by Andy Clark
High Sacristan Polluxis watched his inload screens intently, fingers dancing like lightning across runic consoles while his mechadendrites slithered and clicked between socket-ports and information shunts. He worked the cogitator shrine at the heart of his Crawler like an impresario, fighting back the insidious scrapcode wherever it tried to worm its way in. His acolytes chanted binharic warding verses as they fired the Crawler’s guns at their traitor counterparts or added their cogitation efforts to his own.
Polluxis had succeeded in exorcising the daemons from his Crawler’s systems, reconsecrating the vehicle’s machine-spirit in a baptism of pure data and surrounding it with an intricate lattice of encoded defences against re-possession. It was this swift work that had allowed the High Sacristan to restore his own strategic auspex feeds and read the shape of the battle. It was hideous to behold, its nature swirling and chaotic. The loyalist Knights had taken appalling casualties. Well over half of their engines were down, never to walk again, and of those that remained not one was undamaged. Polluxis had hacked his way unceremoniously into the data-feeds of his Minotos and Pegasson counterparts and found that their situation was, if anything, even worse than that of House Draconis. Five Pegasson Knights remained operational from a starting strength of over thirty, while only Grandmarshal Gustev and a handful of Minotos Knights were still in the fight. Polluxis had refrained from performing similar investigations into the Chimaeros and Wyvorn Crawlers’ systems, lest they taint that which he had worked so hard to purge.
The Astra Militarum had suffered too. The encampment in the macrofactorum was completely overrun, and the Mubraxis and Tanhollis had both been all but exterminated. Many of their artillery pieces had been spiked, while some had been turned against the loyalists by traitor militia with the training to do so. Word was that the handful of Donatosian leaders who had accompanied the expedition this far were slain along with the Arbites who had guarded them. The Cadians had reacted with commendable speed and efficiency, some pushing forward to join the fight against the Chimaeros Knights while the rest fell back to aid the loyalist Crawlers.
Polluxis’ transport rocked on its suspension as another volley of las-blasts splashed off its shielding. That battle was still ongoing.
Even with the Cadians’ aid, the loyalist forces could not hold out for long. The traitor hordes closing in to their rear and flanks were vast. The few crumbs of vox and pict-feed intelligence he had gathered about the Chaos Space Marines suggested that – though their numbers might be few – they were death to anything that found itself in their path.
The High Sacristan listened, impassive, to Tolwyn’s voxed order for a breakout and retreat. He let it cycle thrice through his audio-pickups while he ran strategic simulations and counter-proposals. Finally, the High Sacristan was satisfied. The High King’s solution was optimal.
‘All loyalist Crawlers and surviving Astra Militarum forces,’ he voxed across a code-hardened channel. ‘The remaining loyalist Knights are massing on the High King and breaking out towards rally point Zeta-Lambda-Rho. Advise support this action, effective immediately.’
Polluxis gave the binharic command, and his Crawler’s engines surged. He watched through hazy external imagers as his ornate transport rammed into a Wyvorn vehicle that tried to bar its path. The enemy Crawler was smashed onto its side by the impact, and Polluxis’ larger, heavier vehicle accelerated away across the muddy plains. Around him, he saw other Crawlers following his lead, hammering mass driver and las-beamer volleys into their enemies as they disengaged. The Cadians, too, joined the action. Leman Russ battle tanks poured their fire into the huge enemy vehicles, and amidst clouds of explosions and flame the loyalist armour surged away towards the retreating Knights.
Danial hated the heretics who tried to bar his path. With every thunderous footfall, he crushed more of them into the mud. With every blast of the Oath’s thermal cannon or volley from its heavy stubber, he reduced more of them to corpses. He no longer wished to understand these traitors. He wished to see every last one of them dead.
Massed around the High King, the surviving Knights of Houses Draconis, Pegasson and Minotos ploughed unstoppably through their myriad foes. Not all of the Knights had been able to disengage, and the kingsward suspected that some had been forced to find their own escape routes. Despite that, it was still a prodigious force that followed their High King’s lead, fifty-seven loyalist Knights piloted by warriors filled with the fury of the betrayed. Bolstered by a ragged column of Sacristans and Cadians, the Imperial spearhead hammered through the renegade forces deployed to stop it.
