Heroes of the Space Marines

by Nick Kyme

  Sister Helena’s eye narrowed. ‘I would ask the same of you, Castellan. We were given no word of your coming.’

  ‘We did not offer any word, Sister Superior, and if you are not willing to give me the answers I need, I suggest you take me to someone who will.’

  Helena studied the towering Marine for a moment. ‘Very well, Castellan,’ she said finally. ‘I will take you. But be warned: Chaos has assuredly tainted this place.’

  INTERROGATOR EDWIN SAVAUL of the Ordo Hereticus took a ragged breath of the mountain air as he surveyed the siege’s progress. He stood at a shattered casement high in an ancient tower, a tower his men dubbed “the Spike”. With walls forged from the ironite stone indigenous to Stygia XII, the Spike was one of two towers guarding the entrance to the valley from the winding defile beyond. All that remained of the second was a finger of crumbling stone, a place avoided by the simple Guardsmen, who claimed the unquiet dead haunted its collapsed halls.

  From his perch, Savaul could easily see the gothic fortress stretching into the night sky, commanding the far side of the valley like a dark cathedral cut from the stone of the mountain. From its decaying battlements glowing streaks of criss-crossing las-fire and tracer rounds webbed the valley floor. Explosions rocked the broken landscape just beneath the walls, an area that had also received a name: “the cemetery”. Everywhere, flashing light illuminated the forms of struggling soldiers.

  Savaul turned to face the chamber’s dank interior. A ring of flickering lumoglobes circled the room, their snaking power cables stretching across the floor’s cracked flagstones. The harsh light stung his eyes. ‘Are we any closer?’ he asked.

  Veteran Captain Dremin Vlorn of the 4th Inquisitorial storm-trooper regiment emerged from where he waited in the chamber’s entry portal. He limped into the room, his grizzled face streaked with soot and dried blood. A stylized ‘I’ – the mark of Inquisitorial conditioning – stood out on either ridge of his sunken cheeks. He placed his helmet on the only piece of furniture: a large, smoke-blackened quarter panel of a blasted Vindicator tank turned into a makeshift table. The captain’s exhaustion was palpable. ‘The gates hold, interrogator. Our troops still can’t get close enough to plant the breaching charges.’

  Savaul stepped from the ruined window, one hand in the pocket of his ankle-length storm coat, its high black collar framing a face devoid of pigment. ‘Where is Sister Superior Helena? I expected her report along with yours.’

  ‘She should be just behind me,’ the captain replied, tugging his gloves free. ‘She took her Celestian and Seraphim squads to investigate a disturbance in the defile about an hour ago. I saw them descending the switchbacks as I entered the Spike.’

  ‘A disturbance?’

  Vlorn shrugged. ‘There were reports of gunfire.’

  Savaul’s disturbingly blue eyes searched the captain’s face. He had become adept at detecting a man turned by the warp. It appeared Veteran Captain Vlorn’s conditioning remained uncorrupted. Savaul engaged the safety of the laspistol in his pocket and placed the weapon on the table. Vlorn looked up in alarm.

  ‘None of us are safe from the warp’s taint, veteran captain. Especially here. I would expect you to deal with me in the same manner, were I no longer… pure.’

  Vlorn inclined his head. ‘Understood, interrogator.’

  A sound brought both men around. Footsteps echoed from the shadows beyond the chamber’s portal – slow and measured, like the tread of a Titan. As they grew nearer, dust began to sift from the ceiling stones. A moment later Sister Superior Helena entered the room, stepping aside to make way for the mammoth figure in her wake. Savaul sucked in a sharp breath at the sheer scale of the newcomer.

  Astartes. He had seen one once from a distance, but nothing could match the awe or the terror of seeing one up close. They truly were monsters.

  Helena stepped forward. ‘Interrogator Savaul, I present Castellan Marius Reinhart of the Black Templars’ Sword Brethren.’ Reinhart stared down at them, flint eyes sparkling, one half of his tanned face covered in tattooed lines of Gothic script. At close to three metres tall, encased in ornate black power armour, the Space Marine dominated the room. His tabard was the colour of aged parchment. Scorched and ripped, it bore the ebony cross of the Templars’ heraldry. An ancient blade hung at his side. Silent, the giant nodded in greeting and stepped around the table, his gaze drawn to the maps spread upon its scarred surface. Armoured fingers lifted the vellum schematics of the besieged fortress’s walls and gridded layouts of troop dispersements. All of them watched, drawn into a hushed silence, entranced.

