“May the Emperor heal his wounds,” whispered Gabriel, staring after the convoy. Matiel just bowed his head in respect.
As the vehicles dropped out of sight, the sound of another engine drifted through the breeze, and Gabriel watched the horizon intently. It didn’t sound like another Rhino, but it was moving much faster than the slow procession that was taking Corallis down for medical care, whatever it was. After a couple of seconds, a red and black Tartaran Chimera crested the summit at high speed, lifting into the air as the angle of the ground flattened out and then crashing back down onto its tracks.
The transport skidded abruptly, sliding in an ugly arc as its momentum pushed it precariously close to the side of the summit, but then its tracks bit into the rocky ground and dragged it towards the Blood Ravens, sending sprinklings of soil and stones cascading over the edge of the peak.
The Chimera rumbled heavily over the corpses that were strewn over the mountain top, squashing them unceremoniously under its thick caterpillar tracks, apparently unconcerned about whether they were Chaos Marines or the smouldering remains of eldar. As the transport ground to a halt in front of Gabriel and Matiel, it left a path of mulched flesh and pools of blood in its wake.
Given the manner of the arrival, Gabriel already knew who to expect when the rear hatch lowered into a ramp and Inquisitor Toth stamped out into the mid-morning sun, dragging Colonel Brom behind him like a beaten dog.
“Captain Angelos, this is insupportable—” began Mordecai, striding straight up to Gabriel and breathing directly into his face.
“Inquisitor Toth,” interrupted Gabriel smoothly. “How nice to see you. As you can see, we have been rather busy, and I should apologise for not finding the time to keep you informed.”
“It is too late for pleasantries,” replied Mordecai, unimpressed by Gabriel’s transparency. “Not only did you break from camp without informing the official representative of the Emperor’s Inquisition, but I am given to understand that you also found and destroyed a potentially valuable alien artefact, before declaring war on an eldar force and then requisitioning a detachment of Brom’s Imperial Guard to oversee your field-station. Needless to say, captain, the Inquisition will not look favourably on these actions.”
“And Colonel Brom, greetings,” said Gabriel, choosing to ignore the tirade from Mordecai—reminding everyone that the inquisitor had no power over the Adeptus Astartes. Brom nodded a brisk greeting and then shrugged his shoulders, perhaps indicating that he was as much a victim of Toth’s umbrage as Gabriel.
“I will not be ignored, Captain Angelos, and you will answer to me. I may not have the power to commandeer your precious Blood Ravens, but I certainly do have the power to have you placed into custody for obstructing the affairs of the Inquisition,” said Mordecai, fuming.
“You overstep yourself, inquisitor,” replied Gabriel quietly, fixing Mordecai with his sparkling green eyes and narrowing them slightly. “I am obstructing nobody. You made it perfectly clear that you had no interest in the events on Tartarus, having already condemned it to the ravages of the imminent warp storm. In this context, I fail to see why it would have been more than mere impoliteness not to inform you of our movements here. If you wish to dispute this matter in the company of the inquisitor lords, then I will be happy to entertain you. But not now—perhaps later. As you can see, there is rather a lot for me to attend to here first. You may notice, for example, the litter of dead Alpha Legionaries strewn over this very mountain top—the very forces of Chaos that you seemed certain did not exist on Tartarus,” finished Gabriel with something of a flourish.
“Yes, captain, it is an impressive sight,” responded Mordecai, recovering his composure and affecting a survey of the scene around him, “but I did not claim that Chaos had never set foot on this planet. I said, rather, that if the forces of Chaos were present, then the impending warp storm would eliminate them for us—saving us from needless conflict, and saving the lives of many of your Blood Ravens and Brom’s Tartarans. Sergeant Corallis, for example, would be alive and well,” he added, twisting the blade.
“Sergeant Corallis is alive,” replied Gabriel from between gritted teeth, “and he will be well.”
“I hope you are right, captain, since his death would be entirely on your conscience. And I would think that your conscience is crowded enough already.” Mordecai did not flinch away from the Blood Ravens captain, even as Gabriel’s muscles bunched in his neck. Sergeant Matiel stepped up to his shoulder, but Mordecai was not sure whether he intended to support or restrain his captain’s anger.
