Dark Apostle Nahren had seen more wars than every other Word Bearer present on the bridge put together. He had fought alongside the Urizen, and was counted among the most loyal warrior priests in the holy order. Marduk himself had trained under Nahren as an acolyte, and knew him as an uncompromising, fierce and highly respected Dark Apostle.
The hyper-observant may have noticed he breathed slightly faster and shallower than was normal, or that a tinge of blood-shot colour had stained his otherwise colourless, hieretic-inscribed cheeks. Few would register such telltale signs, but Enusat read them as clearly as a tome laid bare before him. The Dark Apostle’s rage was incandescent, and threatened to explode at any moment.
Enusat’s enhanced biology interpreted that anger as the threat of violence and responded in kind, flooding his system with adrenaline and combat stimulants. Every Word Bearer present could taste the aggression in the air, and their nerves were on a knife-edge – every one of them was ready to kill, their gene-enhanced bodies primed for battle.
Nahren stared unblinking at the distorted face on the vid-screen.
‘What. Did. It. Say?’ he said, the muscles of his jaw twitching.
‘Salvage,’ said Kol Badar. ‘They say they claimed the Vox Dominus as salvage.’
‘Salvage,’ said Nahren, his voice measured, yet barely held in check. ‘Salvage?’
Enusat watched, fascinated, as the Dark Apostle struggled to maintain his control. Nahren’s armoured hands balled into fists, accompanied by the whine of servos and fibre-bundles flexing.
It was an unforgiveable insult to see the Vox Dominus treated in such a way, and their first instinct had been to annihilate the stocky tug vessel. Had its crew been simple pirates, the wreckage of their ship would already have been scattered to the four winds of Chaos.
No contact had yet been established with Nahren’s Host. The Vox Dominus appeared completely lifeless.
Dark Apostle Nahren was accompanied by an honour guard of five mute Word Bearers, a tight-knit cabal of warriors known as the Bloodsworn. Enusat knew them by reputation. Veterans of Calth, they were the elite of the Third Host, its most favoured sons. The plates of their armour were archaic and ornate, stylised to resemble snarling daemons and gargoyles, and they were liberally hung with trophies, chains and religious icons. Their mouths had been ritually sutured shut with thick consecrated wires. Enusat was no psyker, and his connection to the warp was weaker than many within the Host, yet even so he could feel the presence of fettered daemons lurking within the souls of the Bloodsworn. They were potent warriors, indeed – and they were only five.
Five veterans, perhaps all that remained of the Third Host. Enusat could well understand Nahren’s simmering rage.
Contact had been made, however, with the snub-nosed tug vessel. It had identified itself as the Death’s Head, using old, pre-Isstvan Legion codes. In truth, it had only been those codes that had forestalled his master’s hand. The Dark Apostle had been intrigued.
‘Explain yourself, Death Guard,’ said Kol Badar, speaking into the vox-link. ‘The Vox Dominus is a holy vessel of the Seventeenth Legion. Explain to us how you justify claiming it as salvage.’
The reply was slow in coming, delayed by distance and warp interference. The distorted face on screen crackled and blurred, but the grimace it displayed might once have been classed as a smile, back when the malformed face had been capable of such an expression. Its shoulders rose and fell, and a horrible croak bubbled from the vox-unit.
Hor hor hor.
‘Do I hear this wretched creature right?’ asked Dark Apostle Nahren. ‘Is it laughing at us? Truly?’
‘Our patience wears thin, Death Guard,’ said Kol Badar. ‘Explain yourself. Why is it that we cannot make contact with the Vox Dominus? And how is it that you dare claim a holy vessel of the Seventeenth Legion as salvage?’
The creature’s mouth – or what was left of it – began to move. Its rasping voice rattled through the vox-unit a moment later, completely out of synch with the movement.
