Volt turned his attention to the remaining books on the table, searching through them impatiently. Gabriella stepped forward quietly and handed over a battered tome from the top of her stack. The inquisitor looked up with a grunt of surprise and took the volume with a mutter of thanks. “It happened around thirteen hundred years ago,” he said, flipping quickly through the ancient pages. “A traitor named Arsenius Talvaren tried to open a permanent gateway to the Eye of Terror, centred on Holy Terra itself.”
Athelstane, Sternmark and Ragnar shared incredulous looks. The general shook her head. “Obviously, he failed,” she said.
“Obviously, yes,” Volt replied. “The attempt was doomed almost from the very start, but the madman’s underlying theory was entirely sound, from an arcane standpoint.” He paused at a particular page, reading closely, and then nodded to himself. Volt looked up from the book. “Lord Sternmark, come here and take a look at this for a moment,” he said. “Tell me if this is more familiar to you.”
The powerful champion moved slowly around the perimeter of the table, a look of dread settling like a mask over his features. He looked down at the book, and grimaced at once. “It is similar,” he admitted, “very similar.”
“So you’re telling me that the traitors are trying to pry open the Eye of Terror?” Athelstane asked, her stoic expression tinged with concern.
Volt snapped the tome shut. “No, not this time,” he said. “Talvaren, the mad genius, overreached himself. He could not master the forces necessary for such a feat, and even if the Inquisition hadn’t stopped him on Luna, the demands of the ritual would have destroyed him.” The inquisitor glanced at Sternmark and the general. “Here on Charys we’re dealing with forces that are altogether more powerful and sophisticated.”
“Then what, pray tell, are they attempting?” Athelstane asked, her patience clearly nearing its limit.
“A bilocation,” Volt said gravely. “A… link, if you will, between Charys and a daemon world within the Eye.”
The lady commander rubbed her brow with an augmented hand. “I thought you just told me that wasn’t possible,” she growled.
Lady Gabriella cleared her throat diplomatically. “A co-location is not the same as a conduit,” she said, setting her books on the table. “Because the Eye of Terror is a location where the warp spills into physical space, the notion of distance and time within the region is fluid,” she said. “This is the same reason why we use the warp to travel between the stars.”
“Yes, yes, I know all that,” the general said with an impatient nod.
“Well, think of the warp as a fast-flowing river,” the Navigator continued. “A person could either walk along the bank to get from one town to another downstream, or he could leap into the water and be rushed there at a much faster rate. Now, what Talvaren tried to do was create a tributary of that river, allowing the water to flow from the Eye of Terror directly to sacred Terra, a tremendous feat that had little chance of success.”
Gabriella reached into her belt and removed her vox-unit. “We think Madox is trying to strain the fabric of reality around Charys and create a shadow of the world inside the Eye of Terror.” She extended her hand slowly, edging the rounded vox-unit into the projector field of the hololith. As the object occluded the edge of the projection field it created an oval shaped dark patch in the shimmering, distorted map.
Sternmark glowered at the shadow before him. “The Eye of Terror is hundreds of parsecs away,” he protested. The Eye was a vast stellar region within the Segmentum Obscuras, where the Chaotic energies of the warp bled into the physical universe. It was a realm of horror and madness, an eternal battlefield where the worshippers of Chaos warred for the favour of their uncaring gods. After the Horus Heresy, the Traitor Legions of the Warmaster Horus fled into the Eye, where they continued to plague the Imperium with deadly raids and ruinous Black Crusades.
“Remember that within the warp there is no notion of space or distance,” the Navigator said. “A location can be fixed by will and ritual alone, and Inquisitor Volt suspects that a series of daemon worlds within the Eye are maintaining cornerstone sigils to stabilise the shadow world as well. The sigil within the governor’s palace provides the glue that conjoins the two worlds.” She turned to Ragnar. “It’s this ritual that is causing the strange turbulence in the warp I spoke of.”
Ragnar nodded thoughtfully. It also explains the sense of dislocation Torin and I felt, and perhaps even the hallucinations. “Then the Thousand Sons are simply stepping between worlds when they attack us.”
