Sons of Fenris

by Lee Lightner

  He was searching through frozen concentrated food packs looking for something, anything, that was fit to eat. He had not had a decent meal since they had left Holy Terra; in fact it had been so long that earlier today while they were scouting outside the walls, he had considered eating one of the many beetles. It would not have been very satisfying, and it would have tasted fairly awful, but it would still have been better than the frozen food packs. This was the second refrigeration unit he had looked through, and so far his luck had not been good.

  ‘How do these people live on this? I’m going to starve. Wait, that’s it, that’s been their plan all along!’ Haegr was fond of talking to himself.

  ‘Torin and Ragnar cannot take me in a fair fight so they brought me along on this mission knowing that food would be in short supply, weakening me.’ Haegr began to put the pieces together.

  ‘Well, there is food here. I can smell it. If it wasn’t for this accursed planet with all its wildlife! I’m lucky to breathe.’

  In frustration Haegr stood up, forgetting that he was halfway in the refrigeration unit. The upper two shelves came crashing down, spilling food packs all over the floor and making enough noise to wake the

  entire palace. Haegr was oblivious. He was on the hunt, and nothing could deter a wolf in search of food.

  ‘What in the name of Russ is going on in here?’ a voice asked.

  Ragnar stood in the doorway, holding the leg of a large cooked bird, his other hand hidden behind his back. Taking another bite from the leg he asked again.

  ‘Haegr, what are you doing?’

  Haegr answered without even turning around. Nothing would stop him from reaching the third refrigeration unit.

  ‘I’m onto your little scheme, Ragnar! You and Torin have your little laugh. I will find what I’m looking for, and then you will both pay’

  Ragnar swallowed. ‘Hmm… What is it you are looking for my friend? Maybe I can help.’ he said, taking another bite.

  ‘Don’t distract me, Ragnar, the scent is stronger now. I’ve nearly found it. It’s so close I can almost taste it.’

  Haegr finally made it to the door of the refrigeration unit. Grabbing the handle he yanked the door open, gazing inside to see more shelves full of food packs. Howling in frustration he slammed the door shut with so much force that his footing gave way and he spun and crashed to the floor. Haegr came to rest sitting on the floor with his back against the door of the refrigeration unit and his legs sprawled out in front of him.

  ‘See what you’ve done, Ragnar. See what you and Torin have reduced me to,’ said Haegr with frustration.

  Well, my old friend, I came here to ask your help with something,’ Ragnar said as he walked across the room, bringing his other hand from behind his back,

  revealing a platter containing the rest of the roasted fowl.

  ‘I seem to have found this meat and I can’t possibly eat it all myself,’ Ragnar finished.

  Haegr looked up to see the huge roasted bird, and a smile stretched across his face. He grabbed the platter with one hand while ripping off the remaining leg with the other.

  ‘You… chomp… and Torin… gulp… both have a… chomp… severe beating coming when I’m done here.’ Haegr said.

  ‘Well then you’d better take this as well.’ Torin said, entering the room with a flagon of what appeared to be ale.

  ‘I’d hate to see you smash both of us while you were parched and dehydrated.’ Torin teased as Haegr grabbed the flagon.

  You show wisdom beyond your years, Torin.’ Haegr said.

  ‘Well, before you administer that beating, please be sure that you clean up in here. Let’s not be too much trouble to our hosts.’ Torin instructed.

  Both Ragnar and Torin turned and left the kitchen.

  ‘We’ll be enjoying more of that fine ale on the atrium balcony. Why don’t you join us when you’ve finished here.’ Ragnar shouted over his shoulder. Haegr did not reply, at least not in a way that Ragnar could understand.

  Ragnar and Torin stood on the balcony overlooking the palace atrium. The hour was late. In fact it had rolled over into early morning. Maintenance

  personnel scurried around, watering the many plants that lined the space and cleaning and polishing the floors. These were tasks that were to be done in the late and early hours of the day. Ragnar had learned on Holy Terra that those who did the everyday drudgeries were not to be seen in the light of day where the palace or political officials could observe them at their work.

