‘Away. It’s an ambush.’ One of the other raiders exploded, filling the conduit with fire and smoke. Chunks of burning metal rained down across her vessel. The billowing smoke momentarily hid the advancing Space Marines from sight.
‘If you flee now, we may never get another opportunity like this – you must breach that gate,’ Hexachires snarled. ‘He is there! I know it!’
‘He who? What are you talking about?’ Avara kept her pistol trained on the wrack, but suspected she wouldn’t be given the opportunity to fire. One twitch, and it would slice open her throat.
Avara looked around. Beraq and the rest of her warriors seemed hesitant to get involved.
‘Give me one good reason I shouldn’t save my own skin while I have the chance.’
‘Because if you do, I will order my servants to end your pitiful life here and now.’ Even as he spoke, more of the winged wracks swooped down to land atop the deck or the ethersail. They crouched like ugly birds, their saw-edged blades gleaming, their faces hidden behind their black helms. They seemed unconcerned by the bolter fire.
‘Even if we do breach those gates there aren’t enough of us to do much more than die,’ she protested. ‘We don’t have the numbers…’
‘You will. Now go!’
His image vanished, but the wrack stayed where it was, its blade resting against the hollow of her throat.
‘Fine,’ she spat. ‘I’ll do as he asks. Now take your blade from my throat.’
The wrack nodded and stepped back. But it didn’t sheathe its weapon. Nor did the others.
She bent back to her task. In moments, her raider had freed itself and was arrowing ahead, through the smoke. The first of the mon-keigh burst through the pall a moment later, sprinting after them with alarming speed. More followed.
She could hear the screams and howls of the other crews, as they tried to follow her and were overwhelmed. She didn’t look back. Gigantic shapes in garish armour loped alongside her vessel, not quite fast enough to leap on, but swift enough to keep up. They were hideous things, ravaged by excess and mutation. They bellowed what she took to be obscenities as they pursued her raider down the conduit. Some fired their weapons.
As if a signal had been given, all of Hexachires’ wracks, save the one beside her, sprang into the air and swooped down on her pursuers. In moments, both sides were lost in the smoke. From somewhere ahead came the dull chunter of mon-keigh assault weapons.
Her monocle relayed data from the scrum. Hexachires’ monstrosities had nearly overwhelmed the defences, such as they were. Unfortunately, the heavy gates, made from repurposed bulkheads, were still standing.
But not for long.
She diverted the remaining power from the night shields, hoping to get just a bit more power to the engines.
‘You’re not going to do what I think you’re going to do,’ Beraq said, as the raider picked up speed.
‘You have a better idea?’ Avara said.
‘Yes, we go the other way!’
‘Too late for that,’ Avara said. She bent forward, bracing for the impact to come. Beraq and the others did the same.
While raiders were fairly lightweight vehicles, built for speed rather than endurance, their armoured prows were heavy enough to crunch through most forms of barricade or bulwark.
Sometimes you had to dig the prey out, before you could have your fun.
The raider speared through the ranks of Hexachires’ creations, scattering them in all directions. The prow slammed into the gates, and the metal hinges buckled with a resounding groan. Slowly but surely, the raider forced the gates askew, half tearing them from their anchor-points. Sparks and splinters rained down across the deck.
Avara was nearly thrown from her perch as the raider slewed wildly, its anti-grav engines sputtering. ‘Hold on,’ she cried, as the prow struck the courtyard and the vessel tipped dangerously – only to right itself at the last moment. The courtyard was barren of anything save the ornate structure of the webway node, rising high above them and a horde of the mon-keigh’s mechanical slaves, who advanced from all sides.
‘What now?’ Beraq asked, clambering to his feet.
‘We fight,’ Avara said. She heard a hum behind her and turned. ‘Wait – the ethersail,’ she said. ‘It’s activating.’ She scanned the mechanism with her monocle. As the data scrolled across her display, a slow smile of realisation spread across her features. ‘That clever bastard is using it to triangulate our position – just like a webway keystone.’
She laughed.
‘We’re getting those reinforcements after all!’
