Ravenwing

by Gav Thorpe

  He held out his hands, palms up. Bayoth laid his fingers upon the Epistolary’s right hand and the other astropath, Neim, did the same of the left. The Librarian closed his eyes. It was not necessary for the projection of his psychic potential, but he disliked staring into the blind orbs of the astropaths when they entered their trance-like transmission state.

  The astropaths murmured a mantra to dislocate their conscious state, moving their minds from the bonds of corporeal form. Harahel needed no such ritual, but simply freed his thoughts from the tether of his synapses, his soul enmeshing with the spirits of the two astropaths.

  ‘Show me,’ he whispered.

  The first sensation was of scorching heat; the residue of the soul-binding the astropaths had undergone. The fire of the Emperor’s soul burned within them, a fiery shield against possession. Harahel let the burning subside before pushing on, feeling connection with the astropaths as they opened up their minds to his inquiry.

  He felt a gulf opening beneath him as he was drawn into the warp-memories of the psykers. All three became floating motes on the immaterial seas, rising and falling on the insubstantial waves of energy. The background noise of the universe hummed in the Librarian’s ears while echoes from past, present and future flitted around him just out of reach.

  The sound of a sword unsheathing. A black blade glinted with inner light. The key-symbol of the Dark Angels.

  A fortress dark against a setting sun. The Tower of Angels, fortress-monastery of the Chapter, known also as the Rock.

  An angel’s wings spread from a blade that hovers above the battlements of the castle. The sigil of Supreme Grand Master Azrael, Chapter Grand Master.

  Harahel drew in a deep breath, knowing why the astropaths had come to him. A signal with the seal of the Supreme Grand Master was rare. The vision unfolded, sent across the void of the warp by the psykers of the Rock, carried by a flock of fluttering ravens. The message was for Sammael, for the Ravenwing. Steel claws and beaks glinted in the black mass: a summons to battle.

  A starship circled a world. Its name floated through Harahel’s thoughts. Blade of Caliban. He knew the ship, and from where it had come. Piscina, a recruiting system of the Dark Angels. Not so long ago the warriors of the Chapter had fought a war against an ork invasion of the world. Harahel sought confirmation that the ork threat had returned, but it was not a green-skinned beast that was carried upon the ship.

  Instead there appeared a Space Marine, clad in black armour, a skull-face helm concealing his face beneath the cowl of a white robe. A Chaplain. The robes caught fire, the armour of the figure becoming black flames that consumed the white of the Deathwing. The meaning was unclear until the Chaplain was reduced to ashes, and from the embers rose another figure. A hooded warrior, angel wings splayed from his back, a sword inverted in his hands.

  Harahel broke the communion, pulling back sharply. The urgency of his retreat brought gasps from the astropaths and Harahel was forced to take another deep breath to steady himself. He opened his eyes and saw questioning looks on the faces of the two men in front of him.

  ‘We saw but a fraction of the vision,’ said Neim, wiping sweat from his face with the cuff of his robe. ‘Can you interpret its meaning?’

  ‘Scour these memories, and speak not of them to another soul,’ said the Librarian. ‘I comprehend its meaning and will bear this news to the Grand Master. Return to your posts and be ready to transmit a reply to the Tower of Angels.’

  ‘As you command,’ the two astropaths chorused, bowing their heads once more.

  They turned and left. Harahel sat down with a grimace once they were gone and allowed himself a groan as the images from the Supreme Grand Master pulsed through his thoughts. To one who knew the secret signs of the Chapter, there was no confusion. The Epistolary took a moment to collect his thoughts, hands trembling as he rested them on his knees.

  The reception of the message had been timely indeed. They would need to lay in a new course.

  The Hunt Begins

  Malcifer arrived in Sammael’s quarters just a few minutes after Harahel had entered. The Chaplain was dressed in the vestments of the sacristy, a cloak of black over his white robes. Sammael sat at the head of the oval table while Harahel paced back and forth beside the Grand Master, hands clasped together behind his back.

  ‘Sit,’ said Sammael, waving the Chaplain to the chair on his right.

