[Space Wolf 04] - Wolfblade

by William King

  “Thank you, wolf brother,” said Ragnar. “Your support overwhelms me.”

  Ragnar tried to smile. He was glad to see his old friend, and more glad still to see he had recovered from the hellblade wound he had taken in the battle against the Thousand Sons. But he could not maintain his usual jocular tone — this was too serious. He was in deep, deep trouble. The assembled Convocation of Wolf Lords had made that perfectly plain. That all of the Wolf Lords present on Garm had met to discuss his fate was a sign of just how serious things were.

  As was the business of confining him to his cell while the rest of his battle-brothers scoured the world of the remaining heretics. Sven was his first visitor in days, and he had snuck in during a brief respite in the campaign. There had been no guards, but visitors to this part of the shrine complex had not been encouraged.

  “I mean, so what if you lost the Spear of Russ,” said Sven. “You did it with the best of bloody intentions, I’m sure.”

  “It is not something to joke about, Sven,” That was something of an understatement, Ragnar thought. The Spear of Russ was perhaps the most sacred of all the Space Wolves’ holy relics. It was the mystical weapon that the legendary founder of the Chapter had carried into battle at the dawn of the Imperium. With it, the primarch had slain monsters and daemons, and had saved whole worlds. It was said that his first act on his return would be to claim his Spear from this very shrine. He was going to find that a little difficult now, Ragnar thought, all things considered. “What you are saying is very close to blasphemy.”

  “I am sure if good old Leman Russ is eavesdropping on our conversation he would agree with me.”

  “And how would you know that, Brother Sven?” asked a stern voice from the back of the chamber. “Does the spirit of the primarch consult with you in secret when he needs a particularly stupid opinion? If such is the case, perhaps you should share it with your battle-brothers? They will be pleased to learn that they have such an oracle among them.”

  Both Ragnar and Sven looked around. They were startled to see that Ranek, the Wolf Priest, had entered the great chamber. It spoke something of the old man’s stealth that he had managed to approach them unnoticed despite their supernaturally keen senses. He must have come from downwind, Ragnar thought. He checked the direction from which the recycled air was coming. Either that or we were both simply too preoccupied to notice him. That is a more likely explanation, he decided.

  Ragnar studied the old man. He was huge and grim and grey looking. The fangs protruding from his upper lip had an almost tusk-like quality. His hair was so grey it was almost white. But his eyes were keen and piercing, like the cold blue of glacial water off the coast of Asaheim. His eyebrows were enormously bushy, whereas his beard was long and fine. How long had it been since Ragnar first set eyes on him on the long voyage to the Islands of the Iron Masters?

  A lifetime ago was the simple answer, no matter how you measured it in Imperial Standard years. In those days his father had still been alive and captain of his own dragonship. His people — the Thunder-fists — were still one united clan. They had not yet been killed or become the enslaved thralls and bondswomen of the Grimskulls. It was before he had died and been reborn, when the limits of his universe were the grey, stormy skies and leaden seas of his home world, Fenris. It was before he had learned how big the universe really was, how strange and dangerous.

  It was before he had become a Space Wolf, one of the legion of genetically re-engineered warriors who served the Imperium of humanity in its galaxy spanning wars. It was before he had fought with men and monsters and the daemon-worshipping servants of Chaos. Even before he had known what a greenskinned ork was.

  “Well, Sven? Do you want to induct me into the mysteries of your new theology? As a Wolf Priest, I would be honoured to share in your wisdom.”

  Sven looked abashed. There were very few things in this universe that could make him so, but this old man was one.

  “I am sure Sven meant nothing by his words,” said Ragnar.

  “Ah,” said Ranek. “So you are the prophet’s chosen interpreter, are you, Ragnar? He speaks only through you now, does he? He is too far above the rest of us mere mortals to deign to talk with us.”

  “That is not what I meant,” said Ragnar.

  “Then pray keep your mouth shut!” said Ranek. “You are in enough trouble already without using your tongue to dig yourself deeper. Now, get out of here, Sven!”

