by Ben Counter
‘I could have taken it!’ retorted Aesor. ‘I was hurt, but it was distracted. A few more seconds and I would have been on my feet, as I am now, and I would have taken its head!’
‘You would have died!’ replied Ulli, louder than he had intended.
‘Then I should have died!’ shouted Aesor. ‘I should have fallen in single combat with the beast, a glorious death that would crown the legacy of Aesor Dragon’s Head! Do you think I want to become old and lame like this crippled ancient here?’ Aesor jabbed a finger at Tanngjost. ‘That may be enough for you, but not for me. I was chosen for greatness. I was destined for glory. Now I have been denied it. How many times do we court a death like that, in single combat with a lord of xenoskind? A death deciding the fate of a whole world? Of such things are the sagas of my people written. I might never see it again. My saga might never be written. And that sin I leave at the feet of Ulli Iceclaw!’
‘That is why you fight?’ asked Ulli. ‘For glory, for a song to be sung of you when you die? What of your duty to the Emperor, to the citizens of His Imperium?’
‘A billion die every moment,’ snarled Aesor. ‘What good does it do me to die for billions of ignorant scum who will never know my name, and who will be dead the next day? Only glory remains. Only glory is worth dying for. That is what you robbed from me. I do not expect a Vulture Clan deviant to understand.’
Ulli did not reply. He could not. Aesor spat at Ulli’s feet and walked deeper into the cave, around the curve which led into Sacred Mountain.
‘Pack leader!’ shouted Tanngjost after him. ‘Brother Aesor!’
There was no reply except for Aesor’s footsteps, echoing as they faded away.
Tanngjost leaned against the cave entrance. ‘He had no right,’ he said.
‘He is the pack leader,’ said Ulli. ‘He has every right.’
‘But that does not mean you have to agree with him.’
‘It does not.’
‘Is what he said true?’ asked Fejor, still sitting where he had been working on Aesor’s armour.
‘That I am a lame old cur?’ said Tanngjost. ‘Alas, it is. If no enemy can finish the job, this old body will fall apart of its own accord soon enough.’
‘I meant about the Vultures.’
Tanngjost gave Fejor the kind of look a Wolf Priest might give a boisterous young Blood Claw, when that Blood Claw was bandying insults that others present might take too seriously. But Fejor showed no contrition on his face. If he realised the seriousness of the question, he did not care.
‘It is,’ said Ulli.
‘I did not know any Vulture Clan yet lived.’
‘Hold your tongue, Fejor Redblade,’ said Tanngjost. ‘I might be old but I can knock the fleas out of your hide.’
‘Peace, Tanngjost,’ said Ulli. ‘The truth holds no fear for me. The Wolf Priests descended on the Valley of the Burning Stones and exterminated my people. And rightly so, for they were deviant witches to the last person. Five were young and strong enough to be salvageable. Three were found corrupted and were abandoned in the snow to die. One did not survive his proving. The last one was me. I have come to terms with it, yet none will speak of it to me. Such an origin is ill-starred indeed and those brothers who know it doubtless assume I would be moved to violence to hear it mentioned. Aesor probably hoped I would strike out at him, so he would have reason to fight me.’
‘You are my brother, Ulli Iceclaw,’ said Tanngjost. ‘No matter what clan whelped you. You are Vulture no longer, not since you returned from your Blooding a Space Wolf. Aesor might not say the same, but I do.’
‘Fejor, set up here,’ said Ulli. ‘Find something to build a barricade we can defend. We can fight at this cave entrance, where the orks can only assault with a few at a time. There may be somewhere more defensible further in that we can fall back to.’
‘I should find Aesor,’ said Tanngjost. ‘I fear for him. He was always proud, but not like this.’
‘Then we are both headed inside,’ said Ulli. ‘Time to see what the Knights of Alaric Prime were forbidden to look upon.’
‘If I smell greenskin,’ said Fejor, ‘I’ll vox.’
Within the peak of Sacred Mountain was a single great machine, a vast and terrible construction around which ran a spiralling pathway. Shafts of massive pistons soared away in every direction, massive cogs meshed in the shadows and the ever-present thrum of power got louder the further in the Space Wolves went.
Everything about it was ancient. The very air smelled of centuries. Drips of condensation had made stubby stalagmites on the floor and here and there the smooth grey stone was cracked where the mountain had shifted.
