by S P Cawkwell
Cadoros nodded to Veit, who nudged forward with the muzzle of his flamer. A moment later the gunner and his companion vanished in a torrent of hungry chemical fire. They didn’t scream for long and Cadoros was already striding over their ruined bodies as the stunned survivors turned to meet their attackers.
‘In His name!’ the sergeant roared. He shot the closest man through the throat and bisected the girl who had been loading for him with a savage swipe of his power sword. The other two fell with holes drilled neatly through their spines as they turned to run, his troopers finishing the slaughter in as many seconds.
There was no time to enjoy their victory. The very ground beneath their feet began to tremble and shake with the tread of heavy, armoured feet and they found themselves facing a new enemy; one they had known was within the walls, but one which thus far had remained faceless.
There were eight of them; clad in armour the red of old, soured wine or dried blood, with details picked out in gold filigree that had once been splendid and beautiful but which was now tarnished and chipped. The gigantic warriors spread out into a line and halted, so still that they might as well have been statues. Sentinels of Valoris City, placed to prevent the ingress of intruders. They radiated a palpable aura of dread that froze the blood and knotted the guts, a sense of wrongness that clawed at the sane mind with ephemeral talons. Some of the younger troopers scrambled away in terror, falling over themselves in an effort to escape the monstrosities, while the weaker-willed simply fell where they stood, gibbering nonsense and clawing at their eyes. There was a deep rumble from the eight warriors as they spoke ancient, arcane words that crackled visibly before them and made mortal flesh crawl.
‘Open fire!’ Sergeant Cadoros would not allow his men to run from the sight, despite every nerve-ending in his body urging him to flee as fast and as far away as he could. The veterans began to fall back, snapping shots off at the hulking forms but to little effect. Those beams that found their mark slid harmlessly from the ancient battleplate.
The eight voices soared. It was not a choral sound or singing, but the voices remained in perfect beat and eerie harmony. There was a certain cadence to their voices that dripped with a power all of its own. The unfortunate Sergeant Cadoros and his company were incinerated from within as their bones ignited, the coruscating warp fire reducing them to screaming, blackened scarecrows in a matter of seconds.
They were still several hours from their destination, but the Silver Skulls were already fully armoured. Most of them had resumed maintenance on their weapons, ensuring that the teeth of chainswords were sharp and the mechanisms anointed appropriately. The lower decks of the transport vessel were filled with the noise of battle preparation and it stirred the blood of everyone present. Chapter serfs moved with greater purpose. The Silver Skulls themselves seemed to come alive, no longer merely cargo.
Inquisitor Callis called a meeting and Kerelan and Gileas attended her in the ship’s strategium. As they made their way in, both fully battle-ready and armoured, she stared coolly over at them, her eyes as hard as granite. Callis nodded to Nathaniel, wasting no time. ‘Deliver the report.’
‘Yes, inquisitor.’ The psyker looked around the small gathering and spoke quietly. ‘Your ship’s astropath received this transmission barely an hour ago. It has taken a little deciphering as the data has been badly corrupted on its way to us, but we have extracted its essence.’ He tapped the data-slate in his hand. ‘The Archenemy forces reported to be in residence in Valoris City have revealed themselves and have employed sorcery against the forces of the Imperial Guard. The battle is being lost.’
‘There is more,’ said Callis, and for the first time she did not immediately raise her head to meet the direct gaze of the Space Marines. ‘There were reports of Chaos activity on the world. Specifically, of involvement from the planet’s governorship. These rumours were under investigation when the rebellion started.’ She looked up then, from Kerelan to Gileas and back again. ‘We need to recover the governors and we need to subject them to a full Inquisitorial review.’
‘Is there any reason why you left this important detail out of your initial briefing?’
‘I am an inquisitor,’ replied Callis. ‘There are some things that I am required to hold close to my chest. My reasons are my own. What matters is that you know now.’
