by Guy Haley
Over Lemurya the barques performed their positional dance, lining up with mechanical precision along the lateral and vertical lines of the plate, forming a cross that sectioned it into four quarters. Barrel-shaped tug craft puttered into position around Lemurya's periphery. Fire flashed as tow cannons spat tether harpoons, invisible even to the Wolf King's eyes at that far remove. Glittering storms of metal puffed out from the impact sites. Cables hundreds of metres thick-gleamed like spider silk in the morning.
From the barques came a coordinated twinkling.
Halting metal steps trembled the companionway. The careful placing of a staff upon the plating's open plasteel grid tapped softly.
'Jarl.'
'Kva,' said Russ without looking to see. 'Quiet now. I am thinking.'
'Lord Valdor has come to speak with you.'
'Has he now? He picks his moments, that one.'
'He is in haste, my king.'
'Well, he can wait!' growled Russ. 'He kept me waiting long enough, coming to me now, before I leave. Where was he six months ago? I want to see this.' Russ looked back at his adviser and beckoned. 'Come look. Come see the killing of Uppland.'
Kva's distinctive footsteps came to the Great Wolfs side. The reflection of his face appeared next to Russ'. He wore no helm or mask, showing his wasted features as openly as he did his Rune Priest's fetishes.
'My father wanted to bring the glories of the Oververse to everyone,' said Russ. 'I am watching how that turned out.' The barques withdrew at speed, scattering in insect clouds.
'Now see,' Russ said.
A yellow cross of molten metal flared into life across the vastness of the plate in fusion-born crucifixion. Tug engines fired. With the patience of glaciers, they drew the sectioned plate apart. Flecks and fragments spun away from the divides, tumbling into Terra's gravity well, filling the atmosphere with campfire sparks. Anti-aircraft fire rose up to destroy the most dangerous.
'I cannot disagree with this demolition,' said the Wolf quietly. 'Many times I have seen such artificial satellites plunge into the worlds they orbited. The impact upon the surface is more devastating than any bomb. It is the Oververse crashing down at the fall of the gods, the death of all things. The ending of times. I see this, and know the dream is over. A dream of paradise tom from the sky.'
'It is not the Oververse,' said Kva. 'The afterlife cannot be remade in the here and now.'
Russ gave Kva a killing look, his lip curled over pointed teeth. 'Don't be so bloody literal. It doesn't suit you. I am in a poetic mood, He-Who-is-Divided,' said Russ, his words grumbling in his chest as deep as any predator's growl. 'Permit me that before I leave my father's world forever.'
The barques returned. Their prior organisation seemed gone. They attacked the plate's quadrants in a feeding frenzy.
'Mussveli feasting on a hrossvalur's wave-washed corpse-bloat,' said Russ, slipping into the skjald's meter, 'turn the sea-road bloody, and draw feller things to the flesh-feast.'
'Worse monsters come already,' said Kva.
Russ and Kva watched the barques shred Lemurya to pieces and carry off morsels of metal to feed to the salvator arcs that commanded them. Such ships were the ravens of the star-sea, harbingers of doom, battlefield scavengers of the void. They were many. They worked fast, but the plate was huge, wide as a moon. They were gnats attempting to drain the sea in sips.
'This will take weeks,' murmured Russ. 'They do not have enough time. Dorn fortified the system years ago. Why did he leave this until now?'
'It is something to do,' said Kva. 'Your brother needs occupation.' Russ shrugged. 'Maybe.'
All around Lemurya, the process was repeated as Terra's floating continents were tom down. Rodinia's outer rings had been broken off several days ago, the hub boosted to higher orbit for dissection. Gondavana had already been divided up and carted off. High Alba and Up-Brasyl bled pearls of light to the surface and back, lines of craft evacuating their populations while Mechanicum demolition crawlers scuttled over their surfaces, preparing them for dismantling.
Piece by piece, Terra was stripped of her metal garments, leaving her aged body shivering nakedly in the coldness of space.
Rumbling a thunderous growl, Russ tore himself away from the view of Terra's impoverishment.
