Dishonoured

by Ray Harrison

  Dishonoured

  Ray Harrison

  Around the outpost of Blight’s Edge, a warhost of angels fell to earth.

  They came to excise, to cleanse, to burn. To take back the planet of Schrödinger VII from the necrons, in the Emperor’s name.

  Instead, they fell, they died. The ice turned black with their blood.

  Marshal Helbrecht of the Black Templars saw the enemy approaching. Forty pairs of eyes hanging in the dark, burning with soulless fire. Beyond them, Blight’s Edge burned, explosions and crackling gunfire echoing out across the ice.

  The vox squealed and roared in his ears. Between the ebb and flow of the static he could hear his brothers fighting at the other insertion points situated around the outpost. Where he had ordered them to be. Where he had been sure they could take their enemy by surprise.

  They were already here!

  Do not falter…

  We are surrounded!

  They were dying.

  All of them.

  The advancing necrons began to fire. Gauss fire whickered across the ice.

  ‘They think us undone!’ he called out. ‘Push them back!’

  Helbrecht led the charge, the wholesale slaughter of his brothers ringing in his ears. He met the first necron warrior with a crash of ceramite and metal.

  The creature didn’t get the chance to fire. Helbrecht punched his sword through the xenos’ throat, severing cabling and tearing the creature’s head from its body. The light in its eyes guttered out. He pulled his sword free and the necron’s body crumpled.

  Before it hit the ice, it disappeared with a sound like a thunderclap, but Helbrecht was already moving to engage his next foe.

  Around him, his brothers fought like war given form. The squad’s standard bearer, Evrain, had one of the necron creatures pinned to the ice, impaled on the banner pole. Garel and Thibaut stood at his side, keeping the necrons back. The standard was ancient. It had seen a thousand battlefields. Every burn mark and ragged thread was a testament to Helbrecht’s strength, to the strength of the Chapter.

  It was a symbol. It was faith.

  Evrain freed the banner pole from the necron’s ruined form and raised the standard high. A roar went up across the vox from eight battle-rough throats.

  Helbrecht’s champion, Aergard, was by his side. He was Helbrecht’s shadow, and his sharpest blade.

  ‘They foresaw the location of our landing sites,’ Aergard said.

  Helbrecht couldn’t deny his words, but that didn’t mean he had to like them. The Marshal engaged a necron warrior, separating its legs from its upper body with a brutal strike from his sword. It toppled onto the ice, but still its top half crawled towards the Marshal, clawed hands digging into the ground.

  It should have been dead.

  Aergard drove his sword into the top of its head, and it spasmed and sparked at the champion’s feet before vanishing completely.

  ‘What would you have us do?’ Aergard asked.

  Helbrecht raised his bolter and fired over his champion’s shoulder, knocking one of the necrons backwards onto the ice with a burst of flame.

  ‘What we came here to do,’ the Marshal said. ‘Purge them. Every last one of them.’

  Aergard turned away from the Marshal and fired his bolter. The bolts hit home, blasting holes in the chest of a necron warrior. The xenos kept coming, wounds re-knitting. It levelled its gun, and the maw of the weapon began to glow with emerald fire. Aergard rushed forward, taking the necron’s head with a sweep of his sword. The body fell backwards to the ground, the gauss blast it had fired screaming skywards, and as the body hit the ice it phased out with a clap of pressure.

  ‘That could have been the end of you.’ Thibaut’s voice was underpinned by echoing snaps of bolter fire.

  ‘Yes,’ Aergard said, turning and firing at another of the xenos creatures. ‘But it wasn’t.’

  Thibaut snorted and cut the vox link.

  Across the ice from Aergard, Thibaut and Lidas were battling with the necrons. The two Space Marines fought like brawlers, without grace, but with matchless ferocity. Where Aergard found clarity in the execution of his duty, Lidas and Thibaut both found joy. Lidas fought with his gladius in one hand and his chainsword in the other. He punched the gladius into the side of a necron’s metal skull. The short blade snapped off at the hilt. The necron staggered, twitching. Lidas took its head with a messy swing of his chainsword.

