Traitor by Deed

by Ben Counter

  The Thricefold had not fled. They had pulled down Brother Pharnaspes of Squad Karavad and butchered him. He was the first casualty among Quhya’s offensive. The strike force had already liberated the Chapel of Grateful Repose and the House of the Sixth Revelation. Thousands of cultists were dead, shredded by storms of bolter fire or butchered in the Soul Drinkers’ charges. The Temple of the Thousand Tears was the biggest engagement yet. If the cult had been the only enemy, the Soul Drinkers would have lifted the siege of each shrine in turn and made their victory inevitable. But they were not just facing the cult any more.

  ‘The Lyre of Innokens was buried with the saint,’ said Inquisitor Stheno. In spite of the heat of the region he still wore the aristocratic officer’s regalia, which he had somehow managed to keep clean. ‘It’s at his tomb.’

  ‘Then we must assume that is the aeldari’s objective, too,’ mused Quhya. On an ammo crate in front of him he had laid out the intelligence the Soul Drinkers had taken from the slaughtered cultists – religious tracts, icons of the enthroned prophet, written orders and hand-annotated maps of the Trail of Innokens. He picked up one of the maps that depicted the stretch of the trail including the tomb. ‘What do they want with this Lyre?’

  ‘Impossible to say,’ replied Stheno slickly. ‘The mind of the xenos is ever inscrutable. I came to Kepris to inspect its relics and I was hoping to study the Lyre myself when the cult’s uprising began. The Lyre is newly discovered, for one. It was assumed it had been uncovered after thousands of years under the desert, but recent events make me wonder. My sources suggest it may not be Imperial at all. Pre-Imperial, or xenos.’

  ‘Could it have been made by the aeldari?’ asked Quhya.

  ‘Again,’ said Stheno, ‘impossible to say.’

  ‘Where are the aeldari now?’ asked Epistolary Oxyath. His smaller force had made rapid progress from Hollowmount and linked up with Quhya’s force just after the siege of the temple had been broken.

  ‘Everywhere,’ replied Quhya. ‘Small forces of them are attacking pilgrims and shrines all along the trail. They strike, massacre and fade away. The last we heard was the largest force was bearing down on the Tomb of Innokens.’

  ‘Then they knew the location of the Lyre all along,’ said First Sergeant Tiridates. ‘Damn the perversity of the alien. Why not come and get it themselves before now?’

  ‘Because the aeldari are loath to risk one life of their own when thousands of human lives can be spent to do the same job,’ replied Stheno. ‘Have you fought them, First Sergeant?’

  ‘At Scaldfrost Glacier,’ replied Tiridates. ‘I bloodied my hands with a dozen of the pointy-eared filth.’

  ‘Did you speak to them as you killed them?’ asked Stheno. Most men would have wilted before the scowl that Tiridates gave the inquisitor, but Stheno just smirked at him.

  ‘No,’ said Tiridates. ‘I gave them not the chance to speak. From such honeyed words is heresy born.’

  ‘I know of the aeldari,’ continued Stheno. ‘Not just the way they fight and die. I know their mind, as much as a human can. They believe the galaxy revolves around them and the rest of its living things are there to be used as fodder and pawns for their own games. They despise dirtying their hands with work they could trick someone else into doing, and they hate doing so in the open. They are on Kepris because they have to be, because the objective they previously left in the care of Yeceqath and her cult is now judged beyond the cult’s means. The aeldari are forced to intercede directly.’

  ‘And what precipitated that decision,’ said Quhya, ‘would be us.’

  ‘Quite so.’ Stheno bowed his head slightly in deference to the captain’s insight. Quhya did not respond. ‘Your brethren have rendered the cult incapable of retrieving the Lyre of Innokens, in the minds of the aeldari at least. So they are here to get it themselves.’

  ‘And so is Yeceqath,’ said Oxyath. ‘The aeldari have some hold over her. She will want to take the Lyre for herself to bargain with them.’

  ‘Ah yes, as told by the battle-brother who put paid to the Uppermost Hand,’ said Stheno. ‘The one with the over­active omophagea.’

  ‘Brother Cyvon,’ voxed Captain Quhya. ‘Attend upon us.’