‘Most esteemed brethren of the… Seventeenth,’ croaked the voice, ‘I fear you must be… mistaken.’ The words were slow and drawn out, deep and wet. It reminded Marduk of a corpse’s death rattle. ‘My soul-brothers and I… came upon this vessel, that which…. which you declaim as the… Vox Dominus… adrift, lost. Lifeless…’
‘Lifeless?’ erupted Nahren. ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘I can… perceive that our… brethren of the Seventeenth appear vexed by this revelation,’ spoke the Death Guard legionary. It was difficult to judge if his voice was being affected by the poor communication link, or if he actually spoke in this drawn-out, painful manner. Somehow, Marduk suspected the latter. ‘Nevertheless, it is… with… urgh… assurances most sincere that I present unto you the… truth of the matter.’
‘We waste our time communing with this rotting fool,’ said Nahren under his breath. ‘Let us be done with it, and quickly.’
Marduk bowed his head in appeasement. ‘Of course, Dark Apostle,’ he said, soothingly. ‘Once we have established under what circumstances these scavengers came upon the Vox Dominus, we will, of course, ensure you are quickly reunited with your Host.’
The Death Guard legionary continued on, unaware or uncaring of the interruption.
‘…came upon the ship, adrift in the warp – unclaimed… moribund. Flotsam, nought but flotsam. Jetsam drifting… on the tides of the god-sea. All attempts… urgh… were made to contact any remaining crew… gnrrrr…. No response forth came.’
‘This creature is insufferable,’ said Kol Badar, muting his words so that they were not relayed. ‘And to think we once called them brothers.’
‘They are still our brothers,’ said Marduk. ‘They are the blessed children of Grandfather Nurgle, living embodiments of His favour. They are worthy of our respect, though they are clearly misguided in attempting to claim that which is not theirs to claim.’
‘What does he mean, adrift in the warp?’ asked Enusat. ‘The Vox Dominus was only gone for a matter of minutes.’
‘One minute and twenty-seven seconds, adjusted,’ said Kol Badar.
‘Re-open the vox,’ said Nahren. Kol Badar’s gaze flicked to Marduk, who nodded almost imperceptibly. A slight smile tinged his lips as he saw Nahren bristle. No Dark Apostle liked having his orders questioned.
‘Why is it,’ Nahren said, addressing the pixelated, distorted image of the XIV Legion warrior, ‘that you claim the Vox Dominus was lifeless and floating adrift when we all know that is a lie?’
The Death Guard continued to chuckle. It was a horrible wet sound akin to some monstrous amphibian croaking. Or dying. Enusat could not decide.
Hor hor hor.
‘It mocks us,’ said Nahren. ‘Bring your broadsides to bear. They have no void shields. They will soon change their tone.’
‘Do not seek to give me orders,’ said Marduk. ‘You are a guest upon my bridge, Nahren, nothing more.’
Nahren’s dark eyes locked on to Marduk’s. Across the vox, the Death Guard’s chuckle deepened, before descending into a hacking wet cough.
Hor hor urgh.
‘Why is it that you laugh, Death Guard?’ snarled Kol Badar.
‘The Vox Dominus has been gone… urgh… far longer than you seem to understand,’ drawled the foul figure filling the viewscreen.
‘How long?’ said Marduk, turning away from Nahren’s wrathful gaze.
The Death Guard’s answer silenced the bridge.
‘In excess of... three thousand years.’
The Invisus was an ugly brute of a gunship, considerably smaller than a Stormbird. The Host had salvaged it a century earlier during a fire-fight with Red Corsair renegades on the fringe of the Maelstrom. Its paintwork was blistered, peeling and blackened by fire. Hooks and barbs protruded in rows down its body, like the spines of some feral world b
east.
Once, perhaps, it had been nothing more than a cargo-transport, most probably designed to transport mining goods from worlds located precariously close to the borders of reality. In the years since, however, it had undergone considerable modification. The Corsairs had outfitted it with heavy armour plates and shield banks, though it was unarmed but for a pair of forward-mounted lascannons jutting from beneath its nose. It was more a shuttle than a warship.
Though far from the most elegant or powerful of vessels, it had served the Host well since its capture. It had been honoured with the name Invisus and infused with a daemonic entity of a lesser pantheon, giving it a limited, belligerent sentience.
Marduk had a certain affection for it, though he knew it well enough not to fully trust it. It had learned to fear him, but he had no doubt that it would turn on him if it was ever presented with the opportunity. The trick was not to give it that chance. The notion did not overly concern him. It kept things interesting.