  Aergard knew that behind the mask of his faceplate, Lidas would be grinning.

  The Black Templars had pushed the necrons back, claiming the ice as their own. At Aergard’s side, Helbrecht tore the last of the xenos open from hip to shoulder. The life went out of it with a burst of wicked green light. It fell.

  ‘If they had looked to test us,’ the Marshal said, ‘then they should have sent more.’

  Aergard didn’t get the chance to reply. The world lit up for a split second with a blinding flare of light. In its wake, the darkness parted as if a veil had been lifted. Seven necrons appeared. Six held bulky shields and wicked blades, but the seventh was smaller, hunchbacked, and twitching with synaptic misfires. It wore a rotten cloak around its lumpen shoulders. A single green eye looked out from under the hood.

  At Aergard’s side now, Thibaut slammed a fresh magazine into his bolter.

  ‘How accommodating.’

  Aergard silenced him with a look.

  The Black Templars drew together, each protecting his brother beside him.

  The hunchbacked creature cast its eye across each of the Space Marines. With a garbled machine-squeal, it raised its arm and pointed at Evrain.

  ‘I, Kheprys, demand this one,’ it said in halting Gothic.

  The standard bearer cursed. He fired his bolter at the creature, only for the explosive shells to detonate in the air around it. For an instant, Aergard could see the reflective curve of some sort of shield, as if it were made of impossibly thin glass.

  The creature, Kheprys, laughed. It sounded like air escaping from a valve. Its guardians started forward, closing ranks.

  They were coming for the standard bearer.

  Eight became seven.

  One of the necrons had pinned Lidas to the ice, with its sword punched through his chest. Blood spread around the Space Marine on the ground like unfolding wings. The necron stood over him, one foot on his throat.

  Lidas primed a krak grenade. In the heartbeat that followed, Aergard mourned his brother.

  The grenade went off and Lidas and his necron assailant were consumed by flame. It was not a beautiful death. Lidas would have wanted to die on his feet.

  Aergard armoured himself in fury and charged the closest of the necrons, swinging his sword two-handed. It connected with his opponent’s shield, staggering the alien. Before it recovered, he swung again, severing the creature’s arm at the elbow. The shield fell onto the ice and Aergard got a heavy kick in the chest for his trouble. The impact cracked his armour and took him off his feet. He landed hard, coughing a spatter of blood onto the inside of his faceplate.

  Aergard expected the creature to come for him, but it didn’t. It turned away, heading for Evrain. The standard bearer was wounded, kneeling on the ice, while the hunchbacked necron stood over him. Garel and Thibaut were fighting like madmen to reach him. The Marshal was seconds away, Balinor and Vayn at his side.

  A darkness moved around Evrain and the necrons like churning water. When it cleared, the xenos had gone.

  They had taken Evrain and the Marshal’s standard with them.

  Helbrecht stood at the spot where Evrain had disappeared.

  There was a blac
k mark there on the ice. The aftertaste of the teleportation in the air made Helbrecht want to spit.

  ‘My lord.’

  Aergard was waiting for a command. They all were. Helbrecht clenched his fist. They had lost so much already.

  ‘My lord,’ Aergard said again.

  Helbrecht turned to face the five Space Marines that remained of his honour guard.

  ‘Kneel,’ Helbrecht said. He didn’t raise his voice.

  They all complied immediately with a clash of armour plates, bowing their heads. Helbrecht could not help feeling that they were avoiding his eyes. He drove the point of his sword into the ice, marking where Evrain, and the standard he bore, had disappeared.

  ‘This is failure,’ he said. ‘The Black Templars have failed.’

  Helbrecht stalked to where Aergard knelt and pulled him to his feet.

  ‘The enemy have my standard. They have your brother.’

  For years, Helbrecht had valued Aergard’s counsel. His champion was a balanced blade, not easily given to choler or spite. Yet in that moment, Helbrecht looked at his brother and saw nothing but his own failures reflected back at him.

  And he could not bear them.

  ‘Speak,’ Helbrecht snarled.

