The Unburdened

by David Annandale

  He was standing on the uppermost terrace, looking over the pano­rama of carnage, when Vor Raennag approached him.

  ‘Chaplain,’ the sergeant said, ‘I managed to make contact with the Infidus Imperator.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘The communication was very brief. The solar event has made vox-traffic almost completely inoperative. But I heard enough. The fleet’s losses are severe. All surviving ships are leaving the system.’

  ‘I see.’

  Vor Raennag’s face, a patchwork of combat and runic scars, was expressionless. His silence, though, was expressive.

  ‘Speak freely, brother-sergeant,’ Kurtha Sedd told him.

  ‘What is our situation, Chaplain?’

  ‘It has not changed,’ he lied. The prospect of extraction had gone from indefinite to remote at best. Kurtha Sedd swallowed his confusion, keeping it from his eyes and voice. The word betrayed bubbled to the surface of his mind once more. Yet he knew he was following his destined path by descending below the surface. There was a reason for him to be here.

  There were too many unknowns. Too many truths still concealed from his gaze. Very well. His struggle would be one of revelation.

  ‘No change?’ Vor Raennag said. ‘With respect, Brother-Chaplain, we are stuck on the enemy’s world.’

  ‘So is the enemy,’ Kurtha Sedd replied. ‘Come with me.’

  He descended the terraces. His nostrils filled with the thick stench of blood and burned flesh. The smell was a good one. It was the aroma of things broken, of a foe made abject. Ash fell on the shoulders of his armour, sticking to the vitae, darkening his crimson towards black. But not grey. He would never be clad in grey again.

  The company gathered in the centre of the hall. Kurtha Sedd stopped on the first terrace. His brothers looked up at him. They looked to him. He saw their need. Command had come to him when Tergothar fell, but it did not supplant his role as Chaplain. He was both the tactical and the spiritual leader now. The burden of command settled onto his shoulders. It was not unwelcome. It was also not enough. The weight felt transitional to him, as if his role were still not fully defined.

  He said, ‘We have news of the fleet. It is departing the Veridia system.’

  ‘What of us?’ Kaeloq asked.

  ‘We have not received any new orders. Therefore our mission has not changed, only the means of its accomplishment. We fight on. Here. Below ground. Calth belonged to the Ultramarines, but we have made it their foe now. And now we will bury them.’

  There were growls of assent. There was also an uncertain silence from some of the legionaries, Toc Derenoth among them. Kurtha Sedd could see the questions in the tilt of his head. He nodded to him. ‘Speak, brother,’ he said.

  ‘We have lost much of our strength. We don’t know how many of our fellows might also have survived, or where they might be, or how we might find them. And we know very little about the layout of the arcologies. This is still the Thirteenth Legion’s home territory.’

  ‘It is,’ Kurtha Sedd agreed. ‘So we will take it from them, as we took the surface away.’ He spread his arms to take in the ruined hall. ‘This architecture belongs to the Ultramarines. Its construction was devoted to the honour of Guilliman. Does this hall belong to them now?’

  ‘No!’ came the response from all throats.

  Ruins. Smoke. Guttering flame. The toppled statues. And triumphant, on the walls, the words. Their truth was evident in their power. Kurtha Sedd had studied the ancient tongue intently ever since his conversion. And even now, those runes – those shapes he had made himself time and again – twisted at the corner of his eyes. At the edge of human senses, the hall writhed. It would never belong to Guilliman again. The Word Bearers had given it to higher powers. The new, whispering ownership had begun. The archive was a beachhead of Chaos. It would harm any mortal who set foot in here again.

  ‘No,’ Kurtha Sedd repeated. He lowered his arms. He regarded his brothers. He wondered how much more to tell them. He believed what he had just said, but it was a partial truth. If the fleet did not return, then Fifth Company really had been abandoned. If they were never to leave, how could their war be anything other than a delaying tactic?

