Dante

by Guy Haley

  The Aegis Diamondo was a field of ice that filled the ship’s oculus and displays, an uncountable number of objects tinted a rose pink by the light of the Red Scar. The ices were compressed to unimaginable density by temperatures that, somehow, exceeded absolute zero. It was a total barrier to Imperial shipping. Anything that attempted passage was frozen out of existence. The Aegis’ presence forced a risky in-system warp exit. The resources of the Cryptus System had been so vast that the inevitable losses had been regarded as acceptable. It had been hoped that it would provide an uncrossable barrier to the tyranids. The deployment of any military force to Cryptus at all evidenced unusual foresight on the part of the High Lords.

  The Aegis had not stopped the tyranids, nor had the military. Cryptus was dead, locked into its frozen tomb as Dante’s warriors were preserved in the sepulchre.

  Planetoids of superfluids and exotic ices resolved themselves from the mass of objects. According to Dhrost the hive fleet had passed through, freezing over with a protective sheath of ice and emerging alive despite its organic nature.

  If the likes of the Aegis cannot halt the tyranid advance, nothing can stop them, Dante thought, but kept his misgivings to himself.

  ‘How was it possible, my lords, that the tyranids breached the Aegis?’ he asked instead.

  Corbulo answered first. ‘The physical explanation is thermal regulation of the tyranid vessels, but their output would have to be equal to that of a dwarf star. Vessels warmed by fusion reactors have frozen solid, killing every soul on board. The tyranids do not appear to produce their energy this way. Mere biochemistry could not have warmed them enough. They are dormant as they travel across interstellar space, where the temperature is low but still greater than that of the Aegis. My opinion is that they should never have woken from their hibernation after passing the Aegis. There is no physical explanation for what they accomplished.’

  ‘The metaphysical explanation, my Lord of Death?’ asked Dante of Mephiston.

  ‘The whole of the Red Scar is shot through with anomalous phenomena, my lord. There is the touch of the warp upon the Aegis especially. Weak, but enough to pervert the natural order of the material realm. Perhaps the shadow of the hive mind afforded some additional protection. Its blanketing of the warp may have divorced the Aegis from whatever cools it so, allowing them passage.’

  ‘That makes some sense,’ said Corbulo. ‘Testing of the regions they breached would have to be undertaken to prove your hypothesis.’

  ‘Such work is for the adepts of the Adeptus Mechanicus, not for we Blood Angels,’ said Mephiston. ‘The Aegis did not stop them. We must find another way. That is all we need to know.’

  ‘My brothers,’ Asante said to them from the command podium. ‘We approach the thermal tunnels.’

  ‘All ships prepare to follow these exact coordinates,’ said Bellerophon, voxing the captains of the fleet.

  For a while the fleet slowed, rearranging itself from broad battle formation into a column headed by the Blood Angels with the Flesh Tearers as rearguard. The Aegis was now directly before them, a boundless field of eerily still objects. It looked like the messy space of objects that mark the borders of most star systems, but Dante could feel the supernatural chill of it through the warding of the ship’s shields and hull. Asante ordered the hololith lit. A cartolith of the passages through the Aegis showed, dull orange on blue-white. There the rules of reality held sway, and the void was the temperature it should be.

  ‘Helm, engage on my mark,’ said Asante.

  The Blade of Vengeance slid like a dagger into the field, moving past giant rocks and balls of dirty ice. The thermal passage looked like every other part of the Aegis. One mistake would see them all frozen for eternity. The temperature of the command deck fell. Clouds of steam issued from every unshielded mouth. Dante’s cooling systems reduced their efforts, allowing the reactor strapped to his back to warm him, but it was a feeble heat, as if someone were holding a warm coal a foot away from his naked back on a winter’s night. Warning runes blinked on his faceplate display; temperatures tumbled away. The ship’s ventilation system roared as it pumped warm air onto the command deck, but it could not lift the chill.

  An equilibrium was struck. The ship laboured hard to keep its fragile occupants alive in the face of this cosmic anomaly. The unnatural cold reached out to kill them. Without the thermal tunnel, death would have been inevitable.

  Asante ordered the ship to accelerate.

  ‘What is your estimation for emergence, Brother-Captain Asante?’ asked Dante.

  ‘We will be through in nine hours, my lord commander,’ he said.

  ‘Inform me when we break out of the system,’ he said, and departed the command deck. He had promised Arafeo that he would sleep, so sleep he would.

  Dante slept little away from Baal. There was always too much to do, too many decisions that had to be taken, and the actions of his underlings to be overseen and reversed if necessary. Thousands of souls looked to him for guidance. Billions more depended on his protection. His Space Marine’s physiology kept him alert. Sleep did little for him. Only with respite in the Hall of Sarcophagi could he restore his soul.

