by William King
Ragnar was a little shocked that the female inquisitor seemed to be suggesting the possibility that anyone in the Fang might be disloyal, even a traitor. He could see that the same thought had occurred to others. Some hands flexed as if their owners might be considering reaching for their blades and calling her out to fight for the honour of the Chapter. A gruff glare from the Great Wolf stilled all such activity. The woman did not quail in front of Grimnar, but she did flinch slightly and a look of surprise froze on her face. It dawned on Ragnar that as a member of the Inquisition she was probably more used to making people fearful than to quaking herself. It took her but moments to recover.
“I apologise if I have given offence. I was unsure of your customs here.”
Ragnar considered another of the Great Wolf’s statements. Was it possible that other servants of the Imperium withheld information from each other? That seemed like sheer foolishness to Ragnar. A warrior needed all the information available to make decisions, or so he had been taught. It seemed clear that the woman thought differently. She had been quite prepared to tell something to Grimnar alone without his followers hearing it — as if Lord Grimnar would not tell them if he deemed it needful for them to know.
“Forgive Karah,” Sternberg said. “She is young and she has but recently become apprenticed to me. She does not yet know how to deal with Space Marines.”
“In truth, Ivan Sternberg, few folk do.” Grimnar shrugged good-humouredly. “But you have yet to name this boon you require of me.”
Sternberg paused for a moment, considering. Despite his smooth words, he appeared to be thinking about what Karah had said. Ragnar could smell his momentary indecision. He was sure every Space Wolf present could. He wondered if the inquisitor himself was aware of this. Perhaps he was, for he reached his decision quickly.
“My homeworld of Aerius has been smitten by a deadly plague. Millions are dying even as I speak.”
Ragnar could not see what the Space Wolves could possibly do about this. They were warriors, not healers. If Grimnar thought the same he kept it well hidden, merely nodding attentively as Sternberg spoke.
“Our healers were baffled. All the remedies tried by our apothecaries failed. It seemed a cure for the plague was beyond all of our alchemical lore. It appeared to the rulers of Aerius that perhaps the plague itself might be a product of dark sorcery or some ancient curse, so the governor’s astropath requested my aid. I returned to my homeworld as soon as my duties allowed, for Aerius is a mighty industrial world, and keystone to the Imperium’s control of its sector. By the Emperor’s grace, I arrived before too much time had passed.”
Sternberg paused as if gathering his thoughts once more. Ragnar could tell that the man was something of an orator, and that the real reason he paused was to give his words time to sink into the minds of the audience. At the mention of “sorcery” and an “ancient curse” a perceptible thrill had run through the chamber.
“There had indeed been many strange portents. A great comet had appeared in the skies of Aerius, the baleful star of legend, which appears only once in every two millennia, and whose appearance always presages doom. Showers of falling stars descended on the world at the moment of its appearance. Strangest of all, an eerie glow surrounded the great Black Pyramid.”
A look of recognition had appeared now on the face of Grimnar and some of his advisors. “There was a battle there once…” the Great Wolf murmured.
“Aye,” Sternberg said. “One in which your Chapter took part, alongside the armies of the Imperium against the alien eldar. Near two millennia ago.”
“The Balestar blazed down on that battlefield too,” Grimnar added. “What is the significance of this?”
“That battle did indeed take place under the light of the balestar, and there was at the same time an outbreak of plague on Aerius, though not as virulent as that which afflicts the world now. It ended when the battle was won, which many took to be a sign of the Emperor’s favour.”
“Go on.”
“When I reached Aerius much of the world had already been quarantined. There seemed to be nothing I or any of my advisors could do. Over the comm-net we could see pictures of me terrible effects of the plague I decided to consult the Oracle of Chaeron, who resides in her ancient citadel on the surface of that dark moon.”
“I have heard of this oracle,” the Great Wolf said. “A most holy woman, blessed by the Emperor. What did she have to say?”
“Her words were enigmatic, as always. In her temple chambers she told me: The Balestar lights the sky once more, and the Unclean One’s way to freedom. His ancient prison walls are near undermined and his pestilence is loosed upon the world!
