Word Bearers

by Anthony Reynolds

  ‘By the blood of Guilliman,’ breathed Aquilius. ‘Is it over?’

  ‘It will never be over,’ said Veteran Brother Severus Naevius.

  ‘The xenos vessel is moving,’ came Sabtec’s voice from the bridge. ‘Accelerating fast. It will be upon us within minutes.’

  ‘Understood,’ said Marduk.

  The Dark Apostle was caked in blood, and his chest was rising and falling heavily, his breath ragged. Accompanied by Kol Badar and twenty of the Anointed, he had spent the last two hours isolating each warrior that had been identified as Brotherhood. Already, he had killed over a hundred and eighty of his own brothers, and his khantanka blade was not yet done.

  ‘I hope this plan of yours works,’ said Kol Badar.

  It had been a close-run thing, and at full burn the Infidus Diabolus had only barely managed to keep out of range of the Chaos fleet’s weapons.

  ‘Have faith, my Coryphaus,’ said Marduk.

  The Infidus Diabolus speared inexorably towards the Trajan Belt, the thick ring of asteroids that divided the Boros Gate system into inner and outer worlds. Only as the mighty Chaos ship approached the detritus of the previous battle with the Imperials did it slow its progress. The carcasses of dozens of ships hung here, a veritable graveyard of devastated vessels. Slowing, the Infidus Diabolus slipped amongst the wreckage like a grave robber, an unwelcome intruder into the silent realm.

  Immense sections of destroyed battleships and twisted hunks of scrap spun lazily in the vacuum, and as the Infidus Diabolus glided into the midst of the flotsam, Marduk ordered all systems, primary and secondary, to be shut down. Shimmering void shields flickered and dissolved one after another, and all internal lights, air-recycling units and weapon systems went offline. Deep within the slave pens, thousands gasped as they rose from the floor as the ship’s inertial anti-gravity inhibiters powered down and their oxygen supply was cut.

  Within minutes, the ever-present hum of the engines subsided into silence as the beating warp-drive heart of the vessel was silenced. All that was left behind was the sound of the ship’s hull contracting and expanding alarmingly. Dull echoes boomed through the silent hallways of the ship as debris stuck the Infidus Diabolus.

  ‘Unshielded, we’ll be crushed if we are hit by anything of considerable size,’ growled Kol Badar. Marduk could see the shape of the Coryphaus clearly, despite the darkness.

  ‘Silence,’ said Marduk.

  And in the darkness, they waited.

  ‘They seek to hide from our scans,’ said Dark Apostle Ankh-Heloth from the bridge of the Anarchus.

  ‘It buys them a few minutes, nothing more,’ replied Belagosa, from his own flagship, the Dies Mortis.

  ‘Commence the bombardment,’ transmitted Ekodas.

  Explosions detonated within the field of space wreckage as the Chaos fleet’s weaponry was brought to bear, firing indiscriminately into its midst.

  The Infidus Diabolus was jolted as a detonation nearby peppered its hull with debris.

  Marduk and his captains stood upon one of the ship’s assault decks, a dozen Deathclaw drop-pods waiting patiently for the order to launch.

  ‘We won’t last long in this barrage,’ said Kol Badar.

  ‘They are in position, my lord,’ said Sabtec.

  ‘Give me the device,’ said Marduk.

  Kol Badar produced the Nexus Arrangement and Marduk took it from him. It looked so insignificant now, just a simple silver orb. He had been through so much to attain the device and unlock its secrets…

  It had surprised him that, even still, the device was holding back the warp, disallowing transference. He prayed fervently that what he had planned would work, though in truth he had no idea whether it would or not. Still, in a few minutes it would not matter either way.

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ said Kol Badar.

  ‘It is the only way,’ said Marduk, his voice tinged with bitterness. ‘We must get word to Erebus about Kor Phaeron’s treachery. He must learn how deep the Brotherhood runs. Nothing else matters. Not even this,’ he said, holding aloft the Nexus Arrangement.

  ‘How many brothers have we lost because of that device?’ said Kol Badar. He snorted, shaking his head. ‘And it comes to this?’

  ‘There is no other way,’ said Marduk. ‘Gods damn it!’

