Ravenwing

by Gav Thorpe

  ‘What about Drazinoff?’ demanded Amanael. The sergeant pushed himself to his feet, his armour ripped open from his left shoulder to his abdomen. Thick blood congealed in the wound, and the sergeant swayed for the moment, weak from the loss.

  ‘We have failed,’ Seraphiel replied. The flat statement sent a chill through Telemenus; words he feared more than death and injury. ‘We had no idea the enemy had such strength. Fall back. There is nothing more that can be done here.’

  Telemenus stood looking up the road for a few seconds while Seraphiel turned and started southwards, back towards the forest. It was almost too much to bear; to have glory snatched from him by the Ravenwing and now a damning failure to protect the Imperial Commander.

  He saw a Space Marine from the vanguard of the traitor force reaching the wreckage of Squad Atleus’s Rhino. Raising his bolter, he looked closely at the foe. The traitor’s armour was a mish-mash of ancient marks, heavily reinforced and riveted in places. His helm was tipped by a long spike, the conventional front grille replaced with an armour-banded respirator tubing. Oil leaked from the joints and fungal growths were growing in the gaps between plates. The armour had once been white, but most of it was marked with filthy green mould and brown from coagulated oil.

  Filled with hatred and disgust, Telemenus fired, putting a round through the cracked eye lens of the Space Marine. The Death Guard staggered back, half his helmet missing. Remarkably, the traitor did not fall, but turned towards Telemenus, bolt gun raised. Through the targeter magnification Telemenus could see that half the Space Marine’s head was missing, one eye popped from the socket by the bolt detonation, the fleshy orb dangling on the warrior’s exposed cheek. Even for a Space Marine the warrior’s survival was unnatural.

  ‘No time for that!’ snapped Daellon, seizing Telemenus by the arm as he aimed again. ‘We will be back for vengeance against these rotten bastards.’

  Telemenus allowed himself to be led away, breaking into a quick jog with a final glance over his shoulder. The Death Guard were swarming over the remnants of the convoy. With a wordless, anguished shout, Telemenus tore away his gaze and sprinted after his retreating companions.

  Silent Hunters

  ‘Understood, Paladin Two. Commencing close observation. Return to orbit.’ Sammael sighed as the comm cut out. It was the third time since the Death Guard ambush that storms had forced his aircraft to abort their sensor tracking. Ten kilometres above the ground, far from the eyes and scanners of the enemy, the aircraft had proved invaluable in keeping the Death Guard force under scrutiny; for six days and twelve hundred kilometres north and east across the tundra of Thyestes V.

  Now that the Death Guard were entering the Kurkarusk Mountains’ cloud cover, storms and snow would mask the foe from the sub-orbital tracking of the Dark Angels. It was time for the Ravenwing to close the gap on their prey.

  The ride had already been an arduous one, keeping within striking distance of the Death Guard without approaching too closely. Winter was fast setting in on this part of the world, and the further north the enemy travelled, the rougher the conditions for the Second Company. The enemy had travelled so far it was impossible for Sammael to believe that they were not heading back to some headquarters or permanent outpost in the frozen north. He called Harahel and Malcifer to council as the order to move out was spread through the company.

  The Ravenwing had been on the move constantly since the Death Guard ambush, subsisting off their armour systems, occasionally supplemented with high-protein rations. When the Death Guard force had split the evening before, just after sunset, Sammael had been forced to call a halt while the fighter jets scouted out the routes ahead. The Dark Angels had taken shelter amongst the pine trees that swathed this part of the taiga, sleeping fitfully for the first time in days. The recon flights returned with the information that one force was heading for the inhospitable permafrost beyond the mountains ahead, while the other was turning westward at some speed.

  ‘I believe the enemy must have their base in the mountains,’ the Grand Master told his companions. ‘Any further north puts them on the polar icecap, which would provide ideal concealment but does not make sense from a logistical standpoint.’