They pushed west at a loping run, away from the valle electrum. The pernicious interference of the scrapcode faded somewhat, though it did not vanish altogether. It must originate from somewhere within the enemy fortress, thought Danial, storing the information away for later as he strafed stubber rounds through a knot of howling mutants. To his right, Sire Daeved’s Knight Gallant struggled along, trailing streamers of smoke from its battered carapace. The kingsward was glad to see that the big Knight still lived, doubly so now that Pyrefang was smashing its way, one-armed, through the traitor armour arrayed against it.
The enemy horde was a veritable sea of bodies that had spilled from the industrial ruins to the west and out onto the plains. They waved ragged banners and screamed their devotion to their dark gods, but they had few weapons between them with which to combat Knights. Those they did, their tanks and artillery, were prioritised on Tolwyn’s orders and swiftly obliterated. Meanwhile, a rearguard led by Garath Dar Draconis volleyed fire into the pursuing Chimaeros and Wyvorn Knights who pressed close on their tail. It was a hard fight, but Danial knew that his comrades would not be defeated here. They could not allow their betrayal to go unpunished.
‘Transit bridge up ahead,’ said the High King across the vox. ‘We get across that and then bring it down behind us. The canal it crosses looks to be a hundred feet deep and half a mile w…de. That’ll kill their pursuit.’
Danial signalled assent with his pennants and steered Oath of Flame into tight formation with Markos and Jennika, close in behind Tolwyn’s Fyreheart. To their flanks, other Knights did the same, cohering into an armoured spearhead that would punch across the bridge to freedom. The structure loomed ahead, wide enough to allow six Knights to walk abreast, held aloft by vast ferrocrete columns and webs of steel cables.
‘What are those auspex signatures?’ came the voice of Suset Dar Draconis. ‘At the entrance to the bridge? They don’t look…’
Her question was cut off as a hail of heavy weapons fire hammered into the Knights from the front. Ion shields flashed blue. Energy beams and hurtling missiles punched through to buckle and blast Knightly armour.
‘Word Bearers,’ spat Jennika. ‘Traitor Space Marines. Infan… and tanks.’
‘No time to change plans,’ came Tolwyn’s voice as he pushed Fyreheart into a headlong charge. ‘I don’t care who they are. We’re go… through them. In Excelsium Furore!’
Lances of Chimaeros and Wyvorn Knights were only moments behind them, their missiles and shells whipping down to strike speeding Crawlers and explode amongst the charging loyalists. Another Draconis Knight, Sire Poldred, was slain as battle cannon rounds blew off his Knight’s leg mid-stride and sent it crashing down. It was now or never, and Traitor Space Marines be damned.
‘Draconsfire!’ yelled the kingsward, Oath responding with a surge of power that carried it level with Danial’s father. The two of them pounded along the cracked highway through the driving rain, straight into the Word Bearers’ position. The superhuman warriors stood their ground, pouring shots into the charging Knights. A las-blast glanced Danial’s chainsword. A volley of krak charges exploded against his Knight’s shin armour, but it held. Directly ahead, a crimson-armoured tank swung its turret and unleashed a volley of las-blasts, but the Oath’s ion shield absorbed them. With a vicious curse, Danial swung his Knight’s leg and kicked the tank so hard that it flipped onto its roof and expl
oded. Then he heard a cry.
Fyreheart was belching smoke from one mangled leg. One of the Word Bearers, some kind of leader or champion in hook-festooned armour, had leapt onto the Knight’s foot as it swung past and ripped out fistfuls of the leg’s mechanisms with his power fist.
‘How strong are these?’ snarled Danial, levelling his heavy stubber and hosing the Chaos Space Marine with fire. Shots sparked and rang off the warrior’s armour, dislodging him and sending him rolling onto the ferrocrete road-surface. The traitor began to rise, clearly unharmed, only for a blow from the flat of Tolwyn’s blade to hurl him sideways.
The Word Bearer sailed across the bridge, smashed into one of its ferrocrete supports and crashed to the ground. He did not rise again. Yet the damage had already been done. Fyreheart could barely walk, let alone run, and the enemy were closing fast.
‘Rally to the king!’ shouted Danial. ‘Rally to the king!’
The loyalist Knights slowed their pace, forming a shield wall for Tolwyn while those who had broken through turned back.