“Enigmatic indeed.”
“Aye, Great Wolf. I asked her if the Unclean One might be bound once more…”
“And what did she say?” Grimnar asked eagerly.
“Her reply seemed equally unhelpful: The elder key, now three, must be made one again. To make the prison hold once more, it must be taken to the Black Pyramid’s central chamber.”
“One part of that riddle seems clear, at least,” said Logan Grimnar. “She refers to the Black Pyramid, under the shadow of which that great battle was fought.”
“Aye, and that is less helpful still. For the pyramid has never been opened. Many have tried, using all the techniques known to the Imperium and never once have its walls been breached. Whatever sorcery its creators used is proof against all humanity’s efforts.”
“Russ once said: An undaunted spirit will find a path, though it leads through a forest of blades! Sternberg smiled.
“The Inquisition teaches its members that every question is an answer in hiding, every problem a solution in disguise.”
“Did you find your answer then, Ivan Sternberg?”
“I believe so. I fasted for three days and meditated upon the oracle’s answer. I prayed to the Emperor for guidance.”
“Were you answered?”
“I believe so, for it came to me that perhaps I had misunderstood the oracle’s words, for her voice is soft and her speech slurred with age. It seemed possible to me that she meant eldar key, not elder key.”
The Great Wolf exchanged a significant glance with Ranek and the other Wolf Priests. “That would fit with our saga of the battle.”
Sternberg’s smile widened and his manner became excited.
“Your Chapter, I am given to understand, has in its possession an artefact known as the Talisman of Lykos. It is a crystal, many-faceted, reddish in colour. It was taken in battle with the eldar two millennia ago after the battle on Aerius. It is a fragment of a greater whole, a talisman of great power, used by the eldar Farseers and destroyed during the final conflict.”
Grimnar cocked his head to one side and smiled coldly. His eyes were fixed on Ranek.
Ranek held his chieftain’s gaze easily as he said, “That is so, Great Wolf. Though I would give much to know how this outsider knows what lies in our Hall of Battles.”
“It is not a secret,” Sternberg said. “Your Chapter are not the only people who keep records. The Inquisition, too, has extensive archives, and there was an inquisitor present when that trophy was taken. He recorded that it was given over to the safekeeping of the Space Wolves. I wanted to know more before I troubled you with a vaguely worded prophecy, Logan Grimnar, so I went immediately to Abramsas and consulted with the archivists of my Order. One part was given to the Wolves. One part was given into the keeping of the Imperial Guard Commander, Byran Powys, and one part was given to Inquisitor Darke. All of them had fought in the battle on Aerius.”
“What happened to the others?” Grimnar asked.
“Powys and his men returned to Gait. There is no record of what became of his part of the talisman. Inquisitor Darke and his starship, the Epiphany, were seen to make a warp jump into the outer systems, but never arrived at their destination. The only part of the Farseer’s artefact whose whereabouts are certain is the part you hold.”
“Why d
o you think it is significant?” Ranek asked sharply.
“The eldar are an enigmatic people and not given to explaining themselves, but before he died, the Farseer referred to the arcane thing he carried as a ‘key’.”
“And you have come to Fenris on the strength of this?” enquired Ranek. If the Great Wolf felt any annoyance at the way Ranek was interrupting the discussion he did not show it. Then again, Ragnar thought, it was the duty of his councillors to ask questions and to give advice.
“We both know, Brother Ranek, that the fate of entire worlds has been decided by things that seem less significant. Who am I to doubt the oracle’s words? All I can do is pray that my interpretation of them is correct, and that I may save the people of Aerius.”
Sternberg paused a moment, then added: “The oracle’s words have been confirmed by seers of my own Order and by my own consultations with the Imperial Tarot.”
“The Tarot is notoriously ambiguous,” pronounced the chief Rune Priest, Aldrek. He ran one bony, claw-like hand through his long white beard. The metal raven on his shoulder cawed ominously.
“Just so, but my readings have been remarkably uniform, and at every consultation the same combination of cards has occurred. The Eye of Horus in combination with the Great Hoste, the Shattered World above the Emperor’s Throne reversed. The Galactic Lens reversed.”
