He turned as soft footfalls across the maintenance gantry caught his attention. Garro, his face like thunder, arrived with Sendek in tow and Kaleb panting at the rear.
The battle-captain spoke without preamble. ‘Is it true?’
‘It is.’ Voyen pointed. ‘Look there. The sigil on the spheres is unmistakeable. It is the rot-bane, lord, a weapon even the Emperor is loath to use.’ He shook his head. ‘Why has Grulgor done this? What madness has possessed him?’
Garro’s eyes were hard and flinty. ‘It is not madness, brother. It is treason.’
‘No,’ insisted Voyen, desperately tying to rationalise the situation as he had been since he sent Kaleb running. ‘Perhaps, if I spoke to Grulgor, I could discern the truth. I could approach him, as a lodge brother. He would listen—’
The captain shook his head. ‘He will not. Mark me, this will end only one way.’ Garro stood up, coming out of the shadows of the gantry, and walked slowly and deliberately down the ramp to the main level of the loading bay. He ducked beneath the hanging lip of a blast hatch and called out. ‘Ignatius Grulgor! Come here and explain yourself!’ The captain’s voice boomed off the tall, wide corridor above the gun carnages.
Voyen and the others followed warily, and the Apothecary saw Grulgor’s expression stiffen at the new arrivals.
‘Garro,’ he sneered. ‘It would be best for you to take your men, turn about and leave. What occurs here is not of your concern.’ All around him, the work gangers and the Astartes from the Second Company became still.
Garro’s hand was on the hilt of Libertas. ‘That will not happen.’
Grulgor nodded, a smile of amusement on his lips. It was clear he had expected no less.
‘Answer me,’ commanded Garro. ‘In the Emperor’s name, you will answer me!’
The commander’s face twisted in a grimace. ‘The Emperor,’ he said in a mocking tone. ‘Where is he now? What coin does his name carry in this moment?’
‘Blasphemer!’ spat Kaleb beneath his breath.
‘Why should we answer to him?’ Grulgor snarled. ‘He abandoned us! When we needed him the most, he cut away, left us behind out here and fled back to your precious Terra! What has he done since that day, eh?’ The commander spread his hands, taking in his men. ‘He has sold off our birthright to a council of fools and politicians, taken civilians who have never known hardships or the kiss of war and made them lords and lawmakers in our stead! The Emperor? He has no authority over us!’
Voyen blinked back his surprise at such a raw, seditious pronouncement, and gasped when he heard a chorus of angry assent among the men of the Second.
‘Only the Warmaster and the Death Lord can command us!’ Grulgor continued. ‘What we do here, we do by the will of Horus and Mortarion!’
Garro advanced menacingly, and with his thumb he nicked the hilt of Libertas so that a length of the blade emerged from its scabbard. ‘You and your men will stand down and quit this insanity.’
Grulgor chuckled. ‘You are three Astartes and a housecarl. I have my entire command squad and a handful of naval crew. The odds do not favour you.’
‘I have right on my side,’ Garro said, ‘and this will be the last time I ask you.’
The commander studied the battle-captain. ‘Very well, then. Go ahead.’ He tipped back his head and showed his bare throat. ‘Kill me, if you will.’ When Garro wavered, Grulgor’s rough laugh cut through the tense air. ‘You can’t! I can see it in your eyes. The thought that you might have to take the life of another Astartes, it horrifies you!’ He looked away. ‘You’re as crippled in spirit as you are in the flesh! That is why you fail to see, Garro. Beneath that rigid exterior you are weak. You are too afraid to do what must be done.’
GARRO’S MAILED FINGERS were clasped around the sword’s hilt, but it seemed cemented in the scabbard, unwilling to be drawn. Curse Grulgor, but Garro knew that on some level, the braggart was right. For a brief instant, the words of the jorgall psyker were there in his mind again, pressing at his will. Death Guard, so confident of your rightness, so afraid to see the crack in your spirit.
He gasped, and Grulgor saw the hesitation. Suddenly the commander was tearing the stubby frame of a bolt pistol from his belt and shouting. Garro saw it coming up and Libertas leapt into his hand, the metal flashing. Time skipped and there was gunfire in the chamber, shouts and the crashing of metal on metal.
‘Check your fire!’ Grulgor bellowed, drawing a battle knife with his free hand.