‘Throne knows who built this,’ said Tanngjost as he and Ulli emerged onto a long walkway crossing a depthless black gulf, crossed with cables and pipes. On the other side, hexagonal columns framed the entrance to a cave of crystalline datamedium, glittering with flickers of power and information.
‘We built it,’ said Ulli. ‘Another mankind, who existed before the Emperor brought reason to our species. A mankind who had never looked into the gulf that delving too far could open up.’
Ulli paused halfway across the bridge. Something smelled off. It was something like the stink of warpcraft the ork mech had upon it, but far more subtle, cold where that had been hot, metallic where that had been bloody.
Ulli drew his bolt pistol and moved warily. Tanngjost followed, training Frejya across the crystalline cavern ahead.
At the threshold of the cavern, Ulli saw the huge metallic foot outstretched. He backed against one of the crystal pillars and glanced around, to see the whole massive steel form sprawled on the floor of the cavern. The winking datamedium lights picked out the gilding on its armour plates, and the glistening black oil that oozed from its joints. It was humanoid, three times the height of a Space Marine when it had stood, with massive-calibre guns mounted on the backs of its arms. On its back was an open hatch that led into a cramped one-man cockpit, from which spilled bundles of cables. Its armour plates were lacquered a deep red, emblazoned with the coat of arms of a Knightly House of Alaric Prime.
‘It must be the Dominus Vult,’ said Ulli.
‘It looks like it crawled in here to die,’ said Tanngjost, approaching the fallen Imperial Knight. He aimed Frejya into the cockpit as he checked inside. ‘And I think we have made the acquaintance of Baron Vigilus Varlen.’
Inside the cockpit was a corpse, the face blackened by electrical burn. The eyes had burst and the sockets were charred pits, and the lips were drawn back over shattered teeth. The scorched remains of a red uniform clung to the chest, covered in tatters of gold brocade and a rack of medals that had melted into blobs of gold and silver. The body looked fused to the fittings of the cockpit, the hands indistinguishable from the twin control yokes and the legs and lower body lost in the tangle of pedals and pipework.
The black fluid had pooled in the cockpit and fingers of it had reached up into the body, running like dark veins up the arms and neck. Up close Ulli could see the same fluid trickling from every seam and join in the Knight’s body, oozing in questing fingers across the floor. Threads of it ran through the datamedium where it met the wall, and there the glittering lights had dimmed like stars blotted out by a dark moon moving across the sky.
‘Corruption,’ said Ulli grimly. ‘Do not touch it, brother. It is not just a machine-curse the greenskin inflicted on this machine. It is a physical corruption too, born of the warp. I have not seen such a thing before, but I know the source by its smell. It would take an Iron Priest as well as me to exorcise it.’
Tanngjost knelt down and held a hand over the floor, tracing the shape of a swirl of spilled corruption. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘A footprint. Power armour. I might not track as Starkad could but these eyes are not grown dim just yet. The trail goes this way.’ Tanngjost followed the marks to a black smear on the wall. He stumbled here, and put a hand out to steady himself.
The temperature dropped several degree
s at once. Ulli’s grip tightened on his bolt pistol, and he spun at the sound of metal grinding on stone behind him. The faceplate of the Dominus Vult was shaped like the helm of archaic plate armour, with triangular eyeslits over a featureless shield-shaped plate. The eyes were glowing a dim blue, guttering as if a hot flame burned inside the Knight’s head. That flame seemed to focus on Ulli, and he was certain the head moved imperceptibly, corrosion and warped metal grinding as the servos forced themselves back to life.
‘Brother, beware!’ said Ulli and turned back to Tanngjost. But Tanngjost was not there.
Where the datamedium cavern had been, now there was a rocky valley open to a sky that was overcast with grey-white cloud. Packs of carrion birds wheeled over the jet-black mountain peaks that bounded the far end of the valley. It was a dark and chill place where the sun only reached for an hour a day, choked with huts made from whale bones and the flayed skins of enemies unwise enough to raid the narrow mountain passes.
Beyond those peaks were cairns and watchtowers built to warn the unwary of these mountains’ tribes, scattered with the skulls of men who had traded with them, shown their captives mercy or tarried with one of their women. Of all the evils, conspiring with the mountain tribes to produce more offspring was the worst, for they carried with them a taint worse than madness, disease or dishonour.
