[Space Wolf 06] - Wolf's Honour

by Lee Lightner - (ebook by Undead)

  Within moments, three large packs of Space Wolves were standing in ranks before their transports, heads held high and weapons ready at their sides. Blood Claws, Mikal noted with a slight frown. His expression of unease deepened when he saw that none of the warriors bore the heraldry of the Great Wolf on their shoulders.

  Movement at the end of the line caught his eye. Mikal saw a Wolf Priest step forward and raise his crozius in salute to the waiting honour guard. The heavy mantle of wolfskin and the bulk of the priest’s polished armour made the wearer seem almost childlike in comparison, like a son trying on his father’s wargear. After a moment, he recognised the young, aristocratic face. Sigurd, son of a rich jarl in the Dragon Isles, young and unblooded, Blessed Russ, what is he doing here?

  Off to the west, a heavy drumbeat shook the ground as the Earthshaker batteries of the Imperial Guard fired a counter-battery salvo against the rebel rocket launchers. Nearly a third of the Blood Claws flinched at the sound, weapons jerking in their hands. Sternmark’s unease transformed to irritation.

  He strode towards the Wolf Priest, lips curling back from his teeth. Silent as a shadow, Morgrim Silvertongue followed in Sternmark’s wake, watching the scene unfold with a storyteller’s eye. Marking my every mistake, noting every telling failure, the Wolf Guard thought sourly. Every king and hero wanted a fine skald at his side, but pity the warrior whose deeds were not worthy.

  Sigurd watched Mikal approach and smiled, making the sign of the wolf. “The blessings of Russ and the Allfather be upon you, Mikal Sternmark,” he intoned. “All of Fenris knows of your deeds on Charys, and we have come to add our swords to your own—”

  “Where is he?” Sternmark growled.

  The Wolf Priest’s smile faded. “I don’t… I don’t understand,” he stammered.

  “Where is the Great Wolf?” Mikal said, still advancing on the young priest. With his terrible wound and his battered Terminator armour, the Wolf Guard was a vision of war incarnate, looming over Sigurd and the front rank of the startled Blood Claws. “When will he and his company make their landing? Has he been delayed by the space battle?”

  Sigurd lowered his crozius, an apprehensive look on his face. “He… he’s not here, lord,” he answered.

  “Berek is lord here, not I!” Mikal shouted, suddenly struck with anger. “I am his lieutenant and champion, and control of this war zone must pass to Grimnar as soon as he arrives.” He took another step forward, teeth bared, his face mere centimetres from Sigurd’s. “Can you tell me when he and his company will make planetfall or not?”

  The Wolf Priest blanched at Sternmark’s palpable fury, but gamely held his ground. “He won’t,” Sigurd said flatly. “He can’t. The Great Wolf’s company is scattered across the war zone, supporting the actions of the other Wolf Lords.”

  His answer stopped the Wolf Guard in his tracks. The shock left him painfully aware of the spectacle he’d made of himself. Sternmark fancied he could feel the skald’s dark eyes burning accusingly into the back of his neck.

  “I don’t understand,” he said, not quite able to keep the stricken tone from his voice. “Did he not read my report? Berek has fallen. Madox is here, with the Spear of Russ. This is where the war will be decided.”

  Sigurd nodded, more composed now, but still unable to conceal the look of resentment in his eyes. “Even so,” he replied, “the Great Wolf cannot come. We have been sent in his place to aid you in whatever way we can.”

  Once again, a tide of anger and despair threatened to overwhelm Sternmark. He shot a look at the waiting Blood Claws and choked back the words that first rose to his lips. How am I to save our Chapter with three packs of initiates and a boy-priest? Why has the Old Wolf forsaken me?

  Instead, he drew a deep breath and struggled to push his feelings aside. As he did so, he caught sight of another small group approaching the ranks of newly arrived troops. Though distant, he recognised their scents at once.

  Ragnar Blackmane, and the Navigator, Gabriella, with Torin the Wayfarer and Haegr the Mountain in tow. What in Morkai’s name are they doing here? The answer suggested itself almost at once. It’s the Spear. Grimnar’s sent them to reclaim it somehow. Either the Old Wolf is truly desperate, or he knows something I don’t.

