by George Mann
Now, what was left of the barricade was near useless as a defensive measure and the Chaos forces were coming on in even greater numbers. The traitorous Plague Marines of Empyrion’s Blight had now joined the fray too, perhaps sensing that the Brazen Minotaurs were faltering, and hoping to tip the tide of battle in their own favour. Or perhaps they simply wanted to gloat, and to spill the blood of the righteous.
Daed, of course, would not give them the satisfaction. The Brazen Minotaurs, despite their fallen, were far from finished yet.
He smiled in grim satisfaction at the sight of three golden-armoured land speeders, sweeping across the battlefield, cutting a swathe through the enemy ranks from above. Further back, the remaining three Razorbacks were spitting deadly bolts of energy from their twin-linked lascannons, searing the oncoming enemy until their front ranks had evaporated into gouts of vapour. They had managed to take out one of the bastion’s emplacements, too, buying themselves a respite, although the others continued to bark ceaselessly, spitting rounds indiscriminately into the battle below. The gunners seemed unconcerned with how many of their own troops were caught in the crossfire.
Nearby, Archeos – an ancient Venerable Dreadnought, older than even the Chapter Master himself – was locked in a fierce battle with seven Plague Marines. His ornately decorated armour plating was now scored with deep furrows, and the black cloak of Tauronic lion hide that had been draped across his broad shoulders was now nothing but an ashen stain. Totems and rosaries still clung to his bulky flanks, their tails flickering in the breeze.
The Dreadnought’s power fist was damaged, hanging limply by his side. His heavy flamer, however, was spraying super-heated promethium into the faces of two of the traitors, incinerating them where they stood as Daed watched. Their flaming bodies staggered back, their weapons firing blindly as their hands convulsed. They collapsed in twin heaps, succumbing to the cleansing fire of death.
The other traitors were engaged in attempting to pry Archeos’s casing open with their hand weapons, or pounding him with repeated rounds from their bolters. Daed knew the odds were not in his brother’s favour. He watched as Archeos tried to turn his still-gushing flamer on another of the Plague Marines, but found himself unable to turn as the damaged servos in his legs failed to respond.
Daed hefted his axe and set off at a charge, ready to rush to his brother’s side.
Two daemonkin stood between Daed and his brother, and they turned to face his charge, raising their deadly weapons in order to receive his attack. Daed swung his axe as he closed in, cleaving an arm from the shoulder of the first daemon and sending the limb spinning to the ground. The strange, putrid flesh of the creature began to slough off the joint where the limb had been attached, sliding from muscle and bone to form a rancid pile at its feet.
The daemon showed no sign that it had even acknowledged its injury as it took a swipe at him with its remaining arm, and Daed was forced to batter the blade away with his wrist, trusting to his armour that the blade would not reach his flesh.
The other daemon had by this time shambled forwards, spouting its ceaseless diatribe, and came at him with a stabbing motion that he hadn’t anticipated. He leapt back, dancing out of the way of the blade. He didn’t have time to respond before the one-armed beast took another ponderous swipe, but this time his axe split its skull in two, burying itself all the way down to its gristly chest.
He had no chance to free the weapon before the remaining daemon was stabbing at him again with its dripping sword. He parried with the flats of his hands, knocking the weapon aside. He stepped back, allowing the creature to attack again, and mirrored his earlier defensive move. This time, however, he rushed in close, grimacing as he grabbed the daemon’s head in his hands and wrenched it free from its shoulders with an almighty roar.
The daemon staggered for a moment before falling to its knees, and then forwards onto its chest beside its dead brethren.
Daed reached for the haft of his axe, glancing up just in time to see Archeos receive the full brunt of a barrage from one of the bastion’s heavy weapons.
The Dreadnought’s flamer guttered and died as the arm was blown clean off its shoulder mount, popping and sparking where the electrical components were exposed.
One of the Plague Marines shook and shuddered as it was caught in the crossfire, slumping against Archeos as its pestilent flesh was shredded and the remnants of its ancient, decaying armour were blown clear.
