Word Bearers

by Anthony Reynolds

  He landed five metres away, patches of his skin still on fire, and looked down at the thing clutched in his talons. It was pathetic to think that once it had been an Astartes warrior.

  It had no arms or legs, and its head was that of a cadaver, flopping limply over its wasted, skeletal chest. Its troglodytic skin was pulled taut across its bones, pallid and lifeless. Its eyes were sutured closed, though Burias-Drak’shal could see them moving spasmodically behind the eyelids, like a man trapped in a nightmare. A wealth of cables and wires protruded from its body, emerging from plugs inserted along its spinal column and seemingly at random all over its torso and head. Torn from the life-support and internal controls of the Dreadnought, they leaked stinking milky paste and oily fluid.

  Burias-Drak’shal snarled in disgust as the thing twitched in his hands. With a powerful wrench he corkscrewed its head from its shoulders and tossed it aside.

  The Dreadnought was lifeless now, as if waiting for the shattered master that made it whole to return. Marduk saw Burias-Drak’shal grin in feral satisfaction.

  A bolt took Burias-Drak’shal in the thigh half a second later, and he snarled in anger and pain as he dropped to one knee.

  Marduk gunned down a White Consul and ducked back behind a pillar as carefully laid down bolter fire pushed him and the Coterie members around him back.

  They were taking heavy casualties now. From the reports flooding in from the other areas of the ship it was the same story: Word Bearers and White Consuls selling their lives dearly, with an XVII Legion warrior falling for each loyalist scum that was killed.

  The assault cannon-armed Dreadnought was still struggling to free its fist, allowing a Coterie to approach its exposed rear. Arming melta bombs one-handed, they closed in and affixed the potent grenades to the Dreadnought as it strained to turn to face them, almost tearing its arm off at the shoulder.

  Finally it freed itself with a sickening sound of protesting metal, and staggered around, assault cannon screaming as it raked its attackers with fire. Then the melta bombs detonated. The Dreadnought stood for a moment, half its engine and drive mechanics melting down its legs onto the floor, before it tipped forwards and collapsed, belching black smoke.

  The deck shuddered as the monster fell, and as if this were a signal, the locking mechanisms of the immense blastdoors were suddenly released, mag-locks grinding. Interlocking serrated teeth unclamped, and like the jaws of a yawning beast the doors parted, retracting into the floor and ceiling to reveal the bridge of the Sword of Truth.

  There in the doorway stood the figure of a White Consul. A tall white crest rose above his gold-edged helmet. His pristine white armour was heavily artificed, and a rich blue cloak with gold thread was thrown back over his shoulders. Gleaming claws slid from the sheaths of his power gauntlets, energy dancing along the elongated, gently curved blades. Behind this defiant warrior stood a semi-circle of veterans, their helmets regal blue and their spotless white armour swathed in blue tabards. One held aloft their company standard, and all were bedecked with purity seals and military decorations.

  Marduk licked his lips in relish.

  ‘For Guilliman!’ the captain of the White Consuls bellowed, a cry echoed by his bodyguard before he broke into a charge, leading his warriors into the ranks of the Word Bearers. The other Consuls pressed in behind them shouting war cries of their own.

  The warrior brothers of the 34th Host welcomed this test. It had been too long since they had met foes their equal. The prospect of killing the enemy Chapter’s captain was intoxicating. With verses of hatred upon their lips, the brethren of the XVII Legion surged forwards to meet their foe head on.

  Ashkanez smashed one of the charging veterans from his feet with his double-handed power maul, and Marduk brought his crozius crashing down on a White Consul’s arm with a sickening crunch. The warrior’s arm flopped uselessly, blood leaking from his ruptured power armour, and Marduk ripped his chainsword across his warrior’s throat as he staggered. The eager revving of the chainsword rose to a fever-pitched squeal as adamantium teeth shore first through armour and flesh, then vertebrae.

  Marduk was battered sideways as a charging veteran slammed a crackling storm shield into him. Recovering quickly, Marduk parried the warrior’s follow-up thrust, batting a power blade away with his crozius, and he swayed aside to avoid a hissing burst from the bulbous barrel of a plasma pistol.

  A Word Bearer nearby spat a curse as he was impaled upon a humming falchion blade, and another died as the back of his head exploded, a bolt fired at close range detonating inside his helmet.

