by Andy Clark
Runes scrolled down Luk’s peripheral vision as he reached optimal range. Any second the ork gunners would have another shell loaded. Any second they would fire the shot that killed Sire Hw’ss. Or him.
‘Xenos scum,’ spat Luk, triggering his cannon. The shot bored through the Baneblade’s flank, melting armour, cabling, power conduits and fuel pipes. It triggered shells in their breeches, vapourised crew, and ignited the tank’s fuel reserves. Then the tank’s primary generator detonated. The Baneblade lifted a dozen feet into the air on a roiling fireball, then slammed back down with earth-shaking force.
For the second time in as many minutes, Luk fought frantically to keep his gyrostabilisers balanced, seeing more warning lights flash up as his steed’s servomotors burned out. Flames billowed around him and he gasped as the metal of his cockpit grew hot enough to burn his skin.
Then the fires of the explosion dimmed, and the clatter of multiple impacts filled the cockpit as shrapnel pattered off his steed’s scorched armour.
Ekhaterina strode her Knight up level with his, firing shots into the panicked orks who were fleeing in terror at the destruction of their mighty tank.
‘You owe me your life, Knight of Ashes,’ she said. ‘Again.’
‘I’ll find some way to repay you, I’m sure,’ said Luk, hurriedly powering down non-essential systems and wrestling his red-lining reactor to quiescence. ‘Crimson Death owes me his, now. Perhaps I could just transfer the debt?’
Lady Hespar laughed. ‘No chance,’ she replied, continuing to fire. ‘This is much more fun. On the positive side, your paintwork is blasted to atoms.’
‘How is that a positive?’ asked Luk, wincing at the thought of the work it would take to bring Sword of Heroes back to optimal fighting strength.
‘Well, you really do look the part now,’ she said. ‘A true Knight of Ashes…’
The battle lasted another hour, but the Exiles took little part in it. With Sword of Heroes badly damaged, and Crimson Death inoperable, Maia and Ekhaterina stood guard over the square until Gesmund could escort the ironlegs to their position. Together with the Vesserines, Duty Unending and Wrath Inescapable saw off several smaller ork attacks while the Sacristans went to work repairing Sires Kar Chimaeros’ and Hw’ss’ steeds.
Once it had been established that J’madus was alive – if somewhat shaken and injured – inside his steed, Luk turned to watching the strategic manifold. He observed with admiration as the Marchioness’ battleplan unfolded, her constant air strikes herding the greenskins and blunting each of their counter-attacks. Luk doubted that the Draconis air crews, finely trained as they were, could have matched the elaborate manoeuvres performed by the Pegasson pilots that day.
He saw the moment that Grandmarshal Kurt led one Lancepoint of Minotos Knights from the western wing of the Iron Maze as his herald Sire Wilhorm led another from the east. With their vox-speakers blaring martial arias, the Minotane lances ploughed into the reeling orks, who had only just turned to face the Pegasson Knights attacking from behind.
In a series of crunching battles, the strength of the ork horde was broken between the hammer and the anvil of the Knightly forces. Some steeds were damaged. Others fell. But thanks to the Marchioness’ bold strategy, and the skill of her and Kurt’s Knights, the damage was less than it could have been.
Luk’s and J’madus’ steeds were pronounced sufficiently repaired in time to limp through the burning ruin of the city and observe the meeting of the victorious leaders.
Lauret Tan Pegasson dismounted from her steed and met Grandmarshal Kurt Tan Minotos before the walls of the Iron Maze. At her behest, Luk dismounted and joined them with Ekhaterina as his second.
Lauret and Kurt stood amidst the Knights of their respective Exalted Courts, ringed by watchful steeds and Minotane militia. Burning rubble and ork corpses were strewn all around them. Lauret looked ethereal and deadly in her sculpted bodyglove, silvered data-tresses spilling down her back, eyes glowing with power.
By comparison, Luk thought Kurt looked shaken, battered and young. His waxed moustache had grown out into a messy tangle, and he had a long, fresh scar down one cheek. His heavily armoured brass bodyglove was badly dented, and he leaned on his heavy Minotane hammer like a wounded man with a crutch.
‘Only three Exalted with him,’ noted Ekhaterina. ‘He’s lost a couple of his closest to this war.’
