Lords and Tyrants

by Warhammer 40K

  Suddenly Sergeant Gaskar was between them. He shoved them both back. ‘Stop this now,’ he shouted. ‘Throne! You’re Cadians!’

  ‘Cadia’s fallen!’ Artem hissed and threw his hand off. ‘Didn’t you hear?’

  ‘I said sit down, trooper. That is an order.’

  Artem hesitated for a moment.

  ‘I said that’s an order.’

  Artem turned and sat down. Gaskar turned to Minka.

  ‘You, too.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ she said and smiled as she slumped back against the cavern wall. Isran gave her a sideways look that was hard to read. Minka realised she still had her knife in her hand. It was non-standard issue, a heavy blade that curved in on itself. Colonel Rath had given her one after Cadia. ‘You cannot unsheathe it without giving it blood,’ he said.

  Minka had been with Rath throughout the siege of her home kasr. Now it was in her hand, unbloodied. In a casual, almost practised gesture, she ran the blade along the inside of her arm. Just enough to raise a bracelet of blood beads along her skin before slamming it back into the sheath.

  She flicked the vox off. The sound of munching grew louder. She sat up and looked about. No one else seemed to have noticed it.

  ‘Sergeant Gaskar,’ she called. ‘Can you hear that?’

  ‘What?’

  Something was tugging at her foot. She thought it was Isran at first, then remembered the rats. She looked down and saw what looked like a giant maggot fretting at the leather of her boot. It was as long as her forearm, a blind, translucent creature with a dark head and round, munching jaws.

  She leaped up in disgust, stamped on the thing, ground her heel on its head. Even Isran stared down. ‘Throne,’ he said, and called out to the others. ‘You should see this!’

  Gaskar and Matrey stared at the maggot. Leonov found another one as big as a dog and lit it up with las-bolts. The smell of burnt flesh hung in the air. The sound of eating mouths grew louder. ‘Oh, Throne,’ Rellan said, his lumen stabbing out into the darkness. ‘There are hundreds of them.’

  The floor of the chamber seemed to be moving. ‘Time to move out,’ Sergeant Gaskar announced abruptly. They stood up, slinging their packs onto their backs. Minka hauled the vox up as Gaskar led them down the centre of the chamber. He jumped the crack and started along the middle of the room, keeping well away from where the maggots were feeding on the dead.

  They were halfway along the chamber floor when they came across another crack, deeper and darker than the rest. It was nearly two yards wide and exhaled a cold, rancid smell. Gaskar led them across, and when it was Minka’s turn, she put her thumbs through the vox-unit straps, checked her footing and jumped. Isran caught her and hauled her forwards. She turned, about to help Leonov across, when a las-round flared out from across the sump-lake. It hit Matrey in the shoulder, and he grunted with pain. More las-bolts flashed in from the right, and then the left, and in an instant it seemed they were surrounded, half on one side and half on the other.

  Isran pulled Minka down to the side of the crack, where a roof-fall provided cover. Gaskar shouted bearings to each pair as they started to return fire, and Grogar set the tripod down, kicked the ammo feed to the side and started to shoot.

  In a moment the sump-lake surface was wild water, with the boots of charging warriors, stitched shots of heavy bolters and the hissing steam of las-rounds all churning it up. A small figure climbed up between two stalactites. It stood for a moment, hands on the stalactites to either side, silhouetted by the luminous glow, crucified in silhouette. Minka fired and missed. She cursed herself. She had a moment to aim once more and made sure this time. She felt the hum of her lasrifle as the power pack engaged and spat a bolt of blue-white out of the barrel.

  The flare filled her vision, and the bolt lit an eye-searing stripe across the pool surface. It up-lit the target’s face for a moment – a shaggy mess of hair, a snarling face that might once have been human – then the las-bolt connected and kinetic energy turned to searing heat.

  Minka had seen the puff of steaming flesh many times. The figure fell into the lake with a splash, but where it had stood, three more figures appeared, clambering forwards. And when they were down, there were five behind them.

  ‘They’re coming up out of the water!’ Isran said.

  She nodded and saw the point on the far side of the pool where they were emerging.