  Another warrior brother staggered back, clutching at the thick ropes of innards spilling from his abdomen. The captain of the White Consuls came after him, energy dancing across the tips of his lightning claws. Cradling his intestines in one arm, the Word Bearer lifted his bolter towards the captain. With a blinding slash, the arm was severed, falling to the ground, and in a heartbeat the warrior brother was dead. The captain’s fist smashed up under the Word Bearer’s chin in a brutal uppercut; the blades of his lightning claws penetrated his brain and speared out through the top of his helmet.

  Marduk blocked another stabbing blow and launched a lightning riposte, which his enemy took on his crackling storm shield. The percussive shock of the impact jolted Marduk’s arm, numbing it to his shoulder. At his side, First Acolyte Ashkanez flattened a veteran with a heavy overhead blow of his flanged power-maul and turned on Marduk’s opponent. A two-handed blow clubbed the storm shield-wielding Consul to his knees, and Marduk dispatched him with a heavy blow to the side of his head that splintered his helm.

  The captain of the White Consuls took down two more Word Bearers. The first fell heavily, half his head sliced away. The second died as the Space Marine captain’s lightning claws sank deep into his chest. The Word Bearer was lifted off his feet and hurled contemptuously away. Marduk snarled in rage and moved towards the enemy captain.

  Kol Badar was bleeding from several wounds, but continued to fight with a cold-burning fury, destroying every White Consul that came within his reach. A humming power sword slashed towards him, but he caught the blade in his talons, halting it mid-strike. With a wrench he ripped the blade from his opponent’s hand, and as the White Consul staggered back, raising his pistol, hurled the power sword after him. It spun once, end over end, before embedding deep in the warrior’s chest, sinking to the hilt. Bringing his combi-bolter up, Kol Badar finished off the White Consul with a concentrated burst of fire.

  Marduk could not close with the enemy captain, whose bodyguard were holding tight rank around him. The Dark Apostle gave vent to his frustration, his fury giving him strength. Swinging up his crozius, he knocked aside a bolter aimed at his head and brought his chainsword around in a bloody arc that struck his enemy in the shoulder. The daemon entity residing within the blade was raging, adamantine teeth whirring madly as they sought to tear through the warrior’s power armour.

  The White Consuls captain killed another Word Bearer, tearing him to shreds with his slashing claws before kicking him away to find another victim.

  ‘The enemy press in behind us,’ said Ashkanez, as bolter fire peppered off one of his shoulder plates. ‘We are caught between them. Our position is untenable.’

  ‘Where are our damned reinforcements, Kol Badar?’ replied Marduk through gritted teeth, glancing behind him. His First Acolyte was correct – the enemy were moving up solidly, pressuring their position, and it would not be long before they were overrun. ‘Shouldn’t they be here by now?’

  ‘They are delayed,’ replied Kol Badar. ‘They have encountered higher enemy concentrations than expected.’

  ‘A flaw in your plan? I’m shocked.’

  ‘They will be here.’

  ‘Not fast enough,’ said Marduk, battering a sword aside with his crozius.

  The Black Legion sorcerer released the helm of a White Consul, his hands glowing with warp energy. Coiling blue-grey smoke whispered from the Space Marine’s ruptu
red lenses as he fell to the ground, a lifeless, burnt-out husk. The stink of burning flesh rose from the corpse, mingling with the electric tang of Kharesh’s warp-sorcery.

  ‘If I may?’ the sorcerer ventured.

  Marduk flicked a glance towards the sorcerer. It was impossible to gauge his facial expression, hidden as it was behind his sickeningly ornate battle-helm, but he was sure it would be mocking.

  ‘I may be able to slow them,’ the sorcerer said.

  ‘Do what you will,’ said Marduk, his attention diverted as he was forced to sway to the side to avoid a falchion blow.

  He heard the sorcerer begin to incant, speaking in the infernal tongue of daemons. It felt as though skeletal fingers were clawing at the back of Marduk’s mind, but the sensation was not unpleasant. He struck a heavy overhand blow towards his foe, who blocked the strike with a standard overhead parry, as he knew he would. He slammed a kick into the warrior’s chest, knocking him back into one of his comrades, unbalancing them both. Kol Badar, talons balled into a fist, punched the head off the shoulders of one, and the other was downed by a sweep of Ashkanez’s power maul. Marduk finished him off, planting a kick into the side of the fallen warrior’s head. The sound of his neck cracking was audible even over the battle’s din.