Chapter Eleven
Face to Face
‘They’re coming through,’ Gorel said, falling back from the webway node. There was no trace of concern in his voice. The idea that a pack of poxy xenos pirates could be of any real threat to a being such as himself was ridiculous. He had the blood of demigods in his veins – though he wasn’t exactly sure which ones. It didn’t matter anyway. He was the last of that particular brotherhood. He’d made sure of it.
‘Good. I want them to.’
Fabius was as infuriatingly calm as ever. He had a habit of pretending that even the most exceptional setback was nothing more than a part of some greater stratagem. He stood firm, one hand on his sceptre, the other resting on the holstered shape of his needler. Marag stood beside him, arms folded into the voluminous sleeves of his robes. Behind them, the ranks of war-mutants waited with twitching impatience.
Gorel checked his bolt pistol and holstered it. He tapped at his gas cylinders, inhaling a lungful, and felt a corresponding surge of strength. His concoctions were unique – each one the work of centuries of experimentation. That Fabius was the one on whom they’d bestowed the appellation of ‘Chem-Master’ still stung – as if Fabius truly knew anything about the alchemical arts.
He looked around. Mutants waited behind improvised barricades, their weapons aimed at the shuddering node. They were afraid, or so his biometric scans insisted. But their fear of Pater Mutatis was greater than their unease about whatever was on the other side of the node. He snorted, annoyed by their devotion. Annoyed by the situation.
Fabius annoyed him. Infuriated him.
Idly, Gorel activated his armour’s tactical array. Targeting runes settled over Fabius and Marag, and he considered the consequences of potential actions. He’d considered killing Fabius – and Marag, come to that – more than once, down the centuries. In every instance, the timing had been inopportune, or the consequences unfavourable. At the moment, it was both. And yet, the temptation was there.
It was as if something were whispering to him. A little voice in the back of his head. Not a daemon, for he’d dealt with them often enough to recognise their scent when he caught it. No – this was something else. Maybe it was simply the insanity he knew lurked in his blood. They were all insane. Fabius, most of all. One could not survive in the Eye of Terror with sanity intact.
Perhaps that explained why they were standing here now, waiting to be attacked by a bunch of pan-dimensional parasites. Gorel preferred less confrontational solutions to such issues – if it had been up to him, they would have simply sealed every webway gate and waited out the xenos.
Then, if it had been up to him, he would never have gone to Commorragh in the first place.
A sound like someone – something – knocking interrupted his reverie. His hand fell to his pistol as he studied the webway gate. ‘Maybe we should have had some of Savona’s lackeys in here with us,’ he said.
‘Bellephus is on the other side of the gate,’ Marag pointed out. Gorel glared at him. Obsequious Marag. Studious, servile Marag. The Clonelord’s toady. Gorel had little tolerance for many of those who considered themselves his peers – Marag most of all. Zorzi was a close second, but Marag was the worst of them. At least Zorzi was a competent botanist. Marag was nothing more than
a scavenger, picking over the bones of others’ genius.
‘He might be dead, for all we know,’ Gorel said. ‘The data-feeds cut out after they struck the gate.’ And not just in the webway. Communication systems across the planet were jammed. They’d even lost contact with Zorzi and the turncoat – not that either was much of a loss, in Gorel’s estimation. He looked at Fabius. ‘Your brilliant scheme is unravelling.’
‘Do you recall that old Terran saying about plans and enemies?’ Fabius said, without looking at him. ‘No plan, however brilliant, survives contact with the enemy. A wise commander factors such failures in to his preparations.’
‘Meaning?’ Gorel demanded. But Fabius did not elaborate further. Gorel gnashed his teeth in frustration, but kept his annoyance to himself. Fabius had always liked his little word games, showing off his knowledge of music, of literature – as if an awareness of such trivia elevated him above his fellow butchers.
Again, the booming knock. The whole node shuddered. Gorel’s sensors detected a change in the atmosphere.
‘The gate is opening,’ he said.
‘Observant as ever, brother,’ Marag murmured.