'Send Valdor in, then. Let us hear what he has to say for himself. I'll wager a holdfast's worth of mjod he's come to warn me too. People seem to enjoy that. Warning me. Terra is a hall full of crones, washing their hands with their tears.'
Kva shrugged.
There were many doors into the gallery. By the nearest stood Kva's twin guardians, armoured in bone-white plate covered in protective runes and wolf talismans.
One squeezed his way through the door. Its dimensions suited menials bred to low gravity, not legionaries, yet he moved with utmost stealth and his plate touched not one part of the doorway.
A moment later Valdor emerged with difficulty, the golden plates of his armour clashing off the sides.
'My Lord Russ,' said Valdor.
'You don't look happy,' said the Wolf King. A touch of dangerous humour entered his eyes, the glitter of cold on a helfrost blade. 'If I were honest, I would say I enjoy your discomfort. If you hadn't left us after Prospero we might not have been boxed into that skjitna nebula.'
Valdor joined the primarch and glanced out of the window. His armour was pristine, scented with recently applied sanctifying oils, but his stolid face was pale, as if he had seen too little natural light and his attempts to hide his tiredness were unsuccessful.
'If I were a more insolent man, I would have to ask why you have chosen this benighted spot to skulk in,' Valdor said.
'Skulk, is it?' said Russ.
'If I were a more insolent man,' said Valdor.
'I'm here because I wanted to be left alone,' said Russ affably. 'I didn't do very well at that.'
'You've been asking to see me.'
'Then I was asking to see you, when I was on Terra. Now I am leaving. What good does it do me to see you now?'
'I am sorry my lord, the state of the war—'
'You can make up for it by telling me where you have been,' said Russ, 'and why my father is not speaking to me.'
Valdor looked pained. Russ folded his arms. The amusement went from his eyes, just like that, quicker than light from a doused lamp.
'Forgive the Great Wolf, he is of an ill humour today,' murmured Kva.
'I'll let my manner speak for me, Kva.' Russ seemed to swell in size. He took no more space physically, yet at the same time he became huge in the minds of the men in the deserted corridor. His presence hung like a weight over them all, an executioner's axe suspended at the apex of its swing an instant from descent, or the hot wet snuffle of a bear at the cave mouth. He was fear. He was death behind a smiling face. It took more than courage to hold firm against such terror.
Valdor at least had the grace to look uncomfortable. 'My lord, I cannot tell you. We have standing orders from the Emperor Himself not to speak of what we do. Your father is occupied. Surely I Malcador told you that.'
'Aye, and I thought I might get a straighter answer from you than I Malcador. At the best of times his tongue is split. Dorn won't tell I me either, and he does know.' Russ sniffed at Valdor. 'You've been I fighting. That much I can tell. All of you. I've not seen more than a I dozen Custodes in the Palace together at any time since I got back.
'Where is the battle? You are exhausted.'
'I cannot say, my lord,' said Valdor. 'I apologise.'
'Then at least let me know if you are winning.'
Valdor stared up at him in silence.
'Fine then.' Russ shrugged mightily. 'I do not care. We both go I where the Emperor wills.'
'And him, is he what the Emperor wills?' asked Valdor.
'Are you talking about Kva here?' said Russ.
'You know I am.' Valdor eyed Kva's fetish-draped armour.
'Are you calling me a hypocrite too, Valdor?' Russ loomed dangerously. 'I've
had enough of that from Dorn.'
'I would not live if I did,' said Valdor. His stony face did not so I much as twitch. 'I am simply pointing out an inconsistency in your I application of the Nikaean Edict. You were one of its most vocal I supporters. Sorcery, I believe you called it. Can you not see that I arrogance brought Horus down, and hubris Magnus? You exhibit both, my lord.'
'Careful,' rumbled Russ.
Kva spoke up in his own defence.
'Captain-general. We are at war with the Emperor's favoured son.
