by Andy Clark
Still he ran, smaller chunks of rubble crashing and bouncing around him, deafened by the endless, impossible roar of the fortress’ collapse. Luk realised with a surge of pure relief that he was clear, and slowly, shakily, eased back the power to his actuators. Only now did he see the red runes flashing, the heat-sink overloads pinging insistently. His shield was all but burned out, and he had blown something in his Knight’s reactor. One leg was dragging, the Knight’s machine-spirit rumbling in pain at the extremes it had been pushed to.
Panting, Luk turned Sword of Heroes towards the devastation of the tower. The bulk of the structure had fallen, was still falling, collapsing downwards like a never-ending avalanche that sent vast clouds of dust billowing out to enshroud the area. The cloud rose like the blast-plume of some vast orbital warhead, towering even higher into the sky than the building that had spawned it.
As his breathing slowed and the ringing in his ears faded, Luk’s adrenaline drained away, replaced by cold horror at all that had come before. Only then did he hear Sire Markos’ urgent voice, cutting through those of their comrades.
‘Where is the High King?’ he repeated, and Luk’s blood ran cold. ‘Danial! Confirm position. Can anyone see the king? Where the bloody hell is Danial?’
Alicia Kar Manticos and her warriors flickered back into being amid a whirling vortex of flame, precisely nine miles away from the tower. As the last of the warp flames sputtered out, Alicia collapsed, gasping for breath. Shielding herself and her Knights from harm and wreaking the change-curse upon that idiot boor Gustev had sapped her reserves. And then there had been the not insignificant feat of opening the passage in the warp for her and three fifty-foot tall war engines. Alicia was utterly hollowed out by the expenditure of power, and it would take time to recover. Still, as she pulled her ragged robes around her and stared back at the rising plume of dust and smoke on the horizon, the sorceress felt nothing but elation. The daemon’s prophecy had been fulfilled.
‘In blackened tower’s shadow, the dracon there shall die, and from its scattered ashes, a queen, instead, shall rise…’ she whispered, repeating the refrain hissed to her by That Which Dwells in Darkness.
And rise she would, just as the daemon had promised, with her Lord Gerraint at her side. She had been inducted into the worship of great Tzeentch since the day of her birth, taught his sacred ways by her family before the ignorant and the fearful had put House Manticos to death in the name of their Corpse-Emperor. She knew how to tread the paths set out for her, and how to honour daemon pacts. The blood price had been paid, and in exchange she had absolute faith that her Lord of Fates had delivered the death of Danial Tan Draconis.
Alicia ran her thumb across the elegant vox-bead she wore in one earring, muttering the incantation of awakening that Sacristan Xedediah had taught her. The machine priest had proved useful, ambitious enough to be swayed to her cause with only the promise of the forbidden secrets that Tzeentch could whisper. Ambitious enough to creep through the throne-vaults of Houses Chimaeros and Wyvorn, tainting each throne in turn with Alicia’s tincture of faithbane and daemonsblood. Xedediah would have his reward, she thought. All those who aided her would, when she and Gerraint ruled Adrastapol together. One world, Alicia thought with calm assurance, would be just the beginning.
A soft chime sounded in her ear as the vox bead came to life, and she smiled demurely despite the rain tracking lines down her face.
‘Sire Hectour,’ she began with a smile. ‘Sire Paoul. Sire Guillarm. You were magnificent. Thank you, sires.’
‘Anything for you, Lady Alicia.’ The devotion she heard in Hectour’s voice pleased her greatly. ‘It was a pleasure to lay low the false king and his band of oppressors.’
‘They will not all have fallen,’ cautioned Sire Paoul. ‘The hardest fight still lies before us.’
‘Good,’ said Sire Guillarm, his voice a wet growl. ‘But we will serve the Lord Tzeentch with faith and strength. We relish this holy war.’
The other Knights chorused their assent, and Alicia’s smile broadened.
‘Your faith gives me strength, my brave sires. The Corpse-Emperor promises our people suffering and servitude, but together we shall bring a bright new dawn to Adrastapol. We shall deliver our people from ignorance, from fear and from lies. We shall usher in an age of change, of boundless wisdom and endless power.’
Again her Knights cheered, and Alicia let them.