  Marduk looked down at the violently shaking device in his hand. His search for the Nexus and unlocking its secrets had seen him battle all manner of foe, entire worlds burn, and thousands of loyal warrior brothers perish. He had been through so much to claim the device. So much had been prophesised of the power it contained within its inscrutable form. And for what?

  What was he thinking? How could he even contemplate going through with this?

  The device began to vibrate in his hand, almost imperceptiibly at first, but it was getting stronger.

  ‘The xenos approach,’ hissed Marduk. ‘They are calling it to them.’

  ‘If we are going to do this, we need to do it now,’ said Kol Badar.

  Another explosion shook the Infidus Diabolus.

  ‘We cannot take much more of this,’ said Kol Badar.

  Marduk came to a decision.

  ‘Do it,’ he said.

  Sabtec held the vortex grenade that Marduk had claimed from magos Darioq-Grendh’al, the most potent man-portable weapon that the Imperium had ever produced. He prayed that this was going to work. Sabtec readied the device, thumbing its activation code and timer, his movements precise and careful. It began to blink with a repetitive red beacon.

  ‘Armed!’ said Sabtec.

  Marduk muttered a prayer to the gods and tossed the Nexus Arrangement through the gaping, spherical aperture of one of the Deathclaw assault pods.

  Sabtec lobbed the vortex grenade in behind it, and Kol Badar slammed his fist onto the launch press-switch.

  The Deathclaw’s hatch slid closed with a metallic screech.

  ‘Now, we pray,’ breathed Marduk.

  Half a second later, the assault pod fired, shooting down the launch tube at high speed. Spiralling like a bullet, the drop-pod screamed down the fifty metres of tube before launching out into space, engines roaring.

  Marduk held his breath as he watched the Deathclaw blasting out away from the Infidus Diabolus.

  Three seconds later, the vortex grenade detonated.

  A sphere of absolute darkness appeared, swallowing all light as the vortex grenade created a miniature black hole three hundred metres off the starboard bow. Its hemisphere touched a twisted mess of space debris half the length of the Infidus Diabolus, and it was instantly consumed. Marduk shuddered to think what would have happened had the device detonated prematurely.

  The Deathclaw was swallowed instantly, crumpling to the size of an atom and blinking out of existence.

  The Nexus Arrangement was destroyed along with it, and with it gone, its hold over the Boros Gate was lifted.

  ‘We have multiple contacts!’ bellowed Ankh-Heloth. ‘Mass transference is underway!’

  ‘Gods above!’ swore Belagosa. ‘The gateways are open!’

  ‘No!’ roared Ekodas as his scanners lit up with dozens of flashing icons. Gazing out of the curved portal before him, he saw the first of the Imperial ships materialise on his starboard bow, the Astartes battle-barge emerging from the rent that had been ripped in realspace, its hull blackened and the iconography of a bared sword plastered across its prow. Its hull was bathed in warp-light and it lurched towards the Crucius Maledictus as its weapons powered up.

  ‘We must fight clear! We cannot win here!’ yelled Ankh-Heloth.

  ‘No!’ spat Ekodas. ‘I will not flee the enemy like a coward! Target them! Take them down!’

  Ignoring his order, Ekodas saw the flickering icon of the Anarchus begin to turn away, desperately attempting to extricate itself from the soon to erupt firestorm. Ekodas knew that it would be too slow. They were all dead.

  ‘Nova-cannon ready to fire,’ drawled a servitor hardwired into the battle control syste
ms of the bridge.

  ‘Target the battle-barge,’ Ekodas bellowed, gesturing frantically. With painful reluctance, the Crucius Maledictus began to swing around, even as the first shots began to pound at her shields.

  Dozens of enemy ships were making transference now, materialising all around the Crucius Maledictus and its beleaguered fleet. He saw a massive starship, a Darkstar fortress, emerge directly in front of his own hulking flagship.

  ‘New target!’ roared Ekodas.

  Cross-hair reticules upon vid-screens blinked as they locked onto the massive battle station.

  ‘Fire!’ ordered Ekodas.

  The Crucius Maledictus shook as her mighty nova cannon was unleashed, and the Darkstar was momentarily hidden within its blast. Then it emerged, unscathed, though more than half its shields had been stripped. He saw the Anarchus explode in a billowing corona, targeted by the combined fire of two newly arrived Astartes battle-barges and four Imperial battle cruisers. The battle would be over in seconds.

