Space Marine Battles - the Novels Volume 1

by Warhammer 40K

  820960.M41 / The Deathglades. Thirteen kilometres south of Atika, Pythos

  Epimetheus had promised Tzula answers once they had escaped from the hive city and now, as he stood guard on their camp perimeter while Shira roasted the carcass of an animal they had captured before night fell, she was determined to get them.

  Their flight from Atika had been as stealthy as their insertion, right up until the final few hours. Wanting to sow discontent among the enemy ranks, the three of them had silently murdered a string of cultists, clumsily hiding the bodies in the hope that they would be found once they were clear of the city. With evidence of intruders within the walls of Atika, fewer personnel would be spared for jungle patrols, making their getaway from the capital and return to Imperial lines easier.

  The intelligence they had gathered changed everything and needed to be reported to Strike and the newly arrived Space Marines. Rather than hiding in the shadows deep in the bowels of the city, the information they held needed to be shared and acted upon. Strike still believed that the population of Atika was safe in the caverns, but the reality was that all of them were dead, reanimated to serve new dark masters. The site of the Damnation Cache was in those same tunnels but the three of them had not been able to get close to it. Was that to do with the excavation work? The planet was infested with daemons so they must have been getting out from under the city somehow. Huron Blackheart had a coven of sorcerers in orbit making sure that the daemons could exist in the material realm once they were free of the Cache and, most pressing of all, had set a plan in motion to poison the food supply for the entire human element of the liberation force.

  ‘So, what did Corpulax mean when he talked about freeing the prisoner in the Emerald Cave? Was that somebody you put there, back then?’ Tzula had so many questions but this seemed as good a place for her to start as any. The Grey Knight turned to face her, unstartled yet she had made no sound in her approach.

  He was about to speak, no doubt to fob her off with a cryptic half-answer or point-blank refusal, but when he caught sight of the stern look she was giving him in the wan light of Shira’s small fire, he motioned for her to sit down. She planted herself on top of a fallen log and Epimetheus crouched down in front of her, bolt pistol in hand ready for the slightest sign of danger.

  ‘You have knowledge of the Grey Knights and have fought alongside them in the past. That much I have gleaned from your memories.’ His use of the word ‘them’ rather than ‘us’ struck Tzula as odd, but that was only the latest question she could add to a very long list. ‘The current incarnation of my Chapter is the militant arm of a branch of the Inquisition known as the Ordo Malleus, a specialist organisation of daemon hunters fiercely loyal to the Throne and humanity.’

  Tzula nodded her affirmation.

  ‘Ten thousand years ago, things were different. Your Inquisition was a fledgling operation, mistrusted even by those who sanctioned it and yet to splinter into its disparate factions. Barely a hundred men and women wore its mark and barely half that again were aware of its existence. One of its primary functions at the time was to root out those sympathisers to Horus who still sat at the heart of Terra and were inveigled in the rebuilding of the shattered Imperium. To find, prosecute and execute all those who would jeopardise its future and seek to plunge it back into anarchy.

  ‘But these hidden remnants of Horus’s betrayal of the Emperor paled next to the visible ones. Across the galaxy, forces still loyal to the arch-traitor continued to fight the war he had declared, razing planets and claiming dominion over vast tranches of human worlds. The forbidden knowledge shown to Horus that had been the catalyst for his fall from grace bore other more sinister fruit, and dwellers from the other side were now abroad in the material realm. Though many believed the word to be childish and loaded with superstition, they came to be called daemons. Whatever name given to them, their threat to existence itself was all too apparent. At points all across the galaxy, the materium had been worn thin and the veil between realities torn open. The Eye of Terror blinked open, casting its malign gaze on the destruction so freshly wrought and worlds after worlds became conduits for the unreal to enter the real.’

  ‘Like Pythos?’ Tzula ventured.

