Cortez was unsure what his old friend was up to, but he said, ‘As you wish,’ and, a second later, cleared the link. He relayed the Chapter Master’s orders to his men, and they pushed ahead, Fenestra striding away faster than the others. He watched them for a moment until they disappeared down a shallow decline. Close to where they vanished, the tall figure of Pedro Kantor appeared, walking back towards him.
Even though Kantor’s armour was scratched, chipped, dented and burned black in places, he still looked like a figure of legend, still everything a Chapter Master should be. His golden halo shone in the growing light.
When he was three metres from Cortez, he stopped and looked east. ‘The suns will be up very soon, Alessio. We should have been in the cover of the forest by now. We run great risk of being spotted from the air.’
Cortez nodded. He knew the habits of the orks, knew they seldom flew at night. Their eyesight was poor compared to their sense of smell, and darkness brought a kind of malaise down on them without which they might have butchered each other in the dark, so violent were their tendencies. They only ever launched night attacks by the light of flaming torches or searchlights, which was doubly fortuitous because such lights made convenient markers for Imperial artillery fire. As soon as the suns were up, the sky would fill with noisy, ugly flying machines. Kantor was right. They had to get to the cover of the forest within the next ten minutes.
‘Come,’ said the Chapter Master, and he strode in the direction of the children where they hovered over their mother’s unmoving form.
The children heard the two massive Space Marines approaching and, with fear apparent on their faces, took a few nervous steps back, conflicted between feelings of concern for their mother and concern for their own lives. Cortez saw them eyeing his weapons, especially his power fist. He wondered what they were thinking. Did they really believe he would crush them with it? In a universe as cruel as this, perhaps they did.
Come to think of it, what exactly were Pedro’s intentions? Did he plan to put the entire brood out of its misery?
Kantor crouched at the woman’s side and removed his helmet.
Cortez tried to read his face, but it betrayed no emotion.
‘Jilenne,’ said the Chapter Master. ‘Can you hear me?’
The woman’s eyes were closed, but her lips parted. Weakly, quietly, she said, ‘They were so heavy. So heavy…’
Kantor nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘but you did well to bring them this far.’
Reaching out, he lifted the two smallest children away from her and gestured to the older children to take them. They did so, and Kantor turned back to the woman.
The Emperor’s mercy, thought Cortez. You should not have to do this, Pedro. It is my fault. It is my soul that should bear the stain.
Before he could communicate this, Kantor spoke.
‘It is time,’ he said, and he reached down to the woman with his gauntleted hands. ‘Time that someone carried you now.’
As Cortez watched, the Chapter Master lifted the woman and stood to his full height, cradling her exhausted form in his arms. She looked so small and fragile against his sculpted ceramite chest, little more than a rag-doll.
Then the Chapter Master turned to Cortez and said over the link, ‘Once we are among the trees, they will have a better chance. They are charges of the Chapter now, and we cannot abandon them.’
Carrying the woman as if she weighed nothing at all, Kantor began striding for the distant tree line. Over the link, he added, ‘Help the children, Alessio. Help them get to cover quickly. The suns will be up within moments.’
Cortez looked down at the children. Their clothes were torn and stained with the dirt of their night-time trek, but, in eyes of the three eldest at least, he could see a fierce spark and recognised it as the will to live.
Very well, he thought.
His own childhood had been brutal, a daily struggle to survive in the swamps and marshes of Blackwater, where even the smallest creature represented a deadly threat, and children often killed other children over matters of hunting territory and material possessions. These children were not like him. They had been raised as farmers, not killers. At least they were healthy from working the land. They would not need to be carried. They would make the tree line in time if they moved off now.
‘Do not be afraid,’ he said as he stepped forward, bent, and scooped up the two smallest children. ‘Your mother will be fine, but we must hurry and follow her. You must be hungry, all of you. There will be fruit in the forest, and water. You can eat as much as you can find, but only if you keep pace with me. Is that clear?’
The oldest, a boy of thirteen, stammered a little and couldn’t bring himself to look up at the hard, emotionless mask of Cortez’s helmet, but he managed to say, ‘We can rest and eat there, in the forest?’
