Pharos

by Guy Haley

  Correlus waited halfway down the long machine banks. Corvo picked his way over the cables to meet him.

  ‘Captain,’ he said, ‘it is this that concerns me.’ He pointed at a round screen covered with green lines that oscillated to a steady rhythm.

  ‘Explain it,’ said Corvo. The readings meant nothing to him.

  ‘The Pharos is in use, captain. These machines monitor the power output of the quantum engines.’

  ‘We are just in time, then.’

  ‘Perhaps. At the moment they are not fully active, but something is happening. You hear the engine pulse on the vox? It is steadily increasing.’

  ‘Do you know what–’

  A shout went up from the upper reaches, and the crackling, repetitive booming of heavy bolter fire echoed around the chamber. ‘Contact. Contact!’

  ‘The Night Lords have encountered our rearguard,’ said Corvo. ‘Squads Four and Seven, leave the demolition detail. The rest of you, conclude preparations for destruction.’

  His men went about their business quickly, placing bulky melta bombs on every piece of human technology they came across.

  ‘Correlus, monitor the situation.’

  ‘As you wish, brother-captain.’ Snakelike, his servo harness’ arms rose up, the plasma cells on its in-built weapons glowing as they charged to fire. They pointed towards the walkway as Correlus returned his attention to the cogitator displays.

  ‘Neophytes, remain with him,’ ordered Corvo and ran back toward the stairs, drawing his sword as he went. The Night Lords were attacking four entrances at once. Corvo’s men, although superior in number, were hard-pressed to cover every entrance. The enemy broke through one of the squads on the far side of Primary Location Ultra almost immediately, and took up station on the gantry where they laid down a murderous barrage of fire. The Ultramarines defending the other entryways were caught in a crossfire, those down on the engine room floor found themselves exposed. An Ultramarine in the centre of the room was cut down by a plasma bolt, and his melta bomb spun out of his hand. The demolition team ran for cover as bolt-rounds and worse hailed down at them.

  Gunfire roared all around the chamber. Where it hit the black stone it brought forth flares of green fire.

  ‘Squads Four and Seven, cover entrance beta. I’m on my way. Demolition detail, form up. Take shelter under the gantry. Come at them from below.’

  The stairs lay ahead. Corvo thumbed the activation stud on his power sword and ran faster.

  A cry came from above as a Night Lord leapt the sixty metres down. Corvo dodged to the side just in time, trusting to the drop to disable his enemy.

  The Night Lord landed with a thunder of ceramite on stone, skidding sideways on the smooth surface. As he fell, he caught Corvo a glancing blow, sending him staggering to the side. They recovered simultaneously, and Corvo found himself grappling with a helmetless warrior, his arms bare of plate and caked in blood. With gory fingers his enemy grabbed at the rims of Corvo’s pauldrons. Corvo drove him back, slamming him into a walkway support, bending it. He followed into him, pushing the warrior and casting him into the vitreous walls. Armour sparked on hard black stone. Corvo was free of the warrior’s grapple and came up into guard with his power sword in his hand. Energy fizzed around it, the field flaring in the exotic radiations of the engine chamber.

  Corvo’s opponent was a savage, his armour scratched and scored and covered in blood. The broken remains of skulls and bones hung from cords looped through holes in his shoulder guards. His bare face was wild with a barbarous joy unbefitting a Space Marine, the pale skin of his cheeks and lips smirched with the life fluids of his victions. In his right hand he carried an iron sword. The plainness of the blade belied its dark nature. Corvo instinctively recognised it; he had seen warp-craft at work before on Astagar, wielded by Lorgar’s fanatics. This weapon carried the same taint as the corrupted Titan Felghast. He was sure of it.

  ‘Have you fallen so far that you cavort with the creatures of the warp?’ Corvo said.

  The warrior smiled a smile that had little of humanity left to it.

  ‘My name is Kellenkir, and I am your death.’

  Kellenkir attacked. He moved with such speed that Corvo was almost cut in two by his first attack. When he parried the sword its fell energies reacted with the power field of his blade, causing such an explosion both of them were thrown backwards. They recovered together, and leapt roaring at one another again.