‘No!’ shouted Tolwyn, his anger shocking Danial to silence. ‘The enemy are upon us and I can barely move. There is no time, and I’ll be damned to the coldest hells if I’ll see these traitorous curs claim victory because of me. Those with motive damage, rally on me and prepare to fight a steady rearguard. Polluxis, have your Crawlers lay charges as they cross, and slave control to my throne mechanicum. I want to be able to bring this bridge down the moment we’re across. The rest of you, do not wait for us. Get to the rally point and regroup. If we don’t join you then find a way to win this war for the Emperor.’
For a moment the vox was silent and the Knights hesitated. Fire whipped and whined. Explosions bloomed against shields. Crawlers and Cadian tanks hammered firepower into the last of the small Word Bearers force.
‘I said bloody move!’ roared the High King, jarring his subjects into action. ‘Jennika, you and your brother get clear now!’
‘I…’ began Danial.
‘Da, we have to,’ urged his sister. ‘The succession. Da, duty, honour. Father can still win this, but you can’t fight with him. Just move!’
Danial felt the ghosts of his throne then, soothing and reassuring, helping him overcome his horror at what was happening, moving his hands on his haptic controls so that he walked his Knight out across the bridge as though in a dream. His father was risking death so that they could escape, and it was his duty as the kingsward to survive, so that House Draconis could survive. Danial accelerated Oath to a loping run and fled along with the rest of the loyalist forces. He saw Markos’ Knight wavering at the High King’s side, then the herald broke away and followed, the last loyal warrior to join the retreat.
‘Danial, Jennika,’ said his father’s voice across a private channel. ‘I’m so bloody proud of the pair of you. Survive and fight back. Show these traitors how hot the draconsfire burns.’
‘We will, father,’ replied Jennika fiercely.
‘So will you,’ said Danial, angrily. His father made no reply.
Looking back through his sensorium, Danial watched as the High King’s Knight backed slowly across the bridge. Sire Daeved’s battered Pyrefang, Sire Kristov’s Crimson Sword and Sire Natan’s Drake Ascendant all joined him. Two Minotos Knights, too battered and blasted to run any more, and a ragtag assortment of Astra Militarum and Sacristan Crawlers with damaged tracks that would slow their retreat completed the wounded rearguard.
Drake Ascendant fell as a shell tore through its torso and exploded from its back. Crimson Sword staggered as shots stitched its greaves, then burst into flames as more enemy fire tore into its reactor housing, yet still it retaliated. Then the Chimaeros charge hit home.
‘Draconsfire!’ roared Tolwyn, hacking his blade through the chest plate of a traitor Knight. ‘Hold them back! Don’t stop moving!’
Through rain and static, Danial watched the diminishing figure of his father’s Knight fighting valiantly. His energy blade flashed in bright arcs as Fyreheart and its comrades backed towards the centre of the bridge. Only a hundred yards remained before the king could blow the explosives.
A Chimaeros Gallant tumbled from the bridge, blazing like a comet. A squadron of Leman Russes exploded in flames. A Sacristan Crawler rammed forward into the shins of a Wyvorn Errant, the machine falling forward to crush its killer with its corpse.
Then only fifty yards remained and, as Tolwyn neared the far edge of the bridge, Danial’s hope surged. His father was still up, still fighting. He was going to survive…
…until Gerraint Tan Chimaeros’ Knight, Therianthros, charged headlong into the Fyreheart. Danial swore, heart pounding as the two Knights traded thunderous blows. Then they were lost amidst the driving rain, and Oath of Flame was off the bridge, the last loyal Knight to cross.
Danial cried out as a fireball suddenly bloomed amidst the rain, and desperately willed it to be Gerraint’s machine. Then his vox crackled, and he heard his father’s agonised voice.
‘I’m sorry, my son. Be strong.’
The charges detonated, sending fire and rubble into the sky. The bridge shuddered, then collapsed, falling into the pit below.
High King Tolwyn was gone.