Gabriella nodded. “Yes, exactly.”
“But to what end?” Athelstane demanded. “I’m going to assume that what you just told me is possible, but even so, surely pulling it off would have to consume enormous resources.”
“Yes, indeed,” Volt nodded. “We can’t even speculate on what the traitors had to do in order to create the cornerstones within the Eye, but it’s obvious that they devoted many years and a huge investment of effort to arranging the rituals across this subsector.”
“Then what do they stand to gain from all this?” the general asked.
“Several things,” Volt replied. “First, it gives them a secure base of operations from which to pursue their efforts on Charys. They can strike us anywhere, at any time, and retreat to safety without fear of pursuit. It also allows them to tap into the limitless power of the Eye to fuel their sorcery.”
“But what’s their objective?” Athelstane snapped. “That’s the one piece of information I need, inquisitor. If I know what they’re after, I can try to counter it.”
Ragnar remembered the war council back on Fenris. “The runes say that the Thousand Sons have a plan to bring about the downfall of our entire Chapter,” he said. “That’s why Madox is here.” And the spear as well, he thought.
Inquisitor Volt looked sidelong at Ragnar. “As to what their ultimate goal is, neither I nor Lady Gabriella can say,” he continued, “but we do know that the heart of the enemy’s power lies not on Charys, but upon its shadow twin within the Eye.”
“Then that is where we must strike,” Ragnar said at once.
Athelstane interrupted with a harsh bark of laughter. The bitter amusement died at once as she saw the look on the young Space Wolf’s face. “You’re serious,” she said incredulously. “But… that’s not possible.”
Volt glanced at Gabriella. “We think it is,” the inquisitor said, gesturing to her. “Please explain.”
Gabriella nodded. “The Fist of Russ made orbit not too long ago,” she began. “Shipmaster Wulfgar reports that she has sustained severe damage, but her warp drive is intact. We could place a strike team onboard and use the ship to enter the warp.” The Navigator took a deep breath. “Providing we activated the drive close to the planet, the ship would cross the barrier into the immaterium at the point where the shadow world is anchored.”
The general interjected with a peremptory sweep of her hand. “Now, forgive the interruption, my lady, but I know enough about warp travel to know that the ship is surrounded by a force field that keeps it isolated from the immaterium—”
“The Geller field, yes,” Gabriella said. “It projects a pocket of reality around a ship travelling through the warp that keeps the forces of Chaos at bay. Naturally, we would have to deactivate it before making the attempt.”
Athelstane was struck speechless. Finally she stammered, “That would be suicide.”
“Normally, yes,” Gabriella agreed, “but not in this case. Just as the co-location causes some of the warp to spill over into the physical realm, the reverse would apply to the shadow world. There should be a pocket of stable reality around the planet strong enough to keep the ship from being destroyed outright.”
“Should,” Athelstane echoed. “All of this is theory. You haven’t one shred of proof that any of this is true.”
Volt raised his chin. “It fits the evidence at hand,” he replied archly.
“I can only take your word for
that,” Athelstane replied. “My experience doesn’t help much in matters like these, but I do know what will happen if you’ve guessed wrong and you head off into the warp without a Geller field. You, the ship, and everyone on board will be destroyed.”
Mikal Sternmark folded his arms and glowered thoughtfully at the books scattered across the situation table. “I’ll gather the Wolf Guard,” he said, “plus a pack of Grey Hunters and Einar’s Long Fangs. We could—”
“No lord, you can’t,” Athelstane declared. “I won’t let you do this.”
Sternmark slowly turned to the general. “You forget yourself, lady commander,” he said coldly. “You have no authority over the Sons of Russ.”
Athelstane rose to her feet and stared up at the towering Space Wolf. “Perhaps not,” she said, “but you swore an oath to protect the people of this world, and without you Charys is most assuredly lost. Every squad you pull out of the battle line makes our defence that much more precarious. Are you willing to risk losing an entire world for the sake of a suicidal gamble like this?”
