Killing Ground w4u-4

by Graham McNeill

  Leodegarius collapsed and Uriel surged in, pounding his fists against the warrior's face, hating the fact that he was drawing the blood of an Imperial hero, but knowing that he had no choice but to fight with all his strength.

  He drew back his fist to strike again, when Leodegarius surged to his feet and slammed the heel of his left hand into Uriel's solar plexus. Almost in the same motion, his right chopped down on Pasanius's neck.

  Pasanius gave a strangled cry of pain and his eyes rolled back in their sockets.

  Uriel staggered back, struggling for breath as his diaphragm went into spasm and pain from the strike to his solar plexus almost blinded him. He could not draw air into his lungs.

  Leodegarius rose to his feet, like a colossus from the depths, and Uriel was amazed that he had recovered so quickly from Pasanius's strike. A blow of such power would have shattered the leg of a mortal warrior and rendered even a Space Marine immobile for several minutes.

  Leodegarius fought as if the blow had never landed and Uriel knew that they were fighting one of the mightiest warriors of the Imperium. Uriel raised his fists, but he was too hurt and too slow to avoid the hammer-blows that rang from his skull as Leodegarius closed on him. He desperately circled in an attempt to put some distance between him and his opponent.

  Uriel could not resist the fury of the attack and he saw the blow that would finish him a split second before it landed. The Grey Knight's fist arced around his guard and smashed into his face with the power of a thunderbolt.

  Uriel was hurled backwards and landed in a heap next to Pasanius, his face a bloody ruin and his torso a mass of ugly bruises that were already swelling and purpling.

  He knew he had to get to his feet, but the strength had been battered from him and he slumped back, unable to rise or fight or do anything other than lie bleeding. His breath came in short, painful gasps and he tasted blood and defeat in his mouth.

  Was this how his life was to end? Beaten to a bloody pulp by a warrior he should be fighting shoulder to shoulder with? The indignity and horror of it was unbearable.

  Uriel looked up through a mist of blood and swellings to see Leodegarius standing over him. 'Kill us and be done with it,' he snapped, 'but you are only helping the Emperor's enemies by doing so.'

  Leodegarius shook his head and offered Uriel his hand. 'No,' he said, 'I am not going to kill you. The Judicium Imperator is over and you have proved to me that you are loyal servants of the Imperium.'

  Uriel took the proffered hand and drew himself unsteadily to his feet. 'But we lost.'

  'The Judicium Imperator is not about winning or losing,' said Leodegarius, 'it is about the struggle. I am a warrior of the Grey Knights and I carry the Emperor's fire into the dark corners of the galaxy. Only a servant of the Ruinous Powers can defeat me. Had you bested me, it would have shown that you were an enemy of the Emperor and my warriors would have gunned you down.'

  'Then we were meant to lose?' asked Uriel, horrified at the implication.

  'Meant to?' shrugged Leodegarius. 'No, but the Emperor was with me and I was confident I could defeat the pair of you, thus proving that you were not servants of evil.'

  Pasanius pushed himself up onto his elbow. 'What happened?' he asked groggily. 'Did we win?'

  'I think we did,' said Uriel.

  'Good,' said Pasanius, sliding back down into unconsciousness. 'I knew we could take him.'

  The feel of the fresh bodyglove against his skin was sublime and the sense of anticipation was almost unbearable. Uriel felt his heartbeat quicken as the Grey Knights' artificers lifted the blue breastplate of the power armour from the battle flag and manoeuvred it towards his chest.

  The movement was accompanied with solemn chants from the hooded acolytes, who, since Uriel and Pasanius's vindication, had taken on an altogether less threatening aspect.

  Uriel and Pasanius stood on a raised dais before the assembled warriors of the Grey Knights and Curator Lukas Urbican in one of the grand halls of the Gallery of Antiquities. The Grey Knights were clad in their battle gear, each plate and vambrace garlanded with purity seals.

  With Uriel and Pasanius's loyalty to the Golden Throne established by the Judicium Imperator, the Grey Knights had borne them into the Thunderhawk, where chirurgeons and Apothecaries had treated their wounds. No words were spoken and Leodegarius refused to answer any questions until they were fit to stand before him as fellow Astartes.

