by Mark Clapham
‘I regret to inform you that my knowledge of this world is limited,’ admitted Anto, hissing under his helmet. ‘This place… It is beyond my experience. I am gathering intelligence, but nothing of use yet.’
‘I hope your schemes prove more fruitful, Garreon,’ barked Huron, turning his attention to the Corpsemaster.
‘I aim only to serve my lord as best I can,’ said Garreon.
‘No answer,’ said Huron. ‘Are there some secret schemes behind your lack of words, Garreon, or do you simply have nothing to contribute?’
Before Garreon could add anything, Huron turned his attention to Valthex. The Techmarine had known this would come.
‘And you, Valthex?’ asked Huron. ‘Can you tell me any more than these two?’
‘My lord, I have stretched my knowledge beyond its boundaries to manipulate the technology of these Hollow Worlds to get us this far,’ said Valthex. ‘Yet from here on, I can only hope to learn from this place, so that I might serve you better in future.’
‘What of that future can you possibly know, Valthex?’ snapped Huron, spinning around to face his inner circle. ‘What can any of you know? What use will you be when I have the power I seek? What purpose do you serve your lord then?’
Not waiting for an answer, Huron continued his ascent with great strides, leaving Valthex and the others to continue behind him, unsure of their own fates.
As Pranix’s army marched towards the hilltop fortress, they were joined by others scattered by the mysterious forces that had brought them to Exultance. Cheng saw squads of Tallarns riding their red-lizard creatures emerge from valleys, Space Wolves clamber over ridges, even the Cadian Kretschman, all joining Pranix’s force wordlessly, drawn together by the psychic presence that connected them all on Exultance.
Cheng did not hope to understand it, but marched in silence, carrying a silver bolt pistol, a symbol of his office he hadn’t used until the battle on Threshold. He wouldn’t be using it again here, considering the uselessness of firearms on Exultance, but its presence gave him some sense of security.
He was an old man, a leader but a distant one, giving orders from afar, and yet here he was at the centre of his system, discovering that the Hollow Worlds were not as he had understood them. He had grown up in the system, the scion of one of the great families, and he had always taken the nature of the Hollow Worlds for granted, that they were what they called them – worlds.
Within Exultance, Cheng began to see how they could be considered something else. Exultance was as sterile as the inside of a machine, without any plant or insect life, no weather or wind. The features of the landscape that mimicked a normal environment – the diamond deserts and crystal trees – seemed more a mockery of life than anything else.
This system was his home, he was its ruler in the Emperor’s name, but now he felt alienated from the Hollow Worlds, unsure as to whether humans should even live there.
‘Our enemies approach, Lord Huron,’ said Anto as they approached the doorway of the fortress.
‘At last, usable intelligence,’ said Huron. ‘Not that it is of any consequence. Taemar will deal with them.’
The scale and shape of the doorway indicated it was designed for some species other than humanity, towering over even Huron Blackheart, yet also wider than it was long and curved to inhuman dimensions. The door itself was made not of wood, or metal, but an impenetrable blackness as dark as night that filled the space within the door frame. Valthex inwardly cursed his inability to scan the door, left as he was with only his own biological senses to try to interpret this phenomena.
While Valthex and the others hesitated, Huron did not, walking into the solid blackness without even extending a hand before him as he did so. Garreon followed, as did Anto. As Valthex walked through the blackness he experienced a moment’s dislocation, then he was inside.
‘Everything is as I was told,’ said Huron, shortly ahead of them. ‘It is perfect.’
The interior of the fortress was not dissimilar in character to the Orrery, but on a far larger scale. It was almost perfectly spherical, peaking in the dome above and curving down below the semi-transparent floor they stood on. The walls were a burnished gold covered in shifting symbols that moved like oil on glass, ripples of energy constantly passing over them. Around the edge of the chamber were supporting pillars of stone, while at the centre the transparent floor was pierced by a central stone column that reached from the top to the bottom of the sphere. The column glowed with an inner light, crackles of energy running over its surface.
