Wolfsbane

by Guy Haley

  The Hrafnkel shuddered to a powerful impact. Alarms were blaring everywhere. Orders barked from multiple voxmitters, distorted to the point of incomprehensibility. A Thunderhawk came in hard, its tail section ablaze, landing claws tearing up fans of sparks as it crashed down onto the deck. One landing strut gave out, and it skidded on its belly into the arresting nets that sprang up to catch it. Damage control teams ran towards it shouting. Foamed fire suppressants gushed over its fuselage from long hoses.

  Landing jets screamed like damned wights suffering Hel's miseries. The air was unbreathable with the amount of exhaust venting into the deck. Giant fans whipped up a storm, but did little to purify the smoggy air, instead churning it into an eye-watering brume.

  Bjorn followed his gene-father in a daze. They were hurrying Russ out towards the fleshmakers' realm. Bjorn wondered if he should go with him.

  A hand roughly grabbed the rim of his shoulder guard and spun him around.

  'What by Hel happened?' Ogvai Ogvai Helmschrot ripped his helm off and threw it down so hard it bounced on the deck.

  'Jarl,' said Bjorn. 'Russ is gravely wounded.'

  'I saw that aboard Horus' cursed ship. How?' demanded the jarl of Tra. 'There was no opportunity to ask back there.'

  'He faced Horus. Russ fought him. The Emperor's Spear dipped its tongue into the traitor's guts, but…' Bjorn swallowed. His mouth was dry and tasted of burning. 'Russ could not best him.'

  'I never thought I would hear those words,' said Helmschrot in disbelief.

  A heavy shell got through the void shields. The ship shook.

  'Horus Lupercal is no more. He has given himself to the Underverse,' said Bjorn.

  Helmschrot looked around. 'Someone needs to take command, or this retreat will turn into a massacre. I am going to the command deck. You can come with me, or not. I leave the choice with you.'

  Helmschrot walked off, shouting for transport to the ship's nerve centre. At a loss as to what to do, Bjorn followed him.

  Cawl and Friedisch's trip down from the command centre was fraught with peril. Bands of warriors from both sides roamed the halls, and since Cawl had deactivated Aspertia's control systems over the Mechanicum troops, the Warmaster's forces were killing whoever they came across. Cawl led Friedisch on a bewildering journey through the inner workings of the Septa tether. Friedisch had no idea that there were so many corridors and ducts crammed into the space between the outer ways and the great hyperway tube running down the tether centre.

  The battle ebbed and flowed. Sometimes, the tether was eerily still, and Friedisch dared to think the fighting was over. Other times it shook for long minutes, and the adepts were forced to seek shelter wherever they could. Friedisch's nerves were shredded by the experience, but Cawl went on without pause or outward sign of fear, cradling Aspertia's bottled clone child as if it were a living infant.

  When Friedisch thought their ordeal would last forever, or that they would die in the destruction of the tether, Cawl beckoned him to a circular grille set at eye level into a thick wall. On the other side the faint gleam of an atmospheric shield was detectible.

  'We're in the atmospheric flushing tubes for the dock,' said Cawl.

  Friedisch gave him an uncomprehending look.

  'We're here,' said Cawl excitedly. 'We're in Aspertia's secret hangar.'

  He pointed down. It was an awkward angle, but the grille afforded a view of a single berth housing a sleek barque.

  'The Silencia, Hester Aspertia Sigma-Sigma's personal transport, and our means of escape.'

  The Silencia was a small ship, less than a hundred metres end to end, but inside its modest hull were crammed all the necessities of warp travel. The outer hull was richly decorated with symbols of the Martian Empire and the Mechanicum. There were no guards.

  'Looks like it hasn't been found yet,' said Cawl. 'If we're lucky and we're quick, we might survive today.'

  They made their way out of the flushing tubes into the main access corridor. From there, they broke into a run, heading into the single-berth dock with what Friedisch would have thought as unseemly haste only a few hours ago. They crossed the narrow width of the dockside. Cawl walked as if he owned the ship. Friedisch cringed at being exposed in the tall space, and pelted up the gangway to the ship's main exterior door, dodging fragments of falling metal as he ran. Tez-Lar stomped after, shrugging off debris impacts from his reinforced body. Cawl's devices broadcast the appropriate identification markers, and the door opened to admit them.