Once again there was an ominous silence from those gathered around the Great Wolf as they pondered the meaning of the inquisitor’s words.
“That is a very bad combination of cards,” Aldrek said. “It signifies great danger for the Imperium: the gathering of the powers of Chaos, the death of worlds.”
“I know this,” Sternberg said plainly. “Which is why I am here.”
The ancient warriors around Grimnar exchanged glances. Ragnar wished he knew what they were thinking. Eventually Aldrek spoke.
“This is a very grave matter, Great Wolf. I ask permission to withdraw with my brothers and consult the runes.”
Grimnar nodded his assent and the Rune Priests withdrew towards their own chambers without further ceremony, their footsteps echoing off through the vast lair. Ragnar wondered what was going on. He knew almost nothing about the Imperial Tarot but it was obvious that his superiors were treating the inquisitor’s words with the greatest concern. He felt it incumbent on himself to pay close attention to what passed here. Perhaps it was not the inquisitor who had caused his sense of foreboding earlier, but the knowledge he carried.
“We must await the deliberations of our Rune Priests,” Grimnar said. A look of disappointment must have passed across Sternberg’s face, for the Great Wolf added, “Only a fool ignores the wisdom of his advisors, Ivan Sternberg, and no Great Wolf can afford to be that.”
Sternberg nodded. “Of course. I understand. I also believe that the runes will confirm what I have said.”
“I never for a moment doubt it, Ivan Sternberg. Still, while we wait we must eat. A feast of welcome has been prepared. And such a feast: I have not looked upon its like in a hundred years.”
“Then it must be a sumptuous banquet indeed, old friend, for I remember you and your companions as being the greatest trenchermen I have ever set eyes upon.” the inquisitor grinned.
“Let us go to table. Descriptions are all very well, but you cannot eat words.”
The Great Hall was lit by a massive fire. Giant flambeaux, treated with some chemical process to make them burn brightly and for many hours, blazed in brackets set on the vast stone walls. Servants hurried about, carrying great platters which groaned under the weight of venison and boar and bread and cheese. Serving maidens brought great tankards filled with ale. Grimnar, Sternberg and his retinue all sat at one large table, toasting each other between mouthfuls of food. Ragnar and his companions sat at the Blood Claw table and exchanged glances. It was obvious to Ragnar that his comrades were all as baffled by the speeches of the inquisitor and the Great Wolf as he was, but he could see that they were all just as curious too. It had all sounded significant and ominous and hinted at mighty deeds to come — deeds in which they themselves might play some part. Ragnar breathed an earnest prayer to Russ that it would be so.
The young Wolf tore a hunk of breast from the chicken on the table before him and stuffed it into his mouth, washing it down with a swig of ale. The foam bubbled in his mouth. From the corner of his eye he caught sight of the female inquisitor staring at him and he coughed in surprise, sending a mouthful of ale spraying over Sven.
“As always, you have some difficulty holding your bloody drink, Thunderfist,” Sven growled at him. “Perhaps you should stick to milk. Everyone knows you prefer it.”
“The day I cannot drink you under the table is the day I will do so,” said Ragnar immediately, casting his eye back in the direction of the inquisitor. He was disappointed to note that her gaze was fixed upon Sternberg and the Great Wolf once more. However he saw that the Wolf Priest Ranek was now gazing at him significantly, and he looked away hurriedly.
“That sounds like a bet,” Sven said. “Pity I can’t bloody take you up on it! I would not want to force you to forswear ale for the rest of your life. That would be a punishment worse than death.”
“Are you afraid?” asked Ragnar.
“Only for you. I will accept your bet but only if the forfeit is that the loser must drink only milk for the next week. Wouldn’t want you to go the way of Torvald.”
Ragnar considered that that sounded fair. It meant that neither of them would be honour-bound not to touch ale for the rest of their lives, a forfeit which would have been torment to any Space Wolf. In the whole history of the Chapter only one man had ever had to pay that ultimate price, Torvald the Mild, and it was said that he had gone mad. Ragnar reached for the jack to begin drinking but, before their match could begin, the doorway to the Great Hall was flung open. The Rune Priests had returned and their faces were grim.