  Sternmark chose to believe the latter. He’d banked a great deal on the report he’d sent to Fenris, believing that once Grimnar understood how dire things were on Charys, the Old Wolf would gather his warriors and take charge of the campaign. Mikal had clung to that hope for days, knowing he was not up to the task that had been thrust upon him. Now he would have to see things through to the bitter end.

  With as much dignity as he could muster, Sternmark turned to the assembled Blood Claws. “Praise Russ!” he declared. “Look upon blood-stained Charys, and know that your deeds here will be remembered in the sagas of our Chapter. Glory awaits you, in the Allfather’s name!”

  The Blood Claws didn’t respond for a moment, still stunned by the Wolf Guard’s earlier outburst. Then Sigurd raised his crozius and added his voice to Sternmark’s. “For Russ and the Allfather!” he cried. “Glory awaits!”

  Harald, leader of the first Blood Claw pack, took up the cry. “Russ and the Allfather!” he roared, raising his axe. Within moments the rest of the Space Wolves had joined in, banging their weapons against their breastplates and howling at the smoke stained sky.

  Mikal Sternmark listened to the shouts of his young brethren and fought to master his emotions. Ghostly images played at the corners of his vision: huge, leaping shapes that were neither beasts nor men, and strange, distorted sounds whispered in his ears. The wound, he thought despairingly. That damned hell-blade has laid a curse on me.

  He looked to Silvertongue, and caught the skald staring at him with those unreadable eyes of his. Mikal could guess how his own saga would end. Not all the tales ended gloriously. Some ended in tears, or infamy. The thought shamed him, but he resigned himself to it.

  Off in the distance, the barrage siren wailed.

  The command bunker was red-lit and stank of unwashed bodies and bile. From what Ragnar could determine, the Guard commander in chief had chosen the starport bunker complex as her headquarters upon first arriving with her regiments on Charys, and what started out as a temporary post became permanent as the campaign wore on. Field cots and piles of empty ration tins in the corners of some of the low-ceilinged rooms suggested that Athelstane’s general staff worked, slept and ate at their posts. Judging by the pasty faces and red-rimmed eyes he’d seen on his way inside, Ragnar thought that many of her staff hadn’t felt the touch of sunlight in weeks.

  That one observation told him all he needed to know about how desperate the situation on Charys truly was.

  Athelstane’s harried officers all but ignored the newcomers as they were escorted into a small auditorium that had been converted into an improvised situation and planning room. The hard pews had been cleared away, replaced with tables and portable work stations. Harried aides darted between the narrow aisles, carrying flimsy printouts to staff officers who were monitoring battle reports from half a world away. Tense conversations and muted orders rose above the dry clatter of logic engines and vox teletypes. Enginseer acolytes hovered in the corners of the room, muttering prayers and lighting votive candles to keep the data channels open.

  Mikal Sternmark led Sigurd, Ragnar and Gabriella across the crowded room to a large, ornate hololith table that had been set up on the auditorium’s former stage. There, he introduced them to Lady General Militant Esbet Athelstane. The commander of all Guard forces on Charys was a thin, raw-boned woman with a severe, patrician face and large, dark eyes. Her iron-grey hair was cropped as short as a rank and file sergeant’s, and to Ragnar she smelled of leather, amasec and fine machine oil. Athelstane wore the Medallion Crimson among the many campaign ribbons and decorations on her officer’s greatcoat, and from the faint sounds of servomotors and pistons, Ragnar reckoned that her right arm and both legs were expertly crafted augmetics.r />
  Athelstane greeted them all with weary professional courtesy, and then introduced an older, balding man in a dark green suit, who reluctantly joined the gathering from a seat at the back corner of the stage. He was taller than the general, with a hook nose and red-rimmed, grey eyes. There was a defeated air about the man; he limped haltingly on his left leg, and his angular shoulders were hunched. As he stepped into the dim light, Ragnar saw that the right side of the man’s face and throat was covered in a glistening film of wound sealant, and both hands were wrapped in flexible bandages.