  Cyvon had been with the rest of Squad Phraates, debriefing on the battle at House Yathe. Phraates was still able enough to demand explanations for each of their actions and evaluate the choices they had made in the thick of the fighting. Cyvon and Sasan had answered for the death of Pitamenes. They had not been found lacking, but a battle-brother had still fallen, and the victory at House Yathe had a bitter taste. He left his squad’s position in one of the trenches, sending an acknowledgement rune to Quhya.

  ‘Our rising star,’ said Sasan. ‘You’ll make Chapter Master yet.’

  ‘No time for levity, brother,’ said Manuch. Phraates’ annoyed grunt suggested Manuch spoke for both of them.

  As Cyvon headed across the battlefield, he saw the militia and clergy who had survived the siege watching the Soul Drinkers from their fortifications. They had the same ­unashamed awe on their faces as the loyalists in Hollowmount. It was not just reverence, Cyvon understood now. It was fear, too. They might have been sent by the Emperor, but the Adeptus Astartes were still death incarnate. Death was death, no matter who it served.

  ‘I understand you saw the xenos in some poor wretch’s last memories,’ said Stheno as Cyvon approached.

  Cyvon’s skin prickled at being singled out by Stheno. Whatever unsettling quality the man had, it had wormed its way into Cyvon’s mind and would not let go. It was rare that anything caused discomfort to a Space Marine, but Stheno did. Perhaps that was one of the qualities an inquisitor needed. ‘I did,’ said Cyvon. ‘Two of them. A leader and a warrior.’

  ‘A farseer,’ added Oxyath. The Librarian had been content to observe proceedings so far, but interjected now. ‘The aeldari hosts are led by their psykers. I, too, was at Scaldfrost Glacier, and I never perceived such psychic strength as the farseer that led the xenos there.’

  ‘In armour patterned with thorns,’ continued Cyvon. ‘The warrior was in heavier armour, with mandible blasters.’

  ‘Craftworld Biel-Tan,’ said Stheno.

  ‘Then the first reports were true,’ said Quhya. ‘The aeldari have sent the Swordwind.’

  Stheno raised an eyebrow. ‘You know of it?’

  ‘By reputation,’ said Quhya. ‘A host of Aspect Warriors, all highly specialised, sent in huge numbers by the aeldari of Biel-Tan. Our Chapter faced Guardians and wraithbone constructs at the glacier but the Swordwind is something else entirely. The way the xenos have attacked swiftly then moved on is typical of Biel-Tan. The warrior our brother saw was an exarch of the Striking Scorpions aspect. Heavy close-combat troops.’

  Tiridates grunted in appreciation. ‘Then we are in for a fight!’

  ‘Your First Sergeant is spoiling to split a lance with the alien,’ said Stheno to Quhya. ‘I hope his enthusiasm is infectious.’

  ‘Every Soul Drinker relishes the coming battle,’ retorted Tiridates. ‘It is where we can become what we were meant to be. In the face of the enemy, a Space Marine is truly the image of his Emperor!’

  ‘We move now,’ said Quhya, ignoring the exchange. ‘The Swordwind moves fast. We must be faster.’ He looked towards the militia on the walls, accompanied by weary-looking pilgrims as they worked to rebuild the breaches. ‘These people will have to do without us. There is only one objective on Kepris now.’ The captain switched to the all-squads vox-channel. ‘Battle-brethren! See to your wargear rites and embark on the transports. In five minutes, we leave this place.’

  The Soul Drinkers headed for their Impulsors, still parked where Quhya’s attack had smashed into the cultist lines. Their respite was over.

  Oxyath put an armoured hand on Cyvon’s shoulder. ‘I am wary that Yeceqath will be forgotten among the arrival of the aeld
ari,’ he said. ‘You think this also.’

  It no longer surprised Cyvon when Oxyath correctly guessed what he was thinking. The Librarian was psychic, after all. ‘She is more dangerous than we think,’ said Cyvon. ‘She is no xenos or witch, but she raised this whole planet in rebellion. I know she anticipated the aeldari arriving in person. She has a plan.’

  ‘Then it will be foiled,’ said Oxyath.

  Before Quhya’s five minutes were up, the Soul Drinkers had checked off the elements of their truncated battle-rites and crammed themselves into the close confines of the Impulsors. One of the vehicles was set apart for the wounded, for though they were limited in their ability to fight, they would not be left behind. They shared the troop compartment with the Soul Drinkers’ shrouded dead. The fallen were not left behind, either.