  They fought furiously, pressing back and forth as they attempted to draw each other into rash attack. Corvo expected a savage contest, but his opponent appeared to be as technical a warrior as he was a berserk, relying on false openings and feints. Corvo guardedly responded to a couple of these to gauge the warrior’s skills. There he met savagery, a flurry of hard attacks that jarred his sword hand. Restraint followed offence, the Night Lord dropping back into careful probing once his assault proved ineffective, before attacking again with astounding violence.

  So it proceeded. In the wider battle the Ultramarines’ greater numbers began to tell. The gantry was retaken. The traitors were fragmented, and pushed back. None dared intervene in the contest between Corvo and Kellenkir; they battled blade to blade, heroes of myth born anew in ceramite.

  A klaxon blared five times.

  ‘Dawn! The light comes!’ Correlus voxed. ‘Stand ready!’

  A faint glow came into the chamber, growing more intense by the second. The engines whined louder at its approach. Corvo arced his sword over his head, sending Kellenkir rocking backwards on his feet. Through the shower of sparks and energy discharge, he saw the far tunnels blazing golden.

  Light burst into the chamber like a flood of water. Where it touched, the stone answered with sparkling green flecks of its own, greatest where the room had been damaged by the battle. The light was sluggish, slow enough to see it tentatively creep over the machines and secret places of the room. It grew slower the nearer it came to the centre of the chamber. Seeing light so retarded in speed was among the most bizarre things Corvo had ever seen.

  Kellenkir had his back to the hindered dawn, and so it hit Corvo’s eyes first, overwhelming his auto-senses and dazzling him. It was viscous and scorching as molten iron.

  Corvo flung up his arm.

  Kellenkir’s blade whistled at him, black smoke boiling from it in the light. The tip cut under Corvo’s hurried defence, and hit his plastron. The ceramite parted, and the sword scraped across Corvo’s fused rib cage. Terrific pain burst from the cut, and it was all Corvo could do to keep to his feet. A following blow nearly ended him. He tottered back, barely managing to deflect a third attack. Kellenkir was nearly on him, their breastplates knocking together, blood-fouled breath hot on his face. Desperately Corvo twisted his sword inward and down, flinging Kellenkir’s blade wide. Kellenkir responded by barging Corvo off his feet.

  His sword still smoking, Kellenkir stood over the downed Ultramarine, and raised the daemon blade high.

  The Night Lords shrank back as the dawn burst through the entrance to Primary Location Alpha. The cavern blazed, the Nostramans holding up hands to cover lenses darkened to maximum opacity. The light spilled from the Pharos across time and space, illuminating the grim interior of the Nightfall’s command deck, causing the mortal crew to scream in pain.

  Dantioch worked the machine banks. Every dial was turned to maximum. Power needles inched their way across their gauges into the red zone. Every precaution he had taken in the past he brazenly disregarded now.

  ‘Lord Krukesh,’ said Dantioch, limping across the room. ‘Everything is prepared. I must join you upon the tuning stage.’

  ‘Do not attempt to trick me, Dantioch.’

  ‘The beam must be anchored at this end,’ explained Dantioch. ‘You have proven adept at the use of the beacon, but it has to be focused at this end. Once you step through, your influence on the machines will waver
and you risk becoming lost. Only I have the expertise to do this. I must focus the beam for you.’

  ‘You have performed this action before?’

  ‘Many times,’ lied Dantioch. ‘It is by these means that Polux was brought here. We must be swift. Only while the light event is in process will there be enough power to project you all the way to the Nightfall. If we tarry, the energies will dissipate and we will not be able to attempt the translocation again until the evening at the earliest.’

  ‘Very well!’ snapped Krukesh. ‘Atramentar!’

  His Terminators joined him on the tuning stage.

  Primary Location Alpha howled with energy.

  Dantioch had never dared open the conduits so fully. The room trembled. Stone creaked. In the walls, the green glimmers called out by the sunrise shone with an intensity unseen, dancing in agitation.

  ‘Is it ready, my lord, you must step forward. It is as simple as walking from one room to another.’

  One of his Atramentar made to go first, but Krukesh restrained him. ‘Wait.’ He unclipped a skull from his trophy chains and hurled it at the command deck. It shattered into splinters against a filthy bulwark.