‘You can,’ said Cortez and he turned in the direction of the tree line. ‘But, as I said, you must keep up.’
He began walking at a fair clip. The two small children he carried were both crying loudly, a particularly grating sound.
Behind him, he heard the others panting hard as they jogged to keep up as well as they could. The trees loomed closer and closer, and reached out cool shadowy arms to gather them in, embracing them just as the larger of Rynn’s World’s two suns poked its head above the knife-like peaks of the Hellblades.
A new day had begun and, all across the continent, the savage hordes were stirring.
Ten
Zona Regis, New Rynn City
‘Eggs argalatto,’ said a petite servant, ‘sliced marsh-melon, and pickled valphid hearts.’ She placed three dishes on the table. With a bow, she retreated from the balcony, moved back into the shadows of the main chamber and stayed there, out of sight but close enough to swiftly answer any requests her ladyship or her two guests might make.
Shivara, the governor’s bodyguard, stood there, too.
The suns were up, and the air on the balcony was warming quickly. The sounds of heavy artillery from the city perimeter had started an hour ago, shocking and unwelcome at first, but so constant, so unrelenting, that they quickly became background noise.
No screams or battle cries could be heard at this distance. Maia was thankful for that. Despite the booming of the guns, she smiled across the table at her breakfast guests, Viscount Isopho and General Mir, and gestured at the food. ‘Please, enjoy.’
Isopho smiled back, but Mir glanced at his food without expression.
‘I’m sure it’s divine, my lady,’ he said without much conviction. Perhaps it was too rich for his tastes, Maia thought. He picked up his fork, but he didn’t take a mouthful until Maia herself had done so. Among the Rynnite upper classes, no man ate before a lady seated at the same table took her first bite.
Maia lifted a small forkful of the eggs and swallowed, breaking the spell. The others began to eat.
‘I asked you to join me, gentlemen,’ she said, ‘because there is much to discuss, and I would do it here where the constant interruptions of the Upper Rynnhouse will not bother us. I want you to speak frankly about our situation.’
‘What do you wish to know, lady?’ said Mir, lifting a goblet of chilled water. ‘The essentials were already covered in yesterday’s final session.’
‘True,’ said Maia, ‘but you’ve had a night to reassess. I’d like to hear your current thoughts.’
‘It is as the Adeptus Astartes said it would be,’ said Mir. ‘The greenskin assaults eased off during the hours of darkness. Captain Alvez had our artillery targeting enemy light sources close to the walls. We dim our own lights, naturally. Without a visible target, the orks are unfocused and have nothing to attack. If last night was anything to go by, our forces will have ample time for rearming and recovery before each dawn. That will be crucial if we’re to hold long enough for aid to arrive. And we will hold, but there is no room for complacency. The Space Marine Scouts maintain a constant vigil, no matter the hour. Our own scouts do likewise, though at shorter
range. I’ve heard that a subset of the greenskin horde utilise night-vision equipment and stealth tactics, but they are a tiny minority. If they seek to infiltrate the city, we will respond with lethal force.’
Maia nodded. ‘Then it is the hours of daylight we must worry about. Has our anti-air defence been strengthened in accordance with the captain’s decree?’
‘To the best of our ability, yes,’ said Mir, gulping down a mouthful of valphid heart before continuing. ‘Our Hydras and missile batteries have been repositioned to counter the greatest areas of threat, but it leaves certain other sections of the wall at risk, mostly to the east, west and north-west. Of course, the Shield Range offers us a measure of cover on the latter. The mountains are relatively free of the foe.’
‘Surely we can’t afford any weak points at all?’ said Isopho.
Mir turned to him. ‘I’m afraid our tactical choices are rather limited, viscount. We face greatest pressure from the south and south-east. Most of the ork ships in this region landed there. Given the size of the capital, our defence has to be somewhat reactive. The Crimson Fists have organised their Land Speeders, bikes and transports into rapid response units. I’ve done the same with our Sentinels and Chimeras. They will move to hold any gaps the orks try to exploit. Together with our infantry and artillery regiments, the main bulk of the Space Marine force will hold the walls and gates where we face the most continuous pressure. We shall do everything we can to maintain the territory we have. I only wish we’d had time to organise a trenchworks on the outskirts of the city before the xenos landed. We might have held far more ground that way than we did.’
