‘They need hardly try,’ Captain Vorr of the Marines Malevolent spat. ‘If the stories of the Wolves’… mutants are to be believed.’
‘That is an accusation that will be further investigated as soon as time allows,’ Azrael said. The muttering among the assembled Space Marines died as he spoke, his deep voice carrying easily across the hectic bridge.
‘Right now securing the Fenris System against daemonic incursion is our foremost priority. Once it has been purged, we shall hold the Wolves to account for what they have tried to hide from us. From the Imperium.’
The Dark Angel’s cold words left a gulf of silence in their wake. After a moment Elezar continued.
‘Frostheim, the third and final planet of the Fenris System. It is the site of Morkai’s Keep, which was recently seized by heretic forces before being retaken, it seems, by Harald Deathwolf’s Great Company.’
‘What heretic forces?’ Terrek demanded.
‘We are still gathering intelligence on the matter. Frostheim is orbited by a natural satellite called Svellgard. The moon’s surface is dotted with a number of small islands, sites for a powerful orbital defence battery known as the Claws of the World Wolf. These were recently recaptured from a daemonic infestation which appears to be originating from beneath Svellgard’s seas.’
‘Are the weapon systems still operational?’ asked Bohemund, captain of the Doom Griffons Fourth Company.
‘As far as we’re aware, yes. Brother-Captains Epathus and Terrek are both en-route there with their brethren as we speak, supported by the Imperial Navy’s Four Hundred and Eighty-third Obscurus battlefleet sub-detachment and an Astra Militarum Army Group. They will stabilise the situation.’ Both Epathus and Terrek’s holo-forms nodded their confirmation, the motion causing them to flicker.
‘And if the Wolves do not wish to be “stabilised”?’ Vorr asked.
‘Then they shall be taught a long-overdue lesson in how to cooperate with their brethren,’ Elezar replied. Unnoticed, a smile ghosted across Azrael’s lips. He could see why Asmodai favoured the young Interrogator-Chaplain.
‘Besides their presence on the system’s three planets and two moons, sector defence data-files show that the Wolves maintain two Ramilies-class star forts,’ Elezar continued, ‘designated Gormenjarl and Mjalnar. Contact was lost with both soon after the incursion began.’
The rest of his words were drowned out by the voice of Azrael’s vox seneschal, Mendaxis, speaking in the Supreme Grand Master’s ear.
‘Sire, we have just detected a ship signature not registered with the fleet breaking into realspace coreward of our position. Initial scans show it was last registered as a private vessel associated with the retinue of Lord Inquisitor Banist de Mornay.’
Azrael’s expression remained stoic, but his grip tightened fractionally on the skulls carved into his throne’s flanks. Beside him Asmodai, listening to the vox exchange, turned sharply to look at Azrael. De Mornay, the Supreme Grand Master thought. So the old fool yet lived. Of course he’d followed them here.
‘He’s hailing us,’ Mendaxis said.
‘Accept it,’ Azrael replied. ‘Throne vid only.’
A small screen, framed by the wings of the aquila, rose from the throne’s arm. For a second the monitor fizzed green with static, before resolving itself into a face Azrael had hoped never to see again.
When he had first met Lord Inquisitor de Mornay the man had been a paragon of Imperial strength – young, iron-jawed, steel-eyed, his red hair cropped close, more accustomed to flakplate than the robes of his ordo. But a century had taken its toll, rejuvenat processes or not. Now the face that occupied the screen was sagging into fat, the jaw-line more jowl-line, one eye rheumy with cataracts.
‘Supreme Grand Master Azrael,’ said de Mornay, his deep voice crackling through the vox horn set below the screen. He was smiling. ‘I am glad to see you again.’
‘I cannot say the same,’ Azrael replied. He didn’t have time for the Inquisition’s games, especially not the ones that de Mornay loved to play.
‘Am I interrupting something?’
‘The crusade fleet is currently preparing to fire-bomb the surface of Midgardia.’
‘May I ask why, aside from the fact that Midgardia falls under the control of the Vlka Fenryka? I’m sure your primarch would be proud, if I recall my Progenium history lessons correctly.’
‘The planet has fallen to a daemonic incursion.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Augur sweeps, vox intercepts, strategic analysis data, the visions of my Librarians and the fact that a Space Wolves Great Company is currently fleeing the surface.’