  ‘We allowed the enemy to best us. I allowed it,’ Aergard said, head bowed. ‘What would you have me do?’

  Helbrecht gestured at Thibaut and Garel.

  ‘Take these two and find my standard. I will continue on to Blight’s Edge. I will rally our brothers and retake the outpost.’

  Aergard flinched as if he’d been struck.

  ‘We are sworn to defend you,’ he said. ‘I am sworn to defend you.’

  ‘Then I relieve you of that responsibility,’ Helbrecht said. ‘Return to me with my standard, or do not return at all. Do you understand?’

  Aergard inclined his head, but said nothing.

  ‘Swear by your blade,’ Helbrecht demanded.

  Aergard planted his sword in the ice. He dropped to one knee before it, eye-lenses level with the crosspiece.

  ‘I swear it, by my blood and by my blade. Lest I die dishonoured.’

  ‘Do not disappoint me in this,’ Helbrecht said. ‘Restore our honour and your own will be restored with it.’

  Helbrecht turned away, looking to the horizon. The outpost of Blight’s Edge reared from the ice. Inside, fires were burning, lighting the sky with a false sunrise.

  In Helbrecht’s ear, the vox pick-up crackled and stuttered.

  ‘… Seven dead… regroup…’

  ‘… Heavy armour sighted!’

  ‘… Hundreds of them! Steel yourselves!’

  He would not filter the communications. He needed to hear it all: every drop of blood spilt, every brother lost.

  Everything.

  The name of the outpost was painted in massive letters on the external wall.

  ‘Drab,’ Thibaut read it aloud. ‘I hope it lives up to its name.’

  ‘Very amusing,’ Aergard said, not taking his eyes off the walls.

  Drab lay to the west of Blight’s Edge. It was one of many smaller outposts on the planet’s surface that had been built directly on top of rich deposits of cryonite. It was a functioning mine with a population of around thirty thousand souls.

  Aergard suspected that number was now grossly inaccurate.

  Beyond the walls, palls of smoke rose, shrouding the frame of the mine head and the buildings that clung to it. The smoke was lit from underneath by the emerald flare of gauss fire and the blazing trails of missiles. The ice shook to the heavy tread of war.

  The outpost was being brought to its knees, and it struggled as it died.

  The three Space Marines were walking the perimeter, looking for a way to get inside. Drab had been locked down. Sealing it off had been an attempt to keep the workers safe. Instead, it had trapped them inside with the necrons.

  Garel walked ahead of them, almost consumed by the shadow cast by the walls. The sun was coming up. Somehow, it made it feel colder.

  ‘Evrain’s locator signal is getting stronger,’ Thibaut said.

  ‘It is coming from the western quarter,’ Aergard said by way of response. The rune that signalled Evrain’s location flickered in his peripheral vision. While it could tell them where to find him, it couldn’t tell them whether or not he still lived.

  ‘How can you be sure that we will find the standard there?’ Garel said. ‘The locator signal only tells us where Evrain is. Or at least where his armour is. They may have taken it from him.’

  Aergard clenched his fists. The thought of the necrons scavenging Evrain’s battleplate, ripping it from him like carrion birds worrying a corpse, was almost worse than imagining him dead. It was sacrilege.

  ‘We have to assume that Evrain and the standard are in the same place,’ Thibaut replied. ‘It is currently our best hope of finding either.’

  ‘Assumptions – always eminently preferable.’ Garel sounded irritated.

  Thibaut laughed. ‘My assumptions over your eyes, any day, brother.’

  ‘That’s enough, both of you,’ Aergard said. ‘We need to focus.’

  When Thibaut spoke again, he sounded concerned. ‘You are troubled,’ he said.

  Aergard thought that somewhat of an understatement, but didn’t say so.

  ‘The battle plan that I helped devise is currently getting our brothers killed. I stood by and watched as that vile xenos disappeared with one of our own. I would say that is adequate reason to be troubled.’

  Thibaut shook his head. ‘That is not your burden to bear alone,’ he said, ‘though you seem to be intent on trying.’

  ‘I swore on my sword. The oath is mine,’ Aergard said.

