In the great plain of debris, Ghazan watched Ariq detonate the charge on the hatch. The blast was muffled by the earth. The hatch blew in, its broken halves tumbling into the shaft it had concealed. It was wider than the one near the scrap heap, and had three sets of rungs. Ghazan and the squad descended quickly. Kusala waited to go down in parallel with Ghazan.
‘Zadyin arga,’ he whispered, ‘are you sure that this is–’
Ghazan cut him off. ‘My level of certainty is irrelevant. I am not deciding on the best tactic, brother-sergeant. I would not think of contradicting the khan in such matters. I am accepting what is destined. And neither he, nor you, nor I have the right to question fate.’
‘As you say.’ Kusala still sounded uneasy.
At the bottom of the shaft was a wide passageway, much larger than at the first location. The insulting ork versions of lumen globes illuminated its length. It stretched a long way to the left and right before it curved, and there were many branching corridors. There were signs here, too, of quick, crude blasting, but part of the tunnel was a natural formation. The orks were making use of a pre-existing cave system.
The walls vibrated with the beat of endless industry. The heart of the manufactorum was not far.
Tegusal was looking to the left, his head cocked, listening. ‘This way,’ he said. ‘The heaviest sound is coming from this direction.’
Kusala concurred. ‘Forward, then. That will guide us to what we must destroy.’
Ghazan took a step to follow. He stopped, rooted to the spot. He tried to walk. His legs refused to move. Tegusal and Kusala were right. Logic dictated they take this route.
Fate, inexorable and mysterious, called him the other way.
‘No,’ he said.
Kusala turned, eyebrows raised. He said, ‘How can there be any question about our path?’
‘There isn’t.’ He turned and started walking to the right. His body unlocked. His legs wanted to rush him to the appointed encounter. Since setting foot in the tunnel, he had felt the tug grow stronger yet. Time was a torrent, a cataract, and all the seconds were falling to the great clash at the bottom.
No choice, he thought. None at all. There is no such thing.
Kusala did not follow yet. ‘What will we find that way?’ he called.
‘What we must fight if we want to win,’ Ghazan said. He understood Kusala’s reluctance. Without the impulse of his vision, he would see his own actions as those of a madman, or possibly something far more dishonourable. If they followed the other path, it was true that they must find the heart of the orks’ tank production. But that wasn’t enough. Ghazan knew, as surely as if the land had cried out its secrets to him as he had dropped below the surface of the moon, that he was following the only road that could lead to victory. The true threat lay elsewhere.
He paused and looked back at the Scouts. He was pushing them to go against all common sense, and possibly against the orders of their khan. He said, ‘Brother-sergeant, the struggle that lies before me is destined, but it may not be for you as well. I will go on alone if necessary, and there will be no dishonour if you choose to part company with me here. But if you choose to walk this path with me, you will strike a greater blow against the enemy. I am certain of that.’
‘The situation at the bastion is desperate,’ Kusala said. ‘We have to stop the tanks. Our failure would be catastrophic.’
‘Then all the more reason why you should come with me.’
The Scouts looked back and forth between them. Ghazan regretted putting them in a position where their loyalty to their sergeant was forced to contend with their spiritual awe of a zadyin arga. They were, to a man, keeping their faces neutral.
Kusala shook his head and walked forwards to join Ghazan. ‘I do wish you could share your visions with me,’ he said.
Ghazan smiled. ‘You must rely on faith, brother-sergeant.’
‘I am. Believe me, I am. And it is being tested.’
‘It shall be rewarded.’
Kusala said nothing to that, but he gestured to the Scouts. They moved on, following Ghazan.
For the first few minutes, they seemed to be heading into another abandoned sector of the complex. The sounds of construction grew more distant, and they did not encounter any ork traffic. There were so many branches, though, that it would have been easy for considerable numbers of greenskins to be moving in parallel with them, with neither group being aware of the other’s presence. After about fifty metres, the tunnel forked into three. Ghazan stopped in the centre of the intersection, listening for the pain of the moon and the imperative of fate. He chose the left-hand fork. A minute later, that tunnel split into four.