  They worked together. She was in awe of his ferocious rate of fire. He was calm and methodical, as if he were working his way through the firing range. ‘It’s easy,’ he always said. ‘You pick out the highest priority target, kill it, then move on to the next.’

  Minka felt a maggot at her boot. She kicked at it and aimed once more. Gaskar was shouting orders. It sounded like Aleksei had been hit as well. Leonov crawled over to him.

  ‘Flesh wound,’ Leonov called out. He was scrabbling through his pack for a medikit. Artem was shouting about the worms. Minka was too busy shooting to turn and look at what was behind her.

  ‘They’re coming up from the crack!’ Gaskar shouted.

  Minka risked a look behind her, and at that moment she saw a spinning grenade land near her elbow. Time slowed. She saw that it was Munitorum issue. Plain green drab with stencilled white serial numbers. She knew that it would kill both her and Isran if it went off, and that it would go off within seconds or even milliseconds, so instinctively she screamed a warning as she batted it back into the crack. She had no idea if Isran heard or not. She was ducking when the explosion went off. Shrapnel hit the back of her head and, to her left, a demo charge went off with its sudden distinctive whoosh! which brought part of the roof down. The force of the blast threw her down hard enough to knock her face into the rock before her. She couldn’t tell if her flak jacket had saved her. Her shoulder ached, her lip was bleeding, there was blood on her chin and on the back of her palm.

  A shape loomed over her. Her helmet clanged as metal scraped along it. It connected on her collarbone. She snarled and drove her bayonet into the figure’s groin. She fired twice just to make sure, the las-bolts burning deep holes as they buried themselves into her assailant’s soft, coiled guts.

  She had to twist out of the way to pull the bayonet free. She staggered to her feet and slammed the lasrifle’s butt down into the heretic’s face, before loading a fresh power pack into the weapon.

  To her left she heard Rellan go down. Isran was half-buried in rubble. Throne knew how they’d get out of this fix. Isran was moaning. She wanted to help him, but her focus was forward. So much so that when a hand rested on her shoulder she jolted and spun about, expecting a knife in the kidney or neck. But looking down at her was a Cadian. An older man. Grey stubble. Lop-sided face. His name-badge read ‘Bardski.’

  Bardski barely acknowledged her. He didn’t stop to talk but knelt beside her and started to pump las-bolts across the chamber. Through the green glow she could see more Cadians picking their way stealthily forwards. A motley collection of about thirty survivors, pausing every so often to aim and fire. Thank the Emperor, she thought, but then she saw the figure at the back. He wore a dark leather cloak and a peaked hat. She caught Bardski’s eye, and he gave her an apologetic look.

  ‘Why the Throne did you have to bring him along?’ Minka said. A commissar was all they needed.

  Minka helped Isran pull himself out from under the girder that had fallen over him. His left arm was clearly broken. His face was pale. He swallowed back his pain as Minka plunged the needle into his shoulder. ‘Morphia,’ she said. ‘Won’t take long to kick in.’

  Isran nodded. His eyes wandered, and she thought he might faint. ‘Heh,’ she said, tapping his cheek. ‘You were right. It’s our reinforcements.’

  Commissar Haan wasted no time in introducing himself to those who were left of Minka’s platoon. His face was disfigured by an old burn scar that pulled the side of his mouth back into a fierc
e snarl, and he seemed almost angry that Minka’s squad had got to the cavern before them.

  Minka could see at least five different units within his warband. Mostly Cadians; a couple of local Calibineers, their velvet jackets smeared with mud and mould; and a lone Valhallan Ice Warrior in a greatcoat and fur cap. The coat looked two sizes too big, like he’d taken it from a dead body, and his face was gaunt.

  The commissar looked over his ragtag collection of troopers as a butcher would inspect his knife. ‘Any sign of the Great Chamber?’

  ‘None, sir,’ Gaskar said. ‘The hivers came from the water. And from up this crack here.’

  The commissar looked down into the darkness and seemed not to find what he was looking for. He looked across the pool. ‘I don’t see where.’

  ‘They came up out of the water. There must be a sump-hole there.’

  The commissar seemed to like this. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘That must be the way up.’