  Sven slunk off towards the chamber exit. Just as he was about to pass through the door, Ranek spoke once more, in a kinder tone. “It does you credit that you came here, lad. But it will do you no good if the Wolf Lords find out.”

  Sven nodded, as if he understood. Then he simply departed. Ragnar immediately regretted his going. He was now alone under the stern eye of the priest. The old man walked around him, studying him from every angle, as if he were a puzzle that could be deciphered with enough contemplation. Ragnar stood stock still, determined to show no nervousness under this chilly examination, even if Ranek could smell it coming from him, which he most likely could.

  “Well, laddie,” said Ranek, “you’ve caused quite an uproar, and no mistake.”

  “That was not my intention,” said Ragnar.

  “And what was your intention, when you cast the Spear of Russ into the realm of Chaos?”

  “I was trying to prevent the arrival of the Primarch Magnus through the infernal gateway he had created in his temple on this world. I was trying to stop the resurrection of the Thousand Sons and the destruction of our Chapter. I believe I succeeded.”

  “Aye, laddie, and I know you believe that. The question is whether it is the truth. Magnus is a powerful sorcerer, perhaps the most powerful who ever lived. He could have put that thought in your mind. He could have put others there too.”

  “Is that why the Rune Priests have kept me segregated from the Chapter until today, and chanted their spells over me day and night?” Ragnar asked.

  “It was. That and other reasons.”

  “Which were?”

  “You will be told them in good time, if you need to know, and if the Wolf Lords decide to let you live.”

  “To let me live?” Ragnar was shocked. He had known things were serious but not this serious. He had imagined imprisonment, exile, even banishment to the nether regions of Fenris or some isolated asteroid. He had not imagined death.

  “Aye — a fallen Space Wolf would be a terrible thing to let loose on the Imperium, laddie, and one who has been tainted by Chaos could not be allowed to live. Too much of a threat.”

  Ragnar considered this and understood it. The Chapters were small, but their strength came from their ability to fight as a unit. Every man relied implicitly on those he fought alongside. To have a traitor within the Chapter was unthinkable. He knew he was not one but…

  Of course, that is what he would think if he had come under some sort of spell. He might well believe himself to be completely loyal until some moment of Magnus’s choosing and then…

  He knew such things were possible. Psykers could read minds, alter memories, and change people’s thoughts and emotions. He had been trained to resist such things but Magnus was a primarch of the Fallen, a being only marginally less powerful than the God-Emperor himself. Furthermore, of all the primarchs, Magnus was the one most deeply immersed in sorcery. So if anyone was capable of such a feat it was he.

  Ragnar briefly considered that he might have been corrupted without his knowledge. What now? Could he live with himself if he was a threat to Sven and all his other friends and comrades, and to the Chapter that had become his home?

  “You don’t think I have been corrupted, do you?” Ragnar uttered, proud of the fact he had kept a plaintive note from his voice. Ranek shrugged.

  “For what it’s worth, laddie, I do not. From what I have seen of you, not even Red Magnus could power a spell through that thick skull of yours. But we will know for sure. You have been tested as thoroughly by the Rune Priests as Logan
Grimnar was before he took the Wolf Throne. The probes they have used are deeper and more subtle than those you encountered at the Gate of Morkai. The Rune Priests will speak their findings before the Convocation at your trial. Only they know what they think, and they will speak first to the Great Wolf and his lords. That is the way it has always been, and that is the way it will always be.”

  Ragnar was not at all reassured. His whole life, and the fate of his soul hung in the balance. Ranek looked at him. He stared back.

  “Why are you here?”

  “I am here to counsel you and speak on your behalf. After all, I am the one who chose you to join the Wolves.”

  “You were assigned to this?”

  “I asked to do it.” Ragnar felt himself profoundly touched by the old man’s faith in him. “When will the Convocation reach its decision?”

  A bell tolled distantly through the corridors of the temple.

  “Perhaps it already has. Come laddie, let us go and hear what they have to say.”

  Ranek led him into the chamber where the Wolf Lords sat in judgement. Great carved wolfs’ heads glared down from the walls above. All the lords were seated in a semi-circle on a raised dais. In the centre was Logan Grimnar, the Great Wolf himself, firmly ensconced in his floating throne. He looked as old as the roots of mountains, and as hard as the armour of an Imperial battleship. His face was bleak as he studied Ragnar. The others all looked equally impassive.