Maia raised her goblet in Mir’s direction. ‘You did exceptionally well under the circumstances, general. But it’s imperative we lose no more ground. Bishop Galenda visited me personally after yesterday’s session to demand extra protection for the Zona Sanctum and the churches in the other districts.’
‘He shouldn’t be bringing that to you, my lady,’ said Isopho with a scowl.
Mir nodded. ‘If the bishop wishes to discuss the defence of the Great Basilica, send him my way.’
Maia looked out from the balcony across the city. Her city. In the distance, where the fighting was, columns of smoke stood like dark towers against the sky.
‘He plans to petition the Adeptus Astartes,’ she said. ‘But I doubt he will find Captain Alvez a willing ear.’
Isopho and Mir shared a look. ‘The Crimson Fists are not as people think them to be,’ said Isopho. ‘Our protectors are as cold and hard as the armour they wear. I sometimes wonder if there is a human being inside at all.’
‘They are not human,’ said Maia, returning her eyes to her plate and spearing another slice of marsh-melon. ‘They are something greater, and it makes them distant, yes, but we should love them all the more for that. Perhaps loss of humanity is the price of such strength.’
There was an unmistakeable sadness in her tone.
Isopho shifted in his seat as if suddenly uncomfortable. He had heard the rumours about the statue in Maia’s room. He had heard whispers of her infatuation with the Chapter Master. He had hoped it was just talk, but now he felt certain it was more than that.
‘I doubt we will ever understand them,’ Maia continued, somewhat wistfully, ‘but I know I’m glad they’re here.’
General Mir voiced his agreement. As they ate, the fighting continued all along the defensive line. Out there on the walls, men and Adeptus Astartes alike fought and died to hold back the xenos hordes.
It was still early, but already many had begun to pray for night to return.
Eleven
The Azcalan Rainforest, Rynnland Province
‘Something is wrong here, lord,’ said Sergeant Viejo to the Chapter Master.
Upon reaching the forest, the Crimson Fists had pushed inwards a few hundred metres and spread out, establishing a small perimeter, making sure that no surprises lurked in the dense shadows under the thickly clustered trees.
Now they stood in a circle, weapons held ready, eyes outward, their light-boosting visors helping to pierce the shade beneath the dense canopy.
The forest was deathly quiet, as if there were no animals of any kind. With winter over, the thin shafts of light that penetrated the canopy and dappled the forest floor should have been alive with clouds of needlewings and scallopbacks, the predators that feasted on them, and all the other forms of life that flourished here.
But there were none.
No ornithids cried out from the treetops. No brachiodonts brayed from the banks of the River Rynn that cut through the forest deeps. No kynids growled and spat from their burrow entrances among the tangled roots and vines.
Kantor drew a deep lungful of the cool air and focussed his mind on processing the molecular messages within it. Some of the scents were his own: metal, ceramite, the hot ionised air which constantly vented from the exhaust ports of his back-mounted generator.
On his armour, Kantor also smelled traces of the skin and sweat of the woman, Jilenne, whom he had set down against the bole of a thick tree once it was clear that there was no immediate danger in the area. She was resting now, sleeping with her children after consuming some of the forest fruit that Brother Alcador had found for them.
The scent of vegetation dominated, of course. Kantor could smell the thick spongy bark of the trees, the leaves overhead, the weeds and shoots underfoot. The soil was rich with nutrients and minerals.
And there was something else, faint but familiar. He had last smelled it just three hours ago.
Ork.
The other Crimson Fists detected it at almost the exact same moment Kantor did, their fingers ready on triggers as they scanned the foliage for the source. Though their faces were covered by their helmets, Kantor could read the sudden tension in these moments easily enough.
