Dawn Of War II

by Chris Roberson

  But felling the carnifex had not come without a price. Battle-Brothers Siano and Quinzi both lay on the ground, motionless. There was no sign of Durio, living or dead, but Gordian had to assume the worst.

  Gordian ran to nearest of the fallen Space Marines, reductor in hand. Siano had been burned alive by one of the bio-plasma bursts, but there was still a chance that his gene-seed had survived the conflagration that had claimed his life. Without sparing a glance at the carnifex, Gordian set to work.

  When he finished with Siano's gene-seed, he would move onto the shattered remains of Battle-Brother Quinzi, laying only a few metres away. As he worked, Gordian didn't bother looking in the carnifex's direction. He was out of reach of the supine monster's remaining talons, for now, and knew that the high-pitched squeal of the weapon-symbiote would give some small warning of another ranged attack. He only hoped that a slight warning would be sufficient.

  THEIR OBJECTIVE, AFTER the high cost of coming this far, seemed an insignificant thing. For an item that had already cost the lives of seven Space Marines, and had likely claimed two more, it was an anticlimax. It was a cylinder, about the thickness and length of a normal man's forearm, constructed of a substance that had the appearance of black glass; completely opaque, capped on either end with golden plugs covered in intricate scrollwork, and topped off with purity seals from which dangled ancient strips of curling brown paper.

  Aramus didn't know what the relic contained. It appeared to be some sort of suspension unit, a miniature version of the sarcophagi into which badly injured - but not yet terminal - Space Marines were sometimes sealed, so that they could later be recovered and encased in Dreadnought assemblies. If it was a suspension unit, what was stored within? The finger bone of some forgotten saint, perhaps? Dust upon which the Emperor himself once trod when he still walked in mortal form? A scroll containing some hermetic and holy wisdom?

  Aramus did not know, and didn't care to conjecture. It was enough for him that it was a relic, and that his squad of Blood Ravens had been dispatched to retrieve it, to prevent it being lost when the tyranids overran Prosperon.

  Securing the cylinder in an impact-resistant case he carried at his hip for just that purpose, Aramus checked the action on his bolter and edged back towards the entrance to survey the surroundings from behind cover.

  GORDIAN WAS PULLING the gland from the chest of Battle-Brother Quinzi with the now-incarnadine tongs of his reductor when he heard the sounds of the carnifex thrashing upright behind him, followed by the rising whine of the bio-plasma weapon charging. With Quinzi's gene-seed already exposed to the open air, he daren't risk fleeing, not until the gland was safely ensconced within the protective canister; not without risking the gene-seed's safety. Head down, Gordian worked as fast as he was able, while the scream behind him climbed ever higher.

  ARAMUS SAW THE screamer-killer tottering on its hind-limbs, bringing its weapon-symbiote to bear on the Apothecary, who remained steadfastly at the side of the fallen Space Marine, reductor in hand. Aramus knew that the gene-seed the Apothecary carried was worth more than Aramus's own life.

  Raising his bolter and firing hellfire round after hellfire round, Aramus raced out into the clearing shouting and trying to attract the carnifex's attentions. If he could only distract the tyranid from Gordian, give the Apothecary a moment to complete his work and get clear, then the gene-seed that Gordian carried might be saved.

  The tactic appeared to be working. As the hellfire rounds he fired slammed into the chitinous armour of the tyranid, the carnifex swung round to face Aramus, the scream of the bio-plasma weapon growing higher and louder by the instant.

  'Apothecary, get clear,' Aramus shouted, weaving back and forth in serpentine fashion, trying to narrow his profile before the carnifex's weapon. 'I'll hold it here until you're gone.'

  Aramus knew that the mission would fail, were he to die without delivering the relic to the extraction point. But better that the mission fail than the Chapter lose the future warriors which the Apothecary's gene-seed would help birth. Perhaps one of those future Space Marines might perform some great deed in the Emperor's service, and help expunge the stain of this mission's failure that Aramus's death would mean.

  'Aramus!' Like a voice from beyond the grave, the sound of Battle-Brother Durio shouting from somewhere beyond the trees took Aramus momentarily aback. 'Do you have the objective?'