  Marduk felt the hairs across his flesh stand rigidly to attention as the Black Legion sorcerer completed his spell, and he glanced back to see what the invocation heralded. A rippling wall of black mist was stretching out to block the corridor behind them. It moved like a living entity, tendrils reaching out like wriggling worms to bridge the expanse. Forms could be vaguely discerned amongst the smoke, swirling within it in a seething mass. Marduk saw sinuous bodies writhing around each other before disappearing once more, fanged mouths opening and closing and eyes glinting like stars within the thickening darkness.

  He could still see the enemy advancing beyond the veil of warp-spawned mist, but no gunfire seemed able to penetrate it. A feral grin cracked Marduk’s face as he realised that the sorcerer had brought forth a minor warp-rift into existence, a link to the holy æther itself. Bolts and plasma fire disappeared in small puffs of smoke as they struck the ethereal wall, transported to the gods only knew where.

  One of the White Consuls attempted to push through the insubstantial barrier, and his body was instantly the focus of frantic movement within the mist. Smoky claws and tentacles latched onto the warrior’s armour, which began to run like melted wax. The warrior’s battle-brothers tried to drag him back, but this merely ensnared them as well, and they were all dragged into the hellish warp-rift. In the blink of an eye, they were gone.

  Marduk nodded appreciatively towards the sorcerer, who inclined his head in acknowledgement. With the threat from the rear at least temporarily held at bay, the Word Bearers spread out, encircling the enemy captain and the last of his veteran battle-brothers.

  One by one, the blue-helmeted warriors were cut down, dragged to the ground and butchered. Held aloft by one of the few remaining veterans, their Chapter banner burst into flames at a word from Inshabael Kharesh. In a heartbeat, nothing remained of it but its skeletal standard pole, the ancient design rendered to ash. The banner bearer was dropped a second later, Marduk’s crozius buried in his skull.

  The captain’s champion was next to die, ripped limb from limb by Burias-Drak’shal. The possessed warrior’s wounds, deep cuts sustained from the champion’s slender power blade, began to heal instantly. His long, forked tongue lapped at the blood on the side of his face and he looked towards the lone figure of the White Consuls captain with undisguised hunger.

  The captain stood alone, the bodies of his comrades piled around him. Even facing certain death, he showed no fear. Sparking energy danced across his bared lightning claws.

  ‘Now you die, like the dog you are,’ said Marduk, relishing the moment. The enemy captain tensed himself, dropping into a crouch.

  ‘Face me, heretic,’ said the captain. ‘One on one.’

  ‘No,’ Marduk said. The enemy captain seemed momentarily taken aback by the unexpected answer.

  ‘Have you no honour?’ said the White Consul. ‘Do you fear to face me, to be humbled before your brethren?’

  Sheathing his chainsword, Marduk reached up and removed his skull-faced helmet. His face, an ugly mess of scar tissue, regrafts and augmentation, was amused. He cleared his throat and spat a thick wad of black phlegm at the captain’s feet. The floor plating began to sizzle and melt beneath the impact.

  ‘Coward,’ taunted the White Consuls captain.

  ‘You are the bastard get of the thrice-cursed Guilliman,’ said Marduk. ‘You do not deserve an honourable death.’

  ‘Let me take him,’ growled Burias-Drak’shal.

  ‘No,’ said Marduk.

  ‘Let me face your warp-spawned pet,’ said the White Consul. ‘In the Emperor’s holy name, I shall cut it down and spit upon its corpse.’

  Burias-Drak’shal snarled and stepped forward. Marduk halted him with a word.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘He wishes to die a noble death. Therefore, he shall not have it. Gun him down.’

  Marduk smiled as he saw the shock and outrage written in the eyes of the enemy captain. The White Consul made to leap at Marduk, but he was cut down before he could move, struck from all sides by gunfire.

  The bridge belonged to Marduk, and he grinned in savage pleasure as a second blast door exploded inward less than a minute later.

  ‘Too slow, Ankh-Heloth,’ he said with relish as the rival Dark Apostle and his warriors stormed through the breach, weapons raised. ‘I have already informed Ekodas that the 34th has taken control of the vessel.’