  ‘You do not lie, Dantioch,’ said Krukesh. ‘Very impressive. Skraivok, join us. The rest of you remain here. Once we are through, we will provide you with the location of the Nightfall’s fleet. Prepare to return to your ships and depart for rendezvous.’

  ‘Ready for translocation,’ said Dantioch. An earthquake shook the room. Sparks burst from a console in the rank. ‘This is to be expected. The strain of so long-range a projection is great. Hurry!’

  Krukesh motioned his men forward.

  Dantioch screwed his eyes shut and concentrated. He was not a superstitious man, he did not hold with the bizarre creed of the tech-adepts of Mars. He was a scientist of the purest sort. But now he uttered a silent prayer.

  Primary Location Alpha shook. The image of the Nightfall glowed with bright power.

  The one named Skraivok turned to look at him, realisation dawning on his face as the light of dawn poured into Primary Location Alpha and the mountain screamed.

  ‘No! Stop him, stop him! This is a trap!’

  Kellendvar was fighting on the gantry when the golden light flooded the chamber. Both sides battling high above the machines faltered at its dazzling glare, but the Night Lords were worse affected, and several were felled.

  Kellendvar fought to keep his eyes open. Half-blinded, he kicked the warrior he was fighting backward, cutting his arm off at the elbow with a tremendous blow from his axe. Kellendvar stamped on the downed Space Marine’s head, cracking his helmet and knocking him unconscious. Auto-senses beeped, turning his lenses almost opaque. Still his eyes streamed with tears; the pain from the light was nearly unbearable. They were losing. They had to withdraw.

  ‘Kellenkir!’ he shouted, searching the engine room floor for his brother. He found him soon enough, duelling with the Ultramarines captain.

  What he saw in the golden light rocked him to the core.

  His brother was not alone.

  He fancied that a creature clung to Kellenkir’s back. Spindly, many-jointed legs wrapped around his greaves, its body bent around his backpack, its head alongside his, long snout jutting over his shoulder. Thin lips rested against Kellenkir’s ear, whispering secrets that Kellendvar never wanted to hear…

  The half-glimpsed beast appeared to be climbing inside his brother. Its limbs had sunk partway into those of Kellenkir. Sickly flesh spread over the plates of his armour in an attempt to envelop it. The creature was translucent, but all too real. Its presence did something to his brother, for Kellenkir fought unaffected by the light. The Ultramarines captain sprawled on the floor, hand shading his eyes, his power sword up as Kellenkir rained blow after blow upon him. He used no bladecraft, but hacked blindly at the captain’s sword. Each contact brought forth a crackling bang from the power field, and a wash of unnatural light from the blade.

  The howl of the quantum engines had become deafening, a throbbing noise that thumped through the chamber and drove out all other sound.

  ‘Kellenkir!’ he called again. The engines were so loud he could hardly hear his own voice.

  Kellendvar ran for the stairs, smashing Night Lords and Ultramarines alike aside in his rush.

  The creature was disappearing into his brother. He had to get it off him. He had heard of the warp entities that dwelt inside the bodies of chosen Word Bearers, but they had given themselves willingly. His brother had only ever had disdain for such weakness.

  The sword. Damn Skraivok. The sword!

  He decapitated an Ultramarine with his axe, shoving his headless corpse over the railing, and leapt down the stairs three at a time. If he could get the blade away from his brother, perhaps he could save him.

  Kellendvar bounded across the engine room floor, and threw himself at Kellenkir, tackling him about the shoulders. He flinched as he touched the daemon creature, but he could not feel it. It was insubstantial and passed through his armour as if it were not there. Nevertheless, the non-creature turned its unspeakable head and hissed at him.

  The light event was levelling out, becoming a honeyed illumination that drenched the hall. The Ultramarines recovered more quickly, and more Night Lords fell. The battle was turning against them, but Kellendvar and Kellenkir were locked in their own struggle, wrestling upon the floor as their brothers were isolated and cut down.

  ‘The sword, brother, drop the sword!’ Kellendvar grasped his brother’s wrist, and tried to prise open the fingers, but they were solidly wrapped around the hilt and would not come free.