Kerelan snorted imperiously, turning to the sergeant. ‘We should consider options,’ he observed. ‘Inquisitor – perhaps you should remain here on board the Prevision of Victory whilst we deal with this situation. Once we have the threat contained and have located the governors, then you can join us on the surface and commence conducting your investigations.’
I do not want you there was the unspoken subtext, and this time she didn’t hesitate to square her shoulders.
‘I will be coming with you,’ she replied and there was a diamond edge to her words. ‘Proceed, Nathaniel.’
The psyker nodded and continued with his report. He had to let out the breath he had been unaware he was holding whilst Callis fought a battle of wills with a Space Marine.
‘Order must be restored to the city. If the governors have fallen to Chaos, or if they are dead, then the investigations will be long and arduous. As governor primus, Anatolus Gryce is our preliminary target. Failing that, his wife will do. Of course, it could well be that either or both of them are dead, in which case politically speaking, the planet is…’
‘Nathaniel!’ The inquisitor snapped the psyker’s name and the man looked deeply wounded but curtailed his lengthy history lesson. ‘If it transpires that the governor is dead – deemed highly likely from our predictions – then we must hope that we find Sinnaria alive to answer for the crimes they have allegedly committed. If we do not get this sorted quickly, the planet will fall. If it does not fall to Chaos, it will fall to civil strife.’
Kerelan scratched at his tattooed face. ‘Your dedication to duty is highly commendable, inquisitor. But I do not wish to willingly deliver you into the heart of a pitched battle. To do so is anathema to my very service to the Golden Throne.’
She didn’t flinch from his stern gaze and eventually he nodded. ‘Very well. A compromise, then. You will deploy with the siege company here.’ He jabbed a finger at the plans he had unrolled in front of him, a shaky and distorted printed image of a topographical study of the planet. ‘The Siculean Sixth have set up a forward supply point and that is where we will leave you.’
She nodded. ‘This is all acceptable. So far.’
Kerelan looked up and Gileas noted the irritation on the first captain’s face at being interrupted in mid-flow. ‘Sergeant Ur’ten. You and the members of the Eighth will continue on in the Thunderhawks and assault the city walls from the most appropriate angle.’ He didn’t finish the sentence, looking over at the sergeant who grinned.
‘From the rebel angle, I presume, first captain.’
‘Excellent understanding, sergeant. Exactly so. You will deploy along the walls and you will wrest control back. The siege company are landing ahead of us so should be on the ground by the time we arrive. Once the fighting is quelled, then we can find the governors.’
‘Yes, brother-captain.’ Gileas looked ready to begin his assault right there and then. There was an eagerness and energy to him that was infectious and Kerelan felt a moment’s sympathy for the warrior who had been cooped up in the fortress-monastery for the better part of a year. Gileas was a true fighter.
‘Is this an appropriate plan, Inquisitor Callis?’ The woman smiled slightly and nodded her affirmation. Kerelan straightened. ‘Then we attack within the half-hour. Look to your wargear, brothers, and may the Emperor be with us.’
‘I wondered how long it would be before you actually came to see me.’
Kerelan stood before the doorway to the small room that had served as Bhehan’s quarters for the duration of the trip. The young Prognosticator had kept himself seclud
ed and isolated from his brothers since he had returned from Lyria with the Talriktug.
‘You are my squad Prognosticator, Bhehan. Of course I would come to see you.’ Kerelan did not enter the cell, waiting to be invited. After a few moments, Bhehan raised a hand and beckoned the first captain in.
‘That human psyker who travels with the inquisitor,’ said the youth. ‘His power is considerable. He has been letting tendrils of power drift around this ship and has been taking surface thoughts from those who are not prepared for it. An intrusion, first captain, that I am sure you will agree is unacceptable. Nicodemus has been keeping him occupied for the most part. I have avoided him.’
‘None of us have anything to hide.’ Bhehan winced slightly and Kerelan growled. ‘Enough of this now. You have had enough time to wallow in self-pity. You came out of the encounter with the eldar unscathed. Discard this pointless melancholy and renew your faith in the fires of battle once more. I require that you perform your duty for the Chapter. Are you capable of doing so?’