  Ankh-Heloth had departed the Sword of Truth in a rage, and the last White Consuls still holding out against the Word Bearers were isolated, bulkheads locking down around their positions as the dark magos Darioq-Grendh’al linked with the ship’s controls. Marduk had felt the unspoken question from his warriors that these last survivors were not killed, but the Dark Apostle felt no need to explain his actions. The ship’s communications had been severed before the bridge had fallen, ensuring that the enemy had not learnt its fate. For all they knew, the battle-barge had made it to the safety of the asteroid belt, escaping the wrath of the Chaos fleet.

  The Dark Apostle was standing upon the bridge of a White Consuls battle-barge, gazing upon its cogitator banks and data-screens in distaste. He spied a shrine to the Emperor, a small statue surrounded by candles and papers of devotion, and his lip curled in loathing.

  ‘First Acolyte?’ said Marduk, nodding his head in the direction of the shrine.

  In response, Ashkanez stepped forwards and smashed the statue to dust with his power maul, intoning the psalms of desecration. A second sweep saw the candles and papers scattered.

  ‘Kol Badar,’ said Marduk through his vox. The Coryphaus was located half a kilometre distant, assessing the weapon-caches of the White Consuls vessel.

  ‘Yes, Apostle,’ came the reply.

  ‘Where is the sorcerer? I wish to speak with him.’

  ‘I believe he has already returned to the Infidus Diabolus, Apostle,’ said Kol Badar. ‘He returned on one of the first shuttles.’

  ‘Find him,’ said Marduk.

  ‘It will be done,’ said Kol Badar.

  Marduk cut the communication, irritated that he had no real authority over the Black Legion sorcerer’s movements. He felt a presence behind him and turned to see his Icon Bearer, still in the thrall of his daemonic possession.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I am your champion,’ snarled Burias-Drak’shal, forming the words with difficulty. He shook his head and his face returned to his own regular, slender, handsome features as he pushed the daemon back within. ‘That was my kill.’

  ‘Do not question my decisions, Burias.’

  ‘And as for your precious Coryphaus… His plan to take the bridge almost saw us killed. So much for his being a master strategist.’

  Burias once more held the heavy
Host icon in his hands, having snatched it from the Anointed brother who had borne it in his absence. The heavy base of the tall, dark metal icon thumped into the floor repeatedly as Burias paced back and forth alongside Marduk, his free hand clenching and unclenching into a fist. His face was flushed and his cruel mouth set in a deep scowl.

  ‘We just took a fully manned Astartes battle-barge in under thirty minutes,’ said Marduk. ‘That is hardly the result of an incompetent Coryphaus.’

  ‘I don’t know why you show the whoreson such favours,’ snapped Burias. ‘Be rid of him! You know he will betray you.’

  With a single word, Marduk dismissed all the warriors of the Host from the bridge.

  ‘You too, First Acolyte,’ said Marduk.

  With a bow, Ashkanez left the room, leaving Marduk alone with the Host’s Icon Bearer.

  ‘I see I am going to have to spell this out to you, Burias,’ said Marduk. ‘You are my blood-brother, and for this reason I have given you much leniency, but I’m not prepared to take any more.’

  ‘You are making a mistake,’ said Burias, his voice tinged with bitterness. ‘Be rid of Kol Badar, before he turns on you.’

  ‘You think there is someone more suitable to be Coryphaus within the Host than Kol Badar, Burias?’ said Marduk.

  The Dark Apostle had considered the option long and hard. Sabtec was the obvious candidate, but Marduk did not believe that even he, the exalted champion of the glorified 13th Coterie, was anywhere approaching Kol Badar’s equal, at least not yet. There was no one that came close. The taking of the Sword of Truth confirmed Kol Badar’s pre-eminence, had Marduk harboured any doubt.

  ‘We are brothers, sworn in blood,’ said Burias. ‘I am the only one you can trust.’

  ‘You honestly thought that you would become Coryphaus upon my ascension? Is that really what all this is about?’ said Marduk.

  He had always known that Burias was a devious and ambitious warrior who hungered for power and prestige, and that he had always planned to rise up the ranks of the Host, buoyed by his close relationship with Marduk, but… Coryphaus? He turned back towards his Icon Bearer, a look of exasperation on his face.