  ‘I detect disquiet,’ said Malcifer as he seated himself, sweeping his cloak over the ornately carved back of the chair. Wood creaked under his weight. ‘And urgency. You said that we have received a message from Azrael, brother?’

  Sammael looked to Harahel to reply. The Librarian’s communication that convened the council had been brief and Sammael had waited for Malcifer to arrive so that there was no need for repetition. The Librarian ceased his pacing and sat down opposite Malcifer. With sparing words, Harahel described the images from the message, clarifying the source and sender.

  ‘There is trouble at Piscina,’ said Sammael. ‘The inverted blade signals treachery, but I do not know what to make of this dark Chaplain.’

  ‘We cannot know for sure,’ said Malcifer. ‘There was a small squad left to oversee the protection of the Chapter Keep and the initial training of the recruits, led by Brother Boreas. The message must relate to him, but I find it hard to accept that he has turned against us. Boreas is one of the most stalwart upholders of the Chapter’s honour, a hero of the Piscina campaign and many others.’

  ‘We cannot ignore the image,’ said Harahel. ‘It has been several years since the Tower of Angels last had contact from Piscina, and much can happen in that time.’

  ‘Not to the loyalty of a Brother-Chaplain,’ Malcifer argued vehemently. ‘Perhaps we read the signs wrong. The Chaplain has been consumed by dark flames of treachery, but that can mean victim, not perpetrator.’

  ‘Questions that can be answered when we arrive,’ said Sammael. ‘The intent of the Supreme Grand Master is clear. Something sinister has happened at Piscina and the Ravenwing must investigate.’

  ‘We must consider that this message was meant for you alone, brother,’ said Harahel. ‘It is for the Ravenwing. There must be other forces open to despatch to Piscina, and therefore the choice of the Supreme Grand Master to call to us leaves only one conclusion – that the Ravenwing alone is suited to solve the mystery of Piscina. That in turn leads me to believe that Azrael suspects the involvement of our particular foe.’

  ‘The Fallen.’ Sammael whispered the word with a grimace.

  ‘Indeed,’ said Malcifer. ‘It is not coincidence that one of our home worlds is threatened, I fear.’

  ‘It also leaves us with a more pressing issue,’ said Harahel. ‘Do we take the warriors of the Fifth with us? They may be exposed to truths that are beyond their calling.’

  ‘A risk we must take,’ said Sammael, reaching a decision instantly. ‘To send them back to the Rock without explanation would only invite curiosity. The Ravenwing will be the vanguard, and we shall shield our brothers from uncomfortable fact if necessary. This is not the first occasion we have encountered such issues and it shall not be the last.’

  ‘As you command, Grand Master,’ said Malcifer. ‘I sense that we cannot expect further support from the Chapter for the foreseeable future.’

  ‘I think not,’ said Harahel. ‘The Tower of Angels will certainly make for Piscina as swiftly as is possible, I am sure, but as ever we shall be the first light to penetrate the shadow.’

  ‘Let us be thankful then that we are not embroiled in further complications.’ Sammael leaned back. ‘Why so glum, my brothers?’

  ‘The taint of the Fallen is always cause for regret,’ said Harahel. ‘To think that they cast a shadow upon one of our worlds again heralds concern.’

  ‘Not at all,’ replied Sammael. He smiled. ‘When one of the Fallen casts ripples for us to see, it
is a blessing, not a curse. One more name to be struck from the ledger of shame. This is our purpose. This is why we hunt!’

  Two

  PISCINA IV

  A World of Anarchy

  ‘Something is certainly amiss, Grand Master,’ reported Judoc Pichon, bridge officer of the Implacable Justice. A rangy man, Pichon was almost as tall as Sammael, whom he addressed in the middle of the strike cruiser’s bridge. An unaugmented human in his middle ages, the bridge officer bore the sigil of the Chapter as a red tattoo on his left cheek; a symbol of one who had been accepted as an aspirant but ultimately failed the subsequent testing by the Librarians and Chaplains. Unsuitable to undergo the transformation into a superhuman warrior, Pichon instead served as the ranking non-Space Marine officer of the bridge crew.