Around that central column floated objects animated by unseen forces, although ‘objects’ did not do them justice. Some seemed to be solid, mechanisms incomprehensible even to Valthex’s knowledge, while others were made of pure energy and looked almost alive. Others were small portals, openings in space through which other worlds could be seen, landscapes of distant places. Flares of energy reached out from the central column to connect with these objects, then dissipated.
Huron walked between these floating anomalies, utterly untroubled, the spheres and squares and slashes that rotated around the fortress simply drifting past him, while Valthex, Garreon and Anto had to weave around them. Having been in the Orrery when Huron cast the Wolf Lord into one of the spheres, Valthex had no desire to be obliterated in the same fashion.
As Huron walked towards the column at the centre of the chamber it opened, blossoming into a thousand suspended fragments of rock sculpted into impossible shapes, revealing an intense light at the core.
‘We are at the heart of a star that feeds suns, the power source for this whole system of worlds,’ said Huron. The intensity of the light was building now, and it seemed as solid as the darkness that they had stepped through to enter this chamber, a physical presence that began to reach towards Huron as he approached, fingers of energy stretching out towards him.
‘Here is the power to fold space in on itself, to forge whole worlds, and to destroy them,’ said Huron, reaching out to meet its touch with the Tyrant’s Claw. The energy wrapped around it, crawling up his arm as he began to step into the growing light.
As Huron was consumed by the light, Valthex could hear Anto chanting his sorcerous incantations, though whether it was in worship or self-defence he couldn’t tell. Garreon for his part was utterly impassive.
There was now only the light with the vaguest hint of Huron’s presence at its core, and around that light spun the shards of the column, the rock glowing from within, sparks flying between each fragment, in and out of the light. Across the chamber, the floating objects and portals and energy shapes became more and more agitated, and the walls of the chamber seemed to stretch outwards, the light coursing through the shifting symbols as they changed at greater speeds. Here, at the centre of the Hollow Worlds, devices beyond even Valthex’s comprehension were coming to life, driven by Huron’s will.
At the centre, Huron Blackheart was barely visible, but his voice was louder, coming from everywhere.
‘This power, it burns,’ boomed Huron from all around. He was the chamber. He was Exultance.
‘And that power is mine.’
Twenty-Eight
Rotaka looked up from his position in the rocky lands at the base of the hill to see the fortress above lit from within. It sounded like a thunderstorm was breaking out in there, but Rotaka was not concerned. He had faith now, and he believed that whatever Huron did with the power he found up there, it was the correct thing to do.
He even had faith in Taemar’s leadership, because Huron did.
What did concern Rotaka was the Red Corsairs’ ability to defend that hilltop fortress from the incoming forces of the Imperium. A significant number of Red Corsairs who rebelled against Huron had been killed on Threshold, leaving less than fifty alive on Exultance, and no squad unbroken by casualties and treachery. Taemar had spread the survivors across the area around the approa
ch to the hilltop fortress, taking cover behind rocky outcrops and lying in wait for their enemies. It was a sound defensive position, the raised ground giving them clear views of the crystal forests and distant deserts. When the enemy emerged, the Corsairs would see them coming.
The Space Wolves, however, in spite of their losses in the Orrery and in the Valley of Blades, were still many in number, and their feral nature would make them more dangerous, not less, when stripped of the ability to use firearms and forced to engage with fist and claw.
‘They are coming through the forest,’ shouted Taemar. ‘Prepare yourselves.’
At least, Rotaka thought, they did not need to cover every approach. Whatever quality of Exultance allowed them to sense the presence of others, it meant that they knew exactly which direction the Space Wolves and their mortal allies would come from.
Rotaka wished he had a full squad under his command, even though he knew now that those sacrifices had been necessary. He looked at Hulpin and Wuhrsk, the former muttering prayers to his gods, the latter simply standing still, waiting.
They were few, but they were united in their loyalty to Huron Blackheart.
