Hammer and Bolter 15

by Christian Dunn

  Amongst the Prognosticators of the Silver Skulls, Bhehan was rare. Not only did he have a staggeringly accurate ability to read the skeins of Fate with the use of his rune stones, but he had discovered an affinity for forging tenuous links with past events, simply by laying hands upon the thing of interest. It didn’t always work. If psychic echoes were not deeply embedded then an inanimate object would remain just that. Inanimate.

  But the walls of this desecrated fortress ran thick with tendrils of memory and the moment Bhehan’s hand came into direct contact with them, he was thrown instantly into a thronging mass of bodies. His body stiffened. The psychic hood about his shoulders crackled with energy and the unmistakable ozone-like odour of spilled power joined the aroma of dust and burning ash that filled the air.

  He no longer saw the ruined fortress and the five Terminators. Instead, he was…

  …somewhere else entirely.

  ‘…interference. My vox has stopped receiving. Do you have a situation report, brother?’ The voice came from his left. Opening his eyes, Bhehan was mildly startled, but not surprised, to see that the ruined wall he had been leaning against was once more intact. Fires burned in the wall sconces throwing flickering, eerie images against the stone. Above him, the stained glass window was intact once more, but no light shone through it. Beyond, it was night.

  This was no crumbling ruin, but a fortress-monastery in its prime. The walls rose gracefully to curve in a high, vaulted arch far above him. A slight breeze lifted the hanging war banners and they swayed gently. But for all the peace, Bhehan recognised a war footing when he saw it.

  Chapter-serfs hurried past him – and occasionally through him. In their midst were a number of warriors wearing the steel-grey battle plate of the Silver Skulls. They towered above the humans and Bhehan focused on them.

  Two battle-brothers, one wearing the laurels of a veteran and bearing a battle standard at his back were standing close by, their hands tightly closed around the hilts of chainswords. They were rocks of solidity amidst the sea of bodies heading deep into the mountain.

  ‘I have, Brother-Sergeant Igneus. It is as we expected. The Chapter Master has had no choice but to give the order.’

  ‘As you say… we expected this news. Still, we must bear it with staunch determination.’ The other warrior nodded vigorously and Igneus sighed. ‘Our world must die. There is little worth in dwelling upon the matter. What of the brothers below?’

  ‘On their way up from the training level. It is barely a handful, sir.’

  ‘A handful will be good enough, Varlen. We will hold our fortress against these… things… for as long as we are able. We can only hope that our external defences have prevented an egress. If the xenos scum have broken through, then while we live we will defend our Chapter’s home with our very last breath.’

  Such certainty. Such passion. It quite took Bhehan’s breath away as he listened to the phantom veteran sergeant’s voice, coming across the millennia as though he stood only a few feet away.

  ‘It is no longer the eldar we should concern ourselves with. They are all but defeated. It is the taint we should worry about.’

  A loud scream, a male scream, sounded and Bhehan whipped his head the other way. Barely visible at the dark end of the corridor, Bhehan saw the flailing of a man running towards them. He passed through the Prognosticator’s body as though it were insubstantial mist and fell prostrate at the feet of the veteran sergeant.

  ‘They have breached the outer walls, my lord!’

  ‘Then we will meet them in battle.’ The veteran sergeant stared down at the cowering Chapter-serf and without hesitation, aimed a bolt pistol at the man’s head.

  ‘No…’ Bhehan spoke, but no sound left his lips. The echo of the bolt pistol reverberated around the corridor and the man fell dead at the veteran sergeant’s feet. Bhehan’s lips formed the question, but it was Varlen who spoke the words.

  ‘Why did you do that?’

  ‘It was necessary,’ he said. ‘He may otherwise have brought the corruption within.’

  Corruption. Bhehan knew his history well enough. Invasion and plague had wrung the meagre defences left on Lyria almost dry. The rest of the Chapter had been deployed at war elsewhere, engaged in one of the endless battles that had raged through the galaxy in the years following the Great Heresy. Bhehan knew that the planet had been lost. He knew that in order to prevent the pestilence spreading, they had been forced to take the ultimate step.