  They entered a narrow but opulent corridor. They were treated to a disorientating library's hush. Quiet noises of awakening machines and the servitor crew activating in their alcoves provided a comforting soundscape to the adepts. The clamour of war seemed very far away.

  'Now, if I'm right, this ship has a minimal human contingent,' said Cawl.

  'Are they still aboard?' said Friedisch quietly.

  'Why are you whispering?' said Cawl.

  'I don't know. It's quiet, we might be heard.'

  'The crew might be here,' said Cawl. 'But I'm sure we can manage without them if they object to our presence, or if they are absent. I can't access the domina's data-sphere. I don't know where they are or if they'll be friendly, so stay vigilant.'

  Friedisch unholstered his laspistol. He still held it like it might burn him, and he peered suspiciously about. Cawl glanced at the gun. 'Try not to shoot anyone unless it's really necessary. We're all of the Mechanicum. I am sure we can talk them around when we point out how hopeless the situation is.'

  'Don't we need a Navigator?'

  'Ah, now, that is a more pressing concern. There is one, a lower-ranked member of the Navis Nobilite in a sealed suspension blister, in the upper deck,' said Cawl. 'They'll be out cold. I'm sure that I can talk them—'

  'You can talk them around?' interrupted Friedisch. He waved his lasgun around. 'You can't talk everyone around! What is this obsession with talking to everyone? You are insane!'

  'You're being hysterical.'

  'I am not! I am… I am…' He bowed his head. 'I don't what I am.'

  'You didn't have to come.'

  'No, I could have stayed here and been killed!' Friedisch wiped his sleeve across his sweaty forehead. 'A week ago I was on a nice, smooth career track.'

  'War ruins the plans of everyone, Friedisch,' said Cawl sympathetically.

  'What if they don't want to be talked around?' said Friedisch. As they walked towards the flight deck, the ship was coming alive. It was gloriously appointed, lovingly maintained. Functional parts of the vessel were framed like artworks, visible through polished diamond glass panels edged in gleaming brass.

  'We'!! deal with it,' said Cawl.

  They reached the flight deck quickly. It was small, fronted by an oculus covered by an internal steel iris shutter. In the limited space were three seats for a captain, pilot and systems operative, and stations for two supplementary servitor crew. All were absent, the manifold hardlines that would plug the crew in lay neatly upon stirrup rests on the desks. Tez-Lar marched to a servitor station and plugged himself in with robotic stolidity.

  A powerful impact rocked the ship, destroying the illusion of tranquillity.

  Friedisch flinched. 'Be calm! That was a hit on the hangar bay, not the ship,' said Cawl. 'But we don't have much time,' he added quietly.

  Cawl approached the two forward desks. He looked from one to the other, and chose the leftmost.

  'This one, I believe.'

  'How can you pilot a void ship?' shrieked Friedisch.

  'You are asking that now?' Cawl shook his head as he plugged the manifold feeds into input sockets in his chest and skull, and sat himself in the seat. 'Who do you think was going to do it? You don't think ahead, Friedisch.'

  'It's been a long day!' Friedisch snapped.

  'I can do a lot of things that you are unaware of,' said Cawl. 'Now be quiet. I've only read about this, and this is hardly a situation conducive to easy flying.'

  'You mean yo
u've never done this before?' whispered Friedisch.

  'I believe I did just say that,' said Cawl. 'But I do know what I am doing. More or less.'

  'Cog and hammer, we're going to die.'

  Cawl glanced back. 'Find something to strap yourself into, if that makes you feel better.'

  Friedisch threw himself into the co-pilot's seat and scrabbled at the straps until he had struggled the fastenings closed.

  'Now, this, this and this,' said Cawl. His eyes shut. Machines hummed around them.

  'You're not praying. Why aren't you praying?'

  'Shut up, Friedisch,' said Cawl. 'Do you really think I've time for prayers? I've got a lot of machinery to speak to here.'

  The ship rumbled as the engines came online. Instruments activated with a series of whistles and chimes, projecting displays on pict and hololith no one was present to view. The oculus shutter opened with an oily rasping, revealing a circular docking aperture ahead. The void beyond flashed with cannon discharge.

  'By Mars! That's barely wider than the ship!'