  ‘Ready the cannon for another shot!’ bellowed Ekodas. He did not see the silver strike cruiser blink into existence on his flank, nor see it turn and begin angling towards his vessel.

  The first he knew of the Grey Knights’ attack was when twenty Terminator-armoured battle-brothers of the Chamber Militant appeared on his bridge, teleporting across the empty gulf between their own vessel and the hulking Chaos flagship in the blink of an eye.

  Garbed in their archaic armour and with Nemesis force weapons clutched in their gauntleted hands, the Terminators of the Ordo Malleus obliterated everyone on the command deck in a devastating salvo.

  Alone, Ekodas rose from the hail of fire.

  ‘A curse upon your name, Marduk,’ snarled Ekodas. He stepped forward to meet the Grey Knights. He did not even make it two metres before he was cut down.

  Marduk laughed out loud as he witnessed the destruction of his brethren. The spectacle was awe-inspiring.

  ‘The xenos?’ said Kol Badar as the lights began blinking back into life upon the bridge’s control dais.

  ‘Gone,’ said Sabtec, studying the vid-screens. ‘They disappeared as soon as the Nexus was destroyed.’

  ‘Power up the warp drive,’ Marduk ordered, not taking his eyes off the scene of glorious destruction occurring beyond the curving view-deck. ‘Set co-ordinates for Sicarus. We are going home.’

  EPILOGUE

  Marduk marched beside First Chaplain Erebus through the high vaulted halls of the Basilica of Torment. The sound of their footsteps echoed hollowly in the high vaulted space. Immense vertebrae-like pillars towered above them. Robed adepts skulked in the shadows, prostrating themselves as the holy duo passed them by.

  ‘The loss of the device is disappointing,’ Erebus was saying. ‘But it served its purpose. The enemies of the XVII Legion have been exposed.’

  ‘Will the Council declare war upon Kor Phaeron?’ said Marduk in a low voice. Bedecked in his ancient suit of Terminator armour, he loomed over the compact figure of Erebus.

  The First Chaplain’s head was shaven smooth and oiled. Every inch of exposed skin was covered in intricate cuneiform.

  ‘The Brotherhood and all who gave them succour shall burn, have no doubt of that,’ said Erebus. ‘But my brother shall not be touched. He has already distanced himself from the Brotherhood, severing all links that tied it back to him. He has left them to the wolves, and there shall be no reparations against him. And if I ever hear you refer to the Keeper of the Faith by name again, Marduk, I will see you flayed alive.’

  The First Chaplain had not raised his voice, and spoke in a calm, matter-of-fact voice, yet Marduk paled.

  ‘I do not understand, master,’ said Marduk.

  Erebus smiled.

  ‘The Keeper of the Faith and I have known each other for a very long time,’ he said. Every Word Bearer knew that Erebus and Kor Phaeron were the first and closest comrades of their lord primarch, Lorgar. ‘It has always been like this between us. Our little struggles against each other mean nothing.’

  Marduk walked in silence, baffled. For long minutes the pair marched through the basilica. The immense, carved bone doors of the Council chambers loomed up ahead of them.

  ‘The death of the Black Legion sorcerer displeases me, however,’ said Erebus finally, and Marduk’s blood ran cold. ‘It will have consequences. But no matter. What’s done is done.’

  ‘Will the Black Legion seek amends?’

  Glancing sideways, he saw that Erebus was smiling. It was a mocking and sinister sight, and Marduk’s unease redoubled.

  ‘Abaddon seek amends against us? No,’ said Erebus. ‘But he will not be pleased. It will raise his suspicion. We will have to be more… circumspect in the coming days.’

  Marduk felt like a child, not understanding a half of what Erebus implied.

  ‘There are some who feel that Abaddon is not worthy of bearing the title Warmaster any longer,’ said Erebus. ‘Some feel the time approaches for him to be… relieved of the position.’

  Marduk’s eyes widened in shock.

  ‘Ekodas’s death leaves a gap on the Council,’ said Erebus, and Marduk looked at him in surprise. Erebus’s face gave away nothing. His eyes were as cold and dead as those of a corpse. ‘I want someone that I know I can trust to take his place.’

