The Space Wolf Omnibus - William King

by Warhammer 40K

  The Space Wolf rose slowly and placed his bolt pistol against the officer’s neck while clamping his hand firmly over his mouth. The man briefly tried to struggle but it was as futile as a mouse struggling in the mouth of a wolf; the Space Marine’s strength was simply too great. Ragnar carried the man deeper into the darkness at the crater’s edge, then spoke quietly and rapidly into the man’s ear.

  ‘I have a bolt pistol at the base of your skull. If I pull the trigger your eyes will have a second looking at your brains before you die.’

  Ragnar could smell the man’s fear now. He controlled it well but it was there. He tried kicking at a rock to make a scuffing sound, but Ragnar lifted him clean off his feet.

  ‘Your troops are covered and my men are on a hair-trigger. If you make any noise, or try and alert them, they will die. Do not do anything foolish again.’

  Ragnar felt the man relax. The tension went out of him. He could also see that the man was now trying to work out what was happening. He was thinking that if things were as Ragnar had said, why were he and his warriors still alive? Ragnar allowed him a moment’s silence to give the thought time to sink in, then spoke again: ‘You are loyal to the Emperor?’

  Again the man hesitated for a second. Ragnar did not think it was because he was a heretic; the officer was trying to decide what would happen if he said yes. He obviously felt his life was in the balance. A wrong answer would most likely prove fatal. Ragnar decided not to give him any help with his response. The reply would be an interesting indicator of his character. He could feel the man’s neck muscles move as he tried to nod. Ragnar let him move his head.

  ‘That is very fortunate,’ said Ragnar, ‘since I am too. However, the situation here is tense, and it would be unfortunate if two forces loyal to the Emperor were to come to blows because of a misunderstanding. I am going to let you go, but don’t do anything stupid. If you do it will be fatal… for you and your men. Do you understand me?’

  The man nodded once more. Ragnar let him go, and he whirled to confront him. Even in the gloom Ragnar saw the look of shock on the man’s face and smelled his bewilderment. Ragnar was at least a head taller than he was and much broader and heavier. His captive was doubtless wondering how such a presence could have possibly snuck up on him. Realisation dawned slowly, and the man’s confusion was replaced by wonder.

  ‘You are a Space Marine,’ he said.

  ‘I am a Space Wolf,’ Ragnar corrected him. The officer’s knees threatened to give way so great was his relief. At the last second he regained control of himself, and Ragnar did not have to catch him.

  ‘The Emperor be praised,’ the man muttered. ‘The Emperor be praised.’

  ‘Are you all right, sir?’ came a voice from around the fire.

  ‘I am fine,’ the officer replied. There was a burst of laughter from the nearby soldiers. It was just as well the officer did not have ears as keen as Ragnar’s, otherwise he would have caught the coarse jokes his men were making about how long he was taking. Sven was probably enjoying them though, Ragnar thought.

  ‘You’re from the shrine,’ murmured the officer. ‘It was your ships that we saw landing.’

  Ragnar nodded.

  ‘The Emperor be praised indeed. Some of the rebel scum claimed it was reinforcements for their own side. Maybe now we have a chance.’

  ‘Tell your men that we are coming into the camp. Tell them not to shoot. Then we can talk.’

  The officer complied, yelling that he was about to come back with an ally, and not to shoot otherwise there would be hell to pay. Ragnar sensed the confusion among the soldiers. They were wondering whether it was some sort of trick or trap. Ragnar decided that he had better take a hand. Many of the sleepers were rising hastily, reaching for their weapons.

  ‘I am a Space Marine and an ally. We have you surrounded but there is no need to worry. As long as you do not shoot there will be no trouble.’

  Again he sensed confusion, anger and fear. The situation could easily turn nasty, so he decided to take a risk in order to keep it under his control. He pushed the officer ahead of him and strode confidently into the group of men. Lasrifles pointed at him, fingers tight on their triggers. Then he saw looks of wonder, fear, even awe on the men’s face as they recognised him for what he was. The long links between Garm and Fenris had left all the natives capable of identifying that.