The White Scars moved deeper and deeper into the labyrinth. After the first branches, Ghazan let the Scouts take the lead. There were sounds ahead once more, and it was impossible to tell, in the web of caverns, how far ahead, and down which passageway, they were. The guttural ork voices bounced from wall to wall, mixed with the clang of hammers, the whine of tools, and the crackle of dispersing energy. Other noises too, less easily defined, but all suggestive of a great deal of activity.
‘Why the different construction sites?’ Kusala wondered. ‘Not very practical. More planning and effort than I would expect from greenskins.’
‘These orks are full of surprises,’ said Ghazan. ‘I think we will find that there is a reason.’
Step by step, branch by branch. One of the Scouts would take point, moving in silence and within the shadows. The next brother would follow half the length of the corridor behind, providing overwatch. The first would observe the intersection, and when he was sure it was clear, signal for the rest of the squad. Ghazan would point to the next branch to take, and the cycle repeated. The further into the maze they went, the more signs of occupation they encountered. Cables running along the floor, greater illumination, ruined bits of machine, and more and more of what passed for ork art: crude illustrations of their monster gods, scrawls that were meant to be pictures of orks in battle, and the angular, jagged runes that were the greenskins’ barbaric excuse for a language.
They reached another fork. Far more noise to the left. Ghazan felt the pull to the right. Kusala looked like he was about to say something, but held his peace.
Tegusal had point. Ariq was guarding the rear. The squad was halfway down the current section of tunnel when Ariq hissed a warning. They froze, waiting, weapons at the ready. A minute passed. No enemy appeared.
‘What was it?’ Kusala asked Ariq.
‘A shadow moved,’ said the Scout. ‘I think we might be being followed.’
‘Too stealthy for an ork.’
‘My thought too, brother-sergeant. I did see something, though.’
Kusala doubled up the rear guard. They advanced even more cautiously. But at the next intersection, Bokegan also reported movement. Tegusal watched the auspex. Its screen showed a single blip, then nothing. ‘Hard to tell if that was a legitimate contact,’ he said.
‘We will treat it as one,’ Kusala told him. ‘The day you ignore a possible threat is your last.’ He turned to Ghazan. ‘We are being shadowed.’
‘Yes.’ They needed to neutralise this enemy, force whoever was following them out into the open.
No opportunity arose at the next two junctions, but at the third, the route took the squad into a large cavern. It had been a big natural formation to start with, and the orks had expanded it further. The tunnel opened into it about two-thirds of the way towards its roof. A catwalk crossed the space to the other side. The cavern was filled with cables thick as tree trunks, pipes wide enough to ride a bike through. Steam and narrow jets of flame burst from cracks in roughly patched seams and joints. Arcs of blue lightning crackled along the lengths of the cables.
The conduits of energy and fuel arrived from dozens of different openings in the walls. The tangle achieved something re
sembling order towards the far end of the cavern, about five metres above the floor. There, the cables and pipes joined into two enormous, braided hybrids. One carried on straight out of the chamber. The other branched diagonally to the right.
Some thirty metres below, on the floor of the cavern, the orks laboured over roaring, sparking, grinding mechanisms. Ghazan guessed these machines had something to do with regulating the flow of energy and fuel. The cavern was some form of power plant.
The White Scars were going to have to cross in the open. The noise made by the orks below would give them cover. The uproar of snarls and machinery was almost physical. A small war could be waged on the catwalk without drawing attention.
‘Auspex?’ Kusala asked Tegusal.
‘More readings, brother-sergeant. Brief, but definite.’
‘And the position of our trackers?’
‘To the rear.’
Ghazan and Kusala exchanged looks. The cavern was a few hundred metres wide. Kusala said, ‘If they don’t attack before we reach the other side, we’ll gain a significant lead. They might lose us.’
‘If they’re orks, they can just move faster,’ said Tegusal.