  Gaskar didn’t wait for the order. ‘Cadians, forward!’ he called out, and stepped down into the water, pushing the floating bodies aside, feeling his way as he waded knee-deep towards the other side of the chamber.

  One by one the troopers followed, strung out with their lasrifles raised high through the dragon-maw of stalactites. Gaskar shone his lumen down into the water. ‘I can’t see anything,’ he said. The spear of white light panned back and forth, looking for an opening among the sunken rocks.

  Commissar Haan pushed forwards. ‘It’s there somewhere.’ He took the lumen himself, but couldn’t find anything. At last, he said, ‘You, soldier. Give me your lasrifle.’

  ‘Me, sir?’ Artem said, blinking as the lumen shone in his face.

  ‘Yes,’ the commissar said, turning the light down into the water again. As he did so something flicked through the beam. It was the tail of a maggot, twitching itself through the water.

  ‘What is that?’ Commissar Haan said.

  ‘Hive maggots,’ Sergeant Gaskar said. ‘This room seems to be full of them.’

  Commissar Haan pulled out his bolt pistol, used the lumen to locate the maggot’s body. It was a yard long and thick as a man’s waist, wriggling as it tried to push itself through the water. He fired a single bolt-round into the water. The spray hit them all. No one could tell if he’d killed the maggot or not.

  ‘I can feel one,’ someone said behind Minka. ‘Throne! It just bit me.’

  Minka could feel unseen creatures brush past their legs. Two maggots surfaced next to her. She drew her knife and slashed at them, but even cut in half they continued to writhe. She could feel discomfort start to turn to panic as another man was bitten.

  ‘I said into the water!’ the commissar ordered.

  Artem’s hand started shaking. ‘But the maggots…’ he started.

  Commissar Haan’s face showed disgust. ‘The God-Emperor of Mankind does not care about hive maggots!’

  The leather-coated figure stepped up beside him. Minka knew what was coming. She’d seen it before. Heard the moment recounted many times around campfires and during long warp transits. Seen men lift up their fingers, pistol-style to the side of the head and say the words ‘In the name of the God-Emperor!’

  She felt that it could have been any of them. Anyone could be standing there now with the cold barrel of a bolt pistol resting against their skin. ‘Into the water, trooper,’ the commissar ordered.

  Artem closed his eyes and the sight transfixed Minka for a moment. She willed him to move. Willed him not to let his life end like this. At least for Cadia, she thought. For the shock troopers.

  But then the bolt pistol fired: a bright flash of light and a moment later the report. The shot floored Artem sideways like a hammer to the head. Minka felt cold dread. This was how it would end, she thought, as the commissar turned towards her.

  ‘You!’ he snapped.

  Minka could not move.

  ‘Yes, sir!’ It was the man beside her who spoke. The Valhallan. She turned in astonishment as he pulled off his greatcoat and his cap and let them drop. She felt a moment’s shame as the Valhallan plunged into the water and the commissar used the lumen to follow his course. But then the man exploded out of the depths and the commissar caught hold of his webbing and dragged him up. The largest maggot they had seen was hanging off his shoulder. Its body was pulsing as it tightened its grip, dark gobbets of blood moving down into its gut.

  Minka slashed with her knife. The first blow ripped the maggot’s belly open, the second cut it in half, but still the head clung on, and even as she dragged at it, the mouth-part would not come free. Suddenly the chamber shook. It was the dull roar she’d heard before, but now it was raging, and loud, and closing.

  The whole company stopped and stared behind them. They looked back in disbelief as a lone figure entered the chamber and straightened to its full height. It seemed to fill the vaulting space. It was a giant – eight feet of power-armoured horror – with glowing red eyes that turned towards them and focused on them.

  The thing was wrapped in chains; skulls hung from its loincloth, and impaled on the brass spikes that rose from its pauldrons were the decapitated heads of Imperial Guardsmen – Cadians, by the look of it – from which fresh gouts of gore still dripped. The monster stalked forwards, exuding pure evil.