“What other choice do we have?” Sternmark shot back. “Volt is right. The Thousand Sons can strike our lines at will, and there are no reinforcements coming. At best, we’re just delaying the inevitable. Better to strike a blow against the enemy than sit in our holes and let them come for us!”
“And what if they’re wrong?” Athelstane said. “If that ship hits its warp drive and there’s no stable pocket of reality on the other side, you’ll have thrown away not just your life, but millions of others as well. Make no mistake, without you and your men we won’t last twenty-four hours once the rebel counter-offensive begins.”
“Send the Wolfblade,” Ragnar interjected. The words burst from his lips before he fully knew what he was saying. “Us and Harald’s pack as well.”
Sternmark shot Ragnar a disdainful look. “What, thirteen of you against Madox and the Thousand Sons?”
Inquisitor Volt spoke up. “Actually, I was thinking along much the same lines,” he ventured. “It is unlikely that the enemy is expecting this kind of attack, and a small force would have a better chance of avoiding detection,” He spread his bandaged hands. “Of course, given the situation, I would assume command of the expedition. My skills will be able to further protect the strike team and lead it to its target.”
The Wolf Guard regarded Volt balefully for a moment, and then relented with a curt nod. “There’s still the matter of the warp turbulence,” he said. “How do you plan on getting past that?”
Volt turned to Gabriella. She raised her head and said calmly, “The mission will have need of an expert Navigator. Otherwise the ship could be hurled deep into the Eye and meet with disaster.”
The Wolf Guard’s eyes went wide. “No,” he said, “I can’t allow this.” He glanced at Ragnar and Volt for support. “Lady, surely you can see that this mission is a forlorn hope at best. Even if everything goes as planned and the mission is a success, the survivors will face the full wrath of the Thousand Sons. With an attacking force this small, no one is going to survive.”
Gabriella only nodded. “I understand, lord, and I appreciate your concern, but just as the lady commander has no authority over you or your men, neither do you hold any sway over me.” She met the Wolf Guard’s eyes and gave him a faint smile. “Rest assured, the Navis Nobilite are no strangers to sacrifice in the name of the holy Emperor.”
Sternmark thought it over. “The Old Wolf will have my hide for a rug when he hears about this,” he growled, but he threw up his hands in surrender. “All right. Make your preparations to depart,” he said. “Ragnar, I’ll leave it to you to give Harald the good news.”
Ragnar bowed his head to Sternmark, and with a worried glance at Gabriella he took his leave. The Navigator sketched a bow to Athelstane and the Wolf Guard. “I’ll contact the Fist of Russ and inform Shipmaster Wulfgar of our plans,” she said, and departed as well.
Sternmark watched them go while Inquisitor Volt gathered up his scattered tomes. Finally he sighed. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he growled.
“As do I,” Volt answered. He straightened and fixed the Wolf Guard with a commanding stare. “It’s time we contacted the Holmgang!”
The Blood Claws weren’t at the staging area near the starport’s command complex, and none of the headquarters staff seemed to know where they’d gone. Ragnar wasn’t all that surprised, but the discovery irritated him nonetheless. As more enemy rockets plunged like arrows across the cratered expanse of the starport, Ragnar was reduced to tracing his route back to the Thunderhawk they’d flown in, and then tracking Harald’s pack by scent.
He finally found them in an isolated supply bunker not far from the Thunderhawks’ armoured revetments. Ragnar followed the trail down a shallow ferrocrete ramp that led to an open doorway in the bunker’s flank. Two Blood Claws posted as sentries rose silently to either side of the interior doorway as the young Space Wolf stepped inside.
The bunker had been emptied out long ago, and the pack sat on the bare floors in the gloom, tending weapons and making field repairs to their armour. The three men that they’d taken to the field medicae unit had either been released or they’d decided to release themselves. They rested against one of the ferrocrete walls, letting their enhanced constitution and their armour’s medical systems tend to their injuries.