‘The Champions of Fenris?’
‘No. We believe it to be the Ironwolves.’
‘But the Champions are also on Midgardia, aren’t they? Led by Logan Grimnar himself?’
‘Our vox transcripts report all contact with him has been lost.’ De Mornay was silent for a moment before speaking again.
‘I would like to request an immediate audience.’
‘Your rosette will do you little good, de Mornay,’ Azrael warned. ‘I am not some cowering Militarum general or docile planetary governor. If you wish to speak, it will be on my terms, not yours.’
‘I see the sons of the Lion are as cooperative with His Holy Ordos as ever,’ de Mornay replied, acid creeping into his voice.
‘I will humour you this one time, de Mornay, as a token of goodwill towards the Inquisition. But don’t expect anything more from me. Few Chapter Masters would grant you the privileges I do.’
‘Expect me within the hour.’
Azrael cut the link without another word. He knew de Mornay well enough to understand that rebuffing him would only heighten his determination. Better to lure the fool into the Lion’s den and show him the consequences of his beliefs first-hand.
Below him Elezar was describing the intention of the Chapter to fire-bomb Midgardia’s surface. The muttering of the assembled commanders showed it was as unpopular among them as it had been with de Mornay. Azrael keyed his personal vox.
‘Dismiss them,’ he ordered Elezar.
Without showing any sign of having heard Azrael over the link, Elezar began to bring the briefing to a close.
‘De Mornay is here because of us, not the Wolves,’ Asmodai said, his voice hissing quietly from the maw of his grim, black skull helm.
‘Without a doubt.’
‘We must keep him at arm’s length.’
‘Have no fear, brother. I intend to.’
Below the dais the thirteen Space Marine commanders were departing, each one bowing briefly towards Azrael before they left. Himmaeus of the Knights of the Covenant was the last to exit the bridge, exchanging a curt nod with his Supreme Grand Master before passing through the blast doors. Azrael rose and descended from the dais, Asmodai following him like a shadow woven from nightmares.
‘Brother Elezar,’ Azrael said. ‘How do you find our brethren’s appraisal of the coming operation?’
‘Approving, for the most part,’ the Interrogator-Chaplain said, stepping away from the holochart and bowing as Azrael joined him. ‘Though our decision to bomb Midgardia met with ill feeling. It does not sit well with them to burn the planet with the Great Wolf still unaccounted for.’
‘Of course. It is not what I would wish to do, but we have no alternatives. Midgardia’s surface is now so infested that only warpspawn could possibly exist down there for any length of time. The entire strength of this crusade would be liquidated if we sought to make planetfall, and we cannot let the warp rifts on the surface grow any further. It must burn, all of it.’
‘Yes, my lord,’ Elezar said. ‘They will all accept our decision, I have no doubt.’
‘Sire,’ Mendaxis interrupted him. ‘Lord Inquisitor de Mornay’s shuttle is requesting docking clearance.’
‘Grant it,’ Azrael said tersely. ‘And send Brother-Sergeant Elija to escort him personally. Tell him there are to be no deviations, they
are to come straight here.’
‘Yes, sire.’ Azrael glanced at Asmodai.
‘A necessary evil, brother,’ he said. The Master Interrogator-Chaplain didn’t reply.
Sergeant Elija brought Lord Inquisitor Banist de Mornay to the bridge borne aloft on a cushioned vital-support palanquin which was welded to the backs of two tracked servitor units. Behind him came a train of disparate creatures. There was a lithe-looking, black-armoured Sister of Battle, her eyes staring with fiery intensity from a flame-scarred face. Alongside her was a limping, blue-robed lexmechanic, borne down by a great stack of data-slates and scrolls. Tugging on his robe-tails was a long-limbed Jokaero, taking in the grim splendour of the Rock’s bridge with simian fascination. A dead-eyed cherubim wove and darted overhead on buzzing rotor wings, trailing more parchments.
Behind them all shuffled an emaciated figure, naked bar a soiled loincloth, its wiry body stitched with scars and stimm-injection ports. Rather than hands, its arms ended in crudely grafted electro flails, currently trailing inert along the floor. Its head was covered by a red hood and bound by a riveted visor stylised into the shape of the Inquisitorial I. The faint sound of soothing plainsong drifted from its lobe implants.