Bhehan raised his head to stare at Kerelan and his eyes hardened. ‘I already have done, first captain,’ he responded, indicating the runes that lay spread out on the table before him. ‘Take a seat and I will go through it with you.’
His response took the irritation straight out of Kerelan’s attack, but he offered no apology – and Bhehan expected none. The first captain’s annoyance was justified. The Prognosticator knew that he had lingered far too long on what he had experienced.
Bhehan forcibly pulled himself from his melancholy and turned instead to the layout of runes on the table. Every stone was exquisitely worked in silver-plated steel and every rune an individual ancient Varsavian symbol.
Usually, Bhehan would cast the stones and divine meaning and gather portents from the manner in which they fell. But as he had the time, he had gone for a full reading of ten runes which he had laid out before him. Their patterns were as clear and familiar as anything he had ever known.
‘Strength will prevail,’ he began, tracing a finger across the first rune to the next. ‘Yet during the course of this mission, we will arrive at a crucial juncture. Courage. Devotion. Although devotion…’ He studied the fourth rune. ‘Is inverted. A possible weakness. This is not a good rune.’
‘Weakness? Ours?’
‘I cannot say.’ Bhehan continued. ‘This rune symbolises the virtue of patience. These five stones together essentially represent the factors of the past that influence our future.’
‘Strength, courage, devotion, patience…’ repeated Kerelan.
‘And change. Beware of the weak link in the chain is my advice here.’ Bhehan tapped the second rune before sweeping the five of them aside. ‘These others will give me a look at the present and, critically, the future as well.’
‘Good,’ said Kerelan. ‘This is good so far. Although I am not sure exactly where this “weak link” you speak of may rest.’
‘Really, first captain?’ Incredulity filtered into the Prognosticator’s tone.
‘Please continue.’
Bhehan smiled briefly and turned his attention back to the runes. ‘This rune here… this denotes future influences. In most Varsavian readings, this symbol is one of happiness, contentment. But the runes are never so straightforward. Taking into account all that I have looked at so far, this suggests that there is a price to this mission.’
‘A price? In lives?’
‘Unsure. The next rune applies specifically to me, the reader of the skeins of fate, and is for me and me alone.’ The rune warned against the sin of pride; the focus upon the self to the exclusion of others. He bore its warning in mind as he moved on to the next rune.
‘Factors in our surroundings,’ he said and here, his brow furrowed. ‘Like the runes of the past, change features heavily in this reading, but I am at a loss to fully understand it.’
‘Are you able to divine the Emperor’s will from these runes or not, Prognosticator? What is your decision?’ Kerelan’s impatience was rewarded with a cool stare.
‘This blank rune… the ninth… it suggests that one of the key outcomes of this encounter will be something that changes our perceptions. It symbolises a fresh start. New beginnings. And this final rune…’
‘I know that symbol.’
‘You do?’
‘Yes.’ Kerelan’s face was sombre. ‘Death.’
‘Do not take it too literally, first captain. This does not necessarily mean death as in the absence of life. It can indicate the end of something and the start of something else. It would tie everything else I have read in the runes together neatly. I predict success in this mission.’ He dropped the runes back into his pouch. ‘The fates and portents are positive. We should employ caution of course, and we should…’ He hesitated. The next had not figured in his reading, but it was something he felt strongly. ‘We should be wary of the inquisitor and her companions.’
‘Then the Emperor’s will and I agree on something,’ responded Kerelan. ‘I thank you for this reading, Bhehan. You should prepare yourself for the battle to come.’
Eleven
Siege
In the wake of the attack from the Chaos sorcerers that had seen all of Sergeant Cadoros and his detachment vaporised, things had fallen ominously quiet. The Guardsmen had been forced to pull back from the gates of Valoris City where even now the eight sorcerers remained standing, blades raised across their chests.