  The already healing burns on their hands were cleaned with sterile jellies and repaired with synth-skin bandages, the swelling bruises and lumps earned in the Judicium Imperator with ice and pain medication.

  Where Uriel had been branded on the shoulder, the clicking mechanisms of a reconstruction servitor implanted in the wall of the Thunderhawk's medicae bay rapidly removed the burn scars and rebuilt the underlying tissue and epidermis.

  Within the space of an hour, both Uriel and Pasanius were declared fit for service and had been issued with fresh under-suits for power armour. Leodegarius had marched them from the Thunderhawk and, together with an escort of Grey Knights, crossed the empty parade ground towards the Gallery of Antiquities.

  Curator Urbican had been waiting for them, a broad smile plastered across his open features as he welcomed them back into the gallery. Once again they made their way through the shadowed halls until they found themselves before the suits of power armour belonging to the Sons of Guilliman.

  Eighteen of the suits were arranged in battle formation behind a dais. The nineteenth, the armour Uriel had chosen, or which had chosen him, was broken down into its component parts and arranged on one of the great battle flags of Salinas taken down from the walls. The armour was exactly as Uriel remembered it, freshly painted in the colours of the Ultramarines, with only the helmet remaining in the blue and white of the Sons of Guilliman.

  Arranged beside this suit of armour was another, this one in the familiar livery and iconography of the Ultramarines. Uriel had seen Pasanius's pride at the restoration of their Chapter symbols earlier, but his joy at seeing them again was no less dimmed.

  'Prepare to receive your armour, warriors of the Emperor,' said Leodegarius.

  Uriel and Pasanius had mounted the dais, and the artificers lifted the first plates of the armour towards their bodies with great reverence. First came the greaves, cuisse and knee guards, followed by the power coils of the midsection.

  Piece by piece, the armour was layered upon them and as each segment was fastened into place, Uriel felt as though his soul was being rebuilt. Segments of his armour were fixed in place over his upper arms and then came the vambrace and gauntlets.

  The damaged section of Pasanius's armour had been repaired with an end cap to seal his armour at the elbow. His friend had declined the Grey Knight's offer of a temporary augmetic, sheepishly saying that he would rather have one fitted by the Techmarines of Macragge.

  Adjustments were made, pieces added and each facet of the armour polished and anointed with sacred oils and unguents until all that remained was the final piece. The artificers slotted the breastplate into position and Uriel felt the familiar hiss and whir of the armour coming to life around him.

  Fur-lined cloaks of purest white were fastened around their shoulders and secured with golden eagle clips to their breastplates as the gorget clamped around his neck, tight, but not restricting. As the pressure seals engaged, Uriel could feel the internal workings of the armour revitalise his physique, thrumming with incredible potential energy.

  Questing bio-implants unwound from inside the armour and connected with the sockets in his body, meshing his organic structure with that of the ceramite plates and indescribably complex workings of Space Marine armour.

  Uriel felt the power of wearing such a magnificent suit of armour, his strength boosted, his endurance enhanced and his ability to smite the enemies of the Imperium increased exponentially.

  With Uriel and Pasanius's armour in place, Leodegarius stepped forward and handed them gleaming bolters. The flat plat
es of the weapons were etched in gold and their length was worked with incredibly detailed lettering. The weapons were freshly oiled, each with a magazine of bolter shells fitted snugly into the space before the trigger.

  Uriel nodded as he hefted the bolter, the weapon feeling as though it weighed nothing at all. Strength coursed through the armour and he could feel the channels of energy running through it as surely as though it was a second skin.

  A Space Marine was more than any one thing, however, more than his armour, his weapons or his training and dedication. Each of these things combined to create something greater than the sum of its parts.

  A warrior without a weapon or armour could be killed by his enemies and a warrior without faith and training would fall to petty vices that led to gross treachery.