‘No,’ Kusala said. ‘If they were orks, they would already have attacked. This is something else.’
Ghazan looked at the other end of the catwalk. ‘This is the only path forward,’ he said.
Kusala grinned. ‘You’re proposing we blow up the bridge in our wake.’
‘Your mission involves sabotage, does it not?’
Kusala gestured at the cables. ‘We could do a lot of damage here. Perhaps cripple the manufactorum.’
‘No. That would draw too much attention. We still don’t know how the enemy is outmanoeuvring our forces on the battlefield. And the true threat is not mechanical.’
‘Knowing what the orks are attempting will serve little good if they have already done it.’
‘They haven’t. Not yet.’ Destiny would not allow it. For what purpose was he here, if his actions were meaningless? He did not believe such a perversity was possible. The war on the moon would hinge on the battle he must wage. ‘We are close to our goal,’ he said to Kusala.
‘Though we don’t know what it is.’
‘Have faith, brother-sergeant,’ he said again.
Kusala looked serious. ‘I do.’ There was a pointed ambiguity to the way he insisted on those two syllables. This time, he articulated his doubts. ‘But forgive me, zadyin arga, if I ask whether you place too much faith in your particular interpretation of your visions.’
‘I do not.’ Ghazan spoke with cold anger. ‘We’re wasting time. I suggest we destroy the catwalk behind us.’
Kusala nodded, and gave instructions to Ariq.
The White Scars moved out into the cavern. They kept strict watch on three directions at once: their destination, the cave floor, and their rear. Covered by Bokegan, Ariq set demolition charges at the entrance and midway point of the catwalk. The orks below didn’t notice. Tegusal kept his eye on the auspex. Two-thirds of the way across, the Scout voxed, ‘Multiple contacts! Closing fast.’
‘Ready to detonate,’ Kusala ordered.
The Space Marines raised their bolters.
Shadows made of speed and blood shot out of the gloom of the tunnel. Eldar. Ghazan recognised their red armour and white, serpentine runes. They were of that xenos sect that, like the White Scars, valued velocity on the battlefield. Clearly anticipating the destruction of the catwalk, a handful of the eldar warriors leapt off it and onto a pipe that ran parallel for most of its length.
Xenos and Space Marine weapons zeroed in on each other.
Ghazan saw his struggle teeter on the edge of ruin.
CHAPTER FOUR
The eldar did not fire. Only a few seconds had passed since their arrival. Those seconds were tantamount to the pause of an age. These xenos did not hesitate in battle. And now the seconds were passing, passing, passing.
The miracle, it occurred to Ghazan, was that his own brothers had not started shooting either. He grasped that miracle before it slipped away. ‘Hold fire,’ he hissed over the vox.
‘What?’ Kusala was outraged.
‘They haven’t attacked.’
‘What difference does–’
‘Why haven’t they?’
Kusala’s breathing over the vox was furious, but he repeated, ‘Hold fire.’
At the other end of the catwalk, another eldar emerged. This one carried a staff and wore robes. A halo of warp energy pulsed once around the figure. It was not an attack; just enough of a sign for Ghazan to recognise another psyker.
The eldar advanced slowly to the middle of the catwalk, then stopped. The other xenos warriors kept their weapons ready, but remained just as motionless. Four of them, male and female, carried rifles and swords. Three other female warriors had what looked like amplifiers built into the sides of their helmets.
The seconds passed. The din of ork industry continued, oblivious to the confrontation.
‘Cover me,’ Ghazan said, and he walked to meet the eldar witch. If Kusala had doubts about his judgement before, they would be even greater now. The eldar were a duplicitous, untrustworthy race. The wise course would, on most days, have been to ignore their stratagem and blow the catwalk. But on this day, Ghazan could not afford to regard the unfolding event as trivial. He could feel the incidents of these hours being woven together. The anomalous and the serendipitous were aligning, forming a pattern that would be the revelation of his own war.
Still the eldar did not move. Ghazan stopped a few paces from the witch. He was close enough to strike a blow with his staff. Over the vox, Kusala said, ‘Ariq stands ready with the detonator.’