Memory caught hooks into the back of Ulli’s mind as he spotted the heap of corpses at the end of the valley. A battle had been fought here, swift and total, with some huts fired, others trampled down, and blood slick on the heaps of bones and trash on the valley floor, but the bodies had all been gathered up into that one heap. Hundreds of bodies were piled up there. The figures that stood around the heap were at once strange and familiar to Ulli, for the youth who had first seen them had not known what they were. They were taller than any man, wearing armour the same colour as the clouded sky, hung with pelts and bone charms. Some wore helmets, as if to ward off the stench of the valley’s evil, others went bareheaded to reveal faces burned by decades of wind and lined with battle-scars.
Ulli the Space Wolf, however, knew who they were. They were Wolf Priests of the Fang, among them men he would encounter and recognise years later among his battle-brothers. Neither would acknowledge the connection, but those Wolf Priests knew full well that Ulli was the skinny, filth-streaked creature they had spared. It was a lifetime ago. It was not to be spoken of.
One priest threw a burning brand onto the pile. The bodies must have been doused with accelerant for they caught fire immediately. The bodies vanished in the flames, casting more light than the Valley of the Burning Stones had ever seen.
Everyone the young Ulli had ever known was in that ball of flame. The other youths spared by the Wolf Priests were ones he did not know, for the strongest of the valley’s young were kept separate lest they join their powers and try to break from the clan’s authority. Even here Ulli had been feared, because he had the strength to one day overthrow the Vulture elders and take the Valley of the Burning Stones for himself.
Ulli realised his arms were bound behind his back. He had been thrown into the remains of a burned hut, among the blackened bones of the valley’s defenders, who had fallen to the Wolf Priests in a few exchanges of gunfire and force blades. Strung along the valley walls above him were more scorched bones – not the recent battle-dead but the sacrifices the Vulture Clan had made to their gods, chained to the rocks and burned in a ritual that gave this valley its name.
The memories hurt. Ulli the Space Wolf’s memory was crammed into the young Ulli Vulturekin’s skull, sharing a space too small for it with the youth’s terrified, angry, confused mind.
Two of the Wolf Priests approached Ulli, their armoured feet crunching through the bones. Though the youth did not understand their Fenrisian dialect, the Space Wolf did.
‘We should take this one back to the Rune Priests,’ said one. He had a long and battered face, like a length of driftwood.
‘No,’ said the other. He had a black beard streaked with grey. Ulli recognised the face of Vortigan Breakbone, a senior Wolf Priest who had often presided over the feasting in the Great Hall. ‘This one will never be clean.’
Breakbone levelled a bolt pistol at Ulli’s chest.
Cold hands grabbed the back of his neck.
‘Rune Priest!’ shouted Tanngjost. ‘Brother Ulli!’
Ulli was shoved against a chill stone wall. His head bounced against the hard surface. The crystal chamber swam back into view and Vortigan Breakbone’s gun barrel was replaced with Tanngjost’s face, eyes intense, jaw set.
‘I slipped,’ gasped Ulli. ‘I was weak, just for a moment. Forgive me, brother.’
‘Your eyes rolled back and you staggered about. You were speaking a language I did not know.’
‘The corruption here is strong. It can entangle more than machines.’ Ulli put a hand to his chest unconsciously.
‘What did you see?’ asked Tanngjost.
‘The past. Do you still have Aesor’s trail?’
‘Yes. He headed further in. There are many paths ahead but I think I can follow him. I would not do it alone.’
‘Then we must move on. The greenskins outside will not wait for me to pull myself together. On, brother, on.’
SIX
The datamedium was the information core for an enormous factory, cramped and folded as if ready to unfurl into a vast foundry. Machinery of brass and stone rose in bewildering configurations, with the only light from trickles of glowing data that wound around their crystal pillars. Ulli could make out a huge brass oculus that might grind open for an army of war machines to march out of, huge turbine blades arranged in a spiral that speared down into the darkness, generators and forges that smelled as if they had lain cold for thousands of years.
Aesor’s trail was barely perceptible, but drops of corruption led further into the tangle.
‘What will this be when it awakens?’ said Tanngjost as he trained Frejya’s barrel across the shadows.
‘The only ones who know that are those who built it,’ replied Ulli. ‘If it is a weapon and the greenskin corruption takes this place, we could lose this whole world.’