  Uriel had seen, first hand, what a warrior who was not fully equipped, physically and spiritually, could become, and he had walked perilously close to the precipice that others had fallen from. Images of the Warsmith Honsou and Ardaric Vaanes drifted across his mind, but they were fleeting, ghost images, reminders of a dark time that was now passed.

  Uriel turned his head to look at the armour, seeing a thick wad of crimson wax attached to the edge of his shoulder guard. A fluttering length of parchment hung from the wax seal, and written upon it in a fine, cursive script was a line from a sermon familiar to Uriel:

  He must put a white cloak upon his soul, that he might climb down into the filth, yet may he die a saint.

  Leodegarius stepped back and bowed to them both.

  'Welcome back, warriors of Ultramar,' he said.

  EIGHTEEN

  Fury blazed in Leto Barbaden's eyes as Uriel and Pasanius marched into his private library alongside Leodegarius and a robed acolyte bearing a scented rosewood box. The Grey Knight was clad in a pale cream tunic, over which he wore a shirt of silver mail trimmed in ermine, yet he was no less impressive for lack of his armour.

  At the heels of the Space Marines came four others, hastily assembled by the orders of Leodegarius. Cardinal Shavo Togandis came first, sweating beneath his robes of office, which hung loosely on him where they had been fastened incorrectly in his haste to obey the immediate summons to the palace.

  Serj Casuaban walked alongside the cardinal, his expression betraying a mix of irritation and curiosity at having been dragged from his works at the House of Providence. The medicae wore a long, dark coat over his functional clothes and his grey hair was combed neatly for perhaps the first time in years.

  Daron Nisato and Pascal Blaise walked behind Casuaban, the latter looking deeply uncomfortable in a set of iron restraint cuffs and the former uncomfortable at the idea of them being there, while knowing that they had to be for now.

  The governor of Salinas sat in his chair nursing a large glass of port as this procession invaded his inner sanctum, and Uriel felt a flutter of satisfaction at the man's annoyance. He could see the effort of will it was taking the governor to keep a civil tongue in his head, but not even Leto Barbaden would openly risk the wrath of the Grey Knights by refusing an audience.

  There was no denying the sense of renewed purpose that filled Uriel. Now that he was once again armoured as a Space Marine, he was ready to stand alongside such heroic warriors as Leodegarius and Pasanius in defence of the Imperium. Though he had no idea what Leodegarius was to say to the assembly, Uriel could feel the tension in the air and the unbearable sense of expectation.

  In the wake of the Unfleshed's rampage through Barbadus, the citizens had taken to the streets to variously demand action, recompense or retaliation. Quite who any such action was to be taken against wasn't clear, but the need for something to be done was reaching critical mass. Several buildings had been burned to the ground and widespread looting had gripped the entire northeast quarter of the city.

  Daron Nisato's enforcers had taken to the streets in whatever armoured vehicles remained to them, supported by the few soldiers who were willing to patrol the streets after the massacre at the Screaming Eagle's barracks.

  The mood on the streets of the city was ugly and all it would take to ignite a city-wide epidemic of bloodshed was a single spark.

  Events of great import were in motion and Uriel knew that many of the players in this drama would not live to see its end were they to misstep but a little. The acolyte with the box placed it on the table in the centre of the room and Barbaden spared it the briefest glance before saying, 'Brother Leodegarius, are you sure that this gathering is absolutely necessary? There is chaos on the streets of my city!'

  'You are more right than you know, governor,' said Leodegarius darkly, 'and yes, I am sure that this is necessary. Believe me, things are likely to get worse before they get better.'

  'Very well,' muttered Barbaden, taking a sip of his port and sending a poisonous glance towards Pascal Blaise. 'Since this… motley band has assembled, might I enquire why you required the presence of a known terrorist, Brother Leodegarius?'

  'I'm no terrorist!' snapped Pascal Blaise. 'You're the terrorist, Barbaden.'

  'Whatever,' said Barbaden. 'I'll have you executed before the day is out.'

  'No, you won't,' said Daron Nisato, resting his hand on the butt of his pistol. 'If we are ever to have peace on Salinas, we will need this man alive.'

  Barbaden ignored Nisato, as though he were not even worth bothering with, although Uriel saw his face darken at the unaccustomed sight of a weapon in his presence.