“As I have already explained, Inquisitor Toth, the Blood Ravens will remain until the very last minute—and, until then, we will pursue this unfolding riddle. There is still time—nearly two days,” managed Gabriel, his jaw still knotted in tension.
“Captain, I do not… presume to question your decisions concerning the Blood Ravens.” Mordecai’s words were carefully chosen. “But when it comes to employing the colonel’s Imperial Guard in your quest—”
“My quest!” cried Gabriel, struggling to control his outrage. “Yet again you accuse me of pursuing my own personal agenda, inquisitor. If you were not an agent of the Emperor, I would slay you where you stand for challenging my honour and that of the Blood Ravens. But the badge you hide behind also confers a duty on you, Toth,” said Gabriel, almost spitting the man’s name into his face. “It is your duty, as well as mine, to expunge any scent of heresy or taint of Chaos. My conscience is clear about my duty, is yours?”
“Now, it is you who overstep yourself, captain,” replied Mordecai, flinching inwardly against Gabriel’s words. This captain was not like any he had encountered before: his mind was sharp, and he had turned the tables on one of the Emperor’s inquisitors. The scholarly reputation of the Blood Ravens was not without merit, it seemed.
“Perhaps, but you have overstepped the mark and then marched off into the killing zone: they are not ‘the colonel’s Imperial Guard’. They have sworn their lives to the Emperor, not to Brom and certainly not to you, and it is by His mandate that I employ the Tartarans in this war against the forces of Chaos and the xenos here. Through the glory of this holy battle, I elevate them to a status worthy of their oaths of allegiance.” Better that than run away and hide like cowards, Gabriel added to himself.
“I can see now that coming here to Mount Korath to reason with you was a mistake. If you are set on this path that will lead nowhere except to the destruction of you and your Blood Ravens, then I can do nothing to stop you. But I will not allow you to drag the rest of this planet down with you. By Inquisitorial edict, I am taking control of planet Tartarus—all requests for planetary resources, including its military resources, must be approved by me. Captain, from this point on, you and your Marines are on your own,” concluded Mordecai dramatically, turning immediately and striding back up the ramp into the waiting Chimera.
For a moment, Colonel Brom stood at the foot of the ramp, looking from Gabriel to Mordecai and back again. The inquisitor’s voice boomed down the ramp, “Brom!” and the colonel looked up at Gabriel, apparently searching for a sign.
“Go,” said Gabriel quietly, releasing him. “Make sure that the spaceport at Magna Bonum is held against the orks until the last of the civilians are evacuated.”
The eldar force, arrayed in all of its glory, swept across the valley floor like a bristling dam of lethal weaponry. The gates of Lloovre Marr had been slammed shut hours before, and the remaining defenders of the capital city had hastened to the gun emplacements in the great wall. It was a testament to the tumultuous history of Tartarus that all of its major cities were walled—and Lloovre Marr was no exception.
The sheer, white walls curved around the southern perimeter of the city in a sweeping semi-circle. Each end butted up against the high cliffs of the Lloovre valley, and the northern sectors of the capital had been built in a great cave, scooped out of the rock itself. This unusual defensive design had withstood the test of time, and
Lloovre Marr had only ever fallen once in its whole history: a revolt had erupted within the city walls, and the governor had been unable to escape the bloodshed, trapped in the impregnable fortress. Since then, a complicated system of tunnels and caves had been dug into the cliffs, in case the rulers of Tartarus ever needed to escape again.
Looking out on the awesome might of the Biel-Tan craftworld—the Bahzhakhain, the Swordwind, the Tempest of Blades, a maelstrom of alien power, silent, beautiful, and breathtaking—the leaders of Tartarus could have been forgiven for taking to the caves at once.