  ‘Like Pythos,’ Epimetheus confirmed. ‘The loyal Legions were diminished, their fighting strength a paltry fraction of its pinnacle and their primarchs dead or at each other’s throats in the power vacuum that followed the Emperor’s internment in the Golden Throne. While the Emperor had foreseen the myriad dangers humanity faced and created the Legions in his own image to combat them, even He could not have anticipated the monstrous forces now unleashed upon the Imperium. While the Legions had been bred to fight wars on the material realm, this new foe could battle on the immaterial front too, rendering Space Marines little more effective than the common soldier when it came to psychic war.

  ‘Many of the Legions had once welcomed psykers into their ranks but an edict barring his sons from utilising the potential of their warp-gifted troops had been passed in the years before Horus’s betrayal and endorsed by the Emperor himself. Denied the one weapon that could reasonably have altered the course of the opening stages of the civil war, in time the primarchs came to see its true power and the loyal Legions gladly welcomed Librarians among their number once again. But one man had always known the capability of that weapon and had foreseen a time when humanity would need to fight the powers of the warp with powers born of the warp.

  ‘The Regent of Terra, a man who had served at the right hand of the Emperor for as long as anybody could remember, had been gathering to him men and women with particular talents since the end of the Great Crusade. At first working for him in an informal, secretive and ad hoc capacity, with the enemy at the gates of the Imperial Palace he shared his vision with the Emperor and brought before him twelve beings of unswerving virtue who he had recruited on his master’s behalf. Four of those would become the founders of your Inquisition but the other eight, all Space Marines of differing Legions and unparalleled psykers in their own right, would become the eight founding members of the Grey Knights – the first Grand Masters of the Chapter.’

  Tzula was rapt. She knew snippets of this from conversations with Lord Dinalt, but to hear it from somebody who had been alive so close to the events, possibly even lived through them, was a singular privilege.

  ‘For years, the Regent had occluded the moon of Titan from the eyes of both friend and foe, covertly building a fortress-monastery and equipping it with forbidden technologies and secret training facilities to prepare the new Chapter in its role defending the Imperium from daemonic incursion. In addition to the eight, thousands of others had been taken to the hidden satellite to serve as ancillaries, serfs and the recruits that would form the original Brotherhoods. The Regent’s final gift to the Chapter that would be his most enduring legacy was the gift of time. Using his own considerable psychic talents he removed Titan from time as well as space, granting us long years in which to prepare for the longer war that would await us upon our return.

  ‘When we did finally take our place back in the Imperium, less than a decade had passed in real time, but for the warriors of Titan many centuries had elapsed. Men who were young during the twilight days of the war against Horus were now older than the oldest surviving veterans of the fragmenting Legions. Those eight who had previously worn armour of a different colour had accrued more years than even the most ancient and venerable of Dreadnoughts.’

  He paused now, as if what he had just uttered had led him to a new realisation.

  ‘The galaxy was still in turmoil. Primarchs bickered over how best to prevent a rebellion on the scale of Horus’s from ever happening again, while the defeated traitors preyed upon worlds still loyal to the Golden Throne, as did newly emboldened xenos races. But against this backdrop, the malign influence of the warp had not dwindled – if anything, it had intensified – and the Grey Knights threw themselves straight into the fray. The rips in reality were still s
hedding horrors, cults had sprung up in every segmentum hoping to gain their patron’s favour by summoning forth the Neverborn, and there were still worlds where doorways remained open into the warp.’

  ‘Like Pythos.’

  ‘Like Pythos,’ Epimetheus said matching Tzula’s tone. ‘It was one of the first missions the Grey Knights ever undertook. Three entire Brotherhoods and a quarter of a million Imperial Army soldiers set out to close the Damnation Cache, a warp rift that had been opened during the early days of the war against Horus. It had supplied the traitor forces with allies throughout the campaign, and with turncoat Legions fleeing towards the Eye of Terror the daemons now turned their attention to the worlds surrounding Pythos, seeking to claim them as their own and establish their own debased realm on the material plane. Four entire systems had already succumbed when we got here, and it took years to fight our way across them and finally reach Pythos, harried every step of the way by a daemonic army that would have rivalled the Ultramarines at their peak for sheer numbers. By the time we made planetfall, our own ranks had already been decimated and the Imperial Army regiments accompanying us were down to less than half strength.