  A direct hit to the hangar side blasted a cone of debris in front of the ship's nose.

  'We have to move now!' said Friedisch.

  'What do you think I'm doing? Make yourself useful, retract the docking clamps!'

  The engines rumbled. The ship remained stuck fast.

  'How?' said Friedisch, staring at the bewildering banks of buttons in front of him.

  'Direct communion! Plug yourself in! I can't do this alone!' Friedisch fumbled his mechadendrites into a data input socket. Unfamiliar machines demanded to know who he was. He bullied them into submission. A blast of fire erupted under the ship, swathing the oculus in flame.

  'Now, Friedisch!' shouted Cawl.

  'I've got it! I've got it!' he cried triumphantly. The docking clamp's idiot machine-spirit swam through the manifold into his grasp, and Friedisch commanded it to perform its one, simple task.

  Open.

  Three, closely spaced clunks vibrated the hull. The Silencia drifted slightly, until Cawl engaged the docking thrusters, and under his direction, the ship slipped free of its moorings. It veered uncertainly, and Friedisch held his breath.

  'Now,' said Cawl. 'To space.'

  A tangle of burning girders fell slowly past the voidward exit, accelerating as Momus' weak gravity dragged at it. The structure wobbled, and began to tilt.

  'The tether is falling. We're too late!'

  'Hang on!' said Cawl. His fingers danced with preternatural swiftness over the desk instruments. 'Not all that different to flying an aerodrone.' The ship grumbled. The narrow docking aperture rushed towards them. 'Liar,' said Friedisch.

  Something banged hard on the ship, knocking the prow off course. The ship swerved dangerously downwards.

  Friedisch screamed.

  Cawl shouted inchoate words of panic as his intelligence core accelerated his reactions to superhuman levels.

  Thrusters burned under the prow.

  With both of them yelling, the ship nosed up into the docking aperture. Its keel caught on the rim of the door, ripping off its ventral comms array and destroying the projectors for the atmospheric integrity field that sealed air into the dock and kept the void out.

  A rushing blast of air spat the Silencia out into the void.

  'By the blood of the machine!' gasped Friedisch.

  The void was ablaze. Giant ships slid past each other, blasting one another with planet-shattering broadsides. Friedisch called up a pict view astern, drawn to witness the fate of his home.

  The debris choking the orbits of Momus and the mother planet Etrian was already being drawn out into bands of shining metal. A behemoth dragged itself across the sky overhead, the metal walls of its sides glaring in the sunlight. It was heeling over, fire burning on dozens of decks, a bright comet's tail of broken plasteel spreading behind it. Behind the Silencia, the tether of the Septa station was curling into itself, dropping down towards the battered surface of Momus. Septa itself was a burning mass that disintegrated as he watched.

  The moonlet had been reduced in size by a third or more, the resultant swarm of icy asteroids clustering about it as if queuing to fall back upon the world.

  'We nearly died,' he said breathily. Septa shuddered, and crumpled as it fell.

  Cawl accelerated the Silencia away from the battle.

  'Get the shields up, Friedisch.' 'We nearly died,' Friedisch repeated.

  'Shields!' shouted Cawl.

  'What?' said Friedisch, unable to stop looking at the carnage going on around them.

  'Void shields!' said Cawl. 'Now. And this ship has an extensive stealth suite. Find it. Turn it on. Or we'll die.'

  A trio of missiles blazed across their prow.

  'I suggest you get on with it.'

  The Silencia escaped attention as they fled. It was small and fast, and surrounded by clouds of auspex-choking metal. A few minutes later, its insignificant outline shimmered and vanished from sight.

  Cawl breathed out a sigh of relief. They were slicing through the void towards the tangled pickets of the two fleets. With every passing second they accelerated, and the outer reaches of the sprawling battle flashed by. Friedisch stared in horrified fascination at the carnage.

  'They're breaking away. The Space Wolves. They're running.'

  'Good for them,' said Cawl. 'I wonder if they managed to kill the Warmaster?'

  'How do you know that's what they were trying to do, really?'

  'They are the Emperor's executioners, Friedisch. If I were you, I'd pay a little more attention to what is going on in the galaxy and less to your position in the Mechanicum hierarchy.'

  'Adeptus Mechanicus,' said Friedisch pettishly.