Garro was aware of Voyen and Sendek slipping away into battle stances and he saw Kaleb duck out of the line of fire. He thought of Decius, up on the bridge where he had left him. The youth’s close combat skills would have been a useful asset, had he been here. Grulgor had not lied. The odds were indeed stacked against them, but the clutter of machinery and equipment across the gunnery decks and the presence of the volatile warhead globes made it awkward for his men to move in and engage. On a level battlefield, the fight would already have been over.
Not here. Garro surged forward and advanced at the commander, but two of his men blocked his path, each armed with heavy combat hammers. He moved swiftly, parrying a blow from the left with the sword and striking out to the right with a punch that staggered the second opponent. Garro spun in place and used Libertas to cleave the haft of one hammer and send the owner falling backward with a sword gouge down the torso of his armour. Following through, Garro struck the second man again, this time with the heavy pommel of the blade. The Astartes dropped, his face a red ruin of smashed bones.
This was not the first time Nathaniel had shed the blood of his battle-brothers in combat. On many occasions he had fought to a standstill against live opponents in the practice cages, but those incidents were always under controlled circumstances and never with fatal intent. Inwardly he cursed Grulgor for forcing him into this situation. Off to the edges of his sight, he saw Voyen and Sendek had their own battles to fight. Garro sensed another aggressor coming to his rear and shifted just as a fractal-edged steel knife blade scraped at his shoulder. Reacting without conscious thought, the battle-captain reversed his grip on Libertas and thrust it backwards under his armpit. The sword ran through his attacker and he turned to draw it back out. Garro’s heart tightened in his chest as he watched his kill fall away to the deck plates with a crash. A Death Guard was dead, and it was by his hand.
THE SCRUM OF crewmen swarmed over Kaleb, kicking and punching him to the floor. Not one of them had the courage or stupidity to take on an Astartes, and so en masse they had sought the next best target. The housecarl railed at them for taking Grulgor’s side over Garro’s, but he wasted his breath. The swabs saw only which captain had the greater numbers and gave their loyalty to him. Kaleb fought as well as he could, but it was wild and mad, clothes and skin tearing, hair ripping away.
He felt sharp-nailed fingers rend his tunic and snatch at his neck. His collar pulled tight against him and he felt a surge of anger. Kaleb head-butted his attacker and swore, finding new rage to fuel him. ‘Emperor curse you filthy whoresons!’
A blocky metal shape rose up before him and clubbed his temple. Kaleb shook off the blow and grabbed at it. He smelled the odour of gun oil. It was a stub-pistol. The housecarl shoved against the men trying to hold him and snatched at the small weapon. It went off with a spitting crack of sound and someone screamed. Kaleb rolled free of the mob and came up still gripping the hot metal ingot. His fingers easily found the trigger and grip, and he blasted the next man to come at him through the eye. The gun was his salvation, a gift from his divinity. ‘The God-Emperor protects!’ he snarled. ‘I am His servant and His subject!’
He staggered away, breathing hard. Kaleb blinked and saw a figure before him in the marble-white and green trim of a Death Guard captain. The Astartes was aiming a bolt pistol into the melee with great care. Instinctively, the housecarl looked to see who the target was.
Garro was oblivious to the imminent kill-shot, grimly fighting hand-to-hand with another
warrior.
No! He cannot die! The thought burned like fire across the serfs mind. I will not permit it. The God-Emperor has chosen him! Kaleb raised the tiny gun and spoke a prayer aloud. ‘Divine One, guide my hand.’
He fired. The shot was released an instant before Grulgor’s finger tightened on his trigger. The stub-bullet from the handgun was of such small gauge that all it did was nick the metal of the bolt pistol where it struck the frame, but even that was enough to deflect the commander’s aim. The bolt shell from Grulgor’s pistol went wide, keening off a girder near Garro’s head and arcing away in a ricochet.
Grulgor reacted with preternatural speed and turned, throwing his battle knife at the housecarl. The Astartes blade buried itself in Kaleb’s chest, the impact throwing him down to collide with one of the gunnery bay’s control lecterns. It all happened in an instant, barely a second from the report of the stub-gun.