  'I will get to that in good time, Governor Barbaden,' answered Leodegarius, looking into the face of every man present, and Uriel had the distinct impression that the Grey Knight was seeing beyond their physical appearance to some hidden quality that only he could discern.

  'This motley band, as you call it, is a very singular body, and you are all here because I have seen that you all have a part to play in this planet's future, or rather, whether it has one at all.'

  'That sounds like a threat,' observed Barbaden.

  'Perhaps it is, governor,' admitted Leodegarius, lifting the rosewood box from the table. 'I am well aware of the unrest in your city, but it can wait, for a potentially far greater threat to your world builds unseen in the darkness.'

  'What threat?' demanded Barbaden.

  'In time,' said Leodegarius, and Uriel heard the unmistakable tone of one who is growing weary of answering questions. Barbaden heard it too and wisely kept his mouth shut as the Grey Knight opened the box and removed what looked like a pack of cards.

  'The art of cartomancy is ancient,' began Leodegarius. 'It predates the Imperium and has been used as a tool of divination by the earliest tribes to crawl across the surface of Old Earth.'

  'Are we to receive a history lesson while my city burns?' sneered Barbaden and Uriel was again struck by the man's bravery or stupidity in the face of so mighty a warrior as Leodegarius.

  Leodegarius displayed no irritation at the interruption and said, 'Everything comes back to history, governor. What is happening now is a direct result of mistakes made in the past. Only by studying the past can we learn from it.'

  Barbaden appeared far from convinced, but nodded as Leodegarius continued. 'I have gathered this group together because you are all intimately linked with what is happening on Salinas. I know this because the cards tell me it is so. Gather round.'

  Uriel and Pasanius stood at either shoulder of the Grey Knight as the others approached the table. Predictably, Barbaden was last to arrive, casting a hostile stare at Uriel as he did so.

  'Observe,' said Leodegarius, selecting cards at random from the deck and setting it before Daron Nisato. The card was that of a robed man sitting upon a throne. In one hand he carried a sword and in the other a set of golden scales. On the base of the card was written, ''Justice''.

  'This is you, Enforcer Nisato,' said Leodegarius. 'Whatever your past has been, the time has come to reflect on the choices you have made along the way. There are wrongs you plan to make amends for and there are people who have brought you distress, but you are wise eno
ugh to deal with them in an intelligent way. Your only thought is of making things better and this card shows that those wrongs will be put right.'

  'You can get all that from a card?' asked Daron Nisato.

  'From the card and from you,' answered Leodegarius, drawing another card and laying it before the man standing next to Nisato. This card depicted a man hung by his ankles from a gibbet attached to an Imperial temple.

  'That doesn't look very encouraging,' said Pascal Blaise. 'Is this going to be some kind of justification for executing me?'

  'We need no justification for that,' hissed Barbaden. 'The lives you took in your pointless, silly resistance are all the justification I need.'

  Leodegarius spoke again before Blaise could reply. 'Things have not reached fruition in your life and you must be patient. Keep your own counsel, let go of your hate, and trust your instincts in the days ahead. They will serve you well.'

  Another card was turned up: a robed man sitting between two pillars with a pair of keys lying crossed at his feet.

  'Cardinal Togandis, this is you, the Hierophant,' said Leodegarius. 'He symbolises the ruling power of religion and faith, the teachings that are palatable to the masses. This represents your love of ritual and ceremony, but also your need for approval from others. The Hierophant indicates the importance of conformity.'

  The sweating cardinal did not answer, and Leodegarius went on.

  The next card showed an old, grey-haired man on the edge of a snow-capped cliff, looking out upon the world. In one hand he carried a lantern and in the other, a winged, snake-wrapped staff.

  'The Hermit,' said Leodegarius, looking at Serj Casuaban. 'On the long dark nights of the soul, the Hermit is there to guide us towards wisdom and knowledge. From the Hermit we can receive wisdom from the Emperor. The Hermit can guide us in our upcoming endeavours. He reminds us that our goals can be attained, but that the journey will not be smooth or easy.'