Ulli’s vox chirped. ‘They are at the threshold,’ came Fejor’s voice through a crackling vox-channel. ‘I can stand my ground a moment but I must fall back.’
‘Damnation,’ said Tanngjost. ‘They don’t waste time.’
‘We will be with you soon,’ voxed Ulli. ‘Faith, brother.’
‘Take your time, Rune Priest,’ came the reply. ‘I can kill awhile at my leisure.’
Tanngjost turned to head back the way they had come, through the data cave and across the bridge.
A shifting darkness darted from nearby and hit Ulli hard in the side, knocking him off his feet. He threw out a hand to brace his fall but he found nothing and slithered off the edge of an engine block, clattering down through layers of machinery.
Ulli knew Aesor Dragon’s Head by the smell of him, tainted now with a metallic impurity something like old blood.
Aesor landed on top of Ulli, hands around Ulli’s throat. Ulli caught a glimpse of Aesor’s teeth bared, discoloured black, the whites of the pack leader’s eyes stained with dark threads like spilt ink. Ulli lifted a knee and levered Aesor off him, throwing him aside.
Ulli took stock of his environment. There was enough room to fight, but obstacles and impediments jutted out from every angle. The two Space Wolves had landed on an assembly line, with jointed brass arms and blocks of stone poised to stamp and press. Underfoot was a conveyor belt of steel segments.
‘Brother Aesor, you have taken leave of your reason!’ called Ulli. He tried to spot Aesor among the machinery but everything was tangled and confused, his mind ringing, the opaque blanket of corruption lying over his senses. ‘I am a Space Wolf, a brother of the Fang, as you are! We have found corruption here and it is your enemy. We can fight it together.’
‘Ulli Vulturekin dares speak of corruption?’ came the re
ply. Ulli was only vaguely aware of its direction. ‘You were steeped in it! You were born to it!’
Aesor stalked out of the shadows. He had his frost blade drawn, a trickle of blackness running down the kraken-tooth blade. Ulli got his first good look at what had happened to Aesor. The warp-born virus had found purchase in him, latching on to some impurity just as it had tried to latch on to Ulli’s memories. Aesor’s cheeks and eyes were sunken as if in death. The oily darkness oozed from the corner of his mouth and the joints of his armour. The stink on him was overpowering.
‘This is not you,’ said Ulli. ‘Aesor is in there, fighting to be free. I can exorcise this from you, my brother. I can…’
‘They killed you!’ roared Aesor.
And though he tried to will it down, the old pain flared in Ulli’s chest. The pain of those scars that had never completely healed, where the Wolf Priest’s bolt pistol had blasted a burning hole in rib and lung.
They had executed him. They had shot Ulli Vulturekin dead and thrown his body on the back of a pack animal, to be dissected at the Fang so they could understand the debasement of the Vulture Clan.
But he had not been dead. Not quite. And the strength that kept him alive had marked him as strong enough to become a Space Wolf.
‘Speak not of me,’ said Ulli. ‘The warp-virus clouds your mind. Think on yourself. Think on becoming pure. You are imprisoned, but you can be free. Aesor Dragon’s Head is no enemy of the Fang! He is a hero who will tear apart the filth that infects him!’
‘And I suppose,’ replied Aesor, ‘that if I do not, you will put down this diseased runt for the good of all?’
Ulli took out his rune axe. While a bolt pistol could kill with a good shot to the head, the rune axe gave him a better chance of an incapacitating or killing blow – but against a master swordsman like Aesor, it still wasn’t a very good chance. ‘I have my duty,’ he said.
‘You still do not understand, Vulture’s cur,’ said Aesor with a smile. ‘I cannot die.’
Ulli had studied the ways of combat enough to know the lunge was coming. It was a thrust to the upper chest, a killer if it hit true. Aesor’s frost blade lanced up at Ulli through the darkness. Ulli knocked it to the side and Aesor stepped inside his guard, driving a knee up into Ulli’s side to knock him off guard, then hooking Ulli’s left arm and throwing him over his shoulder. Ulli rolled as he hit the steel of the conveyor and Aesor followed with a downward thrust intended to skewer Ulli through the back. Ulli spun on his stomach, kicked Aesor’s front leg out from under him and felt the frost blade shearing off a chunk of his shoulder guard as it missed by a hand’s breadth.