by Chris Dows
‘Salandraxis.’
Chapter Master Gaul slammed the hatch to the astropathic chamber on the Light of the Emperor, frustrated by his loss of temper but unable to forestall his fury. For several long seconds he stared into space, ignoring the whirring servitors that scudded and wheeled past him and the rumble of the ship as it idled in orbit around Salandraxis. It was not unusual for those who had communed directly with psykers to be affected by their auras, but what occupied his mind had nothing to do with the unnatural surroundings he had just endured, nor the unsettling spectacle of the astropath delivering his interpretation. It was the content of the message that had flooded his bloodstream with adrenaline.
Three ships had been lost. Three captains. That was half of his strike fleet. The psyker had very few details, so he did not know if they had been destroyed outright or boarded and taken over by the forces of the enemy. When he had laid out the strategy with his commanders, they had agreed it was very risky to split the fleet but recognised that it gave them the best chance of surprising and destroying any threat. The geography of an expansive natural barrier in the void had given them a great advantage – the Phelbic asteroid belt was a navigational point at which any ship traversing the sub-sector had to leave the immaterium to take new bearings. The archenemy had detected the Light of the Emperor’s transmission and taken the bait. Just thinking about Lozepath’s hubris angered him. Gaul had clearly underestimated the strength of the enemy’s forces – and their desire to capture the Living Saint. For all of his professed wisdom, Lozepath had to take the blame for this catastrophe. If the Saint had done what had been asked of him and maintained communication silence, they would not be in this position. But now they were, and Gaul had to take action.
It only took minutes to reach his private chambers, and by then the balance in Gaul’s humours had returned. Despite the enormous and unexpected cost of his rearguard, he still had three ships in orbit, which in itself was a formidable force.
Gaul felt a hatred for his unknown enemy burn in his breast. So many of his warriors were lost to the void. Gaul sent an urgent message to a captain on one of his remaining vessels, then contacted the shipmaster and requested a scrambled long-range vox-channel to Chaplain Tentera. As the various channels switched to their required frequencies and the hail was sent out, Gaul paced the deck, hands clasped behind his back. A signal winked on the communications console set into the wall, and Gaul punched a button on the panel.
‘Chapter Master Gaul. I trust all is well?’
Gaul could tell from the remnants of humanity in Tentera’s distorted voice that he knew it was anything but. As Gaul rubbed his hand over the iron-grey stubble of his beard, he inhaled and replied in as measured a tone as he could muster.
‘I regret to inform you, venerable Chaplain, all is far from well. I have just received an emergency transmission from the rearguard. They are lost.’
Tentera did not reply for some seconds. When he did, his voice was without recrimination or alarm.
‘Your strategy was not without merit, Chapter Master. Lozepath arrived here safely, and we still have three cruisers and a considerable strike force to protect Salandraxis. I assume you will be securing reinforcements as a matter of urgency?’
Tentera understood that Salandraxis presented the next logical target. If the forces of Chaos were intent on destroying Lozepath, they would have to come here to do it.
‘Captain Tercada of the Second Company is communing with the astropaths as we speak. Our request to the Knights Unyielding will carry my personal seal. It may take weeks for them to mobilise a suitable force and transit here. They are spread across the Cadian Gate and fighting the forces of Abaddon in several systems.’
Tentera’s growl was distorted by the vox emitter that served as his voice, but it nevertheless conveyed his understanding of their position.
‘With your permission, I shall convene a council of war.’
Gaul nodded. There was no need to vocalise his agreement to this inevitable requirement. He would have to speak with Rendaj Mahal, the master of the Light of the Emperor, and the rest of his ships’ commanders to discuss the situation they now faced.
‘I shall be there in one hour.’
‘Salandraxis?’
Khârn’s patience was just about exhausted. He longed to throw himself at Locq and rip that grin from his face before carving up the rest of his so-called Hounds and taking their skulls for the Blood God. Unfortunately, given the condition the Skulltaker was in and his current situation, that would not help him reach this planet, wherever it might be. Khârn looked over to Samzar, who had said the name as if he had heard it before. Clearly, the Butcher’s Nails had not quite destroyed all of his memory. Khârn turned to Samzar and grabbed his arm with his bandaged left hand.