They marched straight up to the main table and as their presence was noted, silence filled the chamber. All eyes focussed on them respectfully. Logan Grimnar cocked his head to one side. “You have consulted the runes, brothers.”
It was not a question.
“We have consulted them, Great Wolf, casting them in the prescribed manner, as our forebears have done these past ten thousand years.”
“What did they reveal?”
“The future is cloudy and grim, Great Wolf.”
Nothing new there, Ragnar thought. Few prophets would ever get a reputation for folly by saying such words.
“But we believe we must grant Inquisitor Sternberg all the aid we can. It appears the menace of the Dark Enemy looms and it can only be forestalled by the use of this talisman which has been spoken of. That much is clear to us.”
Logan Grimnar considered these words for a moment. “Then it pleases me to grant your boon, Ivan Sternberg,” the Great Wolf said, addressing the inquisitor. “It appears that in doing so I may perform service for the Imperium and for my brethren.”
Inquisitor Sternberg nodded his appreciation. “I thank you, Great Wolf.”
Ranek leaned forward and whispered something in the Great Wolf’s ear. Logan Grimnar nodded and turned — and for some reason his piercing gaze fell on Ragnar for a moment. After three heartbeats, Grimnar’s gaze swung back around and he nodded to Ranek. As the hubbub of the meal returned around him and he directed his attention to the meal once more, Ragnar thought nothing of it — but a few minutes later Ranek was at his shoulder.
“Brother Ragnar, I wish to speak with you,” the Wolf Priest commanded. “Come to my chamber now.”
“Looks like you’ve weaselled out of the bet,” Sven said.
“There will be others,” Ragnar muttered, wondering what could be so important as to drag him and the Wolf Priest away from the feast.
CHAPTER TWO
“This is an important task, Brother Ragnar,” Ranek said emphatically.
Ragnar, standing at ease before the Wolf Priest, gazed around the chamber for a m
oment. It was not one of the larger rooms used by the Wolf Priests for meetings. It was not a sacred place at all, just a room in the Great Wolf’s lair assigned for their use. No, more than that, Ragnar suddenly realised — it was a chamber assigned to Ranek. He could smell the old man’s scent, which was as potent here as the scent of a wolf in its lair. All the other scent traces were faint by comparison. He looked at it with new eyes, looking for some insight into the personality of the old man.
“I believe you,” Ragnar said, “but why are you giving it to me? Surely there are others who can perform it better. Why should I be the one to deal with these outsiders?”
Ranek, settled upon a stone seat before him, ran one grizzled hand through his long white beard. His keen blue eyes bored into Ragnar’s. Ragnar forced himself to meet the old man’s gaze despite the discomfort. “You don’t want to do this, do you, laddie?”
Ragnar scratched his head. It had been some time since the priest had called him that. It brought back memories of his very first meeting with the old man, what seemed a lifetime ago, when he had still been a barbarian living on an island lost amid Fenris’s world-girdling oceans. “No, sir. I do not.”
“Why not?”
It was a good question but Ragnar was not exactly certain of his answer. He really did not want to show the newcomers around the Fang, although he was actually quite curious about them, keen to know more about them. Why was he so reluctant to spend time with them? “I would rather be training with my battle-brothers,” he managed.
“That’s understandable, but you will still have plenty of time to do that.” Ragnar could tell from his scent that Ranek did not really believe him.
Ragnar shrugged and continued to study the Wolf Priest’s room. It was no larger than a meditation cell, and it was spartanly furnished. There was a huge slab of granite which was used as a table, and the carved block of stone which the old man used as a chair. Thick furs were cast over it to pad the rock. Doubtless the Wolf Priest had hunted down the beasts himself. On the desktop sat a glowglobe, one of the eternally burning lights of the ancients. It was set into the skull of some suspiciously humanoid alien monster. Beside this puzzling artefact lay rolls of parchment and one of the feather-tipped stylos used by the Space Wolves when they had to write. Ranek followed Ragnar’s gaze and understood.