  As Sammael ordered the company to head north, the trio steered their mounts into the line, exhaust smoke drifting between the pines, tyres leaving deep tracks in the snow. The two Black Knights silently joined their masters, bringing the squadron up to strength. To the left and right, Land Speeders flitted through the trees, their anti-grav engines kicking up flurries of snow in their wake. A rumble of thunder rolled across the skies, the clouds darkening through the breaks in the tree canopy above.

  ‘I concur,’ said Harahel. ‘The only alternative is that the enemy know we are following them and are deliberately leading us astray.’

  ‘Thank you for that thought, brother,’ said Malcifer. ‘Now that I think of that possibility, my optimism is quite diminished.’

  ‘I said it was a possibility, not the likeliest scenario in the balance of probability,’ replied the Librarian. ‘The enemy have had ample opportunity to turn and attack if they knew of our presence.’

  ‘That would make more sense than wasting fuel and time leading us a merry chase through the tundra and mountains,’ said Sammael. ‘That they have not done so stands testimony to the continued secrecy of our pursuit. We will close to within thirty-five kilometres, with a Land Speeder vanguard to keep visual contact with the enemy. There are dozens of mountain passes ahead, we must know into which one the enemy move. It is vital that we strike before the enemy can make any capital from their capture of the Imperial Commander.’

  ‘Do we regard Methelas as the principal target now?’ asked Malcifer. His bike hit something hard buried beneath a snowdrift, rocking the Chaplain in his saddle for a moment. Regaining his posture, he continued. ‘The presence of the Death Guard reinforces my suspicions that Methelas is conspiring as part of some grander plan.’

  ‘We cannot dismiss the similarities between the decayed state of Port Imperial and the particular affectations of the Death Guard,’ Harahel said. ‘It would not be the first time that Fallen have worked with members of the Traitor Legions.’

  ‘The Cult of Decay is certainly a major influence in the rebellion on Thyestes, and I see its work now amongst the Unworthy and Divine on Port Imperial,’ said Sammael. His knowledge of the Ruinous Powers was vague, but he was aware that some Chaos followers pledged their allegiance to a god of entropy and plague. In return for their sacrifices and obedience they became inured to pain and disease. The oblivion so valued by the Divine and their followers could be a euphemism for the Lord of Pestilence.

  ‘If this is true, Methelas is to be numbered amongst those Fallen who embraced the Dark Powers,’ said Malcifer. ‘He will be exceptionally dangerous if cornered.’

  ‘Not only by the bile and spite of his words. Methelas’s psychic power will have been strengthened by daemonic pacts and other vile rituals,’ said Harahel. ‘Already we have witnessed the use of daemon engines. There could be other diabolic servants of Chaos summoned to the cause of the Fallen.’

  ‘You wish to end the pursuit now?’ said Sammael, concerned by the Epistolary’s words.

  ‘And risk the Grey Knights becoming involved?’ Malcifer said harshly. ‘I remind you, brothers, that the reason we are riding across this bleak, Emperor-forsaken wilderness is to ensure that no suspicion of the Fallen comes to the attention of the Inquisition.’

  ‘I do not suspect full-scale daemonic incursion, brothers,’ Harahel said hurriedly, realising his words had caused alarm. ‘But it may be the intent of Methelas and his allies to bring about such a fate for Thyestes. We cannot be sure.’

  ‘What we can be sure of is the fact that a swift and deadly strike will bring to an end whatever scheme Methelas pursues,’ said Sammael. ‘The presence of the Death Guard makes the enemy a more challenging obstacle, b
ut it does not alter the fundamentals of the mission.’

  ‘Attack fast, take Methelas and then withdraw?’ said Malcifer.

  ‘Exactly,’ replied the Grand Master. ‘I harbour no desire to seek extended confrontation with the Death Guard if it can be avoided.’

  ‘What of the Fifth Company?’ said Harahel. ‘Do you think the Ravenwing alone will be sufficient for the task?’

  ‘Seraphiel and the Fifth have returned to the Penitent Warrior and are on emergency drop-alert,’ said Sammael. The forest ahead thinned to scattered trees, revealing the mountain range in all of its glory. Cloud-shrouded peaks jutted into the blue sky, the flanks of the mountains purple and red beneath the snowline, broken by the green of trees further down the slopes. A lake glittered in the foothills, reflecting the clouds above.