Archeos dropped forwards, his mechanical legs finally failing. The bark of the heavy weapons resounded, and Daed saw cracks appearing in Archeos’s housing as round after round hammered into the Dreadnought. There was nothing he could do.
The vox-bead crackled unexpectedly to life in his ear. ‘Captain Daed?’ The voice seemed hesitant, as if it wasn’t sure if it would receive an answer.
‘Drago,’ said Daed, raising his voice over the din of the battle. ‘What is it?’
‘There are reports of black-armoured figures on the battlefield, sir, near the bastion walls.’
Daed frowned. Was this a new type of enemy he hadn’t yet seen? Or possibly…
‘Go on,’ he said.
Drago hesitated. ‘They came out of nowhere, captain, and disappeared almost as swiftly. They were seen to be despatching the enemy in great numbers.’
Daed felt his spirits lifting. So the sons of Corax had not abandoned them after Kasharat.
‘It seems we have company, Drago, and welcome company at that.’ He hesitated, taking a moment to assimilate the information and the implications of the Raven Guard’s arrival. ‘Continue to push forwards, Drago. Get us to those walls. It’s useless erecting another barricade now. Throw everything we’ve got at those walls. We’ll see this through yet.’
‘Aye, captain. May the Emperor guide your hand.’
‘And yours, brother.’
Daed turned, his bolt pistol in his fist, and swiftly despatched the seven pox-ridden humans who had been trying to sneak up on him while he had been talking to Drago. He didn’t even give them the opportunity to loose off a shot.
Daed’s heart was singing. So, the Raven Guard were here, on Fortane’s World. Perhaps the odds had just altered in their favour.
He glanced over to see the four remaining Plague Marines, still picking over the ruins of Archeos. His mood darkened at the sight of the Ancient’s shattered carapace.
Daed gripped the slender shaft of his power axe. ‘Bast?’
‘Yes, captain?’ came the response, punctuated by the stuttering sound of bolter-fire.
‘With me, Bast. We have retribution to mete out before the hour is done.’
‘Aye, captain. We do that.’
Daed slid his bolt pistol into its holster. He would enjoy cutting these bastards down, feeling his axe cleaving their infected flesh. ‘For the Emperor!’ he cried hoarsely, lowering his head and charging, bull-like, at the enemy.
Koryn
The building was a bleached, skeletal ruin that seemed to grow out of the forest like an organic thing, the remains of some ancient, long-dead beast, now slowly decaying in the shadow of the great carapace. It had likely once been a small, austere outpost building, or possibly a temple – it was difficult to tell from the splintered pillars, broken statuary and shattered walls. The roof had gone and large sections of the remaining structure had collapsed beneath the pounding of mortar-fire. A tall, arched window frame described a jagged smile, the shattered remnants of stained glass still clinging resolutely to the masonry like ferocious teeth.
Koryn had seen a thousand buildings like it before, on as many different worlds, buildings haunted by the travesties that had taken place within their walls. Death had touched this place, and had left behind nothing but a tribute to its own verisimilitude.
It was clear the building had been abandoned long ago, but all around him, Koryn could see evidence of more recent occupation.
Or rather, of a recent battle.
The scattered remains of the dead lay all about the ruined structure. The Guardsmen, Koryn presumed, who had once manned the outpost. One of them lay only a few metres from where he was standing, the corpse already half rotten, decayed flesh around its mouth exposing the grinning teeth and jawbone beneath. Creeping vines had insinuated themselves into the body’s orifices and the stalks of an inquisitive sapling had already erupted through one of the empty eye sockets, drawing sustenance from the putrefied brain matter inside the skull. Colourful blooms of noxious fungi had sprung up around the sites of the Guardsman’s wounds, and Koryn knew that these were not natural but the result of the foul spores that proliferated in the green miasma slowly choking the life out of the planet. The dark god of the traitors had claimed these dead for his own, allowing plague and pestilence to breed inside their husks.