  He refused to consider that possibility. His destiny could not be such a dead end. There was meaning in his presence here. There was necessity. Yet he was reluctant to share this knowledge. It was too vague. He had not found the direction he should take. And there was a desire to clutch his secret close, to keep it for himself and not dilute the gift of the gods by revealing it to ears less worthy than his.

  He decided on a balance of revelation, and spoke again. ‘The material of the underworld is the enemy’s,’ he said. ‘If the tunnels we must fight in are veins, they are owned by the foe. But the blood that runs through them is ours.’ He pointed to the doorway leading deeper into the network. Its illumination was feeble, and the smoke dropped the tunnel into the deep of night. ‘The darkness is ours,’ said Kurtha Sedd. ‘It is everywhere, and it is what the Ultramarines have always resisted. They are beings of the light, and light has abandoned them. It burns their world. They have come to the darkness. We will teach them to fear it.’ He paused. He lowered his voice. ‘And there is more. We are alive and we are in this location for a reason. There is truth in the darkness below, brothers. We will meet it. We will use it.’

  The Word Bearers turned as one. The maw of the doorway waited.

  ‘Follow me, brothers,’ said Kurtha Sedd. ‘Follow me to the truth and the dark, and the destruction of the Ultramarines.’

  He stepped down from the terrace and headed for the doorway. His brothers followed, chanting prayers. Their voices were strong.

  Their voices were hungry.

  FOUR

  Strategy

  Nexus

  Flood

  The Word Bearers moved quickly into the network of tunnels. Their first moves were random, putting distance and branching paths between themselves and the entrance to the arcology. But always heading deeper. That was not random. That much of Kurtha Sedd’s purpose was clear to him. The depths called. He would answer.

  The slaughter in the archive had been a luxury and a risk. Kurtha Sedd knew this. He did not expect he was the only one who did. He was not surprised when Toc Derenoth was the one to question the decision. They were marching through a long corridor that connected larger zones of the system when the legionary moved up to the front of the phalanx to speak with him. Toc Derenoth was a spiritual warrior. His devotion to the truth was beyond question. He was also a pragmatist.

  The passageway’s lumen globes were a weak amber, and flickering. As far underground as they were, the arcologies had suffered significant damage from the huge impacts at the surface. Collapsed tunnels had already forced the company to change direction several times.

  Toc Derenoth opened a private vox-channel. ‘Brother-Chaplain,’ he said, ‘we remained in place for several minutes in the archive.’

  ‘We did.’

  ‘Was that wise? If the Ultramarines had arrived in force, they would have trapped us.’

  ‘They did not.’

  ‘Yes, but–’

  ‘Are you questioning my decision, brother? Or is it the consecration of the hall that you consider unnecessary?’

  ‘Neither.’

  ‘Good. Then let me reassure you. I was aware of the risks. I weighed my decision carefully.’

  Toc Derenoth nodded. ‘I believe in what we are doing and in you, Chaplain.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. But that is not what you want to speak of, I think.’

  ‘No. I was thinking of our tactical position.’

  If we had one, Kurtha Sedd thought. Despite what he had said in the archive hall, he had no illusions about their situation. The concerns Toc Derenoth had raised were valid. The Word Bearers had had the initiative since entering the arcology beca
use he had deliberately avoided Ultramarines strongpoints. ‘Go on,’ he said.

  Toc Derenoth pointed to the conduits running high on the wall on the right-hand side. ‘I have been observing these. Their concentration in a given passageway varies. We have passed some branches where it was greater, but there has been a general increase.’

  ‘And you conclude?’

  ‘The arcologies will have nerve centres. It must be possible to command them. Guilliman worships order and regimentation. He would never allow a haphazard organisation below ground.’

  ‘You think we are close to such a command nexus?’

  ‘I think I know how to find one.’

  ‘And? We are not here to govern, brother.’

  ‘No, but the enemy is.’

  ‘You want to destroy the nexus.’

  ‘I do,’ said Toc Derenoth.

  That kind of loss would hurt the Ultramarines badly. Establishing control over the underworld zones would be precisely their goal.

