The Space Wolf Omnibus - William King

by Warhammer 40K

  There was something about Sternberg’s tone that whispered a warning to Ragnar. It was not that he could detect any falseness in it, for he could not. It was just something about it that made his hackles rise. He was surprised that none of his fellow Wolves shared his unease, but he sensed that their scents had not changed. He appeared to be the only one who felt the way he did. Perhaps it was a flaw in him, something left over from his recent transformation into a Space Wolf. He knew he was still sometimes given to visions and hallucinations as well as fits of anger and hate. His elders told him these would fade in time as he became accustomed to the change. Perhaps that was the problem here.

  ‘The Great Wolf will be pleased to grant his old comrade an audience immediately,’ Jarek replied formally and fell into step beside the inquisitor. Sternberg and his retinue made their way through the double line of Space Wolves assembled to greet them. As they passed the last of the honour guard, the Space Wolves themselves formed up in ranks behind them and, marching proudly, escorted them to the lair of Logan Grimnar.

  A huge pavilion had been erected within the Great Wolf’s hall. It was made from the finest grey silk and one side of it was open to face the doors through which Sternberg and his escort entered. The inside was illuminated by floating glowglobes hovering just below the tent’s ceiling. Two ever-burning braziers flickered and crackled close to each edge of the entrance. Each gave off the smell of the incense used in the sacred rituals of the Imperium. Ragnar recognised this particular scent: silver-root. It was said to be a powerful ward against evil influences.

  In all his time within the Fang, this was the first time Ragnar had been permitted to enter the Great Wolf’s lair. There had never really been any need for him to go beyond the training areas, the cells in which the novice Space Marines dwelt and the communal areas shared by all the Great Companies. One day soon, Ragnar knew, his pack of Blood Claws would be assigned to their own Great Company and become part of the greater command structure of the Chapter but for the moment they were in a sort of limbo, waiting to see which company would need replacements either for casualties or for those Blood Claws who had been promoted to the Grey Hunters.

  The Great Wolf’s lair was huge, taking up one complete level of the Fang. The trek there had not been long, though. A series of grav-tubes had carried the whole party through the maze of the ancient fortress, but if the newcomers had felt any of the wonder that Ragnar had once felt on first seeing the inside of the mountain fastness, they kept it well hidden. He guessed that in their travels they must have seen many imposing sights. Part of him longed to share in that experience, to travel off-world, to see new things and go to new places. He knew that some day he would do just that, yet as far as he was concerned the day could not come quickly enough. Still, some part of him also feared that day; he was not entirely sure why. He suspected that some part of being human was always to have some fear of any new experience.

  The Great Wolf awaited them, bedecked in splendour. He was a massive man, a truly mighty warrior to Ragnar’s eyes. His chest was larger than an ale barrel and his arms were like tree trunks. A huge grey beard tumbled down his chest like a waterfall. A mane of grey hair erupted from his head and fell down past his shoulders. His eyes, ancient and unknowable, were like chips of ice. His face looked like it had been carved from granite and the scars on his cheeks looked more like the product of decades of erosion than the result of wounds. They reminded Ragnar of ravines driven into the hard stone of mountains. Around Grimnar’s shoulders was thrown a great wolfskin cloak which some claimed dated from the time of Russ and was said to be impervious to heat, cold and flame. The head of the wolf rested on Grimnar’s head like a crown. Dangling from a cord around his neck was the Amulet of Russ, a simple-looking device, crudely made to resemble the head of a wolf from some unknown metal. It was said to be the repository of great power for its wearer. It was a talisman that was supposed to protect against all manner of evil sorcery and shield its owner from all evil influences.

  Dozens of battle honours had been worked onto the Great Wolf’s armour, for Grimnar had served in hundreds of campaigns over the past seven hundred Imperial Standard years. That thought itself was almost enough to make Ragnar’s mind reel. It was ten times the life span of the oldest mortal man on Fenris, yet Logan Grimnar showed no signs of weakness. Instead he gave off an aura of boundless health, strength and energy. He was the most regal man Ragnar had ever seen. He seemed born to command, a chieftain worthy of the greatest of warriors, commanding limitless obedience from those who fought for him. And so it should be, Ragnar thought, for this was the man who led a Chapter of the Emperor’s finest.