‘What do you know of this world? Speak.’
Khârn could see Samzar struggling to form words. His face was clouded by uncertainty, and Khârn could see Locq smiling out of the corner of his vision. Doubtless his time in the Black Legion had shown him the inevitable results of his old Legion’s destructive combat implants.
‘It is… a place of great purity and holiness. Lukosz told me of it. Lukosz…’
Samzar’s brows furrowed, and he looked around the hangar deck in sudden confusion. After a few seconds, Samzar seemed to return to his senses, although he stared into space as he spoke. The loss of his comrade had clearly unbalanced him.
‘There is a High Temple, which–’
‘Is the seat of Lozepath, one of the Emperor’s Living Saints. It was his ship that broadcast the transmission you were moving to intercept – before you fell into the Imperial trap like the fools you are.’
Khârn did not react to the mocking tone in Locq’s voice as he cut off Samzar. Instead his thoughts flew back to the encounter with the Skulltaker’s astropath. It had babbled of a holy voice, its splendour passing through the warp with a dreadful radiance. Khârn ran his bloody left hand over the inactive teeth of Gorechild. As they caught the soaking bandages and tore away the suppurating flesh beneath, the burning pain barely kept his towering rage in check. He could almost see the Red Path forming before him.
‘A shining pearl… gold in the darkness… gold in the darkness…’
Khârn wheeled back to face Samzar. The half-horned champion’s words had trailed off into a mumble. Khârn’s primary heart was thumping in his chest. Salandraxis was the golden planet from his vision, the same shimmering orb that had risen from the scarlet river sweeping him along the Red Path and then drowned in blood at his feet. Everything fell into place. Khârn could see his destiny so clearly now. Somehow, he had to get to Salandraxis.
With bitter realisation, Khârn also concluded that he would be unable to achieve this on his own. His mind raced as Locq stared past him to Samzar, lips curled in derision.
‘Gold in the darkness… He speaks like a cowering dolt. It is time you abandoned this weak-minded, ill-disciplined rabble, Khârn. This is the last time I will repeat myself. Abaddon demands your presence.’
Khârn looked past Locq at his fifty-strong contingent and wondered how many of them had been with him during the fight on the abandoned moon. Not many, if the number of skulls Khârn’s warband had harvested in their wake were any indication. And still, Khârn had felt something stir in their ranks when he had challenged their allegiance to the Blood God. If Khorne wanted his chosen warrior to take Salandraxis, he would surely give him the means to do so. Perhaps the solution had, indeed, been presented to him. He just needed to take it.
‘Would Abaddon deny his warriors a glory such as Salandraxis? Would he order them to scuttle back to him with the Chosen of Khorne himself as a prisoner, rather than appease the Blood Father and take the head of a Living Saint?’
Locq’s mouth straightened at Khârn’s question and his eyes narrowed. Khârn ignored him and pressed on, addressing the warriors b
ehind the captain.
‘Lozepath’s head is a trophy of great honour, a skull so pure and rare that its taking would bring glory not seen since the days when our fathers walked the stars. Think of the rewards Khorne would bestow upon you.’
Locq’s face was dark with rage. Khârn could see the upstart understood the sudden danger of his position. If he had judged Locq correctly, his next actions would only hurt his own cause further.
‘Prepare the transports for departure. Take Khârn. If he or any of his band resist, kill them. I will deliver him to the Warmaster, dead or alive.’
Khârn could hear the fury in Locq’s voice. Two dozen of the Hounds broke ranks and moved to seize him, bolters and blades raised. The rest of them did not.
‘You have your orders! Do as I command or I will have you executed as the cowards you are!’
For several long seconds, Locq’s Hounds looked to one another. Weapons began to turn towards each other. Khârn gave a booming laugh.
‘True followers of the Blood Father! You know what you have to do.’
A look of incredulity came over Locq’s face.
‘Kill! Maim! Burn!’