Koryn took a moment to analyse the pattern of the dead, noting where their corpses had fallen, the nature of their wounds, the dropped weapons and broken equipment. It was clear these Guardsmen had not themselves succumbed to the taint to Chaos. At least, not while they had lived. Here, they had defended the outpost until the very last, until it had become too much and they had been overwhelmed by a tide of the enemy’s forces. Judging by the evidence, however, they had taken a number of traitors with them to the grave; the remains of at least one Plague Marine were visible amongst the heaped human cadavers. Its fractured, leering helm jutted out of the earth like some prehistoric skull, only recently unearthed.
Something was wrong, though. There was more to the outpost building than first appeared. Koryn was convinced of it. If pressed, the Raven Guard captain would not have been able to describe the nature of his disquiet, but he had long ago learned to trust his instincts above all else.
Koryn sensed Grayvus moving through the undergrowth nearby, returning to report his findings from a brief reconnaissance of the surrounding area. ‘What did you find, brother?’ he asked.
Silently, Grayvus slid out from behind the dangling branches of a scorched tree on the edge of the clearing, brushing away the sticky webs of sap that trailed from his armour. He came to stand beside his captain. ‘On the other side of the ruins there are signs of a more recent battle, captain,’ he said. ‘A day or two ago at most. Fallen traitors lay amongst the dead, and there is evidence that the enemy are still active in this area. We must tread with caution.’
Koryn nodded in acknowledgement. ‘And the building itself?’ he prompted.
‘I see no sign of any activity, captain, but the fallen masonry provides many opportunities for cover. There may be traitors lurking in the ruins. It appears as if there are still habitable rooms amongst the wreckage.’
‘The entire place has the air of abandonment about it,’ said Koryn thoughtfully, more of a statement than a question.
‘That could be a trap designed to lure us in,’ replied Grayvus. ‘They may yet show their hand.’
‘Indeed,’ said Koryn. ‘As may we.’
‘It will be good to once again spill the blood of our enemies,’ continued Grayvus, and Koryn noted how his grip tightened on his bolter as he spoke.
‘The base of the siege is close now, Grayvus. You will have your chance to avenge our dead. But remember why we are here. Brute strength will not win this battle. If it were simply a matter of slaying the enemy, our presence here would not be necessary – the Brazen Minotaurs are adept in the ways of death. There are few walls that could block their path.’
‘Yet blocked they are,’ said Grayvus, and Koryn was heartened not to hear even a hint of derision in his tone.
‘It is for us, then, to break the deadlock. Not on the open field of battle, but in the shadows, striking at the very heart of the enemy. We will destroy them from within.’
‘From inside the bastion?’ asked Grayvus, quietly.
‘From wherever we are needed,’ replied Koryn.
He had continued to study the ruins as he talked, and had seen no evidence of movement from within. ‘We shall pass through the clearing swiftly,’ he said. ‘Our time runs short. We have only days to break the siege.’
‘Yes, captain.’
‘We will use the ruins as cover while we ascertain the proximity of the enemy. Remain alert.’ Koryn held out his hand and made two gestures in quick succession, knowing that the rest of his squad would be watching from the shadows. Sure enough, he sensed them moving out around him.
The Raven Guard made no sound as they passed; the clearing remained silent save for the distant cawing of birds and the screeching of other, unseen fauna, somewhere deep in the forest behind them.
Suddenly, the chattering report of bolter-fire erupted from somewhere within the ruins, and Koryn heard Kayaan cry out in surprise as his trailing leg was caught by a stray shot, sending him crashing to the ground. Further shots ricocheted off his armour as he rolled for cover, scrabbling for his weapon.
The Raven Guard’s reactions were lightning fast. One moment they were flanking the ruined building, picking their way carefully amongst the fractured pillars on its outer fringes, the next they were inside it, indistinguishable from the shadows and homing in on the source of the enemy fire.