  Before the dais stood three robed and masked rune priests. Their glances settled on Ragnar as he entered. Ragnar stood as straight as he could and met their stares. He did not want to appear daunted. Whatever their judgement and whatever his eventual fate, he would meet it like a Space Wolf. He thought he sensed approval coming from Ranek, but he was not entirely sure.

  He strode directly in front of the Great Wolfs throne and looked up defiantly. The Great Wolf stared back unmoved and then spoke in his deep gravelly voice. “Rune Priests of Russ, you have examined this Wolf Brother for the taint of Chaos? What have you found?”

  Ragnar could not help but turn his head to look at them. The moment seemed to stretch into eternity as the Rune Priest glanced at him. Then he banged his staff three times on the stone floor. “We have examined this youth to the very depths of his soul and we have found…”

  Ragnar leaned forward. He was holding his breath.

  “…that he is untainted by the Powers of Darkness and loyal to his Chapter. The decision he made, he made in all honesty and with only the good of his battle-brothers in mind.”

  Ragnar allowed himself to breathe again. So he was not a traitor and a heretic. Nothing had been laid upon his soul. He saw some of the Wolf Lords nod. Others shook their heads and looked angry. Berek Thunderfist, his company commander, gave him a broad wink. Logan Grimnar smiled gravely. Ragnar sensed the old Wolf Priest’s relief beside him.

  Sigrid Trollbane stood up. “But, as you all know, there is another matter,” He had a surprisingly deep and cutting voice. “No matter how pure his motives, this youth has lost us the Spear of Russ! Unless it is recovered and returned to this shrine, Russ cannot return to claim it in the last days. By losing it we have betrayed our sacred trust and forfeited all claims to be the true sons of Russ. Ragnar has betrayed a sacred trust.”

  Ragnar considered this. He knew that all was not quite as it seemed. Berek had already explained this more than once. The politics of the Wolf Lords were at least as important as their religious beliefs. He doubted that there was any man among them who did not aspire to sit in Logan Grimnar’s place on the Wolf Throne. The only difference was in the timing.

  This was more than a simple attack on himself, deserving as it might be. Ragnar could smell the hunger and ambition of Sigrid and those who sided with him. Others merely watched, waiting to see how a leadership challenge would go. And others, like Berek, were siding with the Great Wolf for their own purposes. In Berek’s case the motivation was clear. One of his men was the accused. Ragnar’s misdeeds reflected on him, and undermined his prestige, and Berek was not a man to allow that to happen without a fight.

  Berek rose to his feet, every inch a heroic commander. The lamplight turned his hair and beard golden. He moved and spoke with perfect poise and confidence. “Ragnar performed a heroic action, single-handedly attacking a primarch in a bold attempt to save his battle-brothers. Who here can criticise him for such heroism?”

  Ragnar saw some nods, and heard some muted murmurs of approval. Heroism was something that played well among the Space Wolves. They were proud warriors, with a respect for courage. Ragnar saw the ancient head of Egil Ironwolf nod grimly. Nonetheless, Ragnar could not help noticing that most of those who approved were of Berek’s faction. Like Sigrid, Thunderfist was positioning himself as the natural successor to Logan Grimnar.

  Sigrid smiled coldly. Compared to Berek he was pale. His face was thin and sallow. His eyes were cold, and his long moustaches drooped sadly down his face. Yet there was steel in him, Ragnar knew. No man became a Wolf Lord without it. He also had a chilly intelligence that was lacking in many of his fellows. His voice was mocking as it normally was when he was not bellowing commands on a battlefield.

  “Ragnar is brave. Of that there can be no doubt. I salute his heroism. What I question is his intelligence. I also question our ability as a Chapter to prove ourselves worthy heirs to our predecessors. And no matter what his motives, this is Ragnar’s fault. It may be that there is a way for the youth to atone for his deeds but some sanction must be taken against him.”