Gorel turned. ‘Marag, if you do not shut that gaping wound you call a mouth, I’ll–’
Before he could finish his threat, the webway node began to shiver and crack. Light seeped through the cracks, growing brighter as they widened. Fabius straightened.
‘At last,’ he said. ‘Took them longer than I estimated.’
Gorel turned away from the gate, expecting it to explode. Instead, Fabius tapped a discrete rune on his vambrace. The gate’s surface seemed to melt away, revealing a horde of horrors on the other side. They had been human once. Now they were broken things, stitched and flayed and sculpted into beings built for battle.
‘Kill them,’ Fabius said.
The mutants opened fire. Autoguns, lasguns, even the occasional needle weapon. They had enthusiasm, but little in the way of fire discipline.
Gorel cursed as an auto-round glanced off his helm. ‘Tell them to watch their fields of fire,’ he snarled, glaring at the nearest overseer.
Despite the lack of accuracy, the volley did its job. The first wave of invaders was dead before they crossed the threshold. So was the second, and the third. But more pressed forward, and these were made of sterner stuff – armour plating and hardened bones, from the looks of it.
‘That’s the chattel finished,’ Gorel said. ‘Now comes the assault wave.’ The creatures were nearly of a size with the war-mutants, and studded with contact ports and chem-hoses. Behind them were iron-masked drukhari warriors, clad in tattered robes and bearing curious weapons. Wracks, Fabius had called them.
‘No. Now comes answers.’ Fabius struck the floor with his sceptre and shouted something that Gorel’s vox-system struggled to translate. Apparently the invaders had no such difficulties, for they stopped just past the threshold.
‘What did you say to them?’ Gorel asked, one hand on his bolt pistol.
‘An old aeldari challenge, from before the fall of their empire.’
Gorel stared at him. ‘I hate you sometimes,’ he said, after a moment.
‘I know. Be silent.’ Fabius lifted his sceptre. ‘Show me your face,’ he shouted. ‘I was forced to endure your arrogance in Commorragh. I will not do so here, in my place of power. Come forth – or surrender.’
There was a stirring among the ranks of the hulking creatures. One of them pushed forward. Fabius gestured, and his mutants subsided, allowing the creature to approach. It settled onto its haunches. A hololithic projector built into its helm flickered to life and a grotesque visage shimmered into view.
‘Master Hexachires,’ Fabius said. ‘It has been a long time.’
‘Too long, Fabius,’ the creature replied. ‘I see you are wearing the same face as last time. Your stubborn affection for that diseased corpus is… heart-warming, I must say. You could build yourself a form of near-perfection, and yet you continue to cling to that one. Your resistance to change will be your undoing, I fear.’
‘You are not the first to say so,’ Fabius said. ‘Your raid has proven unsuccessful. But I will allow your remaining forces to depart, for old times’ sake.’
‘Will you then?’ Hexachires sounded amused. ‘How kind of you, Fabius. Then, you always were a gentle soul. I often feared for you because of that. Kindness is simply another form of suicide in Commorragh.’
‘And yet, you extended a kindness to me.’
‘Several, in fact. And you nearly destroyed us for it.’ Hexachires sighed. ‘It is a shame that it has come to this, Fabius. You made for an adequate student, at times. You had potential, if nothing else. And yet here you are – wasting your gift in service of… what?’
‘The future,’ Fabius said. ‘Something you would know nothing about.’
‘The future? This?’ Hexachires made a show of looking around, and Gorel wondered how much he could actually see. ‘What is the point of compounding the mistakes of your predecessors, eh? A human is a human, however much foreign genetic material you graft onto them. The stubborn beastflesh always creeps back, Fabius. I thought I taught you that, at least.’
‘I have learned to be selective in my lessons,’ Fabius said.
‘So I see. Speaking of which, I found your little devices. Clever little Fabius. Another trick stolen from us.’ Hexachires held up a nodule of wraithbone.
‘What is he talking about?’ Gorel asked.
‘It’s nothing,’ Fabius said.
‘I beg to differ – crude as it is, a miniaturised pattern transference device is not nothing,’ Hexachires said. ‘How many of those serving you have similar devices implanted in them, I wonder? Perhaps we should ask them.’