That unity would be enough to stop these dogs in their tracks.
There was no point in subterfuge. If Anju and the other loyalists could feel where the Red Corsairs were gathered, then the Corsairs too would be aware of the mass of Space Wolves and mortals coming for them.
‘Let these traitors know who they face today!’ shouted Anvindr as the Space Wolves ran full tilt through the crystal forest. A great howling roar rang out from the Space Wolves, a blood curdling feral war-cry that was so loud Anju almost expected the trees to shatter. Added to that cry were the ragged cheers of Tallarns, Cadians and Lastrati alike, the mortals charging in the wake of the Space Wolves.
The light at the end of the crystal forest approached. Beyond lay the rocky, steadily rising area around the hill and the fort, and the enemy. Not long now.
Sergeant Anju Badya had never ridden into battle without a gun to fire before. She knew that if she fell into hand-to-hand combat with the Corsairs, she would be torn limb from limb.
At least she had Folly. The Tallarns who had travelled to Threshold from the Lightward side of the system, the riders who still had their horses, had looked askance at the bird-lizard things ridden by the mortals who had survived the conflicts on Kerresh, but had ceased any mockery when they saw how the alien mounts efficiently ran at a pace to match the powered vehicles of the Imperium, heading through the jungles on that world.
Here, on Exultance, they all rode together, mortal riders flanking the mass of Space Wolves who marched on foot.
Was this the battle where Badya would be needed, the reason she had survived so long? Folly’s namesake, Folkvar, had thought such an event would come soon.
As they burst from the forest, Sergeant Anju Badya, last survivor of her squad of riders, only loyalist survivor of the battle of the Valley of Blades, a marksman without a gun, just hoped to live long enough to be of some use.
Although both sides knew in their guts where the others were, the Red Corsairs still clung to what little element of surprise they could leverage, waiting in cover to attack the Space Wolves at the last possible moment.
The traitor who burst out of cover behind a boulder, fists raised and swinging a punch straight at Anvindr’s head, only surprised him with the fact that those fists were on fire.
Anvindr dodged the blow, a streak of green flame following the Corsair’s fist as it passed close to his exposed face. The heat of it seared the bristles of his beard, and he felt something worse from that near contact, the corruption of Chaos. He already had his chainsword drawn – while bolters and lasrifles did not work on Exultance, more crude mechanical weapons did – and swung it upwards, thumbing the button to bring the teeth whirring into life.
The Corsair caught the blade in his hands, a move that should have lost him his fingers, but instead contact with the green flame caused the chainsword to seize up, spluttering and smoking as the teeth stopped moving.
‘Weapons cannot harm blessed Becaro,’ the Corsair leered, gripping both sides of the chainsword and pushing it downwards. The green flame was spreading down the blade, and Anvindr could feel the heat through his gauntlets. ‘The gods are with me.’
‘Your gods are nothing,’ growled Anvindr, letting the chainsword fall from his hands and swinging a punch at his attacker. Around them Corsairs and Space Wolves were clashing, the air filling with the noise of metal and ceramite crashing into each other, the roar of battle.
Becaro dropped the chainsword and wove out of the way of Anvindr’s punch, one hand grabbing hold of Anvindr’s wrist, the other lunging for his throat. The green flame had the same paralysing effect on Anvindr’s body as it had on the chainsword, and he felt his airways seize up, the muscles in his neck and arm locking. A searing horror began to burn into him, flames spreading up his face, heat coursing through his body. His left hand struggled to tear Becaro’s iron grip from his throat, but there was an unnatural power to his hold. The green fire was rising over Anvindr’s entire face, blurring his vision as the heat stung his eyes.
‘You see, now,’ hissed Becaro, pulling the struggling Anvindr towards him. ‘My gods are real. Their power is real and pure. It is you who are the heretics.’