  Ragnar was glad to be off Terra and back in the galaxy again. He had hoped that by getting away from Terra he would have seen an end to all the cloak and dagger mischief they always had to contend with. He longed for the black and white of the battlefield, the clear view of who the enemy was, but considering all he had witnessed he was beginning to believe that political intrigue was simply a part of life. Even his assignment, or one might say exile, to the Wolfblade was politically motivated. Perhaps it was just the way of things and Ragnar could no longer afford to view the galaxy through the eyes of an immature Blood Claw. Perhaps it was time that he grew up and stopped longing for how he wanted things to be and started accepting things the way they were.

  ‘Ragnar!’ Torin raised his voice to get Ragnar’s attention.

  ‘I swear sometimes you are the most brooding sort I’ve ever seen,’ scolded Torin.

  Ragnar looked up from his drink to see that Magni had joined them. Magni still had not regained his colour, and he appeared to have a slight limp, but other than that he seemed fine. His armour also showed signs of recent repair. The young Space Wolf

  could thank Russ that his armour had absorbed the brunt of the explosive rounds.

  ‘My apologies, brother, I did not see you enter the balcony.’ Ragnar still bore the guilt of Magni’s wounds. Getting up from his seat he retrieved a chair for Magni and allowed him to sit before retaking his own seat.

  ‘Yes, Magni, you’ll have to forgive our honoured friend, he is sometimes a brooding sort,’ Torin continued. ‘However, tonight I decree will be a night of song and story, and of daring deeds and warriors of Fenris overcoming insurmountable odds. It will not be a night of brooding and analytical debate,’ Torin concluded.

  ‘Perhaps I should start with the story of how I defeated Torin in hand to hand combat back on Terra,’ Haegr stated as he entered the balcony. He was carrying a new flagon of ale and there were enough particles of roast meat in his beard to feed a platoon of palace guards for a week.

  The three Space Wolves lifted their tankards in salute of their battle-brother as he approached.

  ‘Yes, yes, or perhaps we could discuss the time you were bested by a tankard that attached itself to your foot,’ retorted Torin. Ragnar laughed so hard he almost snorted ale out his nostrils as he recalled his first day at house Belisarius. Magni was laughing as well, but it was an uncomfortable laugh. Noticing this, Ragnar elaborated on the story, only embellishing occasionally and only enough to make the story funnier.

  ‘I would have loved to have seen that,’ Magni continued, ‘but what I would really like to hear is the story of Ragnar and the Spear of Russ.’

  Silence instantly fell over the four Space Wolves as all eyes fell upon Ragnar.

  ‘Why would you want to hear that story, pup?’ queried Ragnar. ‘Why would you want to hear about a young Blood Claw’s foolish mistake?’

  ‘I meant no offence, Ragnar, really, and it was not told to us as the mistake of a Blood Claw at all. Lord Ranek tells the story quite differently in fact. He tells of how you used Russ’s own spear to thwart Magnus the Red, preventing his entry through the portal and saving the lives of your battle-brothers with quick decisiveness and courage,’ Magni stated proudly.

  ‘So the old man tells that story, eh?’ Ragnar never realised how much he missed the council of Ranek until that moment. ‘Perhaps some day I’ll grace you with the tale, but not this night. There are far better things to talk about than that.’ Ragnar looked at Torin w
ho gave Ragnar a wink.

  Torin knew all too well the anguish in Ragnar’s heart and his desire to return to Fenris.

  ‘Besides, why would we want to talk about that when I’m here? I’ve got much more entertaining stories,’ Haegr began to elaborate.

