Sons of Fenris

by Lee Lightner

  The Fist of Russ shuddered as the spirits of the Nova cannon drew all available power. Berek watched the lights dim across the bridge, growing dark in the wolfs’ heads. He could see the glow from the engines of the escorts and Thunderhawk gunships streaking around his ship like the auroras of Fenris. Russ was with them. ‘Fire!’ he ordered.

  The beam exploded out from the prow of the Fist of Russ. It felt as if the legendary Firewolf itself had opened its maw and unleashed the fury of every volcano on Fenris as one.

  ‘Lord Berek, the spirits of the Nova cannon have drawn too much power in their zeal,’ said the voice of the Iron Priest.

  Warning runes glared red across the bridge. The hull of the Fist of Russ roared. Berek clenched his teeth and raised his power fist.

  The beam struck home against the Chaos cruiser, spearing it through and erupting from the other side to continue tearing through space. The holographic display showed the blast continuing unabated, glancing another distant cruiser, but all eyes on the bridge focused on the main target. The enemy ship shivered, and was replaced for an instant by a new sun in the

  Hyades system. As the light faded, there was nothing left.

  Cheers came from the officers and crew of the Fist of Russ. Several men pumped their fists and more than a few threw back their heads to howl.

  Berek shouted, ‘Let’s go and show those treacherous spawn how warriors of Fenris fight! To the Thunderhawks!’

  The surviving members of the Wolfblade and Gabriella had arrived at the shuttle hangar in the heart of the Imperial palace. Once they had passed the ogryns, they had fought through minimal opposition, just a few planetary defence forces holding to a misguided loyalty to the now-dead Cadmus.

  Torin activated the locks to the hangar doors. The inside of the hangar was stacked with supplies and a few servitors went about their duties. The House Belisarius shuttle sat, remarkably unscathed, in the centre of the hangar. Her hatches were closed, indicating that the crew was on board and that they had taken the proper defensive stance. The lights on the shuttle activated as the Space Wolves and Gabriella entered. Russ be praised, thought Ragnar.

  They had barely taken three steps when the speakers on the shuttle crackled to life. ‘Lady Gabriella, Wolfblade, behind you!’

  ‘What? Who would dare,’ asked Haegr, apparently forgetful of the traitors, xenos and Chaos Space Marines on Hyades.

  Clad in glittering blue and gold armour, nine Chaos Space Marines had entered the open hangar

  doors. Each one wore his own heraldry, but each of them had the symbol of Tzeentch emblazoned upon his power armour. The power of the Chaos god infected the warriors, causing their armour to glow with faint tongues of fire. Ragnar could feel the hate of ten thousand years burning in them. Every one was a potential match for a Wolfblade. One among them wore a glittering cape and had a tall spiked helm. A blue flame wrapped itself around his left gauntlet.

  The Chaos Marine sorcerer gestured, raising the blue flame towards the ceiling. A voice came from the fire itself.

  ‘We would dare.’

  The silky mocking voice echoed in Ragnar’s soul. He’d know that voice anywhere. It was Madox, the same Chaos Marine who had assaulted Fenris, the mastermind behind the theft of the Spear of Russ and the one who had nearly killed Ragnar’s best friend, Sven.

  ‘Madox,’ shouted Ragnar.

  ‘As always, Ragnar Blackmane, it is good to be recognised. Alas, I shall not have the luxury of killing you personally, but we must all make some sacrifices.’

  The Chaos Marines aimed their bolters at the Space Wolves. Gabriella dived for cover behind some supply crates, holding onto her lasgun. Ragnar felt his blood run cold for an instant, but he was shocked out of any hesitation by his battle-brother, Haegr.

  Haegr shouted, ‘Hah! They didn’t account for you and Ragnar, Torin. There are barely enough of them for me.’ Then the giant bellowed and charged.

  Torin readied his bolter and growled softly.

  For once, Ragnar agreed with Haegr; all they could do was fight. ‘For Fenris,’ he yelled, and joined Haegr’s charge.

  FIFTEEN

  Escape to Fenris

  Nine Chaos Space Marines, including a sorcerer, confronted Ragnar, Torin and Haegr in the shuttle hangar. The crew of the shuttle had activated their ship’s systems in preparation for launch, but the Space Wolves wouldn’t be able to board unless they stopped the Chaos Space Marines first.