  ‘Hails to the Chapter Keep receive no response,’ he explained, passing a sheaf of transparent reports to the Grand Master of the Ravenwing. ‘We have detected no intercepting craft from the system defence fleet, nor have we received any hail from orbital defence.’

  ‘A matter of concern,’ agreed Sammael. He flipped through the scanner readouts, processing the information at a glance. ‘Scattered communications traffic describes considerable turmoil on the surface.’

  ‘Yes, Grand Master Sammael, it would appear so. With your permission, I will begin an all-frequency hail. There are certainly active defence forces. Somebody will be paying attention.’

  ‘Very good, Pichon. Move us into low orbit and conduct a full sweep scan. I want a clearer picture of what is happening below.’

  The officer lifted his hands to his chest and bowed before turning away to issue the orders. Sammael pondered the meaning of the reports and concluded that the lack of attention paid by the defence forces had to indicate a pressing threat on the surface. He recalled the data entries he had read on Piscina IV, and much mention was made of the residual ork presence left in the wake of the invasion. Despite all efforts, the aliens continued to be a threat and this seemed the likely source of the turmoil.

  Though this explanation offered a likely reason, Sammael could not dismiss the possibility that something deeper and more sinister was wrong at Piscina. The nature of the message from the Rock lent credence to the Grand Master’s suspicion that treachery was a contributing factor.

  ‘Signal alert to full combat readiness, Pichon,’ he said. ‘I want to be ready to intervene or react should events require it. Relay orders to the Penitent Warrior.’

  ‘As you command, Grand Master,’ replied the officer. He made his way to the communications console and moments later his voice echoed from the address system, announcing the call to combat status. Pichon turned to step away when one of the Chapter serfs manning the comms monitoring station called him back. There was a brief exchange and then Pichon hurried over to Sammael.

  ‘Contact made, Grand Master,’ said the officer. ‘We are receiving transmission from the command staff of a Colonel Brade.’

  ‘Commander-in-chief of the Free Militia defence force,’ said Sammael, remembering the name from his studies. ‘Send summons to Brothers Harahel and Malcifer to meet me in my command chamber, and ask the colonel to be ready to make a full report. Transfer reception to my secure channel.’

  ‘As you command, Grand Master.’ Pichon bowed again and attended to his orders as Sammael crossed to the door leading to his chamber adjoining the bridge. As the double doors swung open on hydraulic hinges, the Grand Master turned back to issue one last command. ‘Signal Sergeant Seraphiel of the Fifth Company to stand ready to receive drop orders.’

  Sammael stepped through the doors without waiting for the officer’s acknowledgement, walking into a sparsely furnished chamber dominated by a hololithic projector and a bank of communications equipment. He activated the display and accessed the strike cruiser’s data store to bring up an image of Piscina IV. His fingers moving quickly over the controls, the Grand Master zoomed in on the principal island, Kadillus, and the planet’s capital, Kadillus Harbour. A blinking icon not far inside the city marked the position of the Chapter Keep where recruits from the feral tribes of Piscina V underwent initial recruitment testing and training.

  Overlaying the data stream from the current sensor sweep, Sammael noticed an automated transmission sourced from the Chapter Keep. He recognised it immediately as a standard beacon signal, activated as a warning that the keep was under threat.

  The doors wheezed open behind him and he turned to see Harahel and Malcifer enter. The two of them wore their armour, as did Sammael; standard doctrine when approaching a potentially compromised star system. They carried their helmets in their hands, the faces of both showing concern.

  ‘We receive word from the planet,’ Sammael informed them, moving to the communications array. He spoke briefly with one of the attendants and a few seconds later a garbled signal screeched from the speakers. Sammael keyed in his personal code to decrypt the channel.

  ‘You are addressing Grand Master Sammael of the Adeptus Astartes. Confirm identification. Issuing decryption signal now.’

  It took a moment for the link to be established, a grey screen at the centre of the panel flickering into static and then resolving into the monotone image of a broad-faced, aging man wearing a peaked cap decorated with the Imperial aquila. Sammael transferred the link to the hololith and turned back to the centre of the room as the man’s face appeared, floating above the schematic of Kadillus.

  ‘Colonel Brade, Commander of the Piscinan Free Militia. Thank the Emperor you have arrived! It is anarchy down here.’