  Logan Grimnar sat stern and commanding upon the Wolf Throne. It appeared to be made of ancient stone, carved with runes that looked almost as old as time and seemed to have been cut there by wind and rain. The throne had been made to hold a man even larger than Grimnar. It dated from the time of Russ and it was possible that the great Primarch himself had once sat in it. The back of the seat was carved to resemble a great snarling wolf’s head looming over the sitter. Each arm of the throne was its paws. The strangest thing about the throne was that it did not rest on the floor; instead it floated about a hand’s breadth above it, and it turned as the Great Wolf wished, seemingly guided by his will. Ragnar could not help but notice that the Great Wolf’s armoured form similarly did not touch the stone of the throne, but instead seemed to float just shy of its surface. He now knew a little about the ancient magic of suspensor systems and he guessed that one of them was in use. At the very least it would surely make sitting on the hard stone more bearable, although Ragnar suspected that it had another use. On the back of the throne fluttered two vast banners: one bore the two rampant wolves that were the insignia of Grimnar, the other the snarling wolf’s head that was the symbol of the Chapter. They fluttered and rippled, though there was not the slightest hint of a breeze to move them.

  Within the shadows of the pavilion, flanking Grimnar’s mighty throne, stood the folk of his lair, the Wolf Priests resplendent in their wolf-hide cloaks and wearing their aura of age and command. Ragnar recognised Ranek, the eldest of them all, who had inducted the young Blood Claw into the Chapter all those months ago. With them also were the metal-clad Iron Priests, their helmets moulded to represent wolf’s heads. And there were even several Rune Priests, long bearded, carrying huge wooden staffs carved with mystical runic symbols. All of these men had about them an aura of age and wisdom that was palpable. All of them were veterans of a hundred campaigns.

  Ragnar wondered if Inquisitor Sternberg was conscious of the honour being done him by this assemblage of all the notables of the Chapter. It seemed so, for the man raised his hand and all his retainers halted, leaving him to advance alone towards the throne of the Great Wolf. Once he stood before Grimnar, he dropped to one knee and bowed his head like a man swearing fealty to his jarl. Grimnar slid forward and dropped from his throne, before laying one massive hand on the inquisitor’s shoulders.

  Ragnar watched closely as the two met and was surprised by something he caught from the corner of his eye. Brother Ranek, too, was looking at the inquisitor. Ragnar saw a flicker of quickly concealed suspicion pass across the man’s ancient gnarled face and vanish. Ranek turned slightly; he had noticed Ragnar’s gaze. Their eyes met and he was sure the Wolf Priest could guess what he was thinking. After a moment, Ranek looked away.

  ‘We meet again, Ivan Sternberg,’ the Great Wolf said, his voice like two great granite boulders rubbing together. ‘It has been a long time.’

  ‘Too long, Logan Grimnar. It does me good to see you looking so hale and hearty.’

  ‘I thank you, Ivan Sternberg. You too look well. As well as the day you stopped those orks stabbing me in the back.’

  ‘It was an honour to be of service to one of the Imperium’s greatest warriors, praise His name. I thank the Eternal Throne I was simply in the right place at the right time.’

  ‘Nonetheless, you took a wound f
or me, and I owe you a debt of honour. I told you that day you had but to name the boon and if it was in my power to grant it, I would.’

  Ragnar fought down the urge to take a deep breath. It was a measure of the trust that the Great Wolf placed in this man that he would make such a statement. It was the sort of pledge that might be redeemed with the very life or honour of Logan Grimnar, and through him, his entire Chapter. The fact that it had been made told Ragnar that the Great Wolf considered both things safe in Sternberg’s keeping. Surely this made his own suspicions unworthy and invalid. If the Great Wolf trusted this man, who was Ragnar to doubt him?