  “This is Inquisitor Cadmus Volt, of the Ordo Malleus,” the general said. “He and his team have been on Charys for the last three years, investigating reports of forbidden practices among the local farming cartels. Since the uprising began, he has advised us on the enemy’s capabilities and possible intentions.” From the steely sound in Athelstane’s voice it was clear that Volt had been of little use in that regard.

  Inquisitor Volt bowed cordially to Gabriella. “May I ask what brings so esteemed a member of the Navis Nobilite to such a dangerous place as Charys?” he asked.

  Gabriella acknowledged Volt with a cool nod and a narrow gaze. The Navigator Houses had a long, antagonistic relationship with the Inquisition. “House Bellisarius and the Wolves of Fenris have been allies for centuries,” she replied coolly. “Honour requires that we aid our esteemed friends in whatever manner we are able.”

  “Without Lady Gabriella’s assistance our reinforcements would never have reached Charys at all,” Ragnar said. “Turbulence in the warp has all but isolated the system.”

  “So we surmised,” Athelstane said with a nod. “Whatever the enemy is attempting at Charys has taken a fearful toll on our astropaths. We have been awaiting your arrival with great anticipation.”

  Both Athelstane and Sternmark looked to Sigurd, and the Wolf Priest picked up on the unspoken cue and began his report of the war council on Fenris. The commanders listened carefully as the Wolf Priest recounted the Great Wolfs deliberations and their subsequent journey to Charys. Ragnar took the opportunity to lead Gabriella to a nearby seat. The Navigator was still somewhat unsteady on her feet, and though she took pains to conceal it, Ragnar could tell that she was deeply unsettled. Gabriella accepted the seat with an absent nod, one hand clinging to his forearm for support.

  As strained as her manner was aboard the Fist of Russ, it had only grown worse once their shuttle had landed. There was something strange at work on Charys. Ragnar felt it, too, a strange sense of dislocation, as though the world around him had no more substance than a hologram. Shadowy shapes flitted at the corners of his vision, and faint sounds whispered in his ears. The agitation he felt on Fenris seemed magnified tenfold. It was all he could do not to rise and pace across the crowded stage like a caged animal. From time to time, his gaze wandered to Mikal Sternmark’s grim face, and he wondered if the legendary champion felt the same as he did.

  “Thanks to the Lady Navigator’s skill, we emerged very close to Charys, whereupon we came under attack from a force of enemy raiders that had been at anchor in high orbit,” Sigurd continued. “We had thought to find Berek’s fleet waiting there.”

  “The enemy has a sizeable naval presence in the system,” Athelstane replied. “We believe that there was a large armada of raiders hiding within the outer asteroid fields for some time. Since the uprising began, they have been joined by a growing number of escorts and cruisers. Berek’s fleet commanded the approaches to Charys for almost a week, and we were able to defeat a number of enemy ground offensives with their support. As the enemy was able to commit more and more ships against Berek’s force, casualties began to mount, and it became clear that if they left the system to make repairs, they might not be able to return.” The general glanced briefly at Inquisitor Volt. “It was decided that the fleet would withdraw to the edge of the system and make what repairs they could. They’ve remained there ever since, as our force of last resort. Much of the enemy fleet has been drawn off to hunt for them, although groups of raiders have appeared from time to time to bombard our positions from orbit.”

  Gabriella straightened in her seat and drew a deep breath. “How has the enemy managed to communicate with their fleet across the system?”

  The general shrugged. “We don’t know. Sorcery, perhaps? That’s not my area of expertise.” Once again, she gave the inquisitor a sidelong look. “Maybe they aren’t talking with one another. Their orbital attacks don’t seem to coincide with their ground operations as far as we can tell, not that they aren’t damaging enough all by themselves.”

  “Well,” Sigurd interjected, clearly a little agitated by Gabriella’s interruption, “you’ve heard our tale. Now, what would you have of us?”

  Athelstane rested her hands on the hololith table’s smoked glass top and glanced at Sternmark. “That’s an interesting question,” she said slowly. “We had been led to believe that Fenris would be sending a great deal more troops and heavy weapons to support us. We’d hoped for a spear that we could thrust into the enemy’s heart. Instead, it appears that the Great Wolf has gifted us with a handful of brand new knives.”