  Ragnar walked to the edge of the balcony and looked out over the atrium, its cathedral-like pillars, rising up into a vaulted ceiling. The ground level was clear glass all across the front and down both sides, so that passers-by could see in and enjoy the astounding collection of plant life, and a fine collection it was. Exotic offworld plants were painstakingly cared for and displayed here. Ragnar thought it was odd that

  anyone felt the need to transplant plant life onto a planet like Hyades. Just above the ground level several large stained glass windows lined both sides of the atrium, each one depicting some glorious part of Hyades’s rich history: soldiers fighting back unspeakable creatures, and heroes protecting the masses from certain death. Ragnar understood these images. He, like all his Wolf brothers, was dedicated to the same calling, destined to defend those who could not defend themselves.

  Laughter from behind Ragnar caused him to turn. Haegr had picked up the small table and was wielding it like a shield, no doubt acting out one of his greatest adventures. Ragnar knew that even here among the Wolfblade their calling was the same, it was no different here than on Fenris, within the Fang. The mission was the same, and he knew that it was here that he belonged.

  Ragnar turned once again, but this time it was Haegr dropping the table that had caught his attention. As usual Haegr’s story skills were no match for his imagination. Ragnar was heading back to rescue his outmatched comrade when a scent caught his attention. It was subtle, almost undetectable but it was a scent that should not be there. During the maintenance of a Space Marine’s armour, the Iron Priests were very careful during the rituals to utter every incantation exactly, and to anoint every part with the sacred oils. It was this attention to detail that allowed these ancient artefacts to serve the Emperor. The scent of anointing oil was on the air this night, and it was not coming from the Wolfblade.

  It was Torin who noticed the change in Ragnar first. All Space Wolves were gifted with an enhanced sense of smell, it was one of the many gifts from Russ, but Ragnar’s was the sharpest Torin had ever known. If Ragnar had a scent then there was something out there.

  Torin crossed the balcony to stand beside his friend.

  ‘What’s got your attention, little brother?’ Torin asked, referring more to their comparative ages than their sizes.

  ‘As I’ve told you before, Torin, you’ve been on Terra too long,’ Ragnar replied. ‘The scent should not be here, and I definitely can’t explain it, but there are Space Marines on the palace grounds.’

  ‘Other than the Wolfblade there should be no other Marines here, Ragnar. Are you certain?’ Torin asked.

  ‘There are definitely other Space Marines here.’ said Ragnar, trying to locate the direction of the scent so he could pick up the trail.

  Haegr and Magni had noticed their two companions’ movement and had joined them. Ragnar opened the exterior door that went outside onto a mezzanine outside the atrium. He was locked on the scent; it was strong and unmistakable. He held up his open hand, placed it in the air horizontally and slowly pulled it down. This signalled the others to slow their pace and move with stealth. Slowly, Ragnar moved along the mezzanine, following the olfactory trail.

  Quietly, the Space Wolves readied their weapons, prepared for whatever they might encounter.

  It was not common for servants of the Imperium to exchange fire, but it had been known to happen, so

  the Wolfblade could not afford to take any chances. Whoever the intruders were, they did not belong here, and he needed to know why they doing on Hyades.

  As Ragnar approached the end of the mezzanine, he spotted six large cloaked figures moving along the opposite side of the garden, heading towards the parade ground. As one of the cloaked figures turned the wind pulled the edge of the cloak from his shoulder, revealing the shoulder pad of power armour. They were definitely Space Marines and Ragnar recognised the winged sword immediately, but why were there Dark Angels here on Hyades?

  FOUR

  Firefight

  When Jeremiah was assigned the mission on Hyades he pored through every document on humanity’s colonisation of the world that he could locate. The more he knew about the planet and its capital the better prepared he and his team would be. Unfortunately as with most planetary histories, time and neglect made finding information difficult at best. However, while searching through the technical data from the Adeptus Mechanicus he found several historical schematics of the city of Lethe. This, combined with the other historical data, enabled him to piece together a basic construction record of the city.

  Lethe was the capital city of Hyades, but it was also the original point of mankind’s first presence in this harsh realm. Lethe was the location of the first promethium mines on the planet, mines that from every

  piece of information Jeremiah could find were still intact. Some were still in operation, while others were exhausted and no longer in use. In addition, the area of the city that was referred to as the governor’s palace was in fact Hyades’s first human settlement. The walls that surrounded the palace grounds were the walls of the original city.