Blood filled Kaleb’s mouth, his throat and his lungs as a new sound crossed the room, a brittle, fierce noise, eggs breaking, ice cracking, glass shattering. Through his fogged vision Kaleb saw a thin line of dark haze issuing from one of the warhead spheres, hissing with virulent potency.
‘THE GLOBE!’ SHOUTED Voyen, kicking away from the thick of the fight. Grulgor’s deflected bolt round struck a glancing hit, webbing the frangible glass ball with a spreading fan of fractures. ‘Get away!’ He yanked at Sendek’s arm, pulling him backward.
Black gas was forming into a slow, malevolent haze, buzzing like a swarm of gnats. Work gangers close to the mist were already vomiting and clawing at their exposed skin. In moments, it would fill the width of the gunnery chamber.
Garro’s line of sight swept the room and he found Kaleb staring fixedly at him, pink froth leaking from his lips. ‘Lord!’ he cried, blood bubbling in his throat. ‘You are of purpose! The God-Emperor wills it!’ The housecarl lurched up on to the control lectern, wheezing. ‘His hand lies upon all of us! The Emperor protects!’ Garro reached out a hand in a warding gesture as Kaleb threw himself forward, using the last of his strength to press down on an emergency release switch.
Sirens blared and in the steel ceiling overhead, huge cogwheels disengaged, letting walls of thick iron drop down towards seal wells in the deck. Garro flung himself under the falling blade of metal, landing hard and rolling out to where Voyen and Sendek were crouched in the next compartment. One of Grulgor’s men, the warrior named Mokyr, threw himself after Garro, clutching at his heels. Mokyr landed short, with only his upper body across the well. The iron wall slammed shut across him, the massive guillotine severing the body of the Astartes with a sickening crunch of bone and ceramite.
Garro’s heart hammered against the inside of his ribcage, matching the pounding of fists from the inside of the thick gate. A phantom ache hummed through his augmetic leg.
‘Blast shields,’ gasped Sendek. He swallowed hard.
Voyen nodded. ‘He saved our lives. The hatch is proof against the bane. The little man gave himself up to save us, and the ship.’
The banging on the metal doors grew softer and softer, until finally it ceased altogether. Garro got to his feet and crossed to the shield, placing his palm against it. It felt blood-warm, probably from the virulent chemical reactions of the rot taking place inside. He tried to block out thoughts of the carnage contained in there, the bodies bursting with liquefied organs and organic decay. He tried and he failed.
Kaleb’s words echoed in his mind. It was clear now that the voice that had spoken to him of the Emperor and divinity through the fog of his healing coma must have been Kaleb’s. And now, the loyal servant had given his life in trade for his master’s.
‘I am of purpose,’ Garro mumbled. ‘What purpose?’
‘Sir?’ Sendek came to him, calling out to be heard over the hooting roar of the klaxons. ‘What did you say?’
He turned away from the shield. ‘Purge that compartment! Tell Carya to vent the air in there to space! The Life-Eater reaction will spread to every one of the container spheres and release the entire war load, but it can’t exist without an atmosphere. I want it off this ship!’
Voyen nodded. ‘And the bodies in there, captain? They will be decaying and—’
‘Leave them,’ he snapped, fighting off the dark mood settling upon him. ‘We must move swiftly, unless we wish to join them in death.’ Garro frowned and slammed Libertas back into its sheath. ‘The die has been cast.’
LIKE THE ENDURANCE, the Eisenstein had her own observatorium on the dorsal hull, situated just forward of the frigate’s command tower. It was nowhere near as large, however, and with the broad and tall figures of several Astartes crammed into it, the open chamber seemed smaller still. Decius’s face set in a grimace as the hatch opened and another two Death Guard entered. The Apothecary Voyen stepped into the chamber with Sendek at his side and the expression upon both of their faces was enough to give him pause. Decius looked across to where Sergeant Hakur was standing with men from his squad, and he saw that old Andus shared the black disposition of the new arrivals.
‘Meric, what is going on?’ demanded the veteran. ‘I’m suddenly ordered to drop everything and come up here, tell no one… and I hear distant sirens and snatches of scuttlebutt from the swabs about gunfire and explosions?’
‘There were no explosions,’ said Sendek grimly.
‘Where is the captain?’ asked Decius.
‘He’ll be here in a moment,’ Voyen replied. ‘He’s gone to fetch some others.’