  ‘By the Throne, the Wolves have come,’ said one man. He sounded very pleased and relieved.

  ‘Now we can sort out those heretics!’ said another. In moments they had swarmed around him, slapping his back, clutching his arm. They seemed utterly relieved, like men who had been lost in a desert and suddenly encountered a guide. Within moments their earlier mutinous attitude had completely disappeared. Ragnar was almost touched by this show of the faith that the people of Garm had in the Wolves. He supposed those ten millennia of history had done something to instil it.

  Looking closely at them now, he could see that their faces were pinched and starved; the hands clutching their weapons were painfully thin. Most of them had a slightly feverish look in their eyes. These were men who had obviously endured great hardship, and who were relieved by his presence.

  ‘The Emperor has sent his warriors to save us from the heretics,’ said one man.

  Ragnar considered this for a moment. He supposed in a way, that it was true. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘That is true.’

  ‘Just in the nick of time too,’ said another. ‘The rebels were bad, but those daemon worshippers are the worst of all.’

  ‘Daemon worshippers?’

  ‘Aye. Sergius and his men. They have a temple in Ironfang Keep. How they kept it secret so long I will never know. They are down there performing some evil ritual night and day. The Gods of Darkness alone know what they are up to. Some say they are opening a way through the warp storms to the Eye of Terror. Others say they are summoning a legion of daemons.’

  ‘A temple to Chaos?’ Ragnar asked. The men all spoke in affirmatives.

  ‘Then it shall be cleansed,’ he said.

  SEVENTEEN

  Ragnar’s Blood Claws took up position among the local militiamen, positioning themselves as sentries so they could watch all the approaches. Ragnar could see Aenar and Torvald talking to the men reassuringly. Sven and the others kept watch on the crater’s rim.

  Like children in the presence of protective parents, most of the Garmites lay down to sleep, possibly their first decent night’s rest in many days. Ragnar sat down near the oil stove, careful not to look directly at the flames. The officer sat opposite him. He fumbled inside his greatcoat, then removed a flask that smelled of strong alcohol and politely offered it to Ragnar.

  Ragnar considered for a moment. He could smell no poisons, other than the usual toxins that filled the air and water here. It was still possible, he reckoned, for there to be some subtler narcotic within the flask, but the officer’s scent gave no hint of treachery. More important was winning the man’s trust and finding out what he knew. Ragnar realised that he was not doing this for purely military reasons. This was the first approximately friendly Garmite he had had any contact with, and he wanted to get the man’s views on what was happening here. He took the proffered flask and swigged away. The alcohol burned against the back of his throat, and he felt the usual flush of heat and faint wave of nausea as his body compensated for it. The officer took his flask back and helped himself to a generous mouthful before stoppering it and putting it back inside his coat.

  ‘The real stuff,’ he said. ‘Not made from brake fluid or vat alcohol.’

  ‘Good,’ Ragnar said, more because it was expected than because he agreed. He had tasted much better booze on his travels. If truth be told, he preferred Fenrisian beer.

  ‘Jan Trainor, captain of the Iron Fang Industrial Militia,’ he said, placing his hand over his heart in a gesture of greeting.

  ‘Ragnar of the Space Wolves.’

  ‘I am very glad to have met you, Ragnar of the Space Wolv
es. You do not know how glad.’

  Even over the thick cloud of fuel fumes and alcohol, Ragnar could smell the man’s fear. He did not judge Trainor a coward. The man’s bearing suggested toughness and courage. His scent spoke of weariness, and his bearing of a man who had been living with his nerves stretched to the breaking point for too long.

  ‘Why?’ Ragnar asked.

  Trainor looked around to make sure they were not being overheard, and lowered his voice as he replied. ‘These past few weeks have not been easy. There have been times when I thought we were all going to die.’

  ‘We are all going to die,’ said Ragnar. ‘Nothing in life is certain save death. It is how we choose to meet it that matters.’