  The Tomb of Innokens was at the centre of the trail of shrines. It was a hard ride, three hours at top speed, to the north-east to reach the tomb, plenty of time for the aeldari to strike. The engines of the Impulsors roared and the column moved off, watched by the bemused pilgrims, whose saviours departed as quickly as they had arrived.

  Usually Cyvon’s mind was occupied with the principles of warfare that applied to the battle to come. Now, however, there was a question among them, one that would not leave him alone, though he had no answer.

  What is the Lyre of Innokens?

  ‘From the sky!’ came the warning over the vox.

  Squad Phraates’ Impulsor ripped to one side, suddenly on an evasive course. Cyvon was pressed into the side of the troop compartment as its thrusters tore up clods of desert ground.

  A moment later, a shrieking barrage of energy bolts fell like a salvo of falling stars. Where they erupted against the ground, Cyvon’s auto-senses struggled to cope with the atomic glare.

  The Impulsor ahead, carrying Intercessor Squad Naudar, was struck in the front of the hull and cartwheeled nose over tail, coming to rest on its roof. Explosions stuttered in a long, burning line as the shadow of a sleek, fast-moving fighter craft tore overhead.

  Cyvon had the impression of an aircraft with a crescent-shaped body and a knife-like forward portion, wheeling and spiralling as it passed overhead.

  ‘Crimson Hunters!’ came the vox from Quhya’s vehicle overhead.

  ‘Slow down,’ said Epistolary Oxyath. With Sergeant Phraates wounded, his place in the Impulsor had been taken by the Librarian. He reached up and hauled open the Impulsor’s upper hatch as Brother Sasan in the driving seat reduced the vehicle’s speed. Sasan was the squad’s driver of choice. As much as they professed to dislike his quick tongue, they valued his reactions at the driving yoke. The rest of the column roared past them as they each took on their own evasive path, denying the fighter craft a neat line to aim at.

  The Impulsor’s open back could allow five brethren to stand and fire out of the vehicle. Through the hatch, Cyvon could see the enemy aircraft banking and turning for another attack run. He glimpsed the shape of the Tomb of Innokens ahead of them, just over a mile away, surrounded by columns of smoke. The battle for the tomb had begun without the Soul Drinkers.

  Oxyath stood up through the hatch on the back of the vehicle and raised his staff. Cyvon felt the air grow thick and time seemed to slow down as fingers of power flickered around Oxyath’s psychic hood. The sun shone off the approaching aircraft and Cyvon could make out its bright red colours. Its weapons flashed and twin bolts of burning energy shot past the Soul Drinkers vehicles.

  Power coalesced around Oxyath and was echoed in the sky above. Purple forks of lightning punched down past the Crimson Hunter. The craft banked past them. The pilot’s reactions must have been well beyond the capacity of any human.

  Even this pilot was not quick enough to dodge the second volley of lightning. A bolt of electricity sheared right through the root of one wing and the aircraft came apart. The severed wing spiralled away as the rest of the craft speared downwards.

  The report of the lightning hit just before the Crimson Hunter crashed. It struck the ground two hundred yards from the Impulsor and burst into a fireball as the vehicle roared past it. The heat from the explosion hammered against the Impulsor and Cyvon felt it pulsing against him. His armour protected him from temperatures that would have incinerated unguarded flesh. Sasan killed the thrusters and the Impulsor slowed to a halt just before it plunged into the fighter’s burning wake. A wall of fire raged, cutting the Soul Drinkers column in two.

  ‘I thought these xenos were supposed to possess all the galaxy’s wisdom,’ voxed Sasan. ‘This one didn’t know that was coming.’

  ‘The aeldari do not attack piecemeal,’ said Oxyath. He leaned against the edge of the upper hatch; though he was loath to let it show, every use of his psychic power was exhausting to the Librarian. ‘They will follow up.’

  ‘Vehicles from north-east,’ came a vox from up ahead. Cyvon recognised the voice of Sergeant Khosrau, who led one of the Third Company’s Hellblaster squads. ‘Grav-tanks, fast-movers.’

  ‘Aspect Warriors,’ voxed Quhya. ‘The Swordwind comes! Keep moving, Soul Drinkers! They would pin us down here as the rest of them take the Tomb of Innokens. They will see we do not oblige our enemies so!’

  Cyvon heard the grav-tank before he saw it. The strange rippling of its anti-grav units picked up above the roar of the flames from the crashed fighter craft. He stood up beside Oxyath, bolt rifle ready, as the rest of the squad gathered around him.