  ‘How can we be sure that the taint has not already reached the inner walls?’ Varlen stared down at the corpse of the unfortunate Chapter-serf, then raised his head to Igneus.

  ‘How can one ever be sure of anything, Brother Varlen?’

  There was a distant sound of gunfire and the ghost of Igneus raised his chainsword.

  ‘They are coming,’ he said. ‘Or perhaps they are already here.’

  Bhehan felt a knot in his stomach and slowly he removed his hand from the wall.

  There was a distant sound of gunfire.

  Caught momentarily between two worlds, Bhehan was disoriented and confused. He swayed slightly and looked as though he might fall.

  ‘Prognosticator?’ Brother Djul had stepped forward and rested a steadying hand on the smaller warrior’s shoulder.

  ‘I am well. Let go of me.’ He snapped the words before he remembered exactly who he was talking to. Djul’s massive, armoured hand released his shoulder immediately. As his equilibrium righted itself, other senses kicked into gear; the senses that had been bred into him. He may have been a psyker of considerable power, but first and foremost he was a warrior. His killer instincts pushed the vision to the back of his mind and every muscle, every nerve and every synapse of his brain switched to alertness.

  ‘Your timing is impeccable, brother,’ said the First Captain. ‘Whilst you were engaged in your communion, the rest of the squad took the opportunity to scout ahead. We have found more than just ruins here.’

  ‘There are intruders in this sacred place.’ Djul sounded outraged, as well he should. ‘The captain and I remained behind to protect you during your communion with the Emperor. We would obviously have consulted you on the matter first, but you were distracted. We did not think it seemly to…’

  ‘How long was I distracted?’ Bhehan interrupted abruptly. Djul’s ponderous response was tinged with the faintest hint of reproach.

  ‘The time is not of importance, brother. Were you successful? Did you divine anything of use?’ Kerelan intervened.

  ‘After a fashion. I needed more time.’ Those final words had left a heavy feeling somewhere deep in Bhehan’s gut, but there was no time to linger on the matter.

  ‘My apologies, brother.’ Djul sounded genuinely remorseful but Bhehan waved it away.

  ‘No matter. As you rightly point out, there are other more pressing matters that must take precedence. We can study the past in greater detail later. For now, let us deal with the here and now. The Emperor’s Blessing is with us.’

  At these words, Djul touched his hand to the Crux Terminatus on his shoulder guard before turning away and heading deeper into the complex to find the battle.

  ‘You should prepare for combat, Prognosticator.’ The eye lenses on the Terminator helm seemed to bore into Bhehan, weighing and measuring his capability.

  Prior to their deployment on the planet, Bhehan had spent several hours in deep meditation and contemplation of the runes. He had decreed that the Emperor’s Blessing was with them on this matter and had added a carefully worded caveat that should the warriors need to engage any enemies on the planet, then they should do so. At the time, he had not believed such a thing would be necessary. Now he felt pleasure at his own foresight.

  Kerelan fell into easy lockstep beside the Prognosticator. The First Captain had unsheathed the relic blade that was his favoured weapon. A huge double-handed monster of a weapon, it looked remarkably small in his huge hand. He turned his head slightly towards his companion. ‘Are you ready f
or this, brother?’

  ‘I am always ready for battle,’ replied Bhehan and he unsheathed the force axe at his back. He could not imagine a smile on the face of the rugged warrior beneath the helmet but Kerelan’s voice seemed filled with approval.

  ‘Trouble is here on Lyria,’ he said. ‘Let us go and find it.’

  ‘Brother Djul implied that we have already found it.’ Kerelan’s gaze lingered on the Prognosticator for a moment. The First Captain was apparently deeply amused by Bhehan’s literal interpretation of his words.

  ‘Indeed,’ was all he said. ‘And it wears the face of the eldar.’

  It was an insult like no other. The eldar, the very xenos whose presence had caused the downfall of this world, had returned. As Kerelan, Djul and Bhehan moved down the spiralling pathway, their infrared lenses detected every disturbance. Air that had lain still for so long was stirred and restless, raising twinkling particles of fine dust into the air.