  Ultimately he was human, and needed to sleep, else he would never have agreed to Arafeo’s request. When the message came he was twitching on his ornate bed, enmeshed in dreams awash with blood. Armies of Traitor legionaries marched across the faces of burning worlds. The Traitor primarchs led their twisted Legions upon the path of blood, and the screams of trillions of human beings shook the fabric of reality.

  The universe rippled. Hosts of daemons poured from bleeding cuts in the sky. Brazen bells, thick with dripping verdigris tolled, Doom! Doom! Doom!

  Dante was surrounded on all sides. Overhead a giant face manifested, leering down at him with the certainty of triumph.

  ‘Horus!’ gasped Dante.

  A giant, clawed hand reached down to pluck him up and crush him.

  ‘My lord.’ Arafeo’s voice was muffled by the hellish tumult.

  ‘My lord!’ Small hands shook his arm.

  Dante came awake all of a sudden. Still ensnared in the horrors of his dream, his hand shot out and grabbed Arafeo by the throat. His teeth bared, his face flushed. His gifts pushed his system into battle readiness.

  ‘My lord! Please, it is I!’ Arafeo’s arthritic fingers pried unsuccessfully at Dante’s crushing grip.

  Dante’s fangs pricked at his lips. The blood thrall’s pulse thrilled under his fingertips.

  ‘My lord, please!’

  The crushing pressure at Arafeo’s throat released. The lord commander’s face cleared. Arafeo staggered back. Dante leapt out of his bed and went to his equerry’s side, steadying Arafeo with hands that moments before had tried to choke him to death.

  ‘My servant!’ Remorse choked Dante. ‘I… I am sorry. Have I harmed you? My dreams have been dark of late. Are you hurt? Look at me!’

  Arafeo sagged against a couch. Dante grasped his face gently and turned it from side to side. The wrinkled skin of Arafeo’s neck was discolouring.

  ‘How long did I sleep?’ demanded Dante.

  ‘You have slept not seven hours, my lord. I obey your command as you asked.’

  ‘Then we are not free of the Aegis Diamondo. Forgive me. You have done your duty well. I am out of sorts.’

  ‘I understand, my lord.’

  The rebuke that Arafeo could never understand fought to be free of Dante’s throat. ‘I could have broken your neck. You were seconds from death.’

  ‘But I am not dead. I am well, my lord,’ Arafeo gasped hoarsely. ‘It was I who asked that you rest. I should be more careful in my care in future.’

  Dante smiled a little. ‘Your spirits are unharmed, at least, my friend.’

  ‘There is a messenger here for you from the astropathicum. Adept Koschin?’

  Dante shook his head. He had no knowledge of the man. The servants of his Chapter numbered in the thousands, all told, and they lived and die
d so quickly the lesser of them did not register on his notice.

  ‘Alert my arming thralls. Send refreshment to this Koschin. I will greet the adept in my armour.’ He turned his face further away from Arafeo, into the shadows.

  ‘Of course, my lord. It shall be done,’ said the aged thrall.

  Dante came to his audience chamber garbed and masked for war. The room was sized appropriately for its purpose and decorated to emphasise the majesty of the Blood Angels. The adept, a mortal servant of the astropaths, looked lost under the painted dome. The servants of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica rarely had cause to leave their quarters, and he eyed the statues ringing the chamber as if they would smite him. His posture became submissive when Dante strode in.

  The adept quaked under Dante’s inscrutable red-glass gaze and averted his eyes, his expression a mix of awe and terror.

  ‘I do not know you.’

  ‘I am Adept Koschin, my lord, translator extraordinary to Lord Astropath Prime Jareth.’

  ‘You are blessed. Jareth has served me well for two centuries. He is a good man.’

  Koschin nodded too fervidly. ‘It is an honour to serve him. My post is a new one. I have never had the pleasure of making your acquaintance.’

  The man was terrified. Dante took a step back and moderated his tone, mindful of his effect on mortal minds.

  ‘I am sure you will also give my Chapter many good years of devotion, adept. You have a message for me?’

  ‘I have. It is here, my lord.’ He held out a parchment. ‘It is from High Chaplain Astorath the Grim.’

  ‘I was told communications would not be possible until we were further from the mind shadow of the Great Devourer, and that would not be until we were free of the Aegis Diamondo.’

  ‘The shadow in the warp lessens, my lord. This message was sent at extreme boost through astropathic lensing stations at the highest priority grade, and so we knew immediately that it was of the gravest import. Astropath Prime Jareth received it an hour ago. We expedited its translation and have been processing the message for you since its arrival.’

  ‘Text or image encoding?’

  ‘Text only, my lord. There are image components, but the transliteration of the astropath’s reading into finished picts will take time.’ He held out the scroll with shaking hands. ‘It was highly encrypted, iambic hexameter duo-coding. The metaphors were of the rarest kind and required three shifts of translation.’

  Dante took the message delicately in his gold-armoured fingers, searching for something positive to say to this cowering man.