‘Marchioness Lauret Tan Pegasson,’ said Kurt after a long, increasingly awkward silence.
‘Grandmarshal Kurt Tan Minotos,’ said Lauret, inclining her head.
‘My lady,’ said Kurt, bowing stiffly. ‘Allow me to extend to you the fullest thanks of my house. You rode to our aid, unbidden and unlooked for, and you have my gratitude for the help you have rendered.’
There were subtle stirrings amongst the Pegasson Knights. It was scant thanks, going by the strictures of the Code.
‘Your gratitude should not be directed solely at me and mine, Grandmarshal,’ said Lauret. ‘You owe thanks also to the Knight of Ashes. Without his counsel and his selfless example, we would still have been ensconced within our mountain fastness. You did not, as you say, choose to call for aid.’
Kurt looked for a moment as though he had been slapped. Then Luk’s name seemed to register, and his brows drew down. He turned a hard stare on Luk and Ekhaterina.
‘Luk Kar Chimaeros,’ said the Grandmarshal. ‘Knight of Ashes.’
Luk bowed. Ekhaterina sketched a curtsy that stayed just the right side of mocking.
‘Grandmarshal,’ said Luk. ‘I come on behalf of High King Danial.’
‘Your father,’ said Kurt slowly. ‘He betrayed this world and everyone on it. His deeds weakened us when we needed strength. He’s partly to blame for all this.’
‘Grandmarshal, as you must know, I have taken the Freeblade oath,’ said Luk wearily. ‘Whatever ties I had–’
‘I know,’ snapped Kurt. ‘I know. I promised myself that in my father’s name, if I ever met you I would take this hammer to your skull, oath or not.’
There was a collective gasp from the Knights around them. Even Kurt’s own warriors looked at him aghast.
‘But here you stand,’ the Grandmarshal continued. ‘Returned from your hunt, to a war you had no part in. Returned, I presume, to offer your blade. You bring the Knights of House Pegasson, when I was too proud to ask them for aid. You bring word of the High King, still fighting when I left him to fight it alone. You shame me, Knight of Ashes, and even as one part of me wants more than ever to strike you for that, the other knows this would be the act of a child and a fool. I have played the part of both for too damned long. My people have paid the price.’
Silence reigned. Fire crackled. Distantly, gunfire rattled as the last of the orks were hunted through the streets.
Luk walked into the circle of high ranking nobles and fell to one knee before Kurt Tan Minotos.
‘I knew your father,’ said Luk. ‘Not well, my lord, but I knew him, and he would have been proud of such frank humility. Whatever I can do to repair the hurts my former house did to yours, I pledge on my blade that I shall do.’
‘You have already done a great deal,’ said Kurt. ‘Stand. Please.’
The Grandmarshal turned back to Lauret.
‘I assume, from the Knight of Ashes’ words, you have not come simply to aid House Minotos in its hour of need?’
‘You assume correctly, Kurt,’ said Lauret. ‘We both have stood back for too long. Donatos taught us mistrust, yet in embracing that lesson we have only weakened ourselves, and our world. It took the son of this world’s greatest traitor to show me that, but I see it now. Our High King calls for aid. Will you join me?’
Luk saw something kindle in Kurt’s eyes then.
The Grandmarshal turned to his Knights and raised his hammer.
‘House Minotos will bloody well fight with you,
won’t we, boys?’
His Exalted Court gave a hoarse cheer, and from the vox-horns of the Minotane Knights came booming notes of assent that echoed over the ruined city.
Despite himself, despite knowing the odds still stacked against them, Luk found himself grinning.
‘There’s a chance now,’ he said to Ekhaterina, who returned his smile with one of her own. ‘If they can just hold them back until we can march to their aid, there’s a chance now…’
Jennika led her lance across the wetlands at a loping run. The sun rose at their backs through curtains of mist and shadow, reaching glimmering fingers of light across the swamp. The Knights ploughed wakes through the stagnant water, sending waves rolling away to lap at half-submerged ruins. Traxin’s Crawler followed, engines running hot as it strove to keep pace with the war engines.
As Fire Defiant strove tirelessly to catch up to its quarry, Jennika brooded on all that had occurred. Her body ached with tiredness and pain, though Traxin had patched her wounds as best he could in the scant time she allowed. Stimms and nutrient feeds kept her biological needs at bay, but she knew that exhaustion and injury would catch up to her eventually.