  ‘The war to close the Cache was long and bloody. For every daemon we despatched, another would step from beyond to take its place while our numbers continued to decline. Faced with certain defeat that would eventually condemn an entire subsector to unholy servitude, Supreme Grand Master Janus took the only course of action left open to him. Ordering all surviving Grey Knights and Imperial Army soldiers to launch a diversionary assault, the Supreme Grand Master led a small group of Grey Knights through the maze of tunnels that led to the Cache, fighting their way through wave upon wave of daemons before finally incanting the ritual of binding and sealing the rift shut. Every daemon the Cache had spewed forth was recalled in that instant, drawn inexorably back no matter how far they had ventured from Pythos. And that should have been the end of it.’

  ‘The prisoner in the Emerald Cave?’ Tzula said.

  ‘The entities from the Cache were not the only ones present on this world. Drawn by the promise of a daemonic paradise, others of their kind had sought Pythos out. Many of them were of the lower orders, barely cogent things that served as foot soldiers for those who were especially blessed by their patrons, but one in particular was more formidable than any of the others. A greater daemon who served the Plague God, he tore through us with abandon and still we died even though the Cache had been closed. The thing was nameless to us so we did not have the power to banish him, but our combined psychic might was enough to bind him and seal him in one of the vast chambers. A chamber where instead of red Pythosian crystal, green gems studded the walls.

  ‘Of the three hundred Grey Knights who had set out from Titan to cleanse Pythos, barely twenty of us survived. The Imperial Army regiments fared worse, wiped out to a man during the final battle to subdue the Great Unclean One. With no athame to keep it permanently closed, it was decided to hide seven seals around the planet, each one different and only able to be undone in a specific order. Over the final seal a guard was to be placed, a volunteer from among the surviving Grey Knights.’

  Epimetheus’s story tailed off but Tzula had already filled in the blanks. Except one.

  ‘What’s an athame?’ she asked.

  Epimetheus chuckled, only the second sign of emotion Tzula had seen him exhibit. ‘Such power in your grasp and you don’t even know its name. That is an athame.’ He pointed at the blade tucked into her waistband.

  ‘And this is what we’re going to use to close the Damnation Cache?’

  ‘No. It’s what you are going to use to close the Damnation Cache.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Tzula said.

  ‘There is a ship full of sorcerers hidden up there enabling whatever crawls from the Cache to maintain its presence on this side of the veil. To compound matters, there are rations on board that ship destined for Imperial forces that will be poisoned by the time they reach them. I am going to go there and destroy it. You are going to return to Strike and inform him that the population of Atika is dead and the city can be bombarded from orbit.’

  ‘We can get a message to Strike some other way. I’m coming with you.’

  ‘That message is too vital not to be delivered in person. If we chance a vox-message or courier we risk it being intercepted and losing the element of surprise. I can’t trust getting a message to him telepathically as there are so many enemy psykers on this planet one of them may intercept it merely by being in proximity.’ He looked away from her. ‘Besides, there’s a strong possibility this is a one-way mission.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Why does it have to be a suicide mission?’

  ‘Because I have to ensure all of those sorcerers are dead and the only way to guarantee that is to destroy the ship.’

  ‘But you don’t have to be on it,’ Tzula urged.

  ‘I have to be certain.’

  ‘Well, it’s a good job you’ve got no way of getting up there, isn’t it?’ Tzula scoffed.

  ‘He has a pilot. All he needs now is a ship,’ said Shira from out of a mouth half-full of roasted animal. Tzula hadn’t heard her approaching.

  ‘How long have you been there? What did you hear?’ Tzula snapped.

  ‘Emperor. Titan. Daemons. Emeralds,’ Shira was trying to speak and swallow simultaneously. ‘He’s right though. From the sound of things that ship does need destroying before the big daemon pit thing can be closed,’ she finished, gulping down a barely chewed hunk of meat.