Anvindr stopped pulling away and pushed forwards instead, moving with Becaro so that his head slammed into the Corsair’s face. Becaro released his hold on Anvindr, staggering backwards and shaking away the green flame that was now clinging to his own features. His own head still ablaze, Anvindr didn’t stop to put the unnatural fire out, dropping to his knees to seize his fallen chainsword, swinging it around as it sprang back to life.
Becaro’s eyes showed genuine shock at his imminent defeat, just before the chainsword embedded itself in the side of his head.
The flame that burned Anvindr died as its wielder did. His face felt scorched and raw, and Anvindr was sure most of his beard and hair were burned to stubble, but he had no time to tend his wounds, swinging his chainsword around to find his next opponent.
Dumas Cheng had no horse or other mount, and would not have known how to ride one even if he had pulled rank and requisitioned one. In spite of his best efforts to keep pace, he had drifted towards the rear of the marching Space Wolves and mortals. The juvenat treatments over the years had helped him maintain some facade of relative youth, but he was still, beneath it all, an old man.
One accident of drifting to the rear was that, as the Red Corsairs and Space Wolves clashed, Cheng had a wide view of the battle.
He remembered then what Pranix had told him back in the Gatehouse, just before his abduction – that the combat of demigods was an awesome sight, but one too dangerous to get close to.
Denied firearms, the traitors and the Space Wolves clashed with swords, axes, clubs and even their gauntleted fists. The sound was thunderous and the field of battle at the base of the hill echoed with a cacophony of clashing metal as blows were engaged at terrifying speed.
At the periphery of the battle, the mortals did their best. The Tallarn riders rode at a distance, throwing the sharp crystalline rocks they had gathered in their saddlebags, trying to provide some distraction, making the Red Corsairs vulnerable.
It was a brave tactic, but futile. Cheng saw one Red Corsair pluck a thrown rock out of the air, and in one smooth motion throw it back with sufficient force that it caved in the side of the rider’s skull.
On one side of the field, a group of three Corsairs surged forwards, pushing past the Space Wolves briefly, and were met by a dozen Lastrati wielding swords and other weapons. Cheng found himself unable to look as the Corsairs batted aside the Lastrati’s weapons, seizing the arms that held them and tearing those limbs out of their sockets.
No. Cheng forced himself to look, and take in the sacrifice his subjects were making.
Then he raised his ceremonial sword, bellowed an arcane war-cry and charged forwards, so that he too might provide some small resistance to these monsters.
It was Anvindr who saw it. In their eagerness to descend upon the mortals who dared stand against them, the Red Corsairs had pushed forwards too far, spreading themselves too thinly to block all routes to the fortress. In spite of the shouted exhortations from an axe-wielding Corsair to hold the line, that line had been over-extended, and had a weakness.
That weak point would break, and from there the Space Wolves could reach the path up to the fortress.
‘Inquisitor,’ said Anvindr.
Pranix was nearby, encircled by Space Wolves, including Anvindr’s own squad. The inquisitor was not defenceless by any means, unleashing blasts of psychic energy from his staff to drive back any Corsairs who got close to him, but whatever lay at the top of that hill, Pranix was their best hope of stopping it.
At Anvindr’s word, Pranix looked past him, and saw the opening. He nodded to the Space Wolf, and they charged forwards, Anvindr raising his chainblade.
Most of the Space Marines on both sides had abandoned their helmets, as the atmosphere of Exultance had rendered their displays useless. Anvindr swung his chainblade into the face of a helmless Red Corsair, tearing through the traitor’s face, half taking his jaw off.
The Corsair looked up at Anvindr, something close to joy in his eyes, then batted aside the chainsword to slam a chainfist into the Space Wolf’s face, the blades whirring and clicking against Anvindr’s free arm as he blocked the incoming blow.
Then the Corsair was being pulled off Anvindr, Tormodr slamming into the wounded Red Corsair, pulling him over and punching the traitor repeatedly in the face, blood trailing off his gauntleted knuckles.
‘Get the inquisitor to the Tyrant,’ said Tormodr. ‘This traitor was one of my jailers, and I owe him.’