  Due to the hostile environment of the planet, as the settlement began to expand, the inhabitants left the original walls in place and built the new city around the old. Once complete, the citizens left the old city in favour of the new. Rather than destroy the old structures, subsequent governors had simply refurbished the original core of the city, using it to house the Administratum, the defence forces and any other offices they deemed important.

  Jeremiah found the basic common sense of the city’s previous governors fascinating and impressive. The palace compound was completely separate from the new city in almost every way: it was self-contained for power, waste reclamation, as well as water and food storage. This meant that during a siege the palace could hold out for an extended period of time.

  Jeremiah and his men found themselves standing just outside the ancient city wall. From his vantage point in the alleyway, Jeremiah could see the main entrance. The palace compound was completely surrounded by a rockcrete wall about ten metres in height. Its facing had been modelled to appear like an ancient brick and mortar structure, giving it more of an artisan-built feel than most walls. This made it aesthetically

  pleasing to look at, but easy to breach. Surveillance skulls were placed at each corner and at the midpoints of the wall. Each skull panned back and forth scanning the conveyance road and pedestrian walkways that surrounded the compound, roads and walkways that were now clear due to the newly imposed curfew. Squads of sentries were posted at each of the four gates and at least a dozen two-man patrol teams moved along the top of the walkway. These teams patrolled in thirty-second spreads in counter rotating patterns. This made an undetected entry difficult, but not impossible.

  Using hand gestures, Jeremiah signalled the team, and each man acknowledged with the all clear. With that the team went into action. Synchronising their actions with the patrols and surveillance skulls, each, at the appropriate time, crossed the street and scaled the palace wall. Using the seams and cracks of the decorated wall as foot– and hand-holds, the Dark Angels successfully traversed the wall and gained access to the palace in no time. Jeremiah was last to cross, waiting to ensure that each member of his team was safely over before he followed them.

  Jeremiah quickly broke from cover and ran to the compound wall, as his team had done before him, and scaled the wall with relative ease. Grabbing the top, he swung his legs over and crouched on the surface walkway. From here, he could see the interior of the compound for the first time.

  The governor’s palace rose from the centre of the city. It was a beautiful structure of glass and ceramite steel, with stained glass windows depicting many

 
; aspects of the city’s history. Fantastically lush gardens and small stands of trees populated the grounds surrounding the palace. It was surrounded by rows of buildings that all had a purpose in the day-to-day operation of the city, including the defence force’s billets just behind the palace. The Dark Angels’ intelligence reports were unclear on exactly where their target would be, however it was a good bet that the palace compound was the best place to start. Jeremiah quickly made a rough mental map of the area then dropped off the other side of the wall to join the rest of his team.

  Once on the ground and in the cover of shadows, Jeremiah spoke.

  ‘How does it look, Elijah?’

  Elijah was focused on the auspex, studying the maps and intelligence reports of the palace compound.

  ‘The interference is not as strong here, but the signal is still sporadic. According to the maps, we need to move in that direction,’ Elijah explained.

  Slowly, and with precision, the Dark Angels moved through the shadows towards their objective.

  The parade ground was nestled in the centre of the palace grounds, where the planetary governor could inspect his troops. Over one hundred and fifty metres in length and nearly seventy-five metres wide, its flat grassy surface was used for the governor’s military ceremonies. The entire grounds were bordered by a paved walkway, which was often used by palace guards as an exercise area or training track.

  From the centre of the palace, a large two-storey stained glass atrium jutted out into the grounds. From

  here the governor could stand in the centre mezzanine as his troops passed by for his inspection. The outer edge of the parade ground was spotted with small areas of trees and shrubs landscaped around manmade brooks and streams with benches and tables positioned so that guests could enjoy the tranquillity of the gardens away from the hustle and bustle of the palace.

  It was this tranquil environment that concealed the kill team. They would proceed from here without the use of the auspex as it was rendered useless, apparently by the palace’s own internal defence systems.