  Trainor gave him a bitter smile. ‘You are a Space Marine, and I would expect you to feel that way.’ The Garmite raised his hand in a gesture of appeasement. ‘I mean no harm by that. It’s just that I am no more than half a soldier. I put in my time in the keep militia, and because I was born into one of the high clans I am an officer, but if truth be told, I am really a forge-machine supervisor who has been given a gun and sent out to fight.’

  Ragnar considered this. He had enough schooling now to understand most of what the man meant. He realised how much he had changed over the past few years. The unlettered barbarian who had grown up amid the islands of the world sea of Fenris would not have been able to grasp the concepts, even if he could have spoken this man’s language.

  ‘It looks like you have been doing your share of fighting,’ he said, to encourage the man.

  ‘There has been enough to go around.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’ Ragnar wanted to ask about Sergius but he also wanted a chance to judge this man and the worth of his words, so he moved towards his goal slowly.

  ‘Even during the best of times there is always tension among the high clans who rule the keeps. Trade disputes, infractions of mining claims, arguments over transit tithes on merchant caravans, the usual thing.’

  Perhaps for you, thought Ragnar. It all sounded outlandish enough to him. He tilted his head and considered for a moment. Perhaps not. Where resources were scarce, men always fought. He understood this well enough; even on Fenris it was the case, although there it was for possession of islands and fishing grounds. This place did not sound too different, in its own way.

  ‘And there are always bandits, cultists and mutants. When I put in my basic two years in the militia we were forever hunting them down. Sometimes it was hard to tell where banditry started and politics began. Sometimes the bandits were financed by other keeps, or even disgruntled factions within our own, but you just try proving it…’

  Ragnar realised the man was talking because he needed to talk. He had kept this to himself for too long, and could not share it with his troops, and now he was with someone he considered at least an equal, he wanted to get it off his chest. Ragnar nodded encouragingly and let him speak. He was learning more from the way this man spoke, from his attitude and his bearing, than he could ever learn from a hundred intelligence auguries, no matter how detailed.

  ‘From time to time, the cartels, the tower leagues, would go to war to settle their differences. I fought in one. I saw thousands of men killed. I thought it was war. I had no idea. I had no idea…’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘There have always been tensions among the keeps... Always. There have even been wars before that have ended up with Imperial intervention. Sometimes by your Chapter. I have studied these things; I know. It was that devil Sergius and his acolytes, always stirring things up behind the scenes while preaching peace and loyalty on the surface… When this all started I thought it was just going to be another one of those, bad enough in its way, but understandable. I was wrong. I don’t think anything could have prepared me for the ferocity of it.’

  So far Ragnar had seen nothing that matched the ferocity of any of the engagements he had fought in during his career, but this young man was doubtless judging things by a different standard.

  ‘It started with a trade dispute between those Bronzehelm bastards, and Ambershield. The two big regional cartels were drawn in. The League of the White Bear for Bronzehelm. The Fists of Garm for Ambershield. Then they called on their allies, and we all waited for war. That’s when we first started to hear the rumours.’

  ‘Rumours?’

  ‘Human sacrifice. Daemon worship. Cannibalism. Both sides were accusing the other. No one knew what to believe. Incidents grew worse. There were massacres of merchants, raids on outlying communities. People would be found with their hearts torn out and horrified looks on their faces. The old governor, Coriolanus, sent in his own men to investigate. They vanished. He announced he was sending off-world for the Inquisition, shortly afterwards he was assassinated. That was when the real trouble started.’

  ‘Real trouble?’

  ‘Father Sergius began preaching that the last days were here, that soon Chaos would come. At first, he told people merely to make peace with their souls, that the end was nigh. I heard the man speak on the comm-channels and his sermons were awesome. There is something in his voice that compels you to believe him, that dispels doubt. His charisma is incredible. And his cult had grown very strong amid all the anarchy. His preachers were everywhere, ministering to the wounded, aiding the poor and the sick. In the beginning we thought they were just another splinter sect of the Imperial cult – there are hundreds here, and they have always been tolerated…’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But we were wrong. Sergius’s words spread more despair than you could imagine. Everyone believed that the final battle was nigh. Soon the Wolves would come, and Russ to lead them, and the last days would be on hand. Russ is not with you, is he?’