‘For all my power, still just mortal,’ she told herself. ‘But weakness must wait.’
As the miles rolled past, Jennika’s eye was drawn again and again to the cloth-wrapped bundle she had thrust into her cockpit’s storage rack. In the dark, with so much occurring, it had been easy enough to conceal her strange prize from her comrades. She still wasn’t sure why she had. Something told Jennika that the blade should be kept secret, at least until she could learn more of its provenance.
‘Da will know more,’ she thought. ‘And if not, he’ll know which tomes to pore over until he does.’
The thought of her brother caused her a pang of concern. The long-range vox was a fouled mess, and all efforts to reach the Draconspire, Pegassus’ Eyrie and the Iron Maze had failed. There was no way for Jennika to discover how the war against the orks fared. Or, she thought bitterly, to alert her people to her suspicions about Inquisitor Massata.
What does this man truly want? whispered the ghosts of her throne. He is an inquisitor, he speaks with the Emperor’s voice!
If that is so, why hide his purpose from the Lady Tan Draconis?
Inquisitors need tell no one their plans, those of faith must simply trust.
Oh, but we trusted before, didn’t we? the ghosts disagreed. So often trust is met with duplicity. What if he is a threat to this world?
Always trust an inquisitor.
Never trust an inquisitor…
‘Approaching the Shifting Pass in five miles,’ voxed Lady Nualah, interrupting the ghostly clamour in Jennika’s mind.
‘Target remains stationary,’ said Sacristan Traxin. ‘Distance now two-point-six-three miles and closing.’
‘It’s time we received answers,’ said Jennika.
‘Do you truly believe he means us ill, my lady?’ asked Sire Eduard. ‘We have shown him nothing but fealty and honour.’
‘If not, why lie?’ replied Sire Reith. ‘He would have had us believe Lady Tan Draconis dead, and left us standing like fools while he vanished into the night.’
‘I want to believe that his intent is pure,’ said Jennika. ‘But for all we know he is a servant of the Dark Gods himself.’
‘Surely not,’ exclaimed Lady Nualah. ‘The Emperor wouldn’t allow such a thing.’
‘The Emperor allowed Donatos,’ said Reith bitterly.
‘All I know,’ said Jennika, ‘is that I feel as though I have been playing regicide blindfold these past few days. It is time for clear sight, no matter what it reveals.’
‘Reading weapons discharge at the inquisitor’s location,’ warned Traxin. ‘Substantial life-signs.’
‘Orks,’ said Jennika. ‘Hurry.’
She fed more power to her motive actuators, attitude runes flickering to orange as she pushed her steed as fast as it would go. Ahead, the flanks of the mountains reared huge and grey, and the pass sat shrouded in darkness. The light of the dawn had not pierced its shadows yet.
The inquisitor’s Charger was a wreck. Its cab had been sheared away, and lay on its roof. The main body of the vehicle listed to one side, riddled with bullet holes.
Jennika took in the scene as she approached. Her augmented cerebrum cogitated at superhuman speed, spitting out tactical manoeuvres and targeting solutions in the blink of an eye. Massata and what remained of his retinue were trapped in the wreck of their transport. They leant out from their scant cover, guns blazing as they tried to drive off the ork horde encircling them. It wasn’t a huge warband. A few dozen greenskins with scrap-iron guns made up the bulk of it, supported by a band of bikers that circled the wreck in a whooping mob, and a couple of artillery pieces overseen by a grizzled ork of prodigious size.
It was more than enough to see Massata and his followers dead.
‘Nualah,’ said Jennika. ‘Knock out the long guns. Eduard, Reith, crush the infantry. I’ll take the bikes. Caution, Knights. No one harms the inquisitor.’
Assent runes flashed on her retinal display. The orks saw the towering war engines coming, and reacted with what looked bizarrely like glee. As their leathery overseer bellowed orders, gretchin frantically swivelled their artillery pieces to bear. Rockets leapt from the carapace mount of Nualah’s steed and detonated in their midst, blasting the guns and their crews into scrap and corpses.