  Aramus, still jinking back and forth across the clearing as the carnifex completed the charging of its bio-plasma weapon, glanced behind him, and saw the battered and broken form of Durio limping out of the forest. When the bio-plasma blast had taken out Quinzi, it appeared, Durio had been knocked deep into the trees and out of sight, though whether by a blow from the carnifex's scything talons or as a consequence of a misfiring krak grenade, Aramus couldn't say.

  'Acknowledged,' Aramus answered simply, resisting the urge to tap the case strapped to his thigh, his hands occupied with firing bolter rounds at the carnifex.

  'Then get the Apothecary clear,' Durio answered, 'and get him and the relic to the extraction point.' Durio held aloft another krak grenade, the last he carried. 'I'll see to our oversized friend here.'

  The scream of the carnifex's weapon-symbiote had reached a fever pitch now, a deafening, screeching howl that cut through the air like a chainsword through soft flesh. The bio-plasma would fire at any moment.

  Aramus didn't spare an instant to respond, but jinked back to the right, racing to the Apothecary's side. Durio limped forward into the clearing, heading directly for the carnifex, refusing to let the monster's attentions be diverted elsewhere.

  'Apothecary!' Aramus shouted, skidding to a halt by Gordian's side. 'Are your ministrations complete?'

  Gordian sealed the top of the eighth canister, and returned it to his narthecium. 'They are now, brother,' Gordian said, standing and raising his bolter.

  'Then let's go!' Aramus surged into motion, rushing back into the surrounding forests, with the Apothecary following close behind.

  'IGNORE THEM, MONSTER…'

  As Aramus and Gordian tore through the forests, they could hear the voice of Durio crackling through the static on the comms.

  'Your fight is with me…'

  Even as they increased the distance between them and the clearing, the retreating Space Marines could hear the weapon-symbiote's scream climbing to its terminal crescendo.

  'Let us finish this…'

  The thwump of the krak grenade reached their ears a split second after the scream of the weapon-symbiote broke off, and the forest behind them erupted in green flame.

  BATTLE-BROTHER ARAMUS AND Apothecary Gordian met relatively little resistance in their trek towards the extraction point. They encountered a gargoyle brood midway through their journey, but there were no more than a half-dozen of the bat-winged creatures in all, and firing together the bolters of the two Space Marines dealt with the gargoyles in short order. Further on they encountered a pair of warriors, but again Aramus and Gordian were able to make short work of them, sending streams of hellfire rounds into their carapaces, letting the acid do its work from within while the ceramic shells did their damage externally.

  It was almost as if the price for their mission had already been paid with the lives of their fallen brothers, and that it was the Emperor's will that the pair of them should survive, the one carrying the mission's spoils - the relic - and the other carrying the Chapter's due - the gene-seed.

  Finally, they reached the extraction point, at which the various squads deployed across this section of Prosperon were to rendezvous. To all indications, Aramus and Gordian were the last to arrive, with the few surviving members of the other squads already taking up a defensive posture around the Thunderhawk, awaiting orders to board and strap in for lift-off. It was clear that Sergeant Forrin's was not the only squad to take casualties in the Prosperon undertaking, though none of the other squads had lost quite so many.

  Brother-Captain Davian Thule, commander of the mission,
was receiving mission reports from the other squad leaders when the newcomers arrived.

  'Brother Aramus,' Captain Thule said, turning to face their approach. The captain's head was bare, his helmet under his arm, and Aramus could see the track of years in the lines etched across Thule's battle-hardened face. 'Report.'

  Aramus unsealed the impact-resistant case from his hip, and proffered it to the captain. 'The relic has been recovered, brother-captain, as ordered.'

  The captain accepted the case, and handed it on to a subordinate. 'And the rest of your squad? What of Sergeant Forrin? Or Brother Vela?'

  Aramus opened his mouth to reply, but paused, glancing over at Apothecary Gordian.

  The Apothecary had removed the straps that held the narthecium fast, and now held it protectively against his chest. 'To my shame, I was unable to recover the gene-seed of Battle-Brother Durio. The other eight' - he patted the casing of the narthecium - 'are sealed and ready for transport.'