  The bald statement took all of the Space Wolves aback. It wasn’t a disparagement, but a cold assessment of the facts. Ragnar saw the Wolf Priest stiffen nevertheless. This is the second time he and his men have been dismissed as irrelevant, the young Space Wolf thought, a hard thing to take, for the son of a powerful jarl.

  When Sigurd didn’t reply at once, Ragnar ventured, “Even a knife can be lethal when used properly,” he said. “Tell us, how goes the war on the ground?”

  “Badly,” Athelstane replied. “At first we believed the uprising was the work of a small cabal of government officials and officers in the local PDF regiments, but now it’s clear that outside forces planned and organised this campaign for many years. More than two-thirds of the planetary defence forces mutinied over the course of a single night. What heavy weapons and vehicles they didn’t take they managed to destroy. Bureaucrats in key positions sabotaged the planetary logistical network and crucial emergency response plans. By the time my regiments and I arrived, Charys was almost completely in enemy hands.” She reached down and keyed a control panel recessed into the edge of the table. A holo-map of the planet instantly appeared in the air above the table, showing nearly sixty small cities and townships scattered across the world’s vast plains. More than half of the settlements had a skull superimposed over them. They existed in name only, having been abandoned or wiped out by the rebels. The rest showed a red aquila, indicating that they were battlegrounds where neither side could claim total control.

  “We managed to establish footholds at a number of points around the planet, but we weren’t able to achieve significant gains because we had been misled as to the size of the rebel force and the lack of support we would find on the ground.” The general turned a brass knob and the view switched to an operational map of the capital city. Nearly eighty-five per cent of the districts were red, with only a narrow band of Imperial blue around the outlying sectors to the east that stretched back to the starport outside the city. “When Berek Thunderfist and your brethren arrived, we attempted a lightning thrust aimed at decapitating the rebel leadership and retaking the capital.” She pressed a stud and a trio of broad, blue arrows leapt from the eastern districts and drove deep into the heart of the city. “The orbital bombardment and follow-on attacks inflicted very heavy rebel casualties and allowed us to push all the way to the governor’s palace.”

  Athelstane’s expression darkened. “Unfortunately, the Wolf Lord’s attack met with disaster. Sternmark and his warriors managed to break out of the enemy ambush and withdraw from the palace with Berek’s body, and then linked up with our lead armoured elements.”

  Ragnar glanced over at Mikal. The look in the warrior’s eyes was one he knew all too well. He curses himself for retreating, the young Space Wolf thought, and no wonder, but what other option did he have?

  “Whe
re is Berek now?” Sigurd asked. “Does he still live?”

  “We think he lingers in the Red Dream,” Sternmark said dully. “Our instruments detect faint life, but his body will not respond to our priest’s unguents and balms. We had hoped that Grimnar would at least send Ranek or one of the senior Wolf Priests to tend to Berek…” The Wolf Guard left the rest unsaid, but the implication was clear.

  “What of the palace?” Ragnar interjected.

  “Before we could mount another attempt to retake the palace the rebel forces launched a massive counter-offensive,” Athelstane replied. “This time the rebels were supported by Traitor Marines and packs of daemons. The enemy struck out of thin air, exploiting weak spots in our lines with diabolical skill.” She sighed bitterly, clearly haunted by her failures stemming from that fateful day. “Fighting raged around the city centre for almost forty-eight hours, but in the end we were forced to withdraw.”

  Gabriella leaned forward in her chair. “How are the Chaos Marines managing these feats of teleportation?”

  Inquisitor Volt folded his arms and scowled at the holo-map, as though the secret was somehow hidden there. “We don’t know,” he admitted. “It’s not technological. They appear and disappear like ghosts, coming and going apparently at will, and not just here in the city, but across the entire planet as well.” He shook his head in exasperation. “We’ve laid wards to protect the starport perimeter from attack. They seem to have worked so far, but the cost of maintaining them is enormous. If I knew how the enemy was accomplishing this, I could perhaps devise a better way of countering it, but I can’t find a reference to anything like this in my records. The scale is unprecedented.”

  Gabriella considered this. “It is interesting that you mention the notion of scale, inquisitor. I have been studying the efforts of the enemy sorcerers at the subsector level. Perhaps if we were to compare notes, I might be able to give you more insight into the situation.”