  Deep within the catacombs of the Rock were tapestries and paintings from the ancient founding of the Chapter. They depicted the vast forests and majestic peaks of Caliban before the treachery that had destroyed the Dark Angel’s home world. Looking at the mountains ahead reminded Sammael of those scenes, lost forever by the treason of the Fallen.

  ‘It would be best if the Fifth Company were not exposed again to the traitor legionaries,’ said Malcifer. ‘The more they encounter the Death Guard, the more awkward questions stirred in their minds.’

  ‘Let us hope that we are nearing the end of the campaign, for their sake,’ said Sammael. ‘If we swiftly conclude our business on Thyestes we shall return to the Rock in victory. Reunited with their brothers, and coming under the full scrutiny of the Chaplaincy, I am sure the brothers will soon be freed from doubts and curiosity. In the meantime, the presence of the Death Guard make for suitable distraction for the Ravenwing. As long as he is secured by the Black Knights or one of us, Methelas can be passed off as another Death Guard renegade.’

  There were no objections to this conclusion and the command squadron rode on in silence. The forest gave way to snowfields, which gave way to foothills as the company trailed the Death Guard into the mountains.

  A rotating shift of Land Speeders kept constant vigil on the enemy, ensuring that no matter how winding a path the enemy took, the Ravenwing remained just behind, unseen but ready to strike.

  There was little to discuss for Sammael and his companions, until the nature of the enemy stronghold was known. They rode for days on end without speaking, each warrior alone with his thoughts, contemplating the meaning of the hunt and the peril of the Fallen. Sammael did not break these silences, though they made him uncomfortable. Being alone with his thoughts forced him to face the decisions he had made, the path he had chosen since becoming Grand Master.

  There was one side of his tale, lit with glory and courage, recorded with praise and pride in the annals of the Chapter. These were the missions that the Chapter boasted of to their Successors, holding up Sammael and the other Grand Masters as beacons of hope in a galaxy benighted by enemies. The alien warlords slain, the heretic empires toppled, the mutant and psyker purged by the Raven Sword. These exploits were the face of Sammael turned outwards, that his company and brethren saw when they looked at him.

  But the light masked a darkness; a darkness that resided in the hearts of all the Inner Circle. As glorious as Sammael’s life had been, there were too many times when the shadow had called to him. The brothers sacrificed, the worlds left to ruin, the enemies unconquered so that the hunt could continue. It was these times that filled his thoughts, occupied his mind in the silent contemplation of his cell or the long road such as he now followed. It was the decisions made not for glory but necessity that filled his dreams, such as he had, and haunted his waking hours when sleep became impossible.

  These last months had been particularly trying. The words of Boreas were etched in Sammael’s thoughts, like a worm burrowing through rotten wood. He tried to expunge them, tried to leave behind the nagging of their intent, but Sammael could not be free of the truth they held.

  What does it mean to be Dark Angels without the Fallen? We have come to define ourselves by them. Take them away and we are left without purpose. We have strayed far from the path, and it is my fervent prayer that you, Grand Masters of the Chapter, the wisest of us, can find the true course again.

  The sun was setting and Sammael looked at the descending darkness and felt as though the shadow was a blot upon his soul. Boreas had been driven mad by what he had concluded, and now that madness had infected Sammael. While he had been hot on the trail, in the fiery heat of battle, the truth had been easy to put aside, his conscience simple to assuage. Now as twilight crept into the valley where the Ravenwing hunted their prey, Sammael wondered if he was right to risk a world for one enemy.

  And in this, he was fortunate. Boreas had been alone, set adrift by the Chapter with no peer or superior to hear his doubts. His strength had been tested and without support had proven weak. Sammael was not alone. He was in the company of friends; the company of brothers.

  ‘What is the righteous path?’ he asked, looking at Malcifer who rode beside him, almost lost in the darkness.

  ‘It is the most difficult path, brother,’ the Chaplain replied carefully, understanding the weight of the Grand Master’s question. ‘To be righteous is a burden we all bear. I sense this is not idle philosophical questioning, Grand Master.’