However, the leaders had already fled the city. The governor had been on the first transport to Magna Bonum, and then on the first shuttle to the Litany of Fury, when he had received word from Inquisitor Toth that the warp storm was on its way. The ruling council had left a skeleton force of Imperial Guardsmen behind to defend the city against looters and pirates until the storm broke. Then they would be airlifted off the surface by a Blood Ravens’ Thunderhawk.
Looters and pirates were one thing, the Swordwind army of the Biel-Tan was something else entirely. There were one hundred Guardsmen lining the walls of the city, and a smattering of others throughout the streets of the capital itself; not one of them had ever even seen an eldar before in their lives. Now they could see more of them than they had ever wanted to.
A single, impossibly elegant figure strode forward of the eldar line. Her slender and shapely body appeared to be female, but she was taller than most men. Her emerald green robes flowed out behind her like water, and the white detailing seemed to dance over the cloth, as though it was merely the echo of a life being lived in another dimension. A veil fluttered around her face, shedding the vaguest glimpses of an unearthly beauty beyond. In her hand she carried a long, simple staff. It was nearly two metres in length and perfectly smooth from one end to the other. It appeared to be completely without decoration. But it moved, or rather, it seemed to move. It was as though it was a tiny tear in the fabric of space, the merest crack in a window to another realm. The mid-afternoon light just seemed to fall into it, as though being sucked out of this world altogether. And something on the side moved, curdling and gyrating in a world of pure energy, pushing up against the tear, eager to break through.
The figure opened her arms to the city, holding them wide as though trying to take in the whole of Lloovre Mar. And then her voice was heard by everyone. Each of the Guardsmen stopped their preparations for war and listened, struck by the angelic lilt of the feminine voice. It was as though they didn’t have to listen at all, as though the voice just slipped directly into their heads, delicately caressing their ears with the idea of sound.
People of Lloovre Marr, I bring you a choice, said Macha, letting her thoughts drift across the valley and into the city. And choice is the greatest gift that you can receive from anyone. For a moment, the farseer thought about her own life and that of Jaerielle. Indeed, the whole of the Path of the Eldar was premised upon the annihilation of choice. Choice brought selfishness. And selfishness was the beginning of the end. But still, even a farseer had choices to make—the future was not an uncomplicated place. Either you open the gates and leave the city… or you die where you stand. The choice is yours, but choose, and choose now.
Macha lowered her arms and stood quietly between the Swordwind of Biel-Tan and the walls of Lloovre Marr. Nobody moved. Her army stood perfectly motionless behind her, only the banners of the Biel-Tan fluttered in the wind that swept through the valley: crisp white flags bearing a golden rune, Treraum, and a crimson heart.
In the main line, the Storm squad and Defender squads shone in pristine white psycho-plastic armour, with elongated green helmets glinting in the sun. Behind them were the wraithguard, towering over their living brethren in inverted colours: green, wraithbone armour and white helmets. And in front were the Aspect Warriors, resplendent in the brightly coloured uniforms of various shrines. At various points throughout the formation were the sleek, deep green Falcon tanks and a few Vyper weapons platforms, each flanked by a couple of jetbikes.
On the city wall, the Guardsmen gradually realised that something was expected of them. Shaking their heads to clear their minds of the sweet invasion, they glanced up and down the battlements, looking to each other for ideas. None dared be the first to move. All of the senior officers had already left the city, and the soldiers needed their leadership more than ever.
Then, simultaneously, two different decisions were made. One Guardsman, Bobryn, started to work the release mechanism for the gate, reasoning that Tartarus was already doomed and therefore not worth dying for at this late stage. And another, Hredel, opened fire from his autocannon platform.
As the first shots rang out through the valley, Macha turned and walked back into the midst of her army. She shook her head sadly: humans, she thought, both the hope and the bane of the galaxy.
From their vantage point, high in the walls of the Lloovre valley, Chaos Lord Bale and the sorcerer Sindri watched the eldar force assemble at the gates of the capital city. Their own force of Alpha Legionaries was collected into the deep cave in the cliffs, where the Chaos Marines fumed in frustrated silence. Great fires had been lit, and swirls of noxious smoke filled the close air of the cavern, smothering the oxygen with a blanket of burning flesh.