The hangar deck erupted in a volley of fire and the revving of chainswords. Khârn started up Gorechild.
‘If Abaddon wants to meet me, then he will go where I go – not send some snivelling dog in his place.’
Within seconds the cavernous drop-ship hangar was a writhing melee of armoured bodies. Despite the searing pain from his left arm, Khârn gloried in the confusion of battle. Three Hounds charged at him, but Samzar appeared from nowhere, throwing himself into their path and slashing furiously with his chainsword. Khârn spat an oath at the berzerker, but it gave him a split second of room to locate Locq. He was firing wildly towards Khârn, his bolts smashing into Hounds and berzerkers alike. Some of those still loyal to Locq had clearly realised the battle was over before it had even begun, and were fighting a rearguard action as they ushered their captain back towards the Black Legion transports in which they had arrived. The rest of those warriors loyal to Locq blasted and sliced into anything that approached them, lost in their own bloodlust.
Khârn felt a salvo of explosive shells hit him in the back and he turned to see two Hounds adjusting their bolters straight at his unprotected head. With a roar Khârn swept outwards with Gorechild, catching the tip of one weapon and knocking the other hard enough for the exiting bolt to sail past his ear. Khârn whirled around on his injured leg to kick the closest assailant, but received a shoulder charge to the chest before his foot could connect. Crashing to the floor, Khârn rolled onto his side, barely avoiding the slice of a chainsword. A boot rushed towards his head, and he threw out his left hand to block the blow. Pain roared through his arm, the bandages soaking up fresh blood from his punctured flesh. Still he took hold of the attacker’s ankle and pulled hard. There was a tremendous thumping sound, so loud it made the decking on which he lay shudder. Blood and gore spattered onto his face and he looked up to see that his assailant had disappeared in an explosion of heavy bolter rounds. The unmistakable whine of a Thunderhawk’s engines filled the hangar deck and a decompression alarm began to blare. Khârn’s urge to slaughter Locq and anyone who might get in his way would have to wait. He could not serve Khorne floating lifelessly in space.
Blast shields began sliding shut along the interior of the massive landing bay. Khârn caught sight of Samzar running towards the nearest, which was grinding down slower than the others on broken rails. Scrambling to his feet, Khârn felt the pull intensify from the opening outer shield. Perhaps Locq had ordered it breached after he had opened fire on the deck, perhaps one of his minions had activated the mechanism. Either way, Khârn knew he had seconds to get out of the chamber before everyone and everything not chained down was sucked into the vacuum.
Khârn staggered forwards towards the closing pressure door, ducking low to avoid the fire from Locq’s ship as it departed. Rolling underneath the thick bulkhead with only a minuscule clearance, Khârn did not take the hand offered to him by a relieved-looking Samzar who loomed into view over him. As he rose he ignored the cries of victory from the handful of berzerkers and the Hounds of Abaddon that had heard the truth of his words and joined his warband. Ignoring his wounds, he began running towards the bridge of the Skulltaker. He only had minutes to complete what he had started and secure his fate.
Gaul arrived at the massive gates to the Astra Militarum barracks at the head of four 1st Company veterans clad in heavy crimson cloaks. Marching into the shadows cast by the uniform lines of towering rockcrete barracks and hangars, he looked over to the sprawling landing fields, fighters and troop transports arrayed in precise lines. The spire-mounted turrets that overlooked them bristled with weapons, and the wall that contained the base must have been twenty yards high. He had seen hundreds of such bases in his time. Unlike the Masters of many other Chapters, Gaul respected the place of the mortal soldiers of the Emperor and acknowledged the sacrifices they made in the never-ending fight against the forces of darkness. Unfortunately, if their approaching enemy included Traitor Space Marines – and he was certain it did – all of these machines would be swept aside like insects and the buildings levelled by the very same ships that had destroyed half of his fleet.
Turning into a spotlessly neat parade ground, he spotted two adjutants walking briskly towards him from the single-storey reinforced bunker that served as Colonel Balacet’s headquarters and strategium. One carried a bulky field-issue datapad under his arm. The other bore only a look of sheer terror on his face. Luckily, it was the datapad-carrying aide who approached him first, voice low and eyes cast down as he bowed deeply to show his respect. His comrade did the same in a feeble attempt to hide his fear.