‘Pattern transference–’ Gorel began. He felt a chill as he realised what the xenos was saying. He turned his weapon on Fabius without thinking. ‘Abomination,’ he hissed.
Hexachires laughed. ‘Oh, Fabius. Too clever for your own good.’
‘Is that thing telling the truth?’ Gorel swung his weapon up, pointing it at Fabius’ head. ‘Did you implant one of those things in me? Or Marag?’
‘Brothers,’ Marag began.
‘We do not have time for this,’ Fabius said.
‘Answer my question,’ Gorel snarled.
‘Brothers,’ Marag called out, more insistently. ‘Look!’
Gorel turned. The grotesque had begun to leak… light? The rest of the drukhari were drawing back from it.
‘What in the name of the Dark Gods is happening?’
‘Hexachires, what have you done?’ Fabius demanded.
‘Why, I have prepared a special gift for you, my most favoured student – something of my own devising. I do hope you enjoy it. It activated the moment we began to speak.’ Hexachires laughed again. ‘I knew you couldn’t help but confront me. You really are quite predictable, Fabius.’
The light swelled, growing brighter. Gorel’s sensors went wild as his armour detected massive atmospheric interference. ‘Fabius, something is happening…’
‘It’s an artificial singularity,’ Fabius said, shielding his face from the light.
‘Indeed it is! But do not worry, Fabius, you will survive what is to come,’ Hexachires said, with an air of self-satisfaction. ‘That initial scan? It was to transmit your bio-signature to the device. Once you pass the event horizon, you will be shunted into a small pocket dimension of my own devising. It will hurt quite a bit, I imagine. The dimension is not large – more a temporary fold in space – and you will likely lose a limb or two.
‘Still, you will survive, more or less intact, and that is the important thing.’
The howl of the gunship’s thrusters filled the narrow street as dust and ash were whipped up into a frenzied cloud. The last of Helion’s surviving gunners were staggering aboard, as the Sun-Killer c
overed them from behind the fallen statue of some long-dead saint.
‘Get aboard, war-hound,’ Helion roared, lowering his lascannon.
Arrian ignored him, and cut down another drukhari. At least, he thought it was a drukhari. The creature was skeletal thin, and clad in reeking robes and a black, featureless helm – wracks, he’d heard them called. Servants of the haemonculi.
They’d appeared suddenly, following in the wake of the kabalite warriors. Some with wings, others armed with strange weapons that could liquefy a fully armoured Space Marine in moments. Nor had they been alone – they’d come accompanied by strange semi-organic war engines, shaped like insects, and lumbering over-muscled brutes twice the size of a legionary. It seemed the Chief Apothecary wasn’t the only one who knew how to craft war-mutants. The picter unit built into his helm dutifully recorded every new horror for future study. Knowledge was power – even if it was only knowledge about how to kill them.
His vox was awash with voices. The ambush had gone mostly to plan. Unfortunately, the drukhari hadn’t broken and run as the Chief Apothecary had predicted – not all of them, at any rate. Some had turned on their attackers, using their greater speed and numbers to overwhelm the 12th Millennial’s forces.
Are you surprised, dog-brother? Briaeus growled as his skull rattled against Arrian’s chestplate. We know better than most that the xenos aren’t cowards. One of them was bound to realise that they still had the advantage.
‘Your opinion is noted, brother,’ Arrian said, as he parried a blow from a serrated blade. The force of his counter knocked the wrack off balance, and he despatched the creature a moment later. Splinter fire forced him to seek cover.
Briaeus laughed. They’re herding you.
‘I know,’ Arrian said. His targeting array flashed red, and he spun to see a wrack crouched atop a broken pillar to his left, a long rifle-like weapon held in its hands. It fired and he twisted aside at the last moment so that the shot merely scraped across one of his skulls. Briaeus howled in protest, but Arrian had no time to reassure his long-dead brother. Acting on instinct, he hurled one of his blades and it thudded home, dropping the drukhari from its perch. He moved to retrieve his weapon, and snatched up the curious rifle as well.
Manflayer - Josh Reynolds Page 18