‘Now,’ said Alicia as they subsided. ‘You know what comes next. Sires, I would have you deliver me to the valle electrum with all speed. The High King shall have need of us all.’
‘Of course, Lady Alicia,’ said Sire Hectour. ‘But what of you? It is my honour to bear you hence, but perhaps you would prefer to ride within my Knight, where the rain and wind cannot touch you? There is a little spare room in the cockpit.’
Alicia laughed, genuinely touched by Hectour’s gallantry. Her tincture hadn’t turned them into monsters, as she had feared it might, and she was glad. Knights of the true faith were of more use to her than mutant beasts.
‘No, sire, but thank you. The Changer of the Ways has marked this vessel, such that I am beyond mere mortal concerns. Such is his power and his benevolence. Simply bear me to my destination, and that shall be enough.’
Hectour and the others vowed that they would, and with a thrum of servo-motors their Knights moved out through the narrow passes of the crag-fields. Alicia sat cross-legged and focused her thoughts. She stroked her vox bead, muttering another string of ritual words as she boosted the device’s power and selected a pre-set, heavily encrypted channel. The sorceress waited as static hissed and popped in her ear, taking a moment to process all that had just occurred, and what inevitably came next. It was a dangerous game they played, but the Changer of the Ways would give them the strength they needed to prevail.
Another soft chime sounded.
‘Gerraint, my love,’ the sorceress smiled warmly. ‘It is done.’
There was a pause before the lord Tan Chimaeros replied.
‘He is dead, then. The Tan Draconis boy. You’re sure of this, Alicia?’
‘I have faith,’ she replied simply. ‘The prophecy was fulfilled. The blackened tower fell.’
‘You saw his corpse?’ asked Gerraint, his voice tight and anxious. ‘We could have done this in open battle...’
‘My love,’ replied Alicia, her tone reproachful and indulgent, ‘how many times must I tell you to have faith? The power of Tzeentch is absolute, and the bargain has been honoured. The boy is dead. Besides, you know that all of our warriors are required for what comes next – you could barely spare enough Knights to bait the trap and pay the blood price.’
‘You’re right of course,’ sighed Gerraint. ‘This fight will be a hard one. They’re monsters, Alicia. Daemons in their own right. I fear, perhaps, that we have underestimated our foe. Are you sure we must turn against the Word Bearers now? Should we not simply allow Varakh’Lorr to honour his deal with us and help us win back Adrastapol?’
‘Would that we could trust him,’ said Alicia, ‘but you know that is not the path of fate we walk. That Which Dwells in Darkness has told me the Dark Apostle’s plans, and they do not include us. We were convenient to prevent the Imperials disrupting his ritual. Nothing more. Varakh’Lorr is balanced upon the precipice, upon the very cusp of daemonhood. Once he ascends, he will have no more use for us.’
‘Traitors are faithless creatures, whose loyalties can change on a whim,’ replied Gerraint, and Alicia knew her lover well enough to picture the bitter smile on his scarred face. ‘As they shall no doubt say of us. But we’ve seen how the betrayer smiles upon your face in friendship, even as they twist the knife in your side and tell you that it’s good for you. Tolwyn Tan Draconis did as much when he took the crown after the Galhorm Crusade. After Gedric. I won’t let Varakh’Lorr do the same, no matter how fearsome he seems.’
‘We, my darling,’ said Alicia. ‘We won’t let him. We’ll stop him together. And
after we crush him, we will accept the fealty of all those of his followers with the sense to offer it. That shall be our army of reconquest, with which to take back our home world from the pretenders and their corpse god.’
‘As you say,’ said Gerraint after a moment’s pause, and the sorceress could hear purpose and determination filling his voice. She felt her own love for her scarred lord swell along with it. Gerraint was her deliverer, her Knight in panoply, and no matter what else might have transpired in the years since he had pulled her from the wreckage of her home, Alicia would always come back to her true love.
‘Is everything in place?’ she asked into the silence that followed.