The Invisus’s engines gave a throaty growl as fresh blood was smeared across the underside of its fuselage. The wretched attendants undertaking this task hissed and jabbered under their breath as they worked, their repulsive bodies hidden beneath coarse black cloaks and cowls.
Several of the Host’s warriors were moving around the exterior of the Invisus, chanting monotonously as they swung heavy censers back and forth. Thick clouds of incense infused with mind-altering herbs and bone dust billowed out in their wake, curling around the gunship like living tendrils, caressing it and infusing its being.
Marduk cut a jagged gash across his left palm, clenching and unclenching his hand into a fist to get the blood flowing. Intoning a benediction, he placed his bloody handprint upon the face of each of the Host’s warriors who had been chosen to board the Vox Dominus. What they would find was anybody’s guess.
Nahren had already boarded his own shuttle, the Lux Aeterna, impatient to be away, but Marduk would not be hurried.
Eighteen warrior brothers received the Dark Apostle’s blessing, kneeling before him in turn. Enusat was not present, though the Host’s new First Acolyte was accompanying the boarding party. He had already received Marduk’s blessing, and was hooked into the pilot’s throne on the Invisus, joining with it and preparing for launch.
Last to receive Marduk’s bloody handprint was Kol Badar. The Coryphaus stepped forwards to receive his blessing, his thick features set in his customary snarl.
Earlier, Marduk had announced his intention to join the boarding party himself.
‘You cannot,’ the Coryphaus had said with typical bluntness. ‘You are the Host’s Dark Apostle and you are of the Council. We have already lost the Third. The Legion can ill afford to lose two of its Apostles as well.’
‘I appreciate your intent, Marduk,’ said Nahren. ‘But I agree with your Coryphaus.’
‘I would not wish it said that I would not aid a fellow Apostle,’ said Marduk.
‘Your aid is appreciated,’ said Nahren. ‘Let your First Acolyte go in your stead. It would do your Host good to see your faith in him.’
Marduk had bowed his head in respect.
‘It shall be as you suggest, old master,’ he said. The old fool, he thought. That had been easier that he could ever have predicted.
Kol Badar closed his eyes to receive Marduk’s blessing. The Dark Apostle placed his hand upon the Coryphaus’s face, murmuring an orison of blessing. The bloody handprint dried almost instantly upon his flesh, the hyper-coagulants within doing their work.
‘I say again, this is folly,’ said Kol Badar, as Marduk pulled his bloody hand away from the towering warrior’s face.
‘I agree,’ said Marduk. ‘This is a mummer’s farce. But I must be seen to make an effort. And there are relics on board. Weapons. Armour. Ammunition. We cannot simply abandon the ship to the Death Guard.’
‘No good will come of it,’ Kol Badar had said. ‘Mark my words. But I will do as you order, Apostle.’
‘If it is as the Death Guard suggested, salvage what you can. If the ship is still in working order we will give Nahren a skeleton crew and he can limp back to Sicarus with his tail between his legs,’ said Marduk. ‘We will continue on without him.’
‘You think the Death Guard will stand by idly while we do this?’ asked Kol Badar. ‘The Fourteenth Legion are stubborn. They will not relinquish their prize easily.’
‘Then you must convince them,’ Marduk said. He wiped his hand upon his tabard. Already the wound was sealed. He accepted his spike-knuckled gauntlet, held out to him by a hunched, black-robed attendant, and secured it back over his hand. He felt it join with his flesh, and felt once again complete.
‘There is something you are not telling me,’ said Kol Badar, his voice low.
‘You know me too well,’ said Marduk.
‘I am starting to. Well? What is it you are scheming?’
‘Something that will bring the Thirty-Fourth great power.’
‘The Thirty-Fourth, or you?’
‘They are one and the same, are they not?’ Marduk said with a smile. ‘A Host is only as strong as its Apostle.’
Kol Badar grunted noncommittally.
‘It is best that you do not know,’ said Marduk, dropping his smile. ‘But be ready. It may come to pass that there will be the need to spill our brothers’ blood.’
‘The Fourteenth’s? Or Nahren’s?’
‘It would be wise to be ready for any eventuality.’
Kol Badar bowed his head in ascent. ‘As you will it,’ he said.