  Cawl gave him a condescending look. 'Now, of all times, you choose to be a pedant.'

  Cawl stood up from the chair, and began to unplug himself. 'Right then,' he said. 'I suppose I'd better go and wake up the Navigator. A little bit of rapid edification is in order as to whose side we're all on.'

  The Silencia was swift. In very little time they had passed far from the battle and the notice of the godlike beings at war there.

  Cawl was right. He could talk the Navigator around.

  Half a day later they were in the warp.

  Twenty-Seven

  The Wolf's Eye Opens

  Silence brooded in the command deck. Few warriors spoke. Not since the early days of the Crusade had the Legion lost so many of its warriors. Not so long ago, the Imperium had become supreme. The major xenos empires were shattered, the most dangerous human cultures tamed, and so the Vlka Fenryka had thought they would never take heavy losses again. Even now, in this age of treachery and pitiless war, when they knew the mission against Horus would demand lakes of their blood, the scale of Morkai's tally shocked them nevertheless.

  The wolf of death was not yet done.

  'We are still losing ships,' said Lufven Close-Handed.

  He, Helmschrot and Oki had ended up on the Hrafnkel in the chaos of the retreat. Hvari Red-Blade of Sepp had somehow escaped the Vengeful Spirit. He and Skunnr of Sesc were present as hololith ghosts. There was no word yet on the other jarls.

  'We will survive,' said Ogvai. 'Most of our vessels are nearing the gravipause where they can make emergency jumps. The Hrafnkel nears the Mandeville. What we have lost is gone. What we have still we shall keep.'

  'This is a disaster,' said Hvarl. 'We run like cowards.'

  'How many are dead?' said Skunnr. 'Does anyone know how badly we fared?'

  'Badly,' said Ogvai Helmschrot flatly. 'My company is below one-fifth of its strength. I have thousands dead.'

  'Mine also,' said Lufven.

  'Niddhoggur gone, no word from Russvangum, three more capital ships lost. We are a tribe with a shattered fleet, far from the sight of land,' said Oki. His scarred face was haggard, his skin white.

  'The question is, what now?' said Skunnr.

  'Ogvai, you are senior. What are we to do?' said Lufven.

&nb
sp; 'Scatter, or consolidate,' said Skunnr. 'Those are our choices.'

  'If we scatter, we might survive. We can run before the traitors. They'll give up pursuit in favour of bigger targets,' said Lufven. 'Targets like Dorn's Great Muster,' said Oki. 'We should be there.'

  'We cannot go there,' said Skunnr. 'We are too weak.'

  'I am not one for running,' said Hvarl.

  'I do not mean to leave the foe in comfort,' said Lufven. 'We could harry them from behind, pick off the weak. We can help Dorn's plan that way.'

  'If we split, we shall be out of this war,' said Hvarl.

  'If we consolidate, they will catch us in force, and we are in no fit state to resist,' said Oki. 'We will be destroyed for good.'

  'We are on the knife edge of death as it is,' said Hvarl. 'Russ made a bad choice.'

  No one disagreed.

  'I say we go out fighting,' Hvarl said, 'like wolves. I do not want to die like a cornered forra!

  'Nor do I,' said Oki. 'Do any of us?'

  Ogvai spoke. 'We shall gather together,' he said. 'We present a greater threat to the Warmaster as a Legion. If he pursues us, he will have to divert a larger force to kill us. If he fails, we will have the strength to threaten his rear. I do not care for petty raiding.' He looked to the others. 'Are we agreed?'

  'Aye,' said Lufven. 'Agreed.'

  Hvarl nodded. The others gave their assent.

  As Bjorn watched the jarls a warrior joined him, and he was surprised to see that it was Grimnr. His eyes were bloodshot and his face blistered from void exposure, but he was alive, and he was ready to fight.

  'I told you we would meet one more time, Bjorn,' Grimnr said. The huscarl's tone had moved from provocative to neutral, but Bjorn was too cynical to assume Russ' chief bodyguard was warming to him. 'How did you get out?' Bjorn asked.

  'Only by wyrd's decree,' said Grimnr. He scratched his cheek where a tracery of broken veins inflamed his skin. 'It was a hard fight. Too many of the Wolf Guard sleep on the red snow. I should have died with them. I do not know why I did not. What are the jarls doing?'