‘Chapter Master Gaul. Colonel Balacet sends his apologies but we must hold the council in the vehicle maintenance hangar. It is the only structure that can accommodate Chaplain Tentera.’
Gaul did not break his stride. The second he had seen Balacet’s headquarters, he had known that there was one member of the council that would not be able to fit inside the building without taking the doors off. In his heavily armoured tomb, Tentera would have had difficulty navigating the interior without causing significant damage.
‘I trust this hangar is close by, adjutant. I am in no mood for delay.’
Gaul’s speech rumbled from his helmet transmitter. To his credit, the officer did not appear cowed by his words and simply extended his arm towards a towering rectangular building with dozens of military vehicles lined before it. The other adjutant, however, looked as if all the blood had drained from his body. Gaul hoped he was not typical of the steel Balacet’s troops possessed.
Striding past a series of Leman Russ tanks in various states of repair, Gaul entered the high-ceilinged hangar through a pair of towering double doors. His retinue of veterans took position outside of the heavy shutter doors without a word, their helmeted heads betraying no emotion. Directly in the middle of the oil-stained floor, three battered metal workbenches had been dragged together to form a rectangular table. A hololithic projector base stood inactive on its top, and four chairs had been arranged around the outer edges. Gaul snorted to himself at the absurdity of him being offered a seat, but appreciated the respectful gesture from the lead adjutant nonetheless. Gaul ignored the dismissive look the canoness preceptor gave him as she stood talking to one of her seconds, arms folded, out of Balacet’s earshot. The colonel was tapping on a hololithic cogitator, looking down and scratching his forehead underneath the polished peak of his cap, the display casting his face in pallid light. Tentera stood motionless to one side, steam issuing gently from the pipes connecting to his upper section.
Balacet looked up from his cogitator and nodded to the adjutants flanking Gaul. The one carrying the datapad strode forwards and placed it on the briefing table, while the other scuttled out of Gaul’s sight and activated the closing mec
hanism on the doors. By the time Gaul had walked over to Tentera, the canoness had taken her place at the table and Balacet was seated, ready to begin proceedings.
‘Where is Cardinal Astral Pradillo?’
Tentera’s voice echoed off the thick rockcrete walls of the maintenance hangar. Gaul looked to the now-closed doors and frowned. As the representative of the Living Saint, they could make no decisions without him.
‘The cardinal is on his way. You may not be aware but he met with an… accident recently. I am sure he will be here as soon as he can.’
Balacet’s voice was hiding something, of that Gaul was certain. The Sister of Battle, Alecia, was trying not to look uncomfortable at the colonel’s words but failing. If Tentera knew something of this ‘accident’, he had not informed his Chapter Master of it.
‘Colonel, canoness preceptor, time is of the essence. We do not yet know the strength or nature of the threat, but we do know when it will likely arrive. The venerable Chaplain will have told you that while I have ordered reinforcements, they will not reach us before the enemy does. I note with satisfaction that the colonel’s Thirty-Fifth Vodorian Grenadiers have mobilised, and assume the Order of the Divine Perfection are doing the same.’
Gaul looked to Alecia, who nodded in irritation at his questioning. He knew she would be. Gaul looked over to Tentera, who inclined his sarcophagus with a hiss of pneumatics. The next subject for discussion was a delicate one, and Gaul was gratified that the Chaplain had agreed to broach the subject. He had been a gifted orator before his interment, and retained his sharp sense for diplomacy in his deathly state.
‘Given the facts so clearly outlined by Chapter Master Gaul, the Angels Eradicant motion to evacuate the Living Saint and take him to a place of safety.’
Gaul watched Balacet and Alecia’s reaction to Tentera’s words carefully. It was evident from their behaviour since his arrival at Salandraxis that they felt themselves more than capable of protecting the planet and its newly returned saviour. This particularly applied to the Adepta Sororitas, so Alecia’s angry reply did not surprise him.