'He has boltguns, we have boltguns. He has void ships. We have void ships. We have Titans and cybernetica legions, fighter craft and Legiones Astartes. So does he. We have everything he has, and he has everything we have, apart from one weapon. A deadly weapon.' Kva tapped Valdor's engraved nameplate with the head of his staff. Bone trinkets jangled. 'Horus has magic. Real magic, drawn from the corrupt wellsprings of the Underverse. He has drunk deeply from black waters, its powers flow through his veins. We have the Emperor, but He is occupied. You did say this, did you not?' said Kva. 'He cannot be everywhere, as powerful and all-knowing as the Allfather is. Otherwise, why would He need His sons? Why would He need you?'
'Some would say you are a witch,' said Valdor.
'By that definition, so is Malcador, so is the Allfather. So are all those gifted men and women you use in this war against the foe. They are all witches, but you do not fear them. You use them. They are not the only ones to draw upon the powers of the Underverse without malice.'
'The Emperor vouchsafes the purity of their gifts. They are watched. You are not.'
Kva laughed. 'There is no purity in this power. All of it is touched by corruption. But a man's heart, or a world's, that can be pure. We Rune Priests know when to stop. Our gifts are formed from the ice and heat of Fenris' world forge. We know not to venture beyond these bounds.'
'So you know restraint?' said Valdor. 'You know better than the Emperor?'
'I trust these men,' said Russ. 'We are the executioners of the Emperor. Our ways of life and war are defined by knowing the limits, and punishing those who exceed them.'
'You didn't bring your priests to the surface,' pointed out Valdor.
'The Great Wolf is headstrong some days,' said Kva, 'but he isn't a fool.'
Russ grunted at Kva in acknowledgement.
'This conversation will go nowhere, Constantin. So tell me, have you come to drag me back down to the surface and denounce me in front of my father, wherever He is, or are you going to let me get on with the business of killing my brother? It's high time someone did.'
'I want you to think, my lord,' said Valdor.
'Who says I don't?' said Russ. He leaned down so that he was eye to eye with Valdor, and bared his pointed teeth in a feral grin. 'I'm a thinker, me. I'm known for it.'
'Yes, you are,' said Valdor without mockery. 'I have seen that fine mind of yours in action. Please remember, my lord, that Horus will not be fooled by your barbarian facade.'
Russ stood straight. 'I don't expect him to be. Now, tell me what you're here for and get on your way. I'm busy.'
'Your father sends His regrets that He cannot be here,' said Valdor. 'He wishes you well in your endeavour.'
'He sent you to tell me that? Ha!' Russ clapped his hands. 'A vox blurt would have been as kind. It is well that I am an even-tempered fellow, or I might be insulted by this afterthought. Tell Him if He wants to be useful to me, He can say all that to Rogal - the man's as yellow as his sons' armour with choler.'
'I assure you, you are foremost in your father's thoughts. You all are.'
'That isn't making it better, Valdor. Why are you really here?'
'I came to make sure you got this.'
By vox, Valdor summoned a pair of menials. They pushed a grav-sled lined with purple velvet cushioning awkwardly through the narrow door. Upon it was a long-hafted spear made for a primarch.
'The Emperor's Spear. You left it at Malcador's retreat.'
At the sight of the weapon Russ sighed. 'My thanks,' he said. He left it upon its cushion. Leaving it on Terra was his last test for it. This was wyrd in action.
'You are welcome, my lord. I shall leave you to your peace.'
'You mean my skulking?' said Russ.
'If you wish.' Valdor gestured to the menials that they should go. They bowed to the primarch and left, the unease at the Lord of Winter and War evident in the speed of their departure. Valdor made to leave.
'Valdor,' said Russ.
'My lord?'
'I have to do this. You understand. It is what I am. It is what I was made for.'
Valdor bowed his head, and departed.
'He is right, Kva,' said Russ. 'They're all right. One day soon we will have to examine our relationship with the warp.' He purposefully avoided the Juvjk word Underverse and used the Imperial term. Still he spat upon the deck to ward away ill spirits.
'Yes, my jarl,' said Kva. 'But not today.' He paused. 'I have word from the Hrafnkel. Loading is complete. The fleet is ready to leave. We wait upon your word.'
Russ grunted. With the captain-general gone, he returned his attention to the silent play of destruction taking place over Terra.
'The prelude to the symphony,' Russ said.
'Aye,' said Kva. 'The loudest music is yet to play.'