Azrael grimaced in disgust as he watched the arco-flagellant limping after its owner.
‘Greetings, Supreme Grand Master,’ de Mornay called as his palanquin crossed the bridge, rumbling awkwardly around ranked cogitator pews. As he spoke, the lexmechanic started to scramble for a free slate and autoquill.
‘You would bring an abomination like that aboard the Rock?’ Azrael demanded, eyes still on the arco-flagellant.
‘We all do the Emperor’s will,’ de Mornay responded. ‘And I’ve made poor VX Nine-Eighteen here enact that will in many terrible ways down the years. It’s good for him to get out.’
‘Emperor’s… will…’ muttered the lexmechanic, autoquill now scratching furiously across a data-slate.
‘Your appearance is as sudden as ever,’ Azrael said dispassionately. ‘And unwelcome. Why are you here, de Mornay?’
‘The arrival of anyone bearing a rosette ought to be sudden, Supreme Grand Master,’ the inquisitor replied, palanquin rocking to a halt before the Dark Angels. He shifted his ageing body fractionally, the wires binding him to his moving recliner’s life-support systems rattling. ‘And only unwelcome if you have something to hide.’ Except for the Sister of Battle, his retinue clustered behind him like a herd of frightened grox calves.
‘Something… to… hide…’ the lexmechanic repeated, still writing.
Though he remained silent, Azrael could feel Asmodai’s anger emanating like the chill of the void beside him.
‘That doesn’t answer my question.’
‘Ah, but I believe it is my prerogative to ask the questions here.’
‘The… questions…’ the lexmechanic said.
‘Hush now, Peterkyn,’ de Mornay muttered before continuing. ‘I can sense you are going to make this audience both brief and impolite, so I will speak plainly. Firstly, there are loyal subjects of the Emperor still on the planet below us. The planet you intend to incinerate.’
‘Massed evacuation is unfeasible,’ Azrael replied. ‘The populace would need to be quarantined and screened en-masse for warp taint. There is manifestly neither the time nor the facilities for such actions.’
‘While civilian losses are regrettable,’ de Mornay made a point of glancing at Asmodai, ‘I was referring more to the burning of an entire Great Company of your fellow Adeptus Astartes.’
‘Fire-bombing Midgardia will not damage its underground habitats,’ Azrael said. ‘And that was Grimnar’s last recorded location. If by the Emperor’s will he yet lives, he will be unharmed.’
‘And when he emerges he’ll be stranded in a toxic ash waste.’
‘If you have an alternative suggestion, Lord Inquisitor, by all means share it. I would have thought that as a member of His Holy Ordos you would have rejoiced at the mass annihilation of mankind’s darkest foes.’
‘Rest assured, nothing pleases me more,’ de Mornay said. ‘But less so if the victory comes at the price of one of the Imperium’s greatest leaders.’
‘I never thought I would live to hear the Inquisition praising Logan Grimnar.’
‘Times can change, Azrael. As can the topic of conversation. What were you doing on Nurades?’
Azrael’s jaw clenched.
‘We were purging one of the Emperor’s worlds of daemonic infestation.’
‘And just how many daemons did you banish there? Did the Wolves leave any for you? An entire Lion’s Blade Strike Force deployed to cleanse an infestation that had been wiped out days earlier?’
‘Is this a line of questioning, or just an opportunity for gross insults? Your grudge-bearing does you no credit, de Mornay. I don’t need to humour you, not even for a moment.’
‘What were you looking for in the polar ruins, Azrael? What were your Scouts guarding?’
‘That squad was inserted ahead of our main strike force. If you have any real questions, de Mornay, I suggest you start by asking the Wolves how they died. That is what we first came here to redress.’
‘There is no evidence the Wolves have attacked Imperial citizens. Can the same be said of your Chapter, Azrael?’
‘Their monsters butchered a squad of my Tenth Company,’ Azrael snapped, his reserve finally eroded. ‘We have pict footage of it.’