‘Go with the gods, bearer of the word,’ said Marduk. Kol Badar bowed his head again, then turned and strode away. The Invisus’s assault ramp sealed behind him with a resounding crash, and the gunship’s engine whine rose to an ear-splitting scream.
The Lux Aeterna was the first to leave, launching into the void without further delay. Flames roared as the Invisus rose from the deck and rotated slowly to face the gaping aperture of the launch bay. A glistening, nigh invisible skin was all that kept the roiling madness beyond at bay.
With a braying roar, the shuttle jolted forwards. It slipped effortlessly through the insubstantial barrier, sending ripples across its surface. Half a dozen nimble fighters followed, darting out to act as escort. Within moments, they were gone, swallowed by the void.
Once they were gone, Marduk signalled to Sabtec, the most senior warrior-brother of the Host that had not left with Nahren.
‘It is time,’ said Marduk.
‘Are you sure she will be on board?’ asked Sabtec.
‘She is,’ answered Marduk. ‘And she is waiting for me.’
The Vox Dominus filled their vision as the shuttle approached. It was easy to believe, looking upon it up close, that the ship had weathered three thousand years adrift in the warp as the Death Guard claimed.
Easy for the First Acolyte to believe, at any rate – Dark Apostle Nahren steadfastly refused to countenance the Death Guard’s claim.
The thick armoured plating of the Vox Dominus was heavily corroded, to such a degree in places that the exterior of the ship had been completely eaten away, exposing its dark interior. Rust and verdigris covered those cannon batteries that could be seen; most were completely obscured by strange orange-hued growths. If the ship had lain upon an ocean bed for hundreds of years and dredged up, Enusat imagined it would resemble something like this. It was a decrepit and pitiful shadow of its former glory.
The First Acolyte peered at it through the metre-thick armourglass as he piloted the Invisus. The curved window distorted the Vox Dominus strangely.
‘No evidence of battle damage,’ he noted.
‘No evidence of any life, either,’ said Kol Badar from behind him.
‘That does not mean the Third Host is dead,’ said Enusat. ‘The Dark Apostle believes we may yet find survivors.’
‘I wou
ld not hold my breath,’ said Kol Badar.
‘Nor I,’ said Enusat.
The battleship was in a serious state of decay, but there were none of the tell-tale las-burns, nor the gaping rents that void-torpedoes or cannon broadsides would inflict, to indicate conflict. The only wounds that the immense ship seemed to have were those caused by the passage of time.
Just ahead of the Invisus, Dark Apostle Nahren’s shuttle tracked to starboard, stabiliser jets firing. Target locks flashed in front of Enusat’s retinas, and there was an angry buzzing in the back of his head. The dark soul of the shuttle was urging him to squeeze off a burst of fire at the other ship. He blinked the targeting reticule away, reasserting his dominance. It was always this way with the Invisus. It delighted in testing him.
The two ships were running along the ventral embarkation decks of the Vox Dominus now, checking each in turn. Some onboard systems seemed to remain in operation, and Dark Apostle Nahren believed it might be possible to lift one of the hangar bay shields remotely. Enusat pulled the Invisus in behind the other shuttle, following its lead.
Enusat did not feel it likely that they would find an operational hangar, but he was proven wrong. After manoeuvring beneath the rotting carcass of the Vox Dominus to check the lower aft launch bays, they found what they sought.
The two shuttles drew level beyond the shield of a launch deck on the lower aft side. Its surface was pitted and scarred. Limpet-like growths clung to it.
‘They look organic,’ said Kol Badar, and Enusat was forced to agree. Few living things could withstand lengthy exposure to the void, but it was not unheard of, especially on the shore of the Ocean of Souls.
At a remote impulse from the Lux Aeterna, the immense docking bay began to open. The void rendered the movement perfectly silent, but Enusat could imagine the groan of tortured metal as it lifted for the first time in the gods alone knew how long. Millennia, it seemed.
To Enusat’s surprise, the deck’s shimmering integrity field remained intact. It held the vacuum of space at bay, glistening like quicksilver. The Lux Aeterna passed through, causing it to ripple like the surface of a lake.
Treacheries of the Space Marines Page 29