Until now, the Astra Militarum had been in nominal control of the ruins outside the walls. With the arrival of the sorcerers, the balance of power had shifted. Now forced into retreat, the Guard were becoming painfully aware of just how tenuous that control had actually been. In the wake of the rain which had blighted the day, the sky above them was leaden and sour with a peculiar yellowish tinge to the cloud that most associated with the prelude to snow. It seemed unlikely given the uncomfortable heat and humidity that lingered here. But it was that sort of sullen, heavy light that never grew any brighter. Dust particles hung in the air, choking and cloying and making the simple act of breathing a chore. The remaining Guardsmen were wearing rebreather masks and still found it uncomfortable.
The soldiers huddled in groups in whatever cover they could find. The constant pounding of the heavy guns as they attempted to pick the enemy off the walls was answered by the scream of missiles that were launched back at them. The enemy matched their firepower and was dug in behind a fortified position. It made any kind of advance suicidal even without the ominous threat of the sorcerers.
Sergeant Bernd surveyed his immediate surroundings. They had found shelter to the east of the main gate in what had once been a public park, a rare concession to aesthetics and greenery on the grey industrial world. There were the remains of synthetic flower beds, home to simulacra of rare species of plant. Most of them had been trampled into extinction during the fighting and the flagstones of the plaza were cracked and stained with the blood of both sides.
Bernd took off his helmet and ran his fingers through his damp hair. His own unit was still mostly intact, a fact for which he felt inordinately grateful. But their morale was beginning to flag. They had witnessed the destruction of their fellows and had suffered the residual effects of the fear that had come with observing sorcery in practice. It had taken every threat and promise he knew to ensure that his men did not run.
Colonel Oswin walked across the broken courtyard to his sergeant and patted the younger man awkwardly on the back. ‘Have faith, sergeant. The Emperor will provide.’
Bernd bit back his sarcastic response. Oswin was merely attempting to do what he could to raise the squad’s morale but the sergeant feared that it was now so low that nothing short of a miracle would lift their spirits.
The comms officer with his equipment in tow was kneeling apart from the rest of the cluster of men. His brow was deeply furrowed in concentration as he strove to extract a message f
rom the static that he had largely met so far. The storm that was gathering on the distant horizon was having an adverse effect on his equipment, despite the proximity of the array within the city.
As he listened carefully, a change came upon his expression. A slow smile crept over his face, brightening his tired eyes, and he leaped up to race across to the officers.
‘Ships in orbit, sir,’ he said, snapping off a smart salute. ‘News from Inquisitor Liandra Callis is that reinforcements are on their way. Two Space Marine strike cruisers. They’re coming, sir! They’re actually coming!’ The young man was caught up in the thrill of the news, but none of his enthusiasm brought as much as a smile to Bernd’s lips. He fixed the comms officer with a stony glare.
‘And when exactly can we expect to be reprieved? An hour? Two? A day? Some of the men have been holding the line for nearly a week. They’re all worn down into the ground. Not that they won’t put up their best fight.’ He added the last even though he didn’t need to.
‘Have faith, sergeant,’ the grizzled colonel said again. ‘Whilst we let the Space Marines break through the walls and storm the Governor’s Palace, we can simply advance in their wake and mop up any rebels that they leave behind. Although I have to say…’ He surveyed the carnage. ‘Death’s too good for most of them. For now though, we hold our position.’ He stared up at the tower rising from the heart of the city. It was an impressive edifice of crenellated, blocky architecture, bristling with aerials and pitted with erosion. ‘But hopefully not for too long.’
‘This is worse than I could have imagined.’
The tone of the inquisitor’s voice was not defeat; not exactly. But there was a strange mix of anger and sorrow that Kerelan had not expected to hear from the strong woman. They were gathered once again in the strategium, studying the pict-feeds being transmitted up from the planet below. Reception was poor at best, the images distorted and fragmented, making them difficult to discern. But the level of destruction was very plain.