The broken remains of eldar warriors were strewn over the cave floor, their armour cracked open and their flesh scooped out like giant shellfish. The thin, slender bodies of the eldar were broken and cast into the fires; there was precious little meat on them and they tasted disgusting, but they made pungent firewood.
“The eldar will take the city quickly, sorcerer,” said Bale, emerging out of the smoky cave to join Sindri on the ledge outside. The smoke and the corpses in the cavern had put his soul at ease, but fury remained bubbling beneath the surface of his composure.
Sindri nodded without looking round. His eyes were fixed on the distant scene to the north. The white walls of the city shimmered slightly in the sunlight, but the Biel-Tan army was a blaze of reflections and star-bursts before them. The rumble of cannon fire had already started, and Sindri was sure that he had caught the scent of a voice in the air before it had all begun. Tiny bursts of fire were visible in the walls as the heavy weapons platforms flared with activity, and the eldar lines had begun to swim with motion. And, unless his eyes were deceiving him, the great gates of Lloovre Marr were lying open in the centre of the wall.
“Yes, my lord. The eldar will take the city. But it is of no concern to us. We need not race against our guides, Lord Bale,” said Sindri smoothly.
“You’d better be right about this, sorcerer,” replied Bale, his voice tinged with his natural disgust for scheming and his frustration about watching combat without being able to reap the carnage himself.
“We do not need to be there yet. But when the time comes, we will move swiftly,” said Sindri calmly. “Then you will have your bloodletting.”
Bale inspected the territory between their cave and the city walls. Even for Chaos Marines the distance was too large for a swift attack. It would take them several hours to traverse the valley, and they would be clearly visible to the guards on the city wall—especially if those guards were eldar rangers. Launching a rapid strike would not be possible from this position, and the Alpha Legion would be humiliated yet again by Sindri’s meddling schemes.
“I do not like this, sorcerer. I do not place my faith in the hesitant or the probable—it is better to feel the certainty of my scythe than the inconsistency of your reassurances.” The effects of the smoke were wearing off, and Bale’s temper was rising yet again.
“Patience, my lord,” soothed Sindri. “We do not have to cross the valley.” He turned back towards the cave and pointed vaguely towards the entrance. A thick blanket of smoke hung across it like a curtain, but only the smallest wisps were escaping into the air outside.
“Where do you think all of that smoke is going?” asked Sindri coaxingly.
“I don’
t have time for your games, sorcerer. And neither do you,” menaced Bale, unamused by Sindri’s rhetoric.
“The smoke is being drawn further into the cave, my lord, because there is a network of tunnels beyond. A network that leads right into the heart of Loovre Marr—I was given a map many years ago, by a… friend in the governor’s office. When the time comes, the Alpha Legion will already be in the city. There will be no storming through the valley and no cumbersome siege of the city walls… At least not by us,” added Sindri cryptically.
Looking from Sindri to the battle and then back again, Bale snorted an agitated acknowledgment. It did sound like a good plan, but Bale would believe it when he saw it happen. Until then, the sorcerer lived on borrowed time. Turning suddenly, Bale strode back through the curtain of smoke and disappeared into the interior of the cave.
The script on the menhir was different from that on the altar in the crater: it contained the characteristic angles and runic curves of an eldar tongue. Isador had searched the stone for a long time before he had found it, for it was not literally on the surface of the rock at all. Rather, the markings swam just underneath the surface, all but invisible to the eyes of men. They had been etched into the essence of the menhir itself, not hacked and carved into the mundane rock like the clumsy scribblings of cultists.
The Librarian had pressed himself against the rock and felt the residue of a soul oscillating deep within, as though the eldar artisan had left a fragment of herself to imbue the stone with meaning and life. As his mind tuned in to the gentle pulsing of the rock’s rhythm, the script had begun to flicker into life, glowing with an unearthly blue somewhere inside. It was as though the material of the huge rock had gradually shifted into translucence, revealing a liquid heart in which an ancient message swam like the memory of stars.
[Dawn of War 01] - Dawn of War Page 19