  ‘You heard the captain,’ voxed Sasan. ‘Hold on, brothers!’

  The Impulsor took off again as the aeldari grav-tank rounded the crash site. It had similar sleek, crescent-shaped lines to the xenos aircraft, and was supported on a haze of heat shimmer from the oval-shaped anti-grav units mounted on the leading edges of its hull. Its turret swivelled to present its twin guns towards the Impulsor as Sasan drove straight at the flames, and plunged through them.

  The glittering ruby rain of multi-laser fire streaked past the Impulsor. Some impacted against the rear armour, perilously close to the open back. Cyvon fired at the vehicle from the Impulsor’s open upper hatch and bolt shells exploded against the grav-tank’s front armour before the flames closed around them.

  He trusted in his wargear. Scalding heat enveloped him. He welcomed the pain, for it was what proved he was a Space Marine: pain, panic, dread, all in the face of the enemy, all generated by his human brain but all tamed and quelled by the discipline of the Adeptus Astartes. The Impulsor cleared the ground as it rode out of the rut made by the crashed aircraft and then dipped, mere inches from colliding with the ground.

  It reached full, reckless speed, trailing smoke. It passed Squad Naudar’s stricken Impulsor as the squad inside clambered out of the wreck and dragged their wounded with them. They set up to fire as the grav-tank rounded the flames again, and multi-laser beams stuttered among them.

  Cyvon saw one of Squad Naudar fall, speared through by a las-bolt. Another was slammed against the upturned Impulsor’s hull, and though his armour held there was no telling what damage was wrought to the skeleton and muscles inside.

  More fallen. More dead the Imperium could not readily replace. Kepris had taken too many of them already, and Cyvon knew by a grim soldier’s instinct that there would be more.

  The ground around the Tomb of Innokens was rocky desert broken by spurs of stone, the remains of ancient volcanic vents. The Soul Drinkers column had to evade the terrain as well as the attacking aeldari. There was little high cover for the Impulsors to shelter behind, and no ravines or river­beds to force the pursuit into single file. The two forces criss-crossed between the rocky spires as the Tomb of Innokens grew closer and the fighting on its walls became more distinct. Impacts and thruster blasts churned up tails of dust that turned the sunlight a dirty orange and the air thrummed with engine roar and gunfire.

  Another tank scythed past behind Cyvon’s Impulsor. Its rear hatch swung open and
several aeldari leaped out. They had bone-white armour and their tall helms were crowned with red mane-like plumes. They carried pistols and swords of bone. They emitted a terrible high screeching as they vaulted out of the tank, landing with inhuman athleticism in spite of its speed, and leapt into Squad Naudar.

  Bolter fire mingled with the sound of blades against cera­mite and flesh.

  The Aspect Warriors of the Swordwind were trying to split up the Soul Drinkers column. They were succeeding.

  The grav-tank up ahead swivelled its turret to fire at Squad Phraates’ Impulsor. Multi-laser beams thumped into the front armour. Cyvon could feel the heat of the laser blasts ripping overhead.

  Oxyath held his staff in both hands. Cyvon could hear his laboured breathing and knew the Librarian did not have much psychic power left in him before he had to rest and recharge. If there was one thing the aeldari would not give them, it was rest.

  ‘Aim for the grav-units,’ voxed Oxyath. He stood clear of the top hatch once again, and Cyvon felt the lightning gathering in the air.

  The rest of Squad Phraates stood up beside Cyvon so they could bring their bolters to bear. Cyvon’s bolter kicked in his hand and bolt impacts stammered along the rear of the grav-tank. The miniature explosions burst against the aeldari tank’s armour and one of the oval grav-units under the hull burst in a shower of sparks. Oxyath bellowed and unleashed another bolt of lightning into the front of the grav-tank’s curved hull. The vehicle slewed to one side, momentarily out of control, and the squad poured fire into its suddenly vulnerable underside.

  One side of the tank lost lift and its nose pitched into the ground, digging up a plume of dirt. The aeldari inside jumped out, and Cyvon saw they were armoured in deep blue with white plumes that hid their faces behind a blank surface with a pair of triangular eyepieces. They brought their shuriken catapults to bear as Sasan swung the Impulsor around to describe a wide crescent around the disembarking enemy.