  Marduk’s heart was beating hard in his chest.

  ‘I can trust you, can’t I, Marduk?’ said Erebus, coming to an abrupt halt and turning towards the Dark Apostle. His voice was silken with threat and promise.

  ‘Implicitly, my lord,’ said Marduk, dropping to one knee. ‘My life is yours.’

  ‘Good,’ said Erebus, laying his hand upon Marduk’s crown in a casual benediction. ‘There is much work to be done.’

  Death was nothing to be feared. Death he would have welcomed. It was the in-between place that that filled him with dread.

  To some it was the Undercroft, Tartarus, or Limbo; to others it was Sheyole, the Shadowlands, or Despair. On old Colchis it was known as Bharzek. Translated literally, its meaning was simple and direct – Torment.

  Those condemned to wander its ashen fields were said to be cursed above all others. They lingered there, haunted, confused and lost, suffused with impotent rage, longing and regret. Unable to move on, yet equally unable to move back to the lives they had left behind, they were trapped in that empty, grey wasteland, doomed to an eternity of emptiness.

  He knew now that the old stories were wrong, however.

  It was possible to come back...

  ‘Burias.’ That voice was not welcome here. It was an intrusion. He tried to ignore it, but it was insistent.

  ‘Burias-Drak’shal.’

  He awoke to pain. It blossomed within him, building, compounding, multiplying, until every inch of his body was awash with fire. He was blinded by agony, yet he grinned, bloodied lips drawn back in a leering grimace.

  Pain was good. Pain he could endure. He was alive, and not yet confined to the hell that the Dark Apostle had promised him. Burias embraced his pain, letting it draw him back from the brink of oblivion.

  He knew where he was – deep within the Basilica of Torment, on Sicarus, adopted homeworld of the XVII Legion. He’d been dragged here in chains by his former brothers, but he had no concept of how long ago that had been. It felt like an eternity.

  Gradually his senses returned.

  The smell hit him first. Hot, cloying and repellent, it was the stink of a dying animal. It hung in the unbearably humid air like a fog, something that could be felt on the skin, oily, clinging and foul. He could taste it. Sickly stale sweat, charred meat and burnt hair; none of it could quite mask the stench of bile and necrotising flesh.

  But more than anything else, he could smell blood. The room reeked of it.

  He discerned low whispers and chanting, and the hushed shuffle of feet on a hard stone floor as his hearing returned. He heard the clank of chains, the hiss of venting steam, and the mechanical grind of gears and pistons.

&nb
sp; This is not your fate.

  The words were spoken with the confidence of one who does not need to raise its voice in order to make itself heard. It was familiar, but he could not place it. He tried to answer, but his lips were dry, cracked and bleeding, his throat raw and painful. He swallowed, tasting blood, and tried again.

  ‘Who are you?’ he managed.

  I am the Word and the Truth.

  ‘Your voice... is inside my head,’ said Burias, wondering if his torture had driven him to insanity. ‘Are you real? Are you a spirit? A daemon?’

  I am your saviour, Burias.

  The haze of his surroundings was slowly coming into focus. He was staring straight up at an octagonal, vaulted ceiling. It was shrouded in darkness, lit only by a handful of low-burning sconces mounted upon the eight pillars surrounding him. Oily smoke coiled from these fittings, rising languorously.

  He lay spread-eagled upon a low stone slab, bound in heavy chains bolted to the floor. The links that bound him were each the size of a Space Marine’s fist and heavy manacles were clamped around his ankles, wrists, and neck. The flesh around these bindings was blackened, raw and weeping, burnt almost to the bone.

  The manacles were inscribed with ancient Colchisian cuneiform. Painstakingly replicated from the Book of Lorgar, the potent runic script glowed like molten rock, and the infernal heat radiating from them made the air shimmer. Yet more of the angular ideograms were carved directly into Burias’s tortured flesh, and these too smouldered with burning heat.

  His body was a ruin of raw scar tissue, burns, cuts, abrasions and welts. His sacred warplate had been torn away piece by piece, with all the eagerness and hunger of feeding vultures. Where over the years it had become fused to his superhuman frame, it had been crudely hacked off with cleavers and blades that he suspected had been purposefully dulled to make the work longer and bloodier.