‘There is no breeze here,’ said Sergeant Segala. ‘Hard to track them by scent alone.’
Sergeant Viejo concurred. ‘Difficult to pinpoint. There’s no sign that they have passed this way. No footprints. No blade-marks on the trees.’
Orks would not have passed through here without hacking at the tree-trunks with their blades. Such mindless displays of aggression were as natural to them as breathing. Their tiny minds constantly drove them to express their violent natures.
‘West,’ said Cortez, removing his helmet to take a deeper draught of the air. ‘I cannot be sure, but it seems slightly stronger from the west.’
‘The Tecala River is that way,’ said Kantor. ‘So is the bridge we must cross.’
Brother Delgahn spoke up, the first time anyone had heard him do so since they had left the ruins of Arx Tyrannus behind.
‘My lord, permit me the honour of reconnaissance. If there are orks west of here, I will find them.’
Now another of Cortez’s squad added his voice. It was Brother Fenestra. ‘Perhaps my lord will consent to send both of us.’
What is this, thought Kantor? Do they think I hold them responsible for the battle at the farm? I displayed no anger towards them. They were merely following Alessio.
Even so, Kantor decided he would send someone else. Let them think what they would of that.
‘Denied,’ he said flatly. ‘Sergeant Viejo, pick two members of your squad. They will scout ahead. I want them to secure the bridge first, then move out from there. Have them report back to me within the hour. Captain Cortez, your squad has not rested since seeing combat. They will clean their armour and weapons, then enter a full sleep state for one hour. Sergeant Segala’s squad will patrol our perimeter. That is all.’
‘Teves, Galica,’ barked Viejo. ‘Forward eyes. The rest of you are on overwatch.’
The two battle-brothers chosen by the sergeant saluted Kantor, turned, and melted into the shadows to the west, moving a few metres apart, weapons held ready, fat muzzles sweeping left to right, each covering the angles outside the arc of the other.
Kantor watched them go, then turned and glanced at Jilenne and her
children where they lay sleeping against the tree. Their muscles would be stiff and painful when they woke. That would not help their speed.
I have turned my peerless warriors into child minders, he thought bitterly. And the enemy is somewhere nearby, somewhere in this forest. Unburdened and unchallenged, we might have made the capital within three, maybe four, days. How long will it take us now?
Looking at the sleeping family, he felt a mix of emotions. Could he leave them here? It was the smart move, he knew, the right move. There was food in the forest. Water was abundant. They could make their own way to the capital by following the waters of the River Rynn. There was a chance they would survive, so long as the orks didn’t stumble across them.
He remembered words spoken to him by High Chaplain Tomasi after the Battle of Braxa Gorge; frank words, but well-meaning, spoken with a rare half smile some two hundred and forty-seven years ago.
‘I applaud your unbending sense of honour, Pedro,’ the High Chaplain had told him. Kantor had been a sergeant back then. He had risked his life and the lives of his squad brothers in holding the gorge open for a final convoy of refugee vehicles. Thousands had been saved. ‘But sometimes honourable men must do dishonourable things. What is morally right must bow before what is tactically sound. I fear the standards you impose on yourself are impossibly high. Unless you give them up, they will be the death of you one day.’
Kantor was glad those words had come from the High Chaplain and not from the Chief Librarian. From Eustace Mendoza, he would have taken them as dark prophecy. From Tomasi, they were advice.
Advice I never learned to follow, he thought.
From the tree line, Kantor could now see what Galica and Teves had reported and then, at his request, had drawn in the dirt with their knives. There, about two hundred metres north-west of his position, was the crumpled hull of an ork transport. The craft had plunged from the sky, smashing a great hole in the forest, creating a clearing that was now filled with the greenskins that had survived the crash. The treetop canopy had been ripped wide open. The ruined ship lay belly up with the Rynnite suns blazing down on it. Smashed tree trunks lay at all angles on the ground. Some had been hacked up to fuel the fires that dotted the clearing. It was around these fires that knots of big, powerful orks sat gorging themselves on hunks of roasted meat.
Space Marine Battles - the Novels Volume 1 Page 86