  Ragnar laughed and shook his head but then studied Trainor intently. Obviously Sergius had made a very deep impression on him. He was quite a preacher indeed. Ragnar wanted to know more.

  ‘No – the primarch has not returned,’ said Ragnar.

  ‘But the Wolves are here?’ There was a feverish intensity about the man now.

  ‘We came to free our shrine and aid the people of Garm. Sergius did not need immense powers of prophesy to foretell we would do that.’

  Trainor looked relieved, although what Ragnar was saying was only common sense. It was a testimony to the compelling nature of this heresiarch’s words that he had not considered that fact for himself. Perhaps there was sorcery at work here. Or perhaps, in the atmosphere of mass hysteria surrounding this unholy civil war, all sight of common sense had been lost.

  ‘Sergius’s followers changed their tune after that. Little by little, day by day, the message changed. Soon, it was inevitable that Chaos would win. After that it was folly to oppose Chaos. Then it was suicide. Then it was only sound common sense to side with the victor.

  ‘The strangest thing of all was that so many believed him. There was power in his voice. Even if your faith in the Emperor was strong, it somehow compelled belief. There was such sincerity and passion and belief there. It was almost magical.’

  ‘Perhaps it was magic, evil magic.’

  ‘Aye, perhaps. Sergius’s followers went from aiding the poor to fighting their enemies, and they seemed invincible. It was said that bullets could not harm them, and that their cloaks turned blades, and when they were wounded they healed almost instantly. If I had not seen that myself I would not have believed it…’

  ‘Tell me more,’ Ragnar prompted. ‘You said Sergius is based in your home keep.’

  ‘Aye, and has been for days. It’s supposed to be a big secret but he’s there.’

  ‘That’s not just another rumour.’

  ‘No – I saw him with my own eyes.’

  Ragnar held his breath. Perhaps he was closer to finding the location of the Spear than he could have hoped. ‘When?’ he asked, keeping his voice flat, calm, slightly disbelieving.

  ‘Lord Koruna massed all the loyalist forces to drive the heretics out of Ironfang, nearly ten thousand men, all loyal
to the Emperor.

  ‘We drove downward from the upper halls, clearing them as we went. We would have succeeded too had it not been for Sergius. We drove them all the way back to the temple doors. The heretics were all but beaten when Sergius and his bodyguard appeared – and the things they had brought with them.’

  ‘Things?’

  ‘Daemons, monsters, mutants from the lowest depths, in their thousands. They used sorcery, they were unstoppable. I shot at Sergius myself but some evil spell turned my lasbeam, just as it turned the bullets aimed at him. He killed Lord Koruna himself in hand-to-hand combat and that broke our morale and we turned and fled the field. No one wanted to face an invulnerable man in close combat.’

  ‘After that?’

  ‘The heretics hunted us through our own keep. We fought back, but it was hopeless. For every heretic we killed, two more took his place. They even laughed at us as they died. One prisoner spat in my face and told me that soon we would all regret choosing the wrong side. That Lord Sergius was performing a ritual that would bring Chaos to Garm and make all his followers immortal. That was when…’

  Ragnar could smell Trainor’s shame. ‘That was when you killed him?’ he asked gently.

  ‘Aye, I killed a prisoner, an unarmed man. It was a dishonourable thing to do.’

  ‘You did the right thing. The man was a heretic. Death was his inevitable fate.’

  ‘I wish I could believe that. He seemed to think immortality was. The Emperor preserve us, what if he was right?’

  ‘He was wrong.’

  Trainor looked at him doubtfully and then spoke. ‘After that we fought from tunnel to tunnel and hab unit to hab unit, until eventually we managed to get into the old transit network and make our way here. We encountered some patrols but I don’t think we were followed.’

  ‘Could you get us back in?’

  ‘Aye – I worked in the tunnels for years, doing maintenance. There are dozens of entrances if you know them, for transit and repairs on the geothermal power routes. I have the maps in my satchel. It’s how we got out.’