  He let the maps fall back to the table. His gaze swept them all, and then his unwavering eyes locked with Savaul’s. ‘What troubles this place, interrogator?’

  Savaul swallowed, feeling as though he had emerged from a dream. All the power and authority due an Inquisitorial agent flooded back in an instant. He straightened. ‘Castellan, I welcome you,’ he said, ignoring the Astartes’ question. ‘Your arrival is most propitious. I will require your forces to join the assault on the gates of the fortress. I’m sure you saw the situation on your descent from the defile.’

  A strange, reverberating growl came from the Marine. It took a moment for Savaul to realize it was laughter.

  ‘Interrogator,’ he said, any hint of mirth now gone from his voice, ‘If you think I have come here to relieve you, you are mistaken.’ ‘I… I’m afraid I don’t understand. Surely you have come at our request for aid. My envoys left with the call three days ago.’ Reinhart glanced down, again studying the map of the fortress. ‘Do you know, interrogator, what this place is that you lay siege to?’

  Savaul looked from Helena to Vlorn, but neither noticed his glance. They simply stared at Reinhart, puzzlement evident on both of their faces. Savaul was beginning to feel as though he lacked some vital piece of information – a feeling he was not accustomed to. ‘Planetary records on file with Stygia XII’s Administratum centre in Capitalis Acheron report that this fortress was in existence upon the planet’s settlement. Its builders are unknown, possibly xenos, a rumour causing it to be shunned by the local populace. They call it Stormhelm. Further records indicate—’

  ‘Your records are lacking, interrogator,’ Reinhart interrupted. Savaul, unused to such disrespect, stood open-mouthed. Reinhart moved to the room’s gaping window, the glow of the siege-flames lighting his face. ‘The bastion’s true name is Montgisard; a chapter keep of my order founded by Marshal Gervhart during his execution of the Athelor Crusade. That was close to three thousand years prior to Stygia XII’s official settlement date. After millennia of faithful service it was declared Vox in Excelso – dissolved – and thus abandoned. However, the memory of our Chapter is long, and none of our keeps are ever truly forgotten. We have returned at the behest of High Marshal Ludoldus to reclaim Montgisard.’ Reinhart turned back to the table. ‘So, I ask you again: who has defiled this place?’

  Savaul said nothing for a moment, unable to comprehend how his ordo could have been ignorant of these facts. Still, it changed nothing. The needs of the Templars would have to come second, if at all. A world’s fate hinged upon the Inquisition’s success. Savaul chose his next words carefully.

  ‘Castellan, I thank you for enlightening us on the history of this site. This fortress, whether you call it Montgisard or Stormhelm, has become an infested hive of taint and corruption – and, as near as we can tell, is the Archenemy’s base of operations on Stygia XII. We are here on orders from my master, Inquisitor Abraham Vinculus of the Ordo Hereticus, to cleanse this taint.’ Savaul motioned to Helena.

  The Battle Sister moved to the table and gestured to the map outlining troop placements. ‘We arrived on-site a week ago,’ she said. ‘Shortly thereafter, the storm manifested, cutting our communication lines. Nothing in, nothing out.’ She looked up at Reinhart. ‘Our situation could not be more dire. The cult of the Archenemy has turned out to be much larger than anticipated. A sizeable portion of the Stygian Planetary
Defence Force has turned traitor, enslaved by the warp’s corruption.’ She motioned to Vlorn. ‘Veteran Captain Vlorn and his storm-troopers have executed the brunt of the assault, with my sisters acting as the tip of the spear.’

  Vlorn’s gruff voice cut in. ‘The bastards have dug in and they have a taste for blood. Though we lay siege, it is actually we who are encircled. They’ve taken the high ground around us, and the gates of Stormhelm refuse to fall.’ A touch of grudging admiration laced the veteran captain’s words. ‘You Astartes know how to build a door.’

  ‘Why not simply pull out, fight your way back through the defile, and return with additional forces?’

  Helena and Vlorn looked to Savaul, a sudden uneasiness to their features.

  Savaul looked down, composed himself, and then raised his eyes to meet the full force of Reinhart’s gaze. ‘Retreat is not an option, Castellan. We—’ Savaul hesitated.