  ‘Vrakos, report.’ Kerelan activated the vox and spoke to one of the advance group. Weapons continued to discharge below them; a storm bolter’s unmistakable sound, but there was no answering report to be heard. Bhehan willed the two Terminators to move more swiftly. The time spent with the fast-moving battle-brothers of Eighth Company had spoiled him, he mused. The Talriktug were admirable. But speed was not amongst their assets.

  ‘We have counted ten xenos moving to the lower levels of the fortress,’ came the calm and measured reply. ‘All heavily armoured and loaded with weaponry… but they have not acted in a hostile manner. Neither have they made any attempt to communicate with us.’

  ‘That hardly matters, Vrakos. Those vermin are transgressing in the halls of our ancestors. That in itself is a blatant act of war. They will pay the price.’ Djul made his displeasure known and began to recite a litany across the vox. Bhehan was well aware of Djul’s reputation as a deeply zealous warrior. He had heard the Catechism of Hate recited many times before, but never with such passion as the words that filled his ears now.

  ‘We have picked off two of them,’ said Vrakos, ‘but the cowards are fleeing deeper into the fortress-monastery.’

  ‘Then we go with them,’ responded Kerelan. ‘Hold your position for now, Vrakos. We are on our way.’

  ‘I can go on ahead and join with the others,’ said Bhehan. ‘I mean no disrespect First Captain, but I move far more swiftly and my talents may be of use to Vrakos and the others.’

  ‘Your eagerness does you great credit, Prognosticator. However, I am charged with your wellbeing. As such, you remain with us.’ Again, there was an underlying hint of amusement in Kerelan’s voice. ‘Do not concern yourself with missing the fight. Where would they go, after all? We will corner them and deliver our retribution for this transgression.’

  ‘Yes, First Captain.’ Bhehan fell silent once again and listened to Brother Djul as he recounted more litanies and prayers across the vox. The Terminator’s zeal was infectious and the Prognosticator felt a great swell of pride. He allowed his psychic senses to extend once again, reaching downwards this time.

  His exploratory range was considerable and as his attention drifted into the depths of the fortress-monastery he pulled up short with a loud gasp. Fortunately for him, Kerelan had been several paces behind, otherwise the First Captain would have ploughed straight into him.

  ‘Brother? What do you see?’

  ‘It is less what I see and more what I sense, First Captain,’ Bhehan replied. Something had brushed against his consciousness; something inexplicably alien. Over the few comparatively short years he had lived, he had honed his mental bulwarks until only the most accomplished could get around them. He had stood in the company of the Chapter’s most powerful psyker and received a softly-worded compliment on the strength of his defences. Then Vashiro had broken them in order to complete the lesson.

  He had fought against numerous foes since he had ascended to the rank of battle-brother. He knew what their minds felt like. He had mentally sampled the flavour of the tyranids; a never-ending and insatiable hunger. He had touched the mind of a tau and had been surprised by the driven, single-mindedness. Every eldar mind he had encountered was cruel and twisted. This was not. This was unknown to him.

  The thoughts and presence of his own battle-brothers were like shining beacons amidst the xenos thoughts that had brushed his psyche in the past. It was his mind, his sanctuary and he knew it better than he knew the back of his hand. No psyker could afford anything less than complete control over their power. Countless enemies had attempted to break his considerable will and, one by one, they had all died when he had lashed psychically back at them.

  Now, though, this new consciousness had bypassed those defences with all the ease of a spectre and was probing his mental landscape. Its presence was unwanted and he held it back easily.

  You are… mon-keigh. You are not one of my people.

  I am human. And I am coming for you. I will not allow this violation. Be gone.

  You have great strength for one so young… you could help us.

  The voice that came was undeniably female. Summoning up every ounce of mental strength he possessed, Bhehan visualised closing a fist around the presence in his mind and flinging it away.

  Wait! Help us. We need your power… do not… at least allow me...

  With a concerted effort, Bhehan cast the alien presences from his mind. The second it was gone, he immediately got to work fortifying his psychic barriers. It was only then that he realised that Kerelan was practically shouting at him.

  ‘Prognosticator!’

  ‘My apologies, First Captain. Something was trying to break through my defences. A mind was attempting to infiltrate my consciousness.’