  He made a mental note to ask one of the Rune Priests about the inquisitor when the chance arose. He was sure there was an epic tale concealed within the Great Wolf’s simple words.

  ‘I do have a request to make of you, and I would consider your granting it a repayment of any debt you may feel you have incurred with me.’

  ‘Name it.’

  The beautiful woman behind Sternberg coughed loudly. The inquisitor turned to face her.

  ‘Do you think this is wise, Inquisitor Sternberg?’ the woman asked without preamble. Her voice was calm and clear. Ragnar found it enthralling. Sternberg turned to gesture at the woman.

  ‘May I present my apprentice, Karah Isaan?’ he said smoothly. Somehow he managed by his manner to convey the impression that she had spoken with his blessing, rather than interrupted a private conversation between him and the Great Wolf.

  Grimnar nodded civilly to her. ‘What do you mean, Karah Isaan?’

  ‘I mean this matter concerns the security of the Imperium.’

  Grimnar’s booming laughter echoed around the chamber. ‘We are quite used to dealing with such matters in the Fang!’

  If the young woman was daunted she gave no sign. ‘I am sure you are, Great Wolf.’ Her face twisted slightly as she hesitated on pronouncing the title. It dawned on Ragnar that she would have far preferred to be using something more formal. She was quite obviously unsure of how to deal with the legendary leader of the Space Wolves. ‘It is just there are many others here who might… overhear… our discussions.’

  ‘If you do not trust any of your people, send them away!’ Grimnar boomed.

  The woman’s face flushed a little. She tilted her head back and opened her mouth to speak. It seemed to Ragnar that she thought the Great Wolf was being wilfully obtuse. ‘That is not…’

  ‘I know what you meant,’ Grimnar said, and this time his voice was glacier-cold and full of authority, the voice of a chieftain dealing with an ambassador who had made an impertinent request. ‘Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of any of my warriors. You can trust them as you would trust me. It is your Inquisition which keeps secrets, even from itself, not my Chapter.’

  Ragnar was a little shocked that the female inquisitor seemed to be suggesting the possibility that anyone in the Fang might be disloyal, even a traitor. He could see that the same thought had occurred to others. Some hands flexed as if their owners might be considering reaching for their blades and calling her out to fight for the honour of the Chapter. A gruff glare from the Great Wolf stilled all such activity. The woman did not quail in front of Grimnar, but she did flinch slightly and a look of surprise froze on her face. It dawned on Ragnar that as a member of the Inquisition she was probably more used to making people fearful than to quaking herself. It took her but moments to recover.

  ‘I apologise if I have given offence. I was unsure of your customs here.’

  Ragnar considered another of the Great Wolf’s statements. Was it possible that other servants of the Imperium withheld information from each other? That seemed like sheer foolishness to Ragnar. A warrior needed all the information available to make decisions, or so he had been taught. It seemed clear that the woman thought differently. She had been quite prepared to tell something to Grimnar alone without his followers hearing it – as if Lord Grimnar would not tell them if he deemed it needful for them to know.

  ‘Forgive Karah,’ Sternberg said. ‘She is young and she has but recently become apprenticed to me. She does not yet know how to deal with Space Marines.’

  ‘In truth, Ivan Sternberg, few folk do,’ Grimnar shrugged good-humouredly. ‘But you have yet to name this boon you require of me.’

  Sternberg paused for a moment, considering. Despite his smooth words, he appeared to be thinking about what Karah had said. Ragnar could smell his momentary indecision. He was sure every Space Wolf present could. He wondered if the inquisitor himself was aware of this. Perhaps he was, for he reached his decision quickly.

  ‘My homeworld of Aerius has been smitten by a deadly plague. Millions are dying even as I speak.’

  Ragnar could not see what the Space Wolves could possibly do about this. They were warriors, not healers. If Grimnar thought the same he kept it well hidden, merely nodding attentively as Sternberg spoke.

