stood in the apothecarion of the Valin’s Revenge for the very first time since what had recently become known as ‘The Damnos Incident’.
Massacre or slaughter was too incendiary a word, but all those of the Second Company and the men who fought beside them knew the truth of that.
He was standing next to a medi-casket, regarding the warrior slumbering fitfully inside. The casket was fixed upright to the wall, its occupant held aloft by the viscous solution within. A rebreather was clamped around his face, but Chronus knew who this was.
Cato Sicarius.
The Master of the Watch would not be best pleased he had missed the final hours of the fight on Damnos.
Apart from Venatio, who was deep into his work monitoring Sicarius’s vitals, Chronus was alone. Daceus, the captain’s faithful retainer, stood vigil outside the chamber.
Chronus placed his gauntleted hand against the hard glass of the medi-casket.
‘We of Guilliman’s blood, do we not always find a way? Rise soon, brother-captain,’ he whispered.
Even in suspended animation coma, Sicarius looked belligerent. He was fighting as he slept, remembering all and vowing revenge. And as he watched him, Chronus was certain of two things.
Sicarius would return. The battle was over, but not the war.
About the Author
Nick Kyme is the author of the Tome of Fire trilogy featuring the Salamanders. He has also written for the Horus Heresy, Space Marine Battles and Time of Legends series with the novels Vulkan Lives, Fall of Damnos and The Great Betrayal. In addition, he has penned a host of short stories and several novellas, including ‘Feat of Iron’ which was a New York Times bestseller in the Horus Heresy collection The Primarchs. He lives and works in Nottingham.
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Published in Great Britain in 2013 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd., Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.
Cover illustration by Jon Sullivan.
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