As the warp storms calmed further, more ships came to Terra. Some came to lend their strength to a final defence. Many came half expecting the Throneworld to have fallen and to find themselves in a battle for their lives. The celebrations they held when they discovered the situation was otherwise were muted, for the actual state of the galaxy was little better than the worst of their fears. All of them brought stories of terrible trips through the warp, of men lost to madness, and ships clawed from the empyrean by nightmarish horrors.
Still they came. Ten thousand ships crammed the higher orbits. Hundreds of Collegia Titanica coffin ships and all their vessels of support waited at I the uppermost anchors. Their numbers were exceeded by Imperial I Army bulk carriers, many hurrying in from the galactic west and I those other parts of the Imperium that had been spared the worst I of the fighting.
Regiments from systems thousands of light years from traitor atrocity waited alongside the battered remnants of routed forces. Every day saw dozens more vessels coming in to Terra. If they expected I refuge and peace, they were disappointed. At the behests of the solar marshals they were ordered to make ready for war again.
Legion ships of the VII, IX and V resupplied in anticipation of the coming battle. They were given priority at the great docks around Terra, Jupiter, Saturn and Luna. Bereft of Mars' industrial might, Terra struggled to meet their demands. The vessels and their armies were ordered to make sail for this battle or that holdfast, hoping for resupply en route.
Most were ordered to Beta-Garmon.
Though many times greater than the expedition fleets, the Beta-Garmon armada was a ragged memory of the indomitable Principia Imperialis that had cleansed the stars during the early stages of the Great Crusade. Only two centuries had passed since those days; already they seemed unimaginably distant.
If there was any comfort to be had, it came from the knowledge that the gathering at Terra was but a foretaste of the Great Muster Lord Dorn had planned at Beta-Garmon. The generals and admirals focused their efforts on taking and reinforcing the contested system. Never mind that rumours of the Warmaster's victories had them doubting their chances of success. Never mind that, should Beta-Garmon fall, the way to Terra would be open. There was no space for fear. Extinction was the only alternative to victory.
The cessation of the Ruinstorm should have brought hope, but it fired a feverish preparation for the worst. Every man in the system, from the lowest menial to the primarchs themselves knew that the final days of the war were coming.
Soon, the most terrible conflict mankind had ever fought would be won or lost.
Through the shoaling press of ships around Terra, mighty predators sailed. Their ste
el-grey livery, adorned with snarling wolfs heads, their decoration was simultaneously intricate and primitive. The ships of the Space Wolves slunk obliquely away from the main marshalling nexuses. The capital ships, the Niddhoggur, Fenrysavar, and Russvangum were the core of the fleet, the alpha mothers and fathers of the pack. Around them sailed a few dozen lesser ships, ranging in size from grand cruisers to small, swift torpedo boats.
Then there was the Hrafnkel, Leman Russ' grand flagship. The others were the lords of the star packs; Hrafnkel was their god. Battered grey cliffs of plasteel slid past the other vessels with the stately presence of an iceberg afloat on Terra's prehistoric seas. Once the possessor of a whole lesser fleet's worth of firepower, the injured wolf had had many of its teeth pulled. Gaping holes marked every surface. Where its grey livery was not scarred black it was pocked with damage not a hundred years in dry dock could erase. Wounds that deep should have seen it retired from front line duties. But it moved away from the safety of high anchor, its prow intent on ploughing fields of stars again.
The Hrafnkel and its mates moved like wolves through herds gathering after a hard winter. They were battered by their experiences, but alive, their pack coherent and still dangerous despite their injuries.
Astropathic messages radiated out from the Throneworld by the thousand. Broadcast spires made silent by the Ruinstorm sang again. So many went uncertainly, flung out to worlds that may not exist anymore.
No messages came for Leman Russ as he withdrew his Legion. Forty thousand Space Wolves left the Solar System, all that were left in all the Imperium. Prospero had been the grave of many. Alaxxes took thousands to the grasp of Morkai's jaws. More had bled into the unforgiving earth of Vanaheim, or floated frozen in their battle suits amid the voidal wreckage zones of Daverant.