  Haegr charged the enemy with a tremendous roar. Though hardened from thousands of years of combat, even the Chaos Space Marines appeared taken aback by the giant Space Wolfs charge. For a moment, they hesitated as Haegr closed with them.

  Three of the Chaos warriors swung their bolters at Haegr. Ragnar heard shrieks come from the Chaos bolter rounds as they burned through the air, smashing into the Space Wolf. Ragnar heard the crack of power armour, yet Haegr had reached full speed and the force of the shots wouldn’t slow him. Three more of the Thousand Sons commenced firing on Haegr.

  Perhaps the real reason for their hesitation was that they hadn’t decided how best to kill the giant Space Marine.

  Looking at the Thousand Sons, Ragnar did not see them as much as feel the emotions they radiated. Their ornate gold and lapis lazuli armour evoked racial memories of the most ancient of humanity’s gods with its ancient shapes and markings. Daemonic forms twisted and melted on the polished surfaces of the metal. Ragnar saw the hate burn inside them as they mercilessly fired at Haegr.

  Ragnar knew this foe was a full-fledged sorcerer; not as powerful as Madox, but truly an enemy to be reckoned with. Ragnar and Torin didn’t wait. The last two members of the Wolfblade drew their weapons and charged. Ragnar’s runeblade glowed as he closed with the enemy. Torin thumbed the activation rune on his blade.

  The sorcerer gestured at his attackers. Ragnar saw a flash, and a bolt of dark energy lifted him into the air and threw him backwards as if he was merely a child’s toy. Instinctively, he twisted and came down in a crouch. Torin was not as agile as his battle-brother and landed hard on his shoulder.

  The shuttle’s engines roared as they started up. The defence forces of House Belisarius appeared as the shuttle’s ramp lowered. The men held lasguns at the ready, but they didn’t fire at the Chaos Space Marines. Haegr was almost in the midst of the enemy, and they wouldn’t chance shooting one of their own. Gabriella saw the ramp open and made a dash towards the shuttle, from her cover behind a crate.

  Haegr had reached the Chaos Space Marines. ‘You face the mighty Haegr,’ he shouted, swinging his hammer into the large helm of a Thousand Son. The hammer struck with a loud echoing boom, and the Chaos Marine crashed backwards. Flickering flames escaped from the hammer-sized hole in the Chaos Marine’s armour. The creatures facing them were dead spirits haunting the shells of their ancient armour.

  Ragnar howled and charged at the sorcerer. The Chaos Marines levelled their bolters at him. Their shots struck with deadly accuracy, but Ragnar broke off his straight-line charge to roll, and then leap, making himself a moving target. Ragnar was powerful, but his reflexes had always been his greatest physical asset.

  Torin braced himself and opened fire with his bolter, drawing the enemy’s attention. Shot after shot struck the enemy squad. Unfortunately, their arcane armour held, but Ragnar knew that Torin had bought him just enough of a respite. He would be in their ranks in a second.

  The sorcerer intoned a phrase in a strange tongue and another bolt of dark magic raced from his hands. Ragnar dodged to his left, but the bolt followed him. The Space Wolf howled in pain as the arcane energy threw him back into a pile of crates, knocking him off his feet. Spots danced in front of his eyes and pain came from each place a bolter round had struck him. He clutched a refuelling line as he tried to pull himself to his feet.

  Torin tried to duck the return fire from the Thousand Sons, but they had numbers. Possessing a skill that matched the Space Wolves, they blasted Torin. Haegr had three fighting him. Although they could
not match the giant Space Wolfs strength or his skill with the hammer, they were still formidable adversaries. Haegr was breathing heavily and the hammer was swinging slowly and wildly. He was being pushed back, and the enemy were gaining the advantage.

  Anger raged within Ragnar’s heart. The wolf in his soul howled and he joined in chorus; his pack needed him. He threw himself at the sorcerer and the Thousand Sons. This time, Ragnar reached the sorcerer and thrust his blade through the Thousand Sons helm, breaking through ancient ceramite and arcane protections to jut out of the back of the Chaos Space Marine’s helmet.

  Ragnar roared and took his blade to the next Chaos Marine. The ancient warrior raised his bolter in an attempt to parry, but Ragnar sliced through the gun. Ghostly smoke came from the ruined bolter. On the down stroke, Ragnar brought Up his other arm and levelled his foe with two point-blank bolt pistol shots.

  Then, a mighty blow cracked Ragnar on the back of the head, dropping him to the ground.