Harald was sitting with a pair of packmates, cleaning and checking their weapons when Ragnar appeared. The pack leader glanced up and his face darkened into an angry scowl. “What in Morkai’s name do you want?” he snarled.
Ragnar strode purposefully into the bunker. The two Blood Claws to either side of him closed in quickly, intending to bar his way, but he stopped them in their tracks with a steely glare. “I bring tidings from Mikal Sternmark,” he declared. “We’re going back into action.”
He sketched out the planned expedition quickly and concisely, entertaining no questions from Harald or his packmates. As he spoke, the Blood Claws shared disbelieving looks that only turned grimmer as the inquisitor’s plan took shape.
When he was done, Ragnar turned back to Harald and planted his hands upon his hips. “If you have something to say, pack leader, now is the time,” he said. He could see the challenge building behind Harald’s eyes, and part of him hoped that the Blood Claw would try to do something about it.
“Who is commanding this expedition?” Harald asked. “The last time you led us, we lost our Wolf Priest and a third of our pack. Surely Sternmark isn’t about to place us in your hands again.”
The rest of the Blood Claws were silent, glaring angrily at Ragnar. The young Space Wolf bared his teeth. “There’s an inquisitor on the planet, a man named Volt. He’ll be leading the force.”
Harald snorted in disgust. “First an exile, then an inquisitor. By Morkai, we’re an ill-fated bunch,” he told his men. They growled their agreement. The pack leader sneered at Ragnar. “Next thing you know, that damned three-eyed maid of his will try her hand at us.”
“Get up,” Ragnar said coldly.
The pack leader smiled. “Well, well,” he said. “Struck close to home, did I?”
“I said on your feet.” Ragnar took a step forward. “Take your beating like a man, not grinning up from the floor like a dog.”
Harald leapt off the floor with a snarl, blue fire crackling between his fingers as he activated his power fist. Startled shouts filled the bunker as the rest of the pack threw their bodies between the two men and tried to push them apart.
“Enough!” yelled Harald’s second, the red-haired warrior called Rolfi. He grabbed Harald by the front of his armour and shook him. “No challenges during war time! That’s the Old Wolfs law!”
Harald pushed himself away with a snarl, but anger still smouldered in the pack leader’s eyes. “When we return to Fenris, then,” he declared, pointing at Ragnar with his crackling fist. “You’re going to answer for Sigurd, exile. That I swear.”
Ragnar shook off the men grip
ping his arms like a bear shakes off a pack of hounds. “Let Sigurd speak for himself,” he shot back. “I for one choose to believe he still lives.” He glared savagely at the assembled Wolves. “Muster for battle at Thunderhawk Two in an hour,” he said. “We’re going to go and get him.”
Ragnar turned and headed for the doorway. He paused at the threshold, and looked back over his shoulder at Harald. The pack leader was still surrounded by his men, gazing angrily at the young Space Wolf’s back.
One fight at a time, Ragnar thought, and stepped out into the sunlight.
The Guard’s powerful vox transmitters were only a short walk from the bunker’s situation room. Inquisitor Volt led the way, with Sternmark pacing only a few steps behind him. The stormtroopers stationed at the door shouldered their hellguns and admitted them without a word.
Inside, Volt surveyed the crowded room. Half the space was given over to humming vox consoles, where soldiers hunched over flickering cathode screens and read off messages from sheets of flimsy parchment passed from the war room across the hall. The rest of the dimly lit room contained rack upon rack of transmitters, receivers and power supplies. The stink of ozone hung heavy in the cramped space. Nodding in satisfaction, he dismissed the on-duty vox operators and tech-priests with a murmured command. When the door had shut on the last of the men, the inquisitor walked over to the central console and began adjusting the frequency controls on the system’s orbital relay.
Sternmark put his back to the door and folded his arms. For once he was glad not to have the watchful eyes of the skald boring into his back. A sense of despair gripped him. He could not shake the feeling that the situation was spiralling out of control and nothing he did could alter its course. “You don’t have to do this,” he said grimly.
[Space Wolf 06] - Wolf's Honour Page 15