Decius wasn’t content with another evasive answer. ‘When I was on the bridge there was a fire alert from the gunnery decks. An entire compartment amidships was sealed off. That’s four weapon carriages disabled, according to the control servitor. Then I hear you on the vox shouting for an emergency decompression down there?’ He pointed at the Apothecary. ‘First the lodges, then Tarvitz, and now this? I want an explanation!’
‘The captain will give it to you,’ the other man retorted.
‘Saul Tarvitz?’ Hakur broke in. ‘What about him? The last I heard he was on the Andronius.’
‘By now he’ll be in the Choral City, if he didn’t burn up on the way down,’ Sendek said grimly. ‘He broke protocol, stole a Thunderhawk and made for the surface of Isstvan III. Lord Commander Eidolon ordered that he was to be shot down.’
Hakur’s disbelief was palpable. ‘That’s ludicrous. You must be mistaken.’
Decius shook his head. ‘We were all there. We heard the order, but Garro disobeyed it. He let Tarvitz escape.’ The younger Astartes was still smarting over what had taken place, his loyalties pulling him in different directions over his commander’s actions. ‘It is sedition.’
‘Yes, it is.’ Garro’s voice issued from the hatch as he entered, with the Shipmaster Carya and the deck officer Vought following behind. The woman closed the seal behind them at Garro’s nod and it was only then that Decius noticed the housecarl wasn’t with them.
The battle-captain moved into the centre of the room and placed a folded cloth packet on the observatorium’s control dais. He took in all of them with a heavy, calculating stare. Decius had the impression that Garro was reticent to move on, to say the words that were pressing at his lips. Eventually, he sighed and nodded to himself, as if he had made a choice. ‘When we leave this room, we will be rebels,’ he began. ‘The guns of our brothers will be turned against us. I will call upon you to do questionable things, but there is no other path now. There is no choice. We alone may be the only souls capable of carrying the warning.’
‘What warning is this, lord?’ One of Hakur’s men asked, scowling deeply.
Garro looked at Decius. ‘A warning of sedition.’
Carya cleared his throat. Unlike his second-in-command, the shipmaster did not seem ill at ease being outnumbered by so many Death Guard in so close a proximity. ‘Honoured battle-captain, with all due respect, this is my ship and I will have you explain what has gone on aboard her before we go any further.’
‘Indeed,
as is right,’ nodded Garro. He looked down at his mailed hands and took a deep breath. In a solemn, metered voice, Decius’s mentor relayed the events of his confrontation with Grulgor. Shock took hold as he spoke of the virus bombs, turning into a grim, loaded silence as Garro went on to convey the commander’s declaration against the Emperor and the horrifying result of the melee on the gunnery decks. Decius felt his head swim with the import of these things. It was as if the floor was turning to mud beneath his boots, dragging him down into disarray and confusion.
Vought was pale as paper. ‘The Life-Eater… it will not spread?’
Sendek shook his head. ‘It was contained in time. The viral strain burns out very quickly.’
‘I would recommend the compartment not be opened for the next six hours,’ added Voyen, ‘to be certain. The war load will have dissipated harmlessly into space after the atmosphere vents were opened, but dormant clades might linger in the bodies of the dead.’
‘Our own men.’ Hakur shook his head. ‘I can barely believe it. I knew Grulgor was a braggart and a glory seeker, but this… Why would he do something so outrageous?’ The veteran looked to Garro, an almost naive imploring in his eyes. ‘My lord?’
GARRO WANTED TO explain Grulgor’s actions away. Like Voyen, some secret part of him had hoped that perhaps this was all some strange dream, or a temporary madness that had taken hold of his rival, but the moment he had looked Ignatius in the eye, he had known it was not so. Grulgor would never ally himself to a cause if he thought it might have a risk of failure. The certainty, the complete assurance on the other Death Guard’s face, that sealed the truth of it for Garro. Grulgor was the proof of Tarvitz’s warning, the damning reality snapping hard into place like a magazine into the breach of a bolter.
All the small things, the little asides and the moments of doubt, the dark feeling of ominous import, the mood aboard Endurance and the Vengeful Spirit, every element that had troubled Nathaniel these past days turned in place and became a part of the same whole.
The Flight of the Eisenstein Page 16