  The sorcerer’s other guard stood over Ragnar and fired his bolter into the Space Wolfs back. Ragnar heard his armour’s backpack crack and felt the shot through his spine. Ragnar’s genetically altered hearts pounded as his enhanced physique raced to repair the damage.

  Ragnar rolled from his stomach to his wounded back and kicked up into the Thousand Son. The Chaos Marine fell back, nearly losing his balance. Somehow, Ragnar got back to his feet and brought his sword up into his foe’s abdomen.

  Flames flared within the helm of the Thousand Son. Even as the Chaos Marine’s essence was leaking out of his armour, he reached for Ragnar’s throat, impaling himself further on the blade. ‘Madox will be pleased with your death,’ his foe grated.

  ‘Go to hell,’ said Ragnar, placing his bolt pistol squarely on his opponent’s forehead and pulling the trigger.

  The Chaos Marine fell limp on the end of Ragnar’s blade.

  Ragnar realised that he had killed three of their foe in the last few seconds. He took an instant to assess the battle. Haegr stood near him and had felled another in addition to his first kill. Haegr swayed and Ragnar wondered how much longer he could stand. Torin was on the ground, slightly closer to the shuttle, struggling to get to his feet. The odds were almost even, four Chaos Space Marines against three Space Wolves, and despite Ragnar’s wounds, he knew that victory was in their grasp.

  The body of the sorcerer rose from the hangar floor, pulled as if by invisible strings. Blue flames wreathed the sorcerer’s gauntlets. The hair rose on Ragnar’s neck and his eyes widened as the lifeless body raised its hands.

  Reality shuddered. Fire burst forth from the armour and Ragnar brought his arm up to shield his face. He

  heard insane laughing echo from all sides and a sickly sweet scent filled his nostrils.

  Something started to materialise in the middle of the chamber. A creature floated in the air, drifting on nonexistent winds. Its flesh was blue and pink with one colour replacing the other. Tendrils sprang from bubbling twisting flesh and flailed towards the Space Wolves.

  A wave of horror and revulsion swept over Ragnar and he raised his sword defiantly. If this was the end, he would go out like a true Space Wolf. He threw his head back and howled for as long and loud as he could, until his cry drowned out the laughter of the daemon.

  When he lowered his head, he heard an answering howl, one with a mechanical undertone. With a huge crash, the wall of the hangar bay cracked. Large rents appeared in the rockcrete. Suddenly, a large section fell inwards, crumbling to dust.

  Gymir the Ice-Fisted, venerable Dreadnought of the Thunderfist great company, howled once again as he strode into the hangar. Russ takes care of his own, thought Ragnar, and we take care of his enemies!

  The ground shook with each step of the towering Dreadnought. Behind the mighty one, Space Wolves, members of Berek’s great company, rushed in. It was an entrance worthy of a song.

  The sight of the ancient Dreadnought and the arrival of so many battle-brothers inspired Ragnar. Chanting a prayer to Russ, he charged into the daemon with renewed vigour. He slashed with his blade to his left and right, transforming himself into a whirlwind of

  mayhem and destruction. Tentacles flew through the air, spraying black ichor everywhere.

  ‘Ragnar Blackmane.’ shouted Mikal, as he and his fellow Space Wolves followed the Dreadnought into the hangar. Ragnar had saved Mikal and the Wolf Lord once on a space hulk, and Mikal had always sought an opportunity to repay him.

  Ragnar forgot himself for a moment and glanced over at Mikal. With preternatural speed, a tentacle grasped his sword arm and another wrapped itself around his neck. One of the dismembered limbs snaked across the floor and wrapped itself around Ragnar’s leg. He spat at the daemon as he tried to loosen its hold on his neck with his free hand.

  ‘For Russ!’ boomed Gymir. The great Dreadnought swung a massive power fist full into the central mass of the daemon. Energy cascaded from the power fist and the daemon’s tendrils snapped away from Ragnar as the creature looked to its own defence.

  One of the Chaos Space Marines knocked the thunder hammer from Haegr’s grasp, while a second attempted to slice through his power armour with a chainsword. Sparks flew, but they had seized their advantage too late. Two Grey Hunters engaged the Thousand Sons, swinging axes and firing bolters into their foes at close range. The Chaos Space Marines turned their attention from Haegr to their new attackers.