  They would also be ferocious in their fight to preserve those centres. It was the kind of fight that could hammer the Word Bearers to little purpose. Kurtha Sedd needed to follow the call of the depths. There was no other priority. There was no other consideration. Any sacrifice to that end was acceptable.

  If Toc Derenoth’s plan was successful, it could buy valuable time. Even if it failed, it would tie up the Ultramarines.

  ‘I am convinced, brother. But we cannot afford to divert our entire strength to this endeavour.’

  ‘Three squads,’ said Toc Derenoth. ‘Veteran Sergeant Qarthon agrees with my assessment. He will lead, if you give us leave.’

  ‘Why three squads?’

  ‘A compromise between speed, stealth and strength.’

  ‘Go then, brother,’ said Kurtha Sedd. ‘Bring them disorder. Bring them truth.’

  ‘He agreed easily,’ Qarthon commented.

  The three squads had split off from the rest of Fifth Company at a juncture of multiple corridors. One passageway headed right, with cables and pipes on both sides of the walls. Another descended a steep flight of stairs. ‘When you are done, head downwards,’ Kurtha Sedd had instructed. ‘Always down.’

  Toc Derenoth’s squad was the Ulughar Tactical, led by Sergeant Ghulun Vaad, and was marching abreast with Qarthon’s Rhaalahn Tactical veterans. The corridor had crossed a threshold and widened considerably. There was still no sign of civilians or Ultramarines, but there was a hum in the walls now. They were heading for a power source.

  ‘The Chaplain saw the value in the operation,’ Toc Derenoth told Qarthon. ‘Why does this surprise you?’

  ‘Because…’ Qarthon hesitated, as if searching for the right words. ‘Because his first commitment is to the spiritual rather than the strategic.’

  Toc Derenoth grunted. This was a fact he did not like to articulate, even to himself. That did not change its validity. He trusted Kurtha Sedd’s religious guidance. He did not exactly doubt his military leadership. He did, though, find himself evaluating the Chaplain’s strategy, alert for the possibility of error. His caution had been cemented by the massacre on Khur. Kurtha Sedd’s actions had anticipated the truth the entire Legion would finally discover, yet he had not been thinking, had not been rational, had not been mindful of consequences.

  The hum stuttered. Heavy, staccato beats rattled ahead. The Word Bearers were approaching a battlezone. The squads tightened their formations.

  The corridor crossed a threshold and opened into a large space, a towering cylindrical edifice at its centre. It was heavily damaged. The ceiling bowed inwards at several points, and there were a few complete collapses. In those areas, broken conduits sparked and steamed. Water ran down the slopes of broken stone. Many more cables and pipes were still intact and converged on the other side of the cavern.

  Robed statues had fallen from their pedestals. Arms that had been outstretched in victory or benediction now appeared to be reaching out in entreaty from shattered torsos. There had been grandeur here. Now light and magnificence had been brought low.

  At the far end of the chamber a cluster of ramps led to a large doorway. Arched glassaic windows flanked it on either side. They glowed. The interior’s illumination pulsed with the rise and fall of energy.

  Here was the command nexus. And the battle for its control had already been joined. Small groups of Ultramarines and Word Bearers were trading fire across the cavern. Toc Derenoth saw little organisation on either side. He had the impression that several running skirmishes had found their way into the chamber. Simple struggles for survival now had an objective.

  A handful of Ultramarines had the high ground of the ramps, but Word Bearers fire had them pinned. More of Guilliman’s sons were moving forwards to shore up their position and give them the chance to break away and reach the door to the nexus. Further out from the ramps, warriors from both Legions in twos and threes clashed, and the conflict lost shape. Muzzle flashes lit up the cavern. Shell and grenade blasts brought more chunks of the ceiling crashing down.

  In the diffuse confusion of the battle, the three squads from Fifth Company were a massive, coherent force.

  Qarthon led the charge, taking as direct a line towards the command nexus as the mounds of rubble permitted. The squads formed a wedge, and they drove it through the cavern, smashing the balance of the fight. They didn’t look for shelter. They used speed, numbers, and relentless momentum. The Ultramarines who turned their fire on the wedge came under renewed attack from the other Word Bearers.