‘Shame you don’t also have footage of how the sole survivor of said butchering disappeared,’ de Mornay shot back. ‘And from within the depths of this very fortress-monastery no less. Something here is not what it seems.’ The inquisitor’s gaze swung across the bridge, lingering on the communications pit where Mendaxis was bending low to review a spool of data parchment.
‘Choose your next words carefully, de Mornay.’
‘I smell the reek of the warp here, Azrael.’
Beside him he felt Asmodai shudder at the inquisitor’s damning words. Azrael turned and stilled him with a gesture.
‘This audience is over,’ he said. ‘Get off my bridge.’
‘You don’t end audiences with the Inquisition, Azrael,’ de Mornay said. ‘And your bridge is as much a part of the Emperor’s realm as anywhere else in the Imperium. There are no jurisdictions here, not for one bearing my seal.’
Azrael turned. It was not a sharp movement, neither sudden nor violent, but it was undoubtedly laden with threat. He took a single step forward, so that even on his palanquin the aged inquisitor was dwarfed by the Angel’s armoured form. The vast bridge went suddenly quiet.
‘I grow tired of your games,’ Azrael said softly. ‘Your prejudice against my Chapter is well known. The mission that brings us here is not only entirely legitimate, it is desperately vital to the fate of the Imperium. We can do without your pathetic past grievances.’
‘I will make my own judgement on that matter,’ de Mornay said, putting his palanquin into grinding reverse. ‘We shall speak again soon, no doubt.’
‘If we must,’ Azrael said grimly. ‘Brother-Sergeant Elija will return you to your shuttle, immediately.’
As the inquisitor and his retinue retreated the voice of Mendaxis clicked again in Azrael’s ear.
‘Sire, we are receiving fresh intelligence from Midgardia.’ There was a pause.
‘Go on.’
‘It would appear that Logan Grimnar…’ Mendaxis hesitated again.
‘What? Speak.’
‘Sire, Logan Grimnar is dead.’
Seven miles south of the Magma Gates, Midgardia
Midgardia’s spores had eaten away the external pict recorders, so Egil Iron Wolf was blind to the firepower of his command tank as it rolled towards its objective. He could well imagine it though. A stream of assault cannon rounds kicking up spumes of filth from the milky pus-bog, bursting shambling, slime-slick plaguebearers like overripe fruit. Swathes of bolt-rounds sped from the glowing barrels of the Ironfist’s hurricane bolters, smashing
through spore-trees, lancing plague beasts like boils and cutting giant flies out of the air. The pitch and roll of the heavy transport added a tale of pulped and crushed wyrd-scum, ground beneath aquila-stamped tracks.
Egil had witnessed similar sights many times down the centuries, and still it thrilled him. His brethren in the other Great Companies revelled in the sensation of axe and chainblade chopping meat and bone, and the clash of steel on ceramite. Egil had always considered his passions similar, but for him the glory of battle was not only in the muscle behind a blow, it was in the unbending metal that dealt it. Cog, track, bulkhead and burning engine, in the armour of his Great Company he saw the unstoppable strength and lightning speed of Russ himself. Wrath was so much more potent when it was clad in iron.
Perhaps that was why he was pursuing his current course. Iron did not bend and it did not break, except beneath the most terrible of forces. He would not acknowledge that these wyrdspawn, these beasts bred from a madman’s nightmares, were stronger than he was. He wouldn’t give them the privilege of forcing him to abandon his Great Wolf. He would not bend, and he would not break.
‘Destination reached, lord,’ Torvald’s voice crackled over Ironfist’s intercom. ‘Ramps ready to drop on your mark.’
‘As soon as we’re clear, rejoin the task force,’ Egil said. He glanced back at Conran. Unlike the rest of the Ironguard, he sat in one of the hold’s restraining harnesses, his expression stony.
‘I will see you aboard the Wolftide, brother,’ Egil said.
‘With the Great Wolf,’ Conran added, nodding. ‘May Russ and the Allfather be with you.’
The time for words passed. Egil’s servo-skull, Skol, hovered at his shoulder, its tiny antigravitic motor buzzing. He checked his armour was properly sealed and banged the disembarkation rune above the Land Raider’s forward hatch. It flashed from red to green. Wolf claws slid free, a thought sending energy crackling down the wicked blades.
Legacy of the Wulfen - David Annandale & Robbie MacNiven Page 18