‘It is,’ Gerraint confirmed. ‘The Dark Apostle has retreated to his inner sanctum for the final stages of the ritual, and his devoted flock are becoming alarmed as his Word Bearers round them up for sacrifice. Our Knights and those of Tan Wyvorn have taken up positions throughout the valle electrum and secondary war-zones in the surrounding districts. Dunkan assures me that his followers are equal to the task, and that his house’s hidden strength awaits deployment, should we need it. A weapon, I think, though the fool is being needlessly mysterious. There are a few Word Bearers leading the most far-flung assaults who will remain untouched, but we have most of them in our sights.’
‘And Xedediah?’ asked Alicia.
‘Doing his job admirably,’ replied Gerraint with an audible grin. ‘I’ve no idea how – some prattle about triangulated data-hymnals and servo-choristry with the Word Bearers ships in orbit – but he’s located the last of Tolwyn’s loyalists and passed the word on to our monstrous allies. Word Bearers are moving to engage the last of Tolwyn’s get as we speak.’
‘And enjoy mutually assured destruction in the process,’ said Alicia. ‘Such cunning will please Tzeentch. What of the Adamant Citadels?’
‘Xedediah has already left for Ironpeak, and his acolytes for their designated locations. The fortresses will have to be shut down and purged before they can be reclaimed, or so Xedediah tells me, but I trust our Sacristans to suborn their machine-spirits as we planned. Tzeentch willing, by this time tomorrow the Dark Apostle will be dead, the Adamant Citadels will be ours, and we’ll be able to begin a final purge of the Imperial forces both on the ground and in the void.’
‘And then Adrastapol, and our rightful rule,’ said Alicia firmly, feeling her faith burn hot within her breast.
‘And then Adrastapol,’ agreed Gerraint. Alicia heard him pause for a moment, before he asked the question that she knew he must.
‘At the blackened tower. Luk… Was he…?’
‘He was there, my love,’ said Alicia sadly. ‘He was beneath the tower when it fell. I am sorry.’
‘It’s both our loss,’ replied Gerraint heavily. ‘You loved him every bit as much as I. Don’t apologise for what the corpse god and his cursed faith have taken from us. Since they were young enough to hold practice blades, Luk and Danial were always inseparable. If we had broken that bond early… but we couldn’t. It would have drawn Tolwyn’s notice. And even had we done so, you read the omens yourself. Luk’s mind was poisoned by the piety of his Draconis friends. To save our son was never part of the Change Lord’s plans.’
‘When we rule Adrastapol, I will bear you new sons,’ said Alicia. ‘Enough to sire a dynasty that shall last until the stars fall dead from the skies.’
‘As Tzeentch wills it,’ replied Gerraint.
‘As Tzeentch wills it,’ echoed Alicia. ‘The Changer’s fortunes upon you in the battle to come. Be victorious, and be safe.’
‘I shall,’ said Gerraint fiercely, ‘and you also, my love. I will see you soon.’
‘I count the moments,’ said Alicia, severing the link and pushing down the fear she felt for her king. If anyone could defeat the Word Bearers, it was Gerraint Tan Chimaeros. The next step upon the path was his to take. She could not tread it for him. By the time Alicia and her escort returned to the valle electrum, the battle would be well under way. Hopefully, Gerraint and Dunkan would be close to victory.
Closing her eyes, Alicia Kar Manticos allowed her mind to drift free of her body and float upon the sea of souls, drinking in its energies. She trusted in her god to protect her, and to show her the path to victory. But Tzeentch gave his servants nothing that they did not earn by their own strength, and Alicia would need a great deal of that to prevail.
Fire Defiant lurched as a volley of rockets struck its ion shields, but the Knight’s defences held. Jennika snarled at the force of the impacts as she lined up her Paladin’s battle cannon and returned fire. The shells punched through a scrap-iron barricade and filled the cramped street with fire. Blazing corpses were hurled through the air, even the traitor Space Marines, who were unable to withstand the killing fury of a Knight at war. As the smoke cleared, little remained of the enemy but a deep crater and a scattering of armoured body parts. Still, it was an island of victory amidst what felt like a rising tide of defeat.
At least the damned rain has stopped, she thought ruefully.
‘Major Kovash,’ Jennika voxed, adjusting her Knight’s stance at the head of the ramp and scanning for targets. ‘Situation report.’
‘Fourth an… Sixth platoons are holding at… south access ramps. Casualties rising. First and Third are holding our perimeter, but barring aid from the Emperor himself, even my lads won’t hold for much longer.’