  The advance could not be stopped.

  Bolter shells streaked out of the strobe-lit dimness to Toc Dere­noth’s left. One slammed into his flank. The others blew stone to dust. He shot back, seeing silhouettes duck behind mounds of rubble. Hard to tell how many brothers and enemies there were out there. Even the full dimensions of the cavern were obscure. As he advanced, he felt the currents of war coalesce around Fifth Company. The squads became the focus.

  Movement in the corner of his eye. A shadow made bulky by the weapon it carried. ‘Rocket!’ Toc Derenoth warned at the same instant as the launch.

  Too late.

  A shriek of flame across the cavern. The roar of the flight, the roar of the impact. The missile hit near the front of the Word Bearers advance. In the fireball, armoured silhouettes came apart. The ceiling was low, buckled. The confined space gave the blast even more force. Slabs of stone fell, smothering flame and crushing legionary.

  Toc Derenoth fired as he yelled. He sent a storm of shells into the helm of the Ultramarine. The shadow’s head exploded. The body fell. Ahead, Qarthon had survived. He veered right, taking the phalanx around the new wreckage. But momentum bled away. The suppressive fire from the Ultramarines grew stronger. They accepted their own sacrifices as the cost of stopping Fifth Company and giving their brothers the chance to take the command nexus.

  Enemy legionaries rushed in from both sides. Some were brought down. The others converged on the weakened point of the advance, tearing into Qarthon’s diminished force with rifle and chainblade. The other two squads waded in. On the right, Vek Torrag and Nethen Suul unleashed their flamers on the attackers. Toc Derenoth pressed forwards for blood. An Ultramarine swung a chainsword in at Ghulun Vaad while he grappled with another. The blade chewed through the sergeant’s armour and into his leg. Toc Derenoth fired at Ghulun Vaad’s first attacker while he revved his own chainsword and brought it down on the second’s arms. For a moment he, the Ultramarine and the sergeant were motionless, locked into a chain of butchery. Then Toc Derenoth’s sword severed the Ultramarine’s arms. The loyalist stumbled forwards. His stumps moved as if he would strike with them. His body blocked Toc Derenoth’s shots. They punched through his armour and through his neck. As he dropped, Ghulun Vaad and the other Ultramarine riddled each other’s helms with simultaneous mass-reactive volleys. The shells went wild as both warriors died. />
  Toc Derenoth stepped over the body of his dead sergeant. He held his chainsword high and fired his bolter in a sweep to his left. ‘Forward!’ he shouted. The order itself was unnecessary. His voice was important. He was the most senior battle-brother of the squad. The chain of command was preserved.

  The squads closed in on the ramps. There were only two Ultramarines still fighting above. They had cover from a rock fall two-thirds of the way up the central access. It had sheltered them this long, but it wasn’t enough. One rained covering fire on the Word Bearers. The other broke over and ran, up towards the rock platform running the length of the command nexus’s outer face. Bolter shells stitched craters in the stone as they sought him. Glassaic exploded. The remaining loyalists did what they could to suppress his attackers.

  The closer Fifth Company came to the ramps, the more defined the struggle became.

  Toc Derenoth closed his senses to everything but the need to bring the running Ultramarine down. But shells hit him, and hammered at his armour’s integrity, and one struck his arm, throwing his aim. Even so, he saw some of his shots fly to their mark. The Ultramarine staggered. He took shots enough to bring him down, but desperation held him up. Somehow still on his feet, he reached the entrance to the nexus.

  No matter, Toc Derenoth thought. The loyalist’s achievement would be short and meaningless. The Ultramarines could not hold the centre with a single legionary.

  Forward. The wedge of squads was smaller, but strong again. The ramps were only a few metres away. The Ultramarines’ fire was lessening. The cavern would soon belong to the Word Bearers. Already, the surviving battle-brothers from the other companies were moving to link up with the formation.