  Kellenkir snarled. His eyes were no longer his own, but red and gold, veined like marble, the eyes of the thing he had seen in the dark. He hurled Kellendvar off. Kellenkir had always been the stronger of the two, but this was something else. Kellendvar flew through the air and crashed into the side of an alien machine. His armour dented, something gave inside him. Blood bubbled into his mouth.

  ‘I will slay you, human,’ spat Kellenkir in a voice that was not his own.

  The Ultramarines captain was getting to his feet. The light was draining away, pools of it collected in corners. Each shrank quickly as the stone drank it away.

  Behind Kellendvar, the machines sang louder and louder, shaking the mountain with their roar.

  Kellenkir came at the captain in a rush. Other Ultramarines were turning their attention to the fight. There were few Night Lords remaining. Bolt-fire smacked into Kellenkir but the projectiles simply vanished, spirited away by the power of the daemon riding Kellenkir’s back.

  ‘I have known your kind!’ shouted the captain. He had a noble’s face, thought Kellendvar, patrician and disdainful as those wicked men who had hunted and used them on Nostramo. There was a face that had wanted for nothing, that had never suffered. No doubt he thought himself a paragon of virtue. ‘I have seen warp-spawn infest machines and men! It will not stand while I draw breath. Not here, not in Ultramar!’

  The captain lunged hard. Kellenkir brought his sword around. Its shape warped before Kellendvar’s eyes, his vision doubled. He looked upon his brother bearing a plain blade; he saw a misshapen thing squirming its way into Kellenkir’s body, the blade its impossibly long fingernail, dripping with blood.

  The explosion as the swords met threw both combatants backward. The Ultramarine came off worse, lifted off his feet and dashed against thick metal cable housing crawling up the side of an engine. Kellenkir braced against the force of the blast, sliding backwards across the stone. Painful lights burned around him, a sick aura of corruption. More Ultramarines were coming.

  ‘Kellenkir! Leave him. We must depart! The day is lost!’

  The possessed legionary turned and reached out a clawed hand to him. ‘The brother,’ said the daemon’s voice. ‘So long you have held this one back, so much he gave to keep you sa
fe. Look you now upon yourself, and see what a thing you are!’

  Images of weakness flooded Kellendvar’s mind, and he collapsed to his knees screaming in psychic pain. He saw himself as a feeble boy, forever at his brother’s heels, holding him back, forcing his brother to commit terrible acts to protect him. It was his fault, he had turned his brother into a monster. His fault! If it were not for Kellendvar…

  No.

  He would not yield. He would not die, not like this.

  ‘If not for me he would be dead!’ spat the headsman. ‘He would have died on Nostramo!’ He got to his feet, pushing the daemon from his mind with a great effort of will.

  Kellenkir was advancing on the fallen captain. The Ultramarine was dazed, his sword gone. He struggled to sit as Kellenkir raised Skraivok’s cursed weapon.

  ‘With the death of you, Lucretius Corvo, shall I be whole! A worthy gift to my master! Ingress! Ingress to the world of meat and dust!’ howled the creature that Kellenkir was becoming. Kellendvar saw the daemon now without the need for the Pharos’ light. It had sunk most of the way into his brother, parasiting his soul.

  Kellendvar had known many Kellenkirs in his life. The brother, protector, fellow warrior, friend, murderer… None of them remained in the thing menacing the Ultramarine.

  He knew what he must do.

  With shaking hands, he lifted his axe high above his head, and brought it down hard upon the pulsing back of the thing that had been his brother. The weapon’s field boomed like thunder as it cut deep into his brother’s power pack. Smoke vented from the damaged machinery inside.

  Kellenkir let out a double scream. The warp-spawn upon him thrashed, half rising from his back. Kellendvar wrenched out his axe, raised it, and struck his brother again, cutting deep into his side. Kellenkir collapsed, turning as he fell to his knees. He looked up at Kellendvar and blinked.

  The red and gold marbled eyes of the daemon were gone, his own eyes now fixed upon Kellendvar’s axe.

  ‘Brother?’ he said, caught between fury and confusion. ‘Why do you strike me?’