At the same time, Sire Eduard and Sire Reith opened fire, Draconis and Pegasson fighting together to exterminate the ork threat. As the greenskins vanished amidst blossoming explosions, Jennika turned her battle cannon on the ork Bikers. The greenskins swerved in her direction, and a blizzard of heavy shells hammered her shield as they charged. Jennika ignored the damage reports as rounds broke through to dent her steed’s armour and punch through secondary systems. She led her targets, as she had once taught Danial to do, then fired.
Two heavy thumps. Two shells soared through the air. Explosions flashed one after the other, twin blasts that sent ork bikes tumbling through the air aflame. Greenskin corpses bounced and rolled to a stop, and as the smoke cleared nothing remained of the Biker mob but burning wrecks and mangled bodies.
‘That was the easy part,’ said Jennika, seeing that her comrades her made short work of the xenos warband. ‘Now for the real battle. I would ask you to keep your own counsel, Sires and Lady. I will handle this. Remember, this man is still an inquisitor. We will not make an enemy of him unless we must.’
The Knights came to a halt, looming over the remains of the inquisitor’s transport. Jennika dismounted, seeing that Massata had emerged and was waiting for her amidst the heaped corpses of the orks. Sergeant Kaston and Interrogator Nesh flanked him, both looking worse for wear. At their backs, Lintiguis Mortens hunched in the rear hatch of the hauler, and Jennika noted the heavy tome he clutched to his chest.
Slowly, deliberately, she drew her blade and walked to meet Massata.
‘Lady Tan Draconis,’ he said. ‘I am glad that you live, but disappointed to see that your warriors have abandoned their vigil.’
‘Inquisitor Massata,’ said Jennika. ‘They remained for as long as they did only because of a lie that you told them. I do not appreciate having false last words put in my mouth.’
‘A necessary deception,’ said Massata, and if he felt any shame at being caught out, Jennika didn’t hear it. ‘Without it, I believed they would have rushed into the ruins in search of you, and thus risked Imperial lives for nothing.’
‘Unlike you,’ she said, glancing pointedly at Mortens. The scribe looked shame-faced, and shrunk further into shadow. ‘For that book, I assume, you have risked many lives, including mine. Is it not so?’
‘Not just risked, but lost,’ said Massata. ‘Venquist, Shanema, Shemara, all dead. D’bu’ko is barely clinging to his life. You, I
thought, and many others. Not one unworthy martyr, I assure you, my lady.’
‘For a book?’ asked Jennika, stopping before Massata. She studied his body language, noting his hand moving carefully towards the haft of his axe, the forced relaxation in the postures of his followers. They were ready for a fight.
‘It is not just “a book”,’ said Massata. ‘It is a mighty weapon in the war against the Emperor’s enemies. A grimoire that will allow me to at last defeat a dreadful foe. That tome contains the true name of the daemon responsible for Donatos, and a dozen other atrocities besides. He who holds a daemon’s true name can destroy the fiend.’
‘Inquisitor, I will be frank,’ said Jennika. ‘I believe that you came to this world not to aid us, but to do us harm. You omitted word of this grimoire, and lied to gain our trust and aid. What else have you lied about? What are you here to do? Are you really a servant of the Emperor, or just another emissary of the Dark Gods who comports himself as a faithful man?’
Massata glanced up at the sky, streaked now with rose-tinted clouds. He looked back at Mortens, and the book he clutched to his chest.
He sighed, and shook his head.
‘I admit, my lady, that I have not told you the entire truth,’ he said. ‘But now, at this desperate hour, what harm is there? I believe I owe you, at the least, an explanation. My retinue and I came to Adrastapol long before we met. We have been here for years, watching, hidden, gauging your peoples’ intent. Judging their guilt or innocence.’
Jennika’s expression became dangerously neutral.
‘A trial held in secret?’ she asked. ‘Without our knowledge, without honour?’
‘Your world produced two Noble Houses riddled with heresy,’ said Massata. ‘Frankly, my lady, if Adrastapol had been a hive world, it would likely have been purged without a second thought. But Knights are valuable military assets, considered on a par with Space Marines by many. You were to be given a chance. But considering the duplicity that had been wrought by Houses Chimaeros and Wyvorn, and the entity from which Alicia Kar Manticos derived her power, I considered it too dangerous to openly show my hand lest the agents of Chaos were alerted to my presence.’