  Each leg was a column of plated might; each footfall was the crunch of ceramite on shattered rockcrete. It paced to where they had fought the last engagement and crossed the two-yard crack in a single stride. One great boot splashed down into the water. Only then did it engage the weapon that it held, a giant chainaxe that made the whole chamber shake. It was the roar she had heard as she’d eaten. It was the sound of doom. Of murder. Of unrelenting frenzy.

  And then the axe fell silent. ‘Throne help us,’ Gaskar said as the figure took another giant step closer. Minka took an involuntary step backwards. She had a brief awareness of the Valhallan struggling to find his footing as it approached. It had the manner of a jungle cat coming across a wounded gazelle. It savoured the expectation of slaughter.

  Commissar Haan rallied them. ‘In the name of the Emperor!’ And somehow Grogar spun the heavy bolter round, and shots hammered the air about the giant. The beleaguered soldiers of the Astra Militarum fired in a blinding fusillade. Las-bolts flared out and many of them hit, but nothing stopped it. Not bolt-rounds. Not las-bolts. Not hive maggots. The single warrior was like a tank rolling towards them. It did not slow or pause, nor did it accelerate. It triggered the chainaxe again just as it reached their lines.

  It cut the nearest Cadian into two unequal halves, and stove in the ribcage of another with a massive armoured fist. Commissar Haan held his ground, but it didn’t help him. His bolt pistol barked, the rounds pinging off the ruddy armour as he went for a weak spot. He did not find one. The gory blades of the chainaxe whined as their attacker swung, and the pitch of its engine went up a note as the ceramite teeth snagged on skull – but then it was through, and the chainaxe opened the commissar’s torso up from neck to sternum, like a zipper on a camo suit. The commissar splashed down to his knees, and he paused for the briefest of moments as if praying in front of the Golden Throne, before slamming ruined face first into the bloody water.

  The remaining men panicked. It made no difference. There was nowhere to flee to.

  Isran shouted something about Cadia before he died to a blow of the chainaxe, which sprayed shreds of flesh and flak armour, bone and blood, webbing and human hair across those remaining.

  Leonov’s head tumbled before her as her blade scraped uselessly across the ceramite, and snagged in the piping of a knee joint. The vast creature pistol-whipped Bardski. The casual blow dislocated his skull from the vertebrae of his neck and showering his teeth across the chamber. Matrey went low, hoping to stab through the thing’s groin-armour, but he died as its power-armoured knee connected with his face and broke his neck with a sharp snap.
>
  Terror held Minka in its cupped palm as the denizen of hell turned towards her. It seemed to fill the chamber, four-foot broad shoulders and visored mask turning to focus on her with the eyes of a predator. She took another step back, and another, and stumbled as the ground beneath her gave way.

  The liquid was shockingly cold on her scalp and neck. Something squirmed past her face. She felt the rough surface of a maggot’s mouth brush past her ear and kicked furiously down. She kept expecting to hit the bottom but she fell a yard or more. She kicked up for air as the chainaxe roared down at the place where she had just been. Water erupted from its spinning teeth as she sucked in a breath and ducked down once more, pulling herself deeper. Something caught her ankle. She wanted to scream but she couldn’t waste the breath. She felt for the edges of the rock. They cut and stung, but she did not care.

  A maggot’s smooth, bulging body pressed against her face. Her hands scrabbled forwards, searching for an opening. As she went deeper she could not tell what was a passageway and what was a contour of the rock. She found what she thought was an opening but butted up against stone. She backed up, found another and hit a wall of slime that might have been a maggot nest, and had to retreat again.

  She had to exhale. The need went from insistent to a compulsion. But if she did she knew she would die. She had to go down. The heretics had done it. They must have come this way, and if they could do this, then by the Golden Throne, she could as well.

  At last she found a way forward, but it was too narrow. She let the vox-unit go, but felt her shoulder pads catch on either side. She tore at her webbing. She could feel her lungs bursting within her chest. She fought so violently she cut her hand on the sharp rocks. There was something behind her. She felt her feet being grabbed and let her scream out in bubbles, and sucked in a lungful of filthy water that made her choke and gasp. She couldn’t go forwards. Couldn’t go back. She kicked free, but her lungs were full of filth.

  She wrenched at the clips that held her armour in place. She got one arm free, then the other, and suddenly a hand was on her, dragging her up.