  The hulking Space Marine’s voice cracked with impatience. ‘Speak, man! My time is short!’

  ‘As is ours, Castellan!’ Savaul reached to the inner-pocket of his storm coat and withdrew a rolled parchment. ‘Have you heard of a Necrolectifier?’

  ‘No, interrogator, I have not.’

  Savaul unrolled the scroll and placed it on the table. A coruscating mass of arcanographs and warp glyphs crawled across the blood-stained parchment. Reinhart snarled, stepping back from the table. ‘What abomination is this?’

  The interrogator laid a splayed hand across the parchment, never taking his eyes from Reinhart. ‘This scroll holds the design of a warp gate, a physical portal between our universe and the realm of Chaos. It requires four artefacts, four Necrolectifiers, vile items capable of focusing enough daemonic energy to rip a hole through the fabric of our reality into the maelstrom of the warp. Castellan, they are planning to open this gate.’

  ‘But you have captured this scroll,’ Reinhart said. ‘You have foiled their plan, correct?’

  ‘No, Castellan, this scroll is not the key; it was drawn by a captured heretic during interrogation – a physical representation of the knowledge my excruciators drew from him. It tells us the cultists within Montgisard already hold the Necrolectifiers, the knowledge of their proper arrangement, and the rituals required to activate them. It tells us that on any given year, at the ninth hour of a ninth day of a ninth month, a portal may be opened, a portal through which the legions of the warp may pass.’

  Savaul’s voice lowered to a whisper. ‘Castellan, this is the ninth day, of the ninth month of 832.M41 and very soon it will be the ninth hour. Unless this fortress is destroyed first, you can be assured this gate will open, then this world will burn – and the thousands of souls living here will burn with it.’

  THE MEETING WITH the interrogator had taken longer than Reinhart expected. The time he had spent with Savaul made it plain to him the man’s resolve was unbendable, and that the situation at Stormhelm posed a very real threat to the success of the Templars’ mission. Now, more than ever, time was of the essence.

  He found his battle-brothers waiting for him in one of the tower’s undercrofts. Its western wall had collapsed, the rubble cleared to give easy access to the tower’s exterior. Beyond the wall a marshalling yard had been levelled. A hive of activity swarmed across its packed surface. Ordinance officers bellowed while loading crews thronged around a handful of damaged Vindicator tanks awaiting the ministrations of overworked enginseers.

  Dorner and Apollos stood watchful at the undercroft’s crude exit, observing the tumult outside, their bolters at low guard. Gerard sat on a battered munitions crate, his leg elevated while Ackolon applied a battlefield dressing. Chaplain Mathias talked in hushed tones with the Techmarines, not far from the floating Ark. They all turned at Reinhart’s approach.

  Mathias stepped to the forefront. ‘Castellan?’

  Reinhart looked at each of them in turn. ‘I will tell you simply, brothers: Chaos has gained a foothold here. The Archenemy occupies Montgisard. At minimum two regiments of traitor guard and PDF lie within. In three hours they will attempt to open a warp gate within the fortress’s grand chapel, and this world will die in the apocalypse that follows.’

  Mathias’s face darkened. ‘Then we dare not lose another moment. The power cells of the shield will last another two hours at most.’

  ‘I am well aware of the cells’ capacity, Chaplain,’ he replied. He brushed past Mathias and strode to the Ark, running his hands across the shield’s crackling surface. ‘So much hope hinged on what lay within. The Inquisition’s forces are desperate. They have been engaged here over a week and are no closer to breaking the fortress’s gates.’

  Mathias followed Reinhart to the Ark. ‘Castellan, I am afraid I don’t see how their situation has any bearing on our mission here.’ ‘It bears on our mission, Chaplain Mathias, because I have told them we would help—’

  ‘By Terra,’ Mathias snapped. ‘You told them what? I must protest this!’ he growled, the muscles in his jaw knotting. ‘Were this any other circumstance I would agree.’ He looked to the Marines around him. ‘We all would, but aiding the Inquisition is not an option. We have an oath and only one directive here. The fate of this world, our lives if need be, are secondary.’

  Reinhart felt Ackolon move up beside him. ‘Castellan, you know we would follow you anywhere, but Chaplain Mathias is right. Stygia XII has not yet fallen. We can return once our task is done.’