‘I would expect no less. Use it if you must. I trust your judgement, brother-sergeant.’ Ghazan faced the eldar, waiting. He gazed at the elongated helmet and its black eye slits. He could not see the features beneath. The helmet was its own face. Elegant, yet somehow insectoid. Hard. Alien.
The witch gave a shallow bow. ‘My name is Tellathia.’ The voice was female. ‘I would trace the skein where our forces parlay. Will you?’ Her Gothic was fluent, but its perfection was odd. There was no trace of accent. It was an incarnation of human language untouched by any human culture. It was a mimicry, a performance, flawless in technique, hollow at its core. There was no feeling for the words, as if the speaker floated far above them, gazing down with utter dispassion on something that was a tool and nothing more.
Ghazan’s mistrust flared so powerfully that he almost lashed out. His grip tightened on his staff. He leaned on it, pressing it down onto the catwalk as if grounding his hostility, dispersing it into the metal around them. ‘Will you give me reasons to negotiate?’ he said.
‘Our mutual destruction would serve the orks well. We have not come here to aid them.’
‘Why have you come here?’
Tellathia cocked her head to the left. ‘If I said that we are here to harm the orks, that would not satisfy you, would it?’
‘No.’
‘But would you tell me more of your goals?’
‘No,’ he admitted.
Now her head leaned to the right. ‘Then we understand each other that much. I believe that you and I, among our brethren, know each other somewhat better. You are called by something stronger than mere orders.’
Ghazan said nothing, but he did not contradict her.
‘This encounter is not a surprise to me,’ Tellathia went on. ‘Is it to you?’
‘It is of little importance to me,’ he said.
If the eldar was insulted, her body language gave no sign. There was only that gentle movement of the head back and forth, a graceful pendulum, between each exchange. It seemed to Ghazan that she was looking at their dialogue as if it were a physical thing, a jewel she was examining for its facets and its flaws. Her sorc
ery was at work. He sealed himself away, using the shield of his psychic hood to counter any probes.
Wherever she looked, whatever she saw, it seemed to satisfy her. ‘True enough,’ she said. ‘There is a larger shadow ahead, isn’t there?’ She didn’t wait for a response. ‘We should not pretend that our real goals are the same. We might agree that they are not incompatible.’
‘How can we, when neither of us knows the other’s goals?’
‘Through reason.’ She gestured towards the floor of the cave. ‘Can you imagine us in league with the orks?’
‘With difficulty.’
‘Perhaps trust might be an element, too.’
‘No.’
A wave of the hand, unconcerned. ‘No? A sense of the breath of fate, then?’
Once again, he said nothing. He was sure he sensed a smile behind the helmet.
‘An alliance of the moment, then?’ she asked. ‘We are agreed?’
He glanced at the warriors crouched on the catwalk and on the pipes. Tellathia’s words were pleasant, almost playful. The stance of the other eldar remained frozen at the last moment before an explosion of violence. ‘Do you speak for your kin?’
‘I will speak to them. Will you do the same?’
He thought for a moment before answering. He made himself review the situation once more. There was much to be uneasy about. There was also little choice. ‘Yes,’ he said.
She bowed, more deeply this time. She held her staff at an angle, pointing away from her body, aiming it at the cavern ceiling.
Ghazan nodded. He walked towards the Scouts, turning his back to the eldar, showing that much trust. He spoke into his vox-bead. ‘Stand down, brother-sergeant.’
‘Why?’
‘We have found common cause.’
‘And you trust these xenos?’
‘We should stand down. We should not be at ease.’
Kusala was reluctant. So, it seemed, were the eldar warriors. They did not lower their weapons at first. When Ghazan drew level with Kusala, he looked back. The eldar were carrying on their conversation by means as private as that of the Space Marines. Tellathia’s gestures were expressive, though. She seemed to be working as hard to convince her comrades of the wisdom of this course as she had with Ghazan.
Stormseer - David Annandale Page 5