  Ranek stood and strode forward to confront the council of Wolf Lords. He fixed Sigrid with his gaze and spoke clearly and calmly. “A prophesy is a prophesy. It will be fulfilled in its own time, and in its own way, or it is no true prophesy. Russ will return. Russ will reclaim his Spear. Russ will lead this Chapter into the final conflict with the Evil One. Of that there can be no doubt.”

  Sigrid was not daunted. If anything, his smile became mocking. “You are suggesting then, Brother Ranek, that it was somehow Russ’s will that this callow youth cast his sacred weapon into the void?”

  “I am suggesting that if the prophesy be true prophesy that is irrelevant. In its own good time the Spear will return to us.”

  “I can see why you are a great priest, Ranek. I wish I shared the strength of your faith.” Laughter, this time from Sigrid’s supporters, greeted this sally. Most of the assembled Wolf Lords looked shocked. Sigrid’s mockery of a priest did not play well with them.

  “Perhaps you ought to,” said Ranek.

  The flash of emotion across the Wolf Lord’s face showed he realised his mistake. When next he spoke his voice was more conciliatory.

  “You protect the boy because you were his chooser, Ranek, and your loyalty is to your credit. But still I say he must be punished for his actions.”

  Sigrid paused and let the implications of the statement hang in the air for a moment. He wanted all present to see the connection between Ranek and Ragnar and Berek. The fault of the one was a reflection on all three. “And I do not think it sits well for a priest of Russ to claim that all will be well and that the Spear will find its way back to us of its own accord. I doubt that the warp will give up its prize so easily. I agree it would be wonderful, miraculous even, if it did. But what are we to do if the Spear does not come back of its own free will? What are we to do when the Last Days come? All the signs say they are almost upon us. What then?

  “And whether or not the Spear returns to us or not avoids the question. Do we really want a warrior in our midst that could so easily cast it aside? We do not need one so careless. Who knows what his next exploit might lead to?”

  Logan Grimnar and the others considered this. Ragnar could not help but feel that Sigrid had a point. He had not thought through his actions; he had acted without any thought as to the consequences. He had taken it upon himself to lose the Sacred Spear. He felt like stepping forward and saying so when he noticed a messenger had entered the council chamber. He spo
ke briefly in the Great Wolfs ear.

  Sigrid stopped and all eyes focused on Grimnar expectantly. Nor were they disappointed. Grimnar knuckled his eyes wearily and said, “Grave news, brothers. Adrian Belisarius is dead and so is our old comrade, Skander.”

  Howls of grief echoed around the chamber from some of the older Wolf Lords. “It gets worse,” continued Grimnar. “Both were assassinated on the sacred soil of Holy Terra itself. This is a grave matter indeed. I move that we adjourn to consider our response to this.”

  All present gave their assent, save Sigrid. Ranek led Ragnar back to his cell, wondering exactly what was going on.

  CHAPTER TWO

  All around the shrine was silent. In the mighty hall, banners of mourning flew at half mast. Ragnar wondered why he had been summoned to the chambers of the Great Wolf in the quiet watches of the night. It did not bode well. He was even less reassured when Berek and Sigrid emerged from the throne hall together.

  Neither looked happy. Sigrid glared at him as they passed. Berek looked melancholic. Neither spoke to him.

  Moments later, Lars Helltongue, Grimnar’s stone-faced herald, beckoned Ragnar forward. He found himself in the long hall, which was covered in banners and trophies of ancient battles, under the eyes of the Great Wolfs bodyguard. At the far end of the chamber sat the lord of all the Wolves, ensconced on his floating throne, with a scroll in his hands.

  He looked up as the young Wolf entered and was beckoned to stand before his throne.

  Ragnar knelt briefly and then rose, as a warrior does before his lord. Grimnar studied him, not unkindly, half amused, half annoyed. Then he grinned.

  “Well, Ragnar Blackmane, you have set us a pretty problem, haven’t you?” He gestured with the scroll. “You can speak freely here.”

  Grimnar was obviously waiting for some response, so Ragnar spoke. “And what problem is that, Great Wolf?”

  Grimnar laughed. “I would have thought it was explained with commendable clarity at the conclave today, pup.”