  Captain Thule nodded, seemingly satisfied, and returned his attention to Aramus.

  'These last undertakings have taken their toll on the Chapter, and this day is no exception. The names of our honoured dead shall never be forgotten, and they rest now in the Emperor's glory. But their loss means that the Fifth Company finds itself in need of squad leaders.' He paused, regarding Aramus closely. 'Brother Aramus, I shall have my eye on you.'

  Aramus drew himself up straight. 'Should that duty fall to me, sir, I hope only to be worthy of the honour, brother-captain.'

  Thule mused for a moment, a grim smile quirking the corners of his thin-lipped mouth. He reached out and tapped the badges of penitence that Aramus, like all the battle-brothers of the Fifth Company, wore upon his armour at all times. 'You already carry a heavy burden as a member of ''The Fated'', Brother Aramus. Command is simply more weight to bear. Honour doesn't enter into it. Have faith in your Chapter, in your Emperor, and in your own strength, and your life - and death - will have purpose.'

  Aramus nodded, and the captain turned to the others, still in defensive positions around the Thunderhawk, watchful of any incursions from the surrounding woods.

  'Blood Ravens! Load up. I've no desire to linger on this Emperor-forsaken world an instant longer than is necessary.'

  ARAMUS AND GORDIAN took up their positions within the troop transport compartment of the Thunderhawk, and as the engines revved to life they strapped themselves in, preparing for the pressures of lift-off and breaking orbit.

  'Apothecary?' Aramus said, in a quiet voice. His eyes strayed to the narthecium held in Gordian's arms.

  'Yes, Brother Aramus?' Gordian answered, glancing up and meeting his gaze.

  'Our fallen brothers…' Aramus began, then broke off, struggling to form his thoughts into words. 'Do the heavy costs of our actions ever… That is, do you find yourself…'

  'Am I burdened by the fact that when our brothers reach the ends of their lives and service, it falls to me to remove what is, in essence, the spark of life from their chests?'

  Aramus nodded, in silence.

  'It is a burden, perhaps,' Gordian said, after a moment's thought, 'but one I am honoured to carry. After all, as the Apothecary's Creed tells us, ''While his gene-seed returns to the Chapter, a Space Marine cannot die.'' In that sense, at least, it is my function to ensure that each of our fallen brothers never dies, in essence.'

  Aramus's lips drew into a tight line. 'But in the case of Brother Durio…'

  A shadow passed over Gordian's face, and he nodded. 'In the case of Brother Durio,' Gordian said, his expression grave, 'I can only join you and the others in mourning his loss, and remember him when next the Bell of Souls rings.' He paused, and then said, 'That is why our charge is to recover the progenoid gland, whenever possible, to ensure that just such a loss can be avoided.'

  Aramus considered the Apothecary's response for a moment, and managed a rueful chuckle. 'Even so, Apothecary Gordian, you'll forgive me if I say that I hope not to find myself beneath your reductor for some long time to come.'

  Aramus's chuckle failed to elicit even the slightest hint of a grin from Gordian, who instead regarded Aramus with an expression resembling pity.

  'I join you in that hope, brother,' Gordian said, as the engines roared and the Thunderhawk lifted from the dead world of Prosperon. 'For all of the good such hopes will do either of us.'

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE SUN ROSE above the towering mountains to the east, sending shadows stretching out a hundred kilometres across the wind-sculpted desert sands. The relative cool of night clung to the shadows, like pools left behind by a retreating tide, but wherever the sunlight touched was already heating up, and quickly. By midday, the sun would beat down on the deserts like a hammer, hot enough to suck all the life and moisture from a man in a matter of hours.

  Captain Davian Thule had little reason to concern himself over the heat of the midday sun, any more than he had reason to worry over the chill of the moonless desert night. Even without his blood-red power armour, his superhuman body was more than capable of handling even greater extremes of temperature and environment, but wearing his armour, as he'd done since first setting foot on Calderis a month before, he could survive everything from the cold of space to the heat of a close approach on a star's photosphere.