  Sammael glanced at his companions before replying.

  ‘Be specific, colonel. What is the nature of the threat?’

  ‘Where do I start? We have widespread civil unrest in the capital, a burgeoning famine, resurgent ork attacks and a divided planetary command.’

  ‘What is the status of our Chapter Keep?’ asked Malcifer. ‘Where is the Dark Angels garrison squad?’

  ‘We have had no word from the keep for months.’ Brade shook his head despondently. ‘We tried to enter, but it is sealed and we thought it better not to attempt a breach of a Dark Angels facility.’

  ‘A wise choice. What is your current military status, colonel?’ asked Sammael. ‘Why have you not restored order?’

  ‘I have tried, by the Emperor, believe me I have tried.’ Brade’s face was haggard, eyes dark-rimmed even in the poor resolution of the display. ‘A mob broke into the palaces of Imperial Commander Sousan, aided by some of my own men. She was tried for treason against her own people and executed before I could intervene. Her cousin has taken on the role of Imperial Commander under my supervision, but the people are refusing to accept her command. Between the uprising and the orks, we do not have enough forces. The mega-

  trawlers are refusing to dock at the harbour and people are starving. Part of the city is infested with greenskins but I cannot clear them out whilst protecting what little food stores remain.’

  ‘When the Tower of Angels last departed Piscina, we left behind an ordered, stable world. How is it that such a parlous state has so rapidly come about, colonel?’ said Malcifer.

  ‘Not to cast blame, but your warriors have not helped the situation. Lord Boreas and the others deserted the keep before the trouble began, and another force from the Chapter arrived in their place. They started a massacre, gunning down civilians and Free Militia. The people were terrified, thinking that the Emperor had turned against them. It was as if His divine judgement was being meted out upon the city. Hundreds were slain.’

  ‘By Dark Angels?’ Sammael demanded, sickened by the thought. He heard a snarl from Malcifer and a glance showed the Chaplain clenching his fists with anguish. Harahel met Sammael’s gaze with a meaningful look. Sammael calmed himself and turned back to the hololith. ‘You are certain, colonel?’

  ‘That is what it seemed at the time, though when Lord Boreas returned he gave the im
pression that these Space Marines were not acting under orders. But we haven’t seen nor had word from the original garrison since they entered the keep. The people feel abandoned and with the orks on the verge of overrunning the city everything has descended into madness. Half my men have deserted or joined the uprising.’

  Brade turned away and Sammael heard voices in the background, too quiet to be heard over the link. The colonel nodded a few times but his face was grim when he turned back.

  ‘I have to go. The orks have broken through again and are advancing on Northport. The shuttle terminal is our only supply route, we cannot let it fall. Your assistance would be an Emperor-sent blessing, Lord Sammael.’

  ‘I will contact you again shortly, colonel,’ replied Sammael. He cut the link before Brade could make any further requests. The Grand Master turned his attention to his companions. ‘Black flames of treachery indeed.’

  ‘There can be no other reason,’ said Malcifer. ‘The Fallen have instigated this conflict. It is a malicious attack against the Chapter, one we cannot ignore.’

  ‘I have no intention of ignoring it, brother, but it is not clear which course it is best to proceed upon. I would welcome your counsel.’

  ‘Though the colonel did not state as such, it appears that the Fallen are no longer on Piscina,’ said Harahel. The Librarian laid his helmet on the surface of the hololith, blanking out half the display. He looked thoughtful, fingers raised to his chin, palms pressed together. ‘If we become embroiled in this conflict it will take considerable time to resolve. Judging by the reaction of the populace to the Fallen’s slayings we cannot expect widespread cooperation.’

  ‘I am of the same mind, brother,’ replied Sammael. ‘Even with our brethren from the Fifth Company, the Ravenwing is not ideally suited to this battle.’

  ‘Regardless, we will only find the answers we seek on the surface,’ said Malcifer. ‘We must gain access to the Chapter Keep. It is possible that Boreas and the others, beset by an angry populace, have decided that isolation is the best course of action. To turn their weapons on the rebels might be seen as further betrayal by the Chapter and fuel the rebellion rather than quell it.’