  Tzula got up and turned her back on Shira and the Space Marine, heading back towards the fire, arms folded.

  ‘And hey, if I go with him you can be sure he’s coming back,’ Shira added.

  Tzula stopped and turned back to the pilot, face split in a wide grin. Shira’s cockiness was becoming infectious.

  ‘Well, in that case,’ Tzula said. ‘I suppose I’d better tell you where you can find a shuttle.’

  822960.M41 / The Deathglades. Forty-four kilometres south of Atika, Pythos

  The three of them stood at the crossroads of the jungle trail, an awkward farewell about to take place.

  They had travelled together for the past two days, their route shared, but now it was time to go their separate ways; Epimetheus and Shira towards Olympax and the shuttle hidden in the jungle near there; Tzula towards Thermenos and the last known location of Strike and the bulk of the Catachan force. It was dry season on Pythos, a period that lasted no more than a few weeks but allowed the jungle floor to dry out and prevent swamps from turning into lakes and landmasses becoming one with the oceans. The track beneath their feet was scorched and cracked, the cessation of rainfall accompanied by an increase in temperature and a welcome drop in humidity.

  Many days’ travel still lay ahead of them and the two women had divided the little remaining food and water between them. Tzula had insisted that Shira take more as it would be difficult to hunt and forage around Olympax if it was still held by daemons. The pilot reluctantly agreed but insisted that Tzula take all of the remaining power packs for the laspistols because Epimetheus would no longer be around to protect the inquisitor.

  Tzula was the first to break the prolonged silence that hung between them.

  ‘You’re absolutely sure about this? It’s not too late to change your mind and come with me. Let the Dark Angels or your brother Grey Knights deal with that rogue supply ship instead.’ It was half-hearted at best. She knew Epimetheus was following the best course of action and that any delay would put the liberation of Pythos at risk.

  ‘I am certain, Tzula Digriiz.’ His verbosity of two nights before had been an aberration and he had barely spoken to either of his companions on their trek through the jungle.

  ‘Try to get him there in one piece.’ This she aimed at Shira. The pilot nodded and stepped forward, looking for a moment as if she was going to throw her arms around Tzula and hug her. At the last moment she remembered that Tzula was an inquisitor a
nd bailed out of the attempted embrace. She thrust out her hand instead, clumsily gripping the other woman’s augmetic and shaking it weakly.

  ‘You take care of yourself,’ Shira said, still holding onto Tzula’s metal hand. While circumstance had thrown them together and Shira had nearly got her killed, captured or worse several times over, Tzula had built up a rapport with the woman and would miss her company. If Shira could fly as well as she could talk, Tzula had no doubt that she would get Epimetheus on board that ship.

  ‘I put the shuttle down a couple of kilometres east of Olympax. It’s camouflaged with leaves and branches and I activated the cloak. That should have been enough to stop it from being seen by anybody passing that way, but if you’re actively looking for it, it shouldn’t be too difficult to find.’ Shira finally let go of her hand. ‘Epimetheus has the access and override codes.’

  ‘How come he gets the codes and I don’t?’ Shira asked.

  ‘Because they’re both thirty digit alphanumeric strings. I can give them to you if you like?’

  ‘No. That’s fine,’ Shira said. She moved back alongside the towering Space Marine and picked up her pack from the trail. Slinging it casually over one shoulder, she set off along the branch of the path that led towards Olympax. ‘See you soon,’ she called back to Tzula.

  ‘The Emperor protects,’ Tzula replied.

  ‘It has been a pleasure to fight alongside you, Tzula,’ Epimetheus said, making the sign of the aquila with his hands across his breastplate. ‘The Emperor protects.’

  Tzula reflected his gesture. ‘The Emperor protects,’ she said. Epimetheus turned and, with only a few of his giant strides, caught up to Shira.

  Tzula hefted her pack and prepared to follow her own path when she called after the Space Marine. For all his openness two nights before, there was still one question that remained unanswered. ‘Epimetheus?’