  Reinhart faced the Apothecary. ‘Are the two of you done?’

  Startled by the iron in the Castellan’s tone, Ackolon stepped back. Dorner and Apollos exchanged concerned looks.

  ‘I have pledged to help them, yes,’ he repeated. ‘But for the first time in my life I must betray my word. We must feign compliance with them because I suspect that our comrades in the Inquisition will not help us, and I fear that whatever lies in wait within those halls will be more than we can handle alone. You and Mathias are right, Ackolon. Our task is more important and I will see it done at any cost, even if we must turn our backs on them.’

  Reinhart looked back to the Ark. ‘And when that time comes, may the Emperor forgive us all.’

  THE WIND HOWLED across the escarpment, snow and ice scouring the rock. It had taken the small battlegroup of Reinhart’s men and the Sister Superior’s Celestian squad just under an hour to climb the steep crags leading up to Montgisard’s flank. It was an hour they could ill afford. The black ramparts of the fortress at last loomed above them.

  Carved from the very rock and sheathed in armoured layers of rusting iron, the impregnable walls had bore witness to the weeklong slaughter in the valley before them. Now, however, a haunting stillness cloaked the valley. Following the Castellan’s orders, Veteran Captain Vlorn and his men had pulled back – every hand needed to prepare for the massed artillery barrage that was to come. In response, the enemy’s guns had gone silent.

  Reinhart squinted through the gale, double-checking the codifier readout in his vambrace. Lines of interference spiked across the display. With the storm raging he was surprised it worked at all. The glowing schematic of Montgisard – something all of the Templars had been given prior to making planetfall – showed the entrance to an auxiliary passage at this location. The hidden tunnel would give them access to the fortress’s lower levels and hopefully allow them to approach their target with minimal contact. It had perturbed Interrogator Savaul, Vlorn and the Sister Superior that this piece of information was lacking from their own maps. To Reinhart, this boded well. If the Inquisition did not know about the passage, it was possible the enemy was equally ignorant.

  To either side, the armoured forms of his battle-brothers, along with the twelve members of Sister Superior Helena’s Celestian squad, hugged the steep walls of the mountain trail. Interrogator Savaul stood behind him, wrapped in the leather of his storm coat, breath frosting on the wind. Reinhart scowled. The man’s albino skin was a beacon against the darkness. Luckily, the rocky outcroppings kept them shielded from the watchful eyes of
the Archenemy’s sentries patrolling the heights above.

  Reinhart looked down at Cerebus where he knelt next to Fernus, the Techmarine’s servo arms manipulating the tunnel door’s locking mechanism hidden in the rock. ‘How long?’

  ‘Thirty seconds, Castellan.’

  Reinhart nodded; he motioned for the battlegroup to prepare for entry. The silent gesture travelled down the line. Next to him, Savaul drew his silver-plated laspistol, its barrel stamped with the crimson sigil of the Inquisition.

  The Castellan heard a loud hiss, a sound not unlike the sudden decompression of a Thunderhawk’s airlock, and the rock face in front of the Techmarines split to reveal a shadowed portal. From the opposite side of the door Apollos side-armed a pair of glowing phosphorus rods into the tunnel beyond. The rods’ fizzling light slowly grew steady. Motioning for the others to follow, Reinhart slid forward, his bolt pistol raised.

  Silence greeted them, the low passage dark and empty. As they had hoped, the enemy had not discovered this part of the tunnel. After the last of them had filed through, Cerebus activated the door’s inner mechanism and sealed the portal behind them. Reinhart moved to Gerard’s side. ‘Try your auspex,’ he said.

  Slinging his bolter, Gerard pulled his auspex from his belt and thumbed its activator switch. The scanner’s display sputtered then blinked to life. Gerard looked over at Reinhart, relief evident on his face. ‘The Emperor is watching over us.’

  Reinhart nodded. They had expected the ironite walls of Montgisard to block the effects of the storm but couldn’t know for certain until they had reached this point. None of them had relished the idea of descending into the fortress blind.

  Keeping his voice low Reinhart addressed the rest of the group. ‘Let’s move. The generator room is straight ahead.’

  They descended quickly through the tunnel and minutes later emptied into their first objective. The chamber they entered stretched away into the gloom: a long gallery of dormant generators lined its stone walls and disappeared into the upper shadows of the room.