  ‘What is the righteousness that guides our hand this night, Malcifer?’ Sammael asked, quiet and thoughtful. ‘If we bring Methelas to account, what do we achieve?’

  ‘You know the reasons, Grand Master,’ said Malcifer, cautious if not a little worried.

  ‘I know the sermons and the canticles and the catechisms, yes. I do not mean in general terms, but specifically, on this night, against this foe. I have put in grave danger the future of several billion servants of the Emperor. I feel it is justified, but I do not know if it is righteous.’

  ‘Ah, well, that is a different matter, brother.’ The Chaplain relaxed, his tone become conversational. ‘If you wish to speak of specifics, I can assist. It was not you, nor I, nor any Dark Angel that placed Thyestes in danger. It was the enemy. Whatever contorted, vile plan he pursues, the one we hunt brought war to their world. Sometimes we must shatter the peace to being a lasting victory, but not tonight. Tonight we act to end war. In one strike, we can deliver this world from the evil of rebellion.’

  ‘And Methelas, why do we seek his capture and not his death? In righteous terms?’

  ‘Other than the salvation of his soul through confession and repentance?’ Malcifer laughed, obviously thinking that this was righteous reason enough. The Chaplain continued nevertheless. ‘Cast your mind back to how this particular hunt began. We seek a greater enemy than Methelas. The Fallen had struck a blow directly against the Chapter. This is not an esoteric threat, nor a philosophical supposition. With malicious intent, warriors of the Fallen attacked a keep of the Dark Angels, slaughtered recruits and stole precious gene-seed from us. The act was calculated to cause the most grievous damage possible, and it was guilt at allowing it to happen that drove poor Boreas to end his life and that of his brothers.’

  ‘Vengeance cannot be righteous,’ said Sammael.

  ‘Not in itself, but in avenging the dead of Piscina, we have accomplished much. Port Imperial is no longer a scourge on the shipping of the Imperium, and whatever intent Methelas had for the station is now thwarted. Thyestes Five will be delivered from the shadow of treachery, whether Methelas is killed or not. These are indisputable facts. But in order to tread the truly righteous path, it is not enough to simply counter evil as one discovers it. It must be torn out at the root, and no root grows deeper than the vile master that leads the Fallen.’

  Sammael had almost forgotten the involvement of the Chapter’s nemesis. Malcifer, animated now by the topic, continued before the Grand Master could say anything.

  ‘A number of paths lead away from Piscina. We know that our greatest foe was involve
d in the massacre somehow. We also know that the Saint Carthen, a ship connected to Port Imperial, was in the system. Methelas is connected to Port Imperial, which connects him to Piscina, which connects him to the chief of the Fallen. The web extends, becoming more complex the further one looks, but the Fallen are always interrelated on some level. That is the righteousness of the hunt, to continue the chase even when the trail grows dark.’

  ‘Methelas leads us to him?’ asked Sammael, heartened by the thought. The shadow lifted from him at the prospect of taking a step closer to apprehending the Dark Angel’s most hated foe.

  ‘Directly or indirectly, that is for certain,’ said Malcifer. ‘Three Fallen there were that knew of Port Imperial. Astelan is accounted for. Methelas, Emperor-willing, is upon the brink of capture. That leaves only Anovel. Even if Methelas does not take us to the corruptor himself, I believe that Anovel was commander of the Saint Carthen, working with Methelas.’

  ‘That is a goal worth riding through the darkness for,’ said Sammael. He steered Corvex close to the Chaplain’s bike and lifted a fist, gently banging Malcifer’s pauldron in thanks. ‘To bring the great heretic to account for his crimes would shed light for eternity upon those who did so.’

  ‘Yet that light must forever be hidden from those outside the Chapter,’ cautioned Malcifer. ‘It is not a glory that can be shared.’

  ‘It is a glory one would take happily to the grave in the knowing.’ Sammael grinned, imagining what it would be like to be the Grand Master who finally ran the most loathed enemy of the Chapter to ground. With this thought, he looked at the sun disappearing behind the mountains and found that the night was easier to face.