  Mikal and three other Space Wolves tackled the two Chaos Space Marines attacking Torin and with a howl, the four of them charged into the enemy. Mikal smashed one of the Chaos Marines with a power fist,

  tearing a gaping hole in his armour. A shrieking exhalation of smoke and fire came from the rent, leaving only empty armour.

  The second Thousand Son brought his chainsword up to defend himself against the first Grey Hunter who reached him. With a skilful parry, the Chaos Marine not only blocked the Space Wolfs attack, but disarmed him as well. A bolter shot to the chest dropped the first Grey Hunter, even as the second sprang upon his foe.

  This Space Wolf seemed fresher and more determined, toppling the Thousand Son. The two engaged in brutal combat, rolling on the hangar floor, each trying to gain the upper hand and make a lethal blow. In the end, the blade of the Grey Hunter claimed the Thousand Son, finding enough of a weakness in a joint to sever the helm.

  The Grey Hunters attacking Haegr’s foes seemed evenly matched by the Thousand Sons. The Chaos Marines were unrelenting in their attacks as if they could not feel pain or fatigue, while the Grey Hunters’ blows became weaker after the initial charge. Haegr reclaimed his thunder hammer and rose again. He swung it into the back of one of the ancient warriors. With a loud boom, the Chaos Space Marine’s backpack shattered in a burst of gold and lapis lazuli. The Chaos Marine fell, not to rise again.

  Ragnar tried to regain his feet as he watched the final moments of the battle. A Grey Hunter took a double-bladed axe in one hand and slashed through the last standing member of the Thousand Sons. Gymir the Ice-Fisted had locked both power fists against the

  central mass of the daemon. The thing from the warp lashed tendril after tendril around the mechanical body of the entombed Space Marine, but the horror held no terror for one who had faced death. Strange warp fire leapt in an aura around the daemon, but Gymir held firm. Then the Dreadnought forced his arms apart, tearing the daemon into pieces. The lights in the hangar bay flickered and a terrible screaming began, but was cut short. Nothing was left of the daemon, and the Dreadnought stood triumphant.

  The fight was over and the Space Wolves stayed on guard for a moment before allowing themselves a respite. Haegr leaned against his hammer, standing over his fallen enemies and recovering his strength. Lady Gabriella examined Torin’s wounds, and House Belisarius’s men formed a semi-circle around her. The other Space Wolves moved together, gathering around waiting for orders. As for Ragnar, he could feel the world spinning as he walked over to the shuttle and Lady Gabriella.

  Mikal’s voice se
emed distant, ‘Blackmane! How many other members of the Wolfblade do you have?’

  Ragnar was exhausted. ‘As far as I know, we are the last three Wolfblade on the planet. I believe that the others are dead.’

  ‘Lady Gabriella, I have orders from the Wolf Lord to return to the Fist of Russ immediately. Your shuttle looks large enough for us. Does its cargo bay have room enough for a Dreadnought?’ asked Mikal.

  Gabriella looked to the men of House Belisarius. They nodded affirmatively. The shuttle had extra cargo space to deliver supplies to Belisarius’s custodial

  holdings. ‘We’re ready to take you to the Wolf Lord,’ she said.

  The shuttle streamed skyward, its wings touching the licking flames from the towering columns of fire bursting from beneath Lethe. Ragnar knew that he would not return for a long time, if ever. He glanced back towards the city from the viewport.

  ‘By Russ.’ he cursed. It was as Wolf Lord Berek had described it – the fiery explosions traced an eye of flame across the devastated city. Anger mixed with superstitious fear inside him. What type of ritual demanded a symbol so vast? Ragnar shook his head, tearing his eyes away from the foul symbol.

  Ragnar’s superhuman healing had allowed him to recover from most of his wounds from the battle. Haegr and Torin both sat quietly, Torin with his eyes closed. Ragnar had not realised just how many bolter shells his battle-brothers had taken. To his credit, Torin made no noise, instead he focused inwards, willing his wounds to close. Ragnar knew that his brothers would be ready for battle again soon.

  He looked over at Mikal and the other Space Wolves. They all showed signs of the combat, but Ragnar could feel their desire to join their Wolf Lord in space. They had fought in countless battles and they would fight in countless more.

  Compared to these warriors, Ragnar thought the Wolfblade looked out of place. Torin’s well-manicured moustache and disparate awards seemed foppish. Haegr looked like a horribly out of shape rotund caricature of a Space Wolf. Yet, they were