‘Understood, major. Are your Tauroxes prepped for evacuation?’
‘They are, ma’am, all th… still run. Give the word and we’ll form up and foll… your lead on the breakout. Don’t wait too long, Lady Jennika, or I won’t have the manpower left to…’
‘Understood,’ interrupted Jennika frostily. ‘We will wait as long as we can for the High King to return, and we will retreat when, and only when, our position becomes wholly untenable. Am I clear, sir?’
‘Perfectly, ma’am,’ came Kovash’s stiff response. ‘The Emperor protects.’
‘He’d better do,’ muttered Jennika as she cut her link. A fresh scattering of contact runes lit up her jittering auspex, followed by a hail of small arms fire that pattered against her shield. From positions around her Knight’s feet, Cadian Guardsmen fired back. Their las-bolts whipped out across the rubble-strewn plaza, ripping through the ragged figures that swarmed amidst the ruins at its far edge. Cultists fell screaming, or dived frantically for cover, and Jennika added her heavy stubber’s fire to the Cadians’ fusillade.
‘Sires,’ voxed Jennika to her surviving Knights. ‘How goes the fight?’ Confirmations through walls of wailing static relayed that they still held their positions around the Imperial perimeter, and that the enemy were attacking in increasing numbers on all fronts. There were four Knights left now under Jennika’s command, since Sire Petaer’s Honour Infernus had been dragged down and ripped apart by clattering daemon engines. The ironclad beasts had been slain, but the loss of yet another Draconis Knight weighed heavily upon Jennika’s conscience. There were few enough of them left.
She thrust that thought aside, allowing the murmurs of her throne to bring clarity. She purged and re-engaged her strategic overlay twice as its feed fluctuated under the influence of the enemy’s scrapcode. As the display sluggishly unfurled for a third time, Jennika considered the situation. The traitor attack had begun almost three hours earlier, the Cadian sentries barely getting warning through before they were overwhelmed. The loyalists had lost almost everything in those first few minutes, as hordes of cultists poured down the access ramps with brazen Chaos war engines lumbering in their wake. Only the resolute discipline of Jennika’s Knights and their Cadian allies had seen them hang on and push back, purging heretics from the outer caverns and forging back up the ramps to establish a perimeter. Since then the fighting had been sporadic, but its ferocity was definitely increasing. They still had no idea how the foe had located them, but at this stage it hardly mattered.
‘Couldn’t kill us cleanly with the first strike,’ muttered Jennika
, thumping another shell into a rumbling traitor tank and watching it detonate. ‘So now you’re trying to wear us down. Canny. It’s what I’d do. But how long before you tire of your game? How long do I have?’
Jennika possessed all the fire and passion of the Draconis bloodline, but she had learned to temper it with cold, clinical pragmatism. She believed, first and foremost, in the survival of her House and the preservation of its honour. She knew that she could not wait forever for Danial to return. Her duty came first. Never mind that she had lost her father to this bleak, hateful world. Never mind that ordering the retreat would feel like admitting she had lost her brother, too. If she had to, Jennika would do her duty and pay the cost in sorrow later. But for a little longer, at least, she could justify holding position with a clean conscience. The High King’s war party were several hours late returning from their foray, but it was within the remit of the Code to wait perhaps another hour at most. It would be just as great a failing to abandon the High King by turning tail and fleeing too soon as it would be to get her entire command killed waiting for him. And Jennika hated to fail.
Through the ruins ahead, she caught sight of another piston-legged abomination. Its boxy torso was covered in glowing runes that hurt the eye, and its legs skittered and stamped in a way that made it appear grotesquely alive. Jennika caught the machine’s first volley of shots on her shield, then returned fire. Scrapcode played havoc with Jennika’s targeting augurs, and so she manually aimed each shot without her Knight’s auto-reticule. Her first shell blew out the ground beneath the daemon engine’s feet, staggering it. The second blew out its torso. Yet already she could see more of the things clanking up to take its place, while the edge of the plaza was thick with traitors. The firefight was intensifying by the moment, bullets and las-blasts lashing back and forth in a storm. Cadian heavy bolters coughed and thumped. Grenades flew.