  Thibaut’s faceplate hid his expression, but when he spoke again he sounded faintly amused.

  ‘You are so damned honourable,’ he said. ‘We are brothers. Your burdens are our burdens, until we are all too dead to bear them.’

  Aergard smiled, just barely. ‘That almost sounded like good counsel,’ he said.

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘Forgive me for interrupting.’ Garel sounded impatient even through the crackling, intermittent vox. ‘I believe I have found a way in.’

  ‘Good,’ Aergard said. ‘Then let us go and find the Marshal’s standard.’

  ‘And Evrain,’ Thibaut added.

  ‘Yes,’ Aergard said, feeling the acid touch of guilt. ‘And Evrain.’

  After several attempts, Helbrecht had made contact with Unyielding.

  The Thunderhawk gunship was now en route to pick up the Marshal and the two remaining members of his honour guard and relocate them to the heart of the battle, the outpost of Blight’s Edge.

  He had also tried to reach Flight of Angels and Ascendancy, but the only answer had been a damning silence.

  Helbrecht, Balinor and Vayn held their position on the stretch of ice that had been bought with Templar blood. Between the Space Marines and Blight’s Edge, the land was heaped with boulders of wind-carved ice. In places, the face of the planet was split. Some of the fissures were miles deep. If you were to fall, the planet would take you.

  More necrons had come since Evrain was taken, and still more kept coming. They marched between the glistening blocks of ice, accompanied by a thousand watery reflections. The Space Marines kept them at bay, each protecting the other. Eventually, though, their bolters would run dry, and their swords would blunt and break.

  They would use their fists if they had to.

  ‘How long until Unyielding reaches us?’ Balinor said. He slammed another magazine into his bolter.

  ‘Two minutes,’ Helbrecht replied. It sounded like no time at all, but it was long enough to get them killed. ‘Stay focused. We cannot afford a moment of distraction.’

  Vayn spoke up over the thundercl
ap of a necron phasing out.

  ‘They are wasteful, spending resource without thought.’

  ‘They are wearing us down,’ Helbrecht said. ‘Forcing us to spend our ammunition and our strength. Do not underestimate them.’

  Vayn ducked behind a frozen outcrop as gauss fire lit the gloom. It carved straight through the ice beside his head. Meltwater spattered his battleplate.

  ‘Noted,’ he said.

  ‘For every life they have taken, they will repay us tenfold,’ Helbrecht said.

  He looked at Balinor, and Vayn beside him.

  ‘Keep faith,’ he said. ‘Or we are already lost.’

  Overhead, the sky trembled with the roar of thrusters. A Thunderhawk broke the low cloud, trailing smoke and flame. The sound of its straining engines echoed around the frozen landscape.

  It was Unyielding, and it was being hunted.

  Helbrecht watched as three necron fighters burst from the cloud behind the ailing gunship. They rolled in the air with a peculiar, alien grace. Where the Thunderhawk bellowed and roared, the necron craft sang.

  The sound was unbearable.

  Unyielding deployed a burst of flares. The three fighters dipped and weaved around them, ignoring them completely.

  Then the lead fighter fired.

  A beam of searing light lanced from the ship’s underbelly, striking the Thunderhawk across the tail and shearing clean through the gunship’s layers of ablative armour plating. The tail section tore off completely. Chain explosions burst along the length of the Thunderhawk’s spine, and it shuddered in the air with an agonised groan.

  Unyielding came apart before Helbrecht’s eyes and began to fall to earth. The Marshal cursed and turned to run, Vayn and Balinor beside him.

  The dismembered gunship hit the ice behind the Space Marines and exploded, engines detonating with a thunderous exhalation of heat and pressure. Helbrecht was hurled into the air, the hot rush of flame blistering the paint from his armour. He landed hard, smoke rising from his battleplate. Dozens of necrons had been immolated by the blast, or crushed when Unyielding fell. One had been blown over the edge of a fissure and swallowed by the hungry darkness.

  Helbrecht got up unsteadily. Fractured bone shifted in his chest. It hurt to breathe.