  ‘Are you compromised, Brother-Prognosticator?’ The question came from Djul and Bhehan realised immediately that the Terminator would have no compunction about dealing with such a matter in the way he best saw fit.

  ‘No,’ he replied. ‘My wards can withstand anything the xenos throw at me.’ He forced himself to hold his head proud and stared defiantly at Djul for a few moments. The warrior shrugged slightly and continued onwards. The skulls chained together and looped as a decoration around his belt clanked together as he moved, a gory herald of his arrival.

  Djul’s reputation amongst the Chapter was well-deserved. There were those who said Brother Djul was more fearless even than the Lord Commander.

  ‘Do not mind him,’ said Kerelan as though clarifying the rumour. ‘Djul was born spoiling for a fight. What did you learn from your divination?’

  ‘Very little,’ admitted the Prognosticator. ‘Regardless, I recommend extreme caution here. The xenos female who spoke to me seemed a little distracted. She suggested that she needed assistance of some kind. Those of her kind we are pursuing… perhaps they have been summoned to her aid. Thus, we would do well to presume we are being led into some kind of trap.’

  Kerelan nodded. ‘As I said… where would they go? Once we corner them, once we get to the heart of the monastery, they will be ended. Have faith, brother.’

  ‘I have more faith than you could imagine, First Captain. When you place yourself at the mercy of the warp, a little faith goes a long way. Imagine how far a lot will take you.’

  The taciturn Kerelan was silent for a moment, then he laughed warmly. ‘I like you, boy.’

  Strange how that pleased him more than he could have expected. Bhehan inclined his head graciously in acceptance of the compliment and fell in beside the Terminator.

  The weapons fire had ceased and the silence was loaded with ominous portents.

  ‘They have begun a descent,’ Vrakos reported. ‘We are in pursuit, but they can move a lot faster than we can.’

  ‘And they still have not returned fire?’ Kerelan exchanged a look with Bhehan. A trap, the Prognosticator had suggested.

  ‘Not a shot, Kerelan. Although we have taken down a few of their number, they have not even so much as thrown a rock at us.’ Vrakos sounded disappointed
by the fact.

  ‘We are almost with you,’ said the First Captain grimly. ‘If they are about to lead us into a snare, we will walk into it together.’

  ‘And we will end it together,’ added Djul.

  The lowest level of the fortress-monastery was as black as the depths of night. The air here was sour and stale and Bhehan’s physiology worked hard to compensate. But no matter how astonishing the Adeptus Astartes implants were, they could not work to clear the overwhelming stink of the death and decay. The combined scents of rotting meat and vegetation were strong and overlaid with the pervading musty smell of old, stale air.

  The walls were sticky, with ichor that oozed from pustules growing like tenacious fungi along their length. Whatever it was that they produced was drab olive in colour and it pooled on the ground, creating sticky puddles that sucked at their boots as they advanced.

  But the foul liquid was the least of their concerns.

  ‘Xenos!’ The roar of triumph came from Vrakos who was advancing ahead of the others. The tone of his voice altered slightly as he added to his report. ‘And worse.’

  ‘The only thing generally worse than xenos is more xenos,’ said Kerelan, his relic blade ready. ‘Talriktug, on my mark, advance. Prognosticator, you remain behind us. Extend a shield, if you would.’

  The squad needed no further encouragement than those words. As a unit, they advanced, keeping their line tightly held. Bhehan fell into place behind them and drew on his psychic might, projecting a force shield that extended the length of the battle line and was wide enough to ensure he remained within its area of effect as well.

  What they saw as their infrared lenses filtered through the darkness was quite horrific. A number of eldar warriors of various castes, different armours marking the one from the other, were engaged in combat with what looked on first sight like human figures.

  ‘What in the Emperor’s name…?’ Djul left the question half asked as another figure suddenly sprang up directly in front of him. His reactions were lightning-fast and he brought up his arm. The chainfist that snarled at the end of it was cumbersome and slow to bring down, but he was grimly resolute. His weapon chewed through the creature before he had even managed to get a direct look at it. It splattered more of the ichor-like goo in every direction and it was with some obvious difficulty that Djul dragged his chainfist free from it. The humanoid creature, sheared in half, fell to the ground and began to immediately decompose.