  ‘Our healers were baffled. All the remedies tried by our apothecaries failed. It seemed a cure for the plague was beyond all of our alchemical lore. It appeared to the rulers of Aerius that perhaps the plague itself might be a product of dark sorcery or some ancient curse, so the governor’s astropath requested my aid. I returned to my homeworld as soon as my duties allowed, for Aerius is a mighty industrial world, and keystone to the Imperium’s control of its sector. By the Emperor’s grace, I arrived before too much time had passed.’

  Sternberg paused as if gathering his thoughts once more. Ragnar could tell that the man was something of an orator, and that the real reason he paused was to give his words time to sink into the minds of the audience. At the mention of ‘sorcery’ and an ‘ancient curse’ a perceptible thrill had run through the chamber.

  ‘There had indeed been many strange portents. A great comet had appeared in the skies of Aerius, the baleful star of legend, which appears only once in every two millennia, and whose appearance always presages doom. Showers of falling stars descended on the world at the moment of its appearance. Strangest of all, an eerie glow surrounded the great Black Pyramid.’

  A look of recognition had appeared now on the face of Grimnar and some of his advisors. ‘There was a battle there once…’ the Great Wolf murmured.

  ‘Aye,’ Sternberg said. ‘One in which your Chapter took part, alongside the armies of the Imperium against the alien eldar. Near two millennia ago.’

  ‘The Balestar blazed down on that battlefield too,’ Grimnar added. ‘What is the significance of this?’

  ‘That battle did indeed take place under the light of the balestar, and there was at the same time an outbreak of plague on Aerius, though not as virulent as that which afflicts the world now. It ended when the battle was won, which many took to be a sign of the Emperor’s favour.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘When I reached Aerius much of the world had already been quarantined. There seemed to be nothing I or any of my advisors could do. Over the comm-net we could see pictures of the terrible effects of the plague. I decided to consult the Oracle of Chaeron, who resides in her ancient citadel on the surface of that dark moon.’

  ‘I have heard of this oracle,’ the Great Wolf said. ‘A most holy woman, blessed by the Emperor. What did she have to say?’

  ‘Her words were enigmatic, as always. In her temple chambers she told me: The Balestar lights the sky once more, and the Unclean One’s way to freedom. His ancient prison walls are near undermined and his pestilence is loosed upon the world.’

  ‘Enigmatic indeed.’

  ‘Aye, Great Wolf. I asked her if the Unclean One might be bound once more…’

  ‘And what did she say?’ Grimnar asked eagerly.

  ‘Her reply seemed equally unhelpful: The elder key, now three, must be made one again. To make the prison hold once more, it must be taken to the Black Pyramid’s central chamber.’

  ‘One part of that riddle seems clear, at least,’ said Logan Grimnar. ‘She refers to the Black Pyramid, under the shadow of which that great battle was fo
ught.’

  ‘Aye, and that is less helpful still. For the pyramid has never been opened. Many have tried, using all the techniques known to the Imperium and never once have its walls been breached. Whatever sorcery its creators used is proof against all humanity’s efforts.’

  ‘Russ once said: An undaunted spirit will find a path, though it leads through a forest of blades.’ Sternberg smiled.

  ‘The Inquisition teaches its members that every question is an answer in hiding, every problem a solution in disguise.’

  ‘Did you find your answer then, Ivan Sternberg?’

  ‘I believe so. I fasted for three days and meditated upon the oracle’s answer. I prayed to the Emperor for guidance.’

  ‘Were you answered?’

  ‘I believe so, for it came to me that perhaps I had misunderstood the oracle’s words, for her voice is soft and her speech slurred with age. It seemed possible to me that she meant eldar key, not elder key.’

  The Great Wolf exchanged a significant glance with Ranek and the other Wolf Priests. ‘That would fit with our saga of the battle.’

  Sternberg’s smile widened and his manner became excited.

  ‘Your Chapter, I am given to understand, has in its possession an artefact known as the Talisman of Lykos. It is a crystal, many-faceted, reddish in colour. It was taken in battle with the eldar two millennia ago after the battle on Aerius. It is a fragment of a greater whole, a talisman of great power, used by the eldar Farseers and destroyed during the final conflict.’