It took Koryn only three steps to reach the inner wall of the complex, and then he was slipping through an opening into the dark interior of the building, the stonework around the hole still blackened and blast-stained from the explosion that had originally formed it. By his sides, his lightning talons crackled in anticipation.
He caught sight of movement to his left: a hulking figure in brilliant, golden armour, brandishing an ornately-worked bolter and carefully surveying the nearby line of trees through a fissure in the brickwork. The figure was not yet aware of Koryn’s ghostly presence in the room.
Acting purely on impulse, Koryn pounced. He sprung from the shadows, his talons raised, seconds away from decapitating the enemy who had fired upon them.
Stop, brother-captain.+
The powerful voice filled his head, accompanied by a strange tickling sensation in the back of his skull, as if tiny spiders were scuttling over his brain.
Psyker, he thought, and a cold shiver passed unbidden down his spine. He felt his skin prickle with gooseflesh beneath his armour.
With a split-second decision, Koryn made a minute adjustment to the angle of his attack, twisting through the air so that one of his talons passed within an centimetre of his target’s faceplate, the other coming down hard and sweeping the bolter from their grip. The weapon clattered noisily to the floor.
Koryn landed neatly and looked up into the face of his opponent, the talons of his left claw resting gently against their gorget, humming angrily as if hungry for spilt blood. One flick of his wrist and they would be dead, their throat gouged out in a spray of gore.
His opponent had not even had chance to react.
Koryn studied the golden-armoured figure before him. His chest-plate was engraved with unfamiliar runes and sigils, but the white pauldrons and bull’s head motif were more easily recognisable. As was the thick, black lion’s mane draped across his hulking shoulders. He stood taller than Koryn, a gilded giant, stocky and broad.
Boldly, the Space Marine raised his arm and battered Koryn’s lightning claw aside. Koryn stood down, a wry smile on his lips behind his flared respirator.
We are not your enemy.+
The uninvited voice boomed once again inside his skull.
We are Brazen Minotaurs. We wish you no ill.+
‘Then why did you open fire on us?’ Koryn growled, his voice low.
‘We wish only to protect our brother,’ said the Space Marine, answering the question that had been directed at the voice in Koryn’s head. ‘Your presence here was not anticipated. You were mistaken for more of the traitors.’
Koryn bristled. The very thought that he and his brothers might have been considered tra
itors was anathema to him. ‘We are here to do the Emperor’s work,’ he said angrily. ‘We are here to aid you in delivering death to the enemies of the Imperium and halting the tide of pestilence that stains this planet, along with its sisters in the Sargassion Reach.’
Then you are welcome, Raven Guard.+
Koryn glanced around. There were two more of the golden-armoured Space Marines in the room, both of them surrounded by Raven Guard who were slowly, cautiously, lowering their weapons. None of them bore the markings of a Librarian. He did not know which of them had spoken to him inside his head.
‘Your concealment was impressive, brothers,’ said Grayvus, begrudgingly. ‘Your presence in the ruins went unremarked until you opened fire upon us.’
‘We do as we must to ensure the survival of our charge,’ replied another of the Brazen Minotaurs – a hulking, broad shouldered figure who dwarfed even Grayvus with his towering form.
The Space Marine before Koryn – who Koryn now realised bore the markings of a veteran sergeant upon his armour – reached up and unclasped his helm, mag-locking it to his thigh. He shook out his long, intricately plaited beard. His skin was tanned and his eyes were almond-shaped and alert. His head was shaved, and he wore two brass studs embedded in his forehead. ‘I am Aramus,’ he said. His accent was thick and clipped, unfamiliar.
‘Shadow Captain Koryn,’ replied Koryn, ‘Of the Raven Guard Fourth.’
‘Welcome to Fortane’s World, Raven Guard,’ said the Brazen Minotaur, with little mirth. ‘Welcome to hell.’
The ruins of the outpost were more extensive than Koryn had initially realised. The structure extended below ground into a small network of passageways and rooms, within which the Brazen Minotaurs had, it seemed, established a temporary base of operations.