Act Two
Ashes and Embers
Danial winced as his neural jacks uncoupled with a string of wet clicks. He let out a slow, shuddering breath and pulled off his haptic gauntlets, letting them clatter to the floor in a tangle of sensors and wires. Danial went to stand, feeling every ache and bruise from the savage battle on the plains. His head caught the deep dent in the Oath’s cockpit armour, and he sat back into his throne mechanicum with a hiss of pain. That last, spiteful hurt just seemed too much, and everything roared up at him at once. Betrayal. Loss. He realised with a sudden wrench that Fyreheart’s throne had surely been destroyed along with the Knight. He would never sit where his father had, never benefit from the advice of Tolwyn’s ghost. He would never hear his father’s voice again. Locked away inside the ironclad sanctuary of his Knight, inaudible to any but himself, Danial Tan Draconis gave in and let sorrow take him. Sobs wracked the kingsward’s body, and he pounded his fist against the arm of his throne until it was bloody.
Dry-eyed and pale, Danial clambered from the opened carapace hatch of Oath of Flame and took stock of his surroundings. The High King had chosen the sanctuary well – rally point Zeta-Lambda-Rho was a vast subterranean complex of munitions warehouses, cavernous spaces in which even the goliath Imperial Knights could hide away. Danial and the others had simply walked their Knights down the intake ramps at one end of the complex and vanished into hiding. Now, their battle damaged steeds stood still and silent in the shadows, illuminated only by the stab-lights and beacons of the surviving Sacristan Crawlers. A number of Cadians had survived too, though they had taken refuge in a separate warehouse elsewhere in the complex.
Sliding himself across the Oath’s carapace, Danial grasped the dismount rungs and clambered slowly down from his steed. The Knight had been sorely damaged in the fighting. Its heraldry was mud-spattered and fire-blackened, and every square foot of its armour was battered, scraped, bullet-riddled or buckled. I know how the Oath feels, thought Danial sourly. He pressed his forehead against the machine’s hull and whispered his thanks all the same.
Dropping to the rockcrete floor, Danial coughed at the dust that rose around him. This warehouse had not seen use for a long time, it seemed. Small heaps of rubble from crumbled pillars, and ancient, shrouded crates added to the impression. He wrenched off his skullcap and jammed it into his belt, running one hand through his short hair currently plastered to his scalp. There were people throughout the cavernous space, but almost no one spoke. Knights were gathered in small knots, staring at one another in shock and bewilderment. The surviving Sacristans cleaved to their Crawlers. Danial saw a few Cadians stood in the mouth of the tunnel that led through to the next warehouse. They held lasguns close to their chests, their grim faces impassive.
‘They’re watching us,’ said Jennika, coming to his side. ‘They suspect we might yet turn, I think. Who can blame them?’
Danial could see that his older sister had been crying too. Her sharp features were drawn, and her eyes looked bruised. Dracon’s eyes, thought Danial forlornly. Like their father’s. Wordlessly, brother and sister embraced, holding each other close for a moment and sharing their grief. Jennika let go first, stepping back and looking her brother up and down.
‘You’re alive, Da,’ she said, composing herself. ‘And me. And we’ll make them pay.’
‘We will,’ said Danial, feeling anger stir within him. ‘But we have to make sure we’re secure before we even start thinking of that. Did any of them follow us, Jen? Are any of us traitors?’
‘After the bridge came down, there’s no way they could have followed us.’
‘I think they emptied the surrounding sectors for that ambush,’ said Danial, nodding. ‘Arrogant curs. Probably didn’t think they’d need reserves.’
‘Well, with the Emperor’s blessing that arrogance might save us,’ said Sire Olric Dar Draconis. The rangy, sandy-haired Knight shrugged apologetically at his interruption. ‘I’m sorry, my liege, my lady. I overhead your conversation. This seems like a discussion we should be having between what remains of the Houses, no? The electrical storms may have hidden our retreat from the enemy’s eyes if we’re lucky, but there again they might not. Enemies might be on their way even now. We need to get sentries out there, get these Knights repaired, form a plan.’
‘We should organise sentries,’ Danial agreed, nodding. ‘And give the Sacristans leave to begin repairs immediately. Someone should talk to the Cadians, find out who will join us and convince them that we’re all loyal.’
‘But we’re not, are we?’ came a shout from nearby. ‘All loyal, I mean?’ Danial turned to see Markos, sweaty and bruised, marching Luk Tan Chimaeros towards them. He had one hand clamped on the back of the young Knight’s neck. Luk’s features were marred by a bruised cheekbone and a bleeding nose, and his black hair was dishevelled.