  Thule regarded the mountains to the east, which marked the outer boundaries of human settlement on the desert world of Calderis, and the limits of his current search. Somewhere far beyond those towering peaks, past the globe's curve, lay the western hemisphere of the world, where dwelt tribes of feral orks. On this side stretched the eastern deserts, home to dozens of nomadic tribes of humans, descendants of Imperial colonists who claimed these lands in the name of the Imperium and the God-Emperor millennia before.

  Few ever ventured to the Aurelia sub-sector, and fewer still came as far as Calderis, but the world had been for generations a recruiting world for the Blood Ravens, and the time had come once again for the Blood Trials.

  'Any sign of it, sergeant?'

  Thule turned to the Space Marine at his side. Though he wore only the gear of a Scout, not the full battle armour of an Astartes, Sergeant Cyrus was a full battle-brother of the Blood Ravens. For more than a century, Cyrus had trained the neophytes of the Chapter, doing his best to burn from them any hunger for glory, and instead to impart to them the skills and training necessary to survive life as a Space Marine in a hostile galaxy.

  'No, sir,' Cyrus answered, looking up from the auspex in his hands. 'But I'm picking up movement to the north. It's inconclusive, but if I had to guess, I'd say it might be the souq we're after.'

  On other worlds from which the Blood Ravens recruited, there were outpost-monasteries, and the populace was well familiar with the recruiting traditions of the Chapter. When it came time to perform the Blood Trials on such worlds, during which aspirants would compete for the honour of entering the Chapter as neophytes, a recruitment delegation would be sent from the Omnis Arcanum, the battle-barge that served as Chapter Fortress of the Blood Ravens, to conduct the trials. In many cases, it required nothing more than a Librarian to scan for any taint and a Chaplain to oversee the rites.

  On a world like Calderis, that lacked an outpost-monastery, the Trials could be a more time-consuming prospect. But taking into consideration the fact that the majority of the population of Calderis was nomadic, never staying in the same place for more than a few months at a stretch, the time involved could often seem interminable. There were a few permanent settlements on the planet, like Argus Township at the desert's cenue, but aside from those few spots on the map, the rest of the population could be found in small travelling groups of families spread out across the entire eastern hemisphere of the planet.

  The recruiting mission to Calderis had been scheduled for this time of year because it was in this season that the nomadic tribes traditionally gathered in souqs, temporary settlements where anywhere from a handful of tribes to dozens of groups would gather together to barter and tr
ade for goods, arrange marriages between families, and gather in worship of the God-Emperor on distant Holy Terra.

  Nearly a week after setting out from Argus Township, though, the recruiting party had failed to find this region's souq, and aside from a few errant tribes they had encountered, had yet to screen for likely aspirants. They had intended to conduct the Blood Trials in another month in Argus Township, bringing with them all of the candidates culled from the desert tribes, but at the rate things were going, they'd hardly have enough aspirants for a decent-sized melee, much less enough to guarantee at least a few initiates to help bolster the depleted numbers of the Blood Ravens.

  'Gather your scouts, sergeant,' Thule told Cyrus, turning to head back to the pair of Rhino transports that had brought the recruiting party into the desert. 'We shall track north, and hope that your guess is correct.'

  As Thule crossed the rapidly heating sands to the Rhinos, he mused over the path that had brought him to this dry, desolate place. There had been a time when such a low priority undertaking would have been beneath his notice. For long years Thule had lead the Fifth Company - ''The Fated'', as they were called - with distinction and honour, claiming victory after victory, with never anything more than acceptable losses. Just under a year ago, though, Thule had found himself embroiled in the purge of Kronus, forced by circumstance to stand against fellow humans, servants of the Imperium who were not heretical, merely misguided. Though the Kronus undertaking had ended in victory for the Blood Ravens, it had left a stain on the Chapter, and on Captain Thule in particular. That stain, and other aspects of the undertaking which even at this late date remained obscured and hidden from many, Thule included, had lead to Thule's fall from grace. Once a favourite of the Secret Masters of the Blood Ravens, in the year since the Kronus undertaking he had fallen from favour. Though never censured or openly criticized for his handling of the purge, still Thule had found himself and his company assigned increasingly minor, less vital missions. This recruiting foray to the Aurelia sub-sector, surely, was his nadir.