  ‘The ink is still wet,’ he said. ‘You did well to bring it to me with such dispatch. You have my thanks.’

  The adept bowed but tensed as Dante opened the seal and unrolled the scroll. Koschin knew the content and feared the reaction it would produce.

  Dante read the message in one glance. His gauntlet clenched, rumpling the parchment.

  ‘Thank you, adept. You are dismissed.’

  The cold anger in Dante’s voice shook the mortal to the core. He left bowing, turning to hurry off as soon as he thought he was out of sight.

  Although he had memorised the message, Dante read it once more, scarcely believing it to be true.

  Framed between the humdrum information of the astrotelepathic process – the heraldic coding of the Fifth Company, Astorath, signum data of relay stations, the names of the astropaths involved and every paragraph signifier rendered in exquisite calligraphy – was news of such import that Dante was at a loss for the first time in centuries.

  Lord Commander,

  Grave tidings from the Cadian Gate. Abaddon has emerged from the Eye of Terror at the head of a Black Crusade of unprecedented size. Auguries are unclear but ill portent is everywhere to be seen. The daemon primarchs are abroad. Thousands of ships essay into real space. Cadia is attacked. I have reports that the thrice-damned Skarbrand has emerged once more into the material realm, and comes in the van of the traitor’s hordes. The Diamor System is assailed. The priests of Mars have been conducting excavations there, and I cannot think it by chance that the arch-traitor leads his forces against the system now. Whatever the tech-priests have uncovered cannot be allowed to fall into the hands of the enemy.

  I have instructed Captain Sendini to accompany me to Diamor, along with the full strength of the Daemonbanes. I petition you to directly send as many warriors to me as can be spared to aid in the defence of Diamor. Should the Great Enemy break free of the Gate, Abaddon has enough vessels and warriors to drive for Terra.

  I realise this puts the Baal System at risk. However, I judge that the presence of our Chapter will have a large beneficial effect upon the morale of Imperial forces gathering to repel the traitors. This war was begun by our forebears. We should finish it.

  The decision is yours alone to make, my lord, yet I hope you trust my counsel, and have faith enough in the wider brotherhood of Sanguinius that they might keep Baal from harm.

  I await your reply as soon as it may be delivered.

  Your obedient servant,

  High Chaplain Astorath

  Dante’s soul withered in him. Another choice between two evils. He had thought his earlier years full of hard-won victories. The difficulties of those times were nothing compared to the dilemmas that tormented him daily.

  As he read and reread the missive his composure broke. Dante howled in fury, ran at the wall and slammed his perfect golden fist into the mosaic there, destroying a portion of ancient artwork a yard square and denting the metal beneath. Shattered tesserae tinkled to the floor.

  The doors burst inwards. A pair of Dante’s Sanguinary Guard came in, weapons raised. Arafeo came after them.

  ‘My lord!’ said Arafeo.

  ‘Commander?’ asked one of the Sanguinary Guard.

  Dante swayed back from the wall, his hand up. ‘It is nothing, Brother Dontoriel. Return to your post.’

  ‘As you command it.’ The Sanguinary Guard scanned the room a last time and left.

  Arafeo did not leave, but approached carefully. ‘What is it, my lord?’

  ‘Dire news from Astorath. A new threat as bad as the Devourer.’ Dante’s armour felt unbearably claustrophobic, and he sank into a crouch. He had a fleeting memory of a boy who had sat like that habitually, but he could not remember his name.

  ‘Will you convene your brothers, my lord? You have but to ask and I shall pass on your summons.’

  Behind Sanguinius’ mask, Dante closed his eyes and bowed his head in reflection. The purring whine of his armour systems irritated him. He longed for the dry silences of Baal.

  ‘I must think on this a while. I shall speak with them after we are free of the Aegis. We can do nothing for the time being but fret at the problem, and I need to consider this carefully before I make any decision.’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  RED THIRST

  471.M40

  Lost colony

  Ereus V

  Ereus System

  Jet turbines roared upon Dante’s back, arcing him over the rough barricades surrounding the orreti camp. Dante crashed through leafless trees and came down firing. His bolt pistol kicked satisfyingly in his hand. Every shot ended the life of a scavenger. Dante slammed into the ground at the centre of the camp, denting the packed earth. The orreti brandished their odd-looking guns at him. In return he gunned his chainsword. The small xenos scattered shrieking. Gathering their weapons under them in their mismatched belly appendages, they loped away at surprising speed, knuckling along on their long forelimbs, powerful thrusts from their single back limbs accelerating them away. Dust puffed up from the dry ground behind their hoofs. Long grasses rattled frantically as they sped through then fell still.

  Dante scanned the sparse woodlands. The xenos had supposedly overrun the colony of Ereus, but they seemed too few in number to have done so, and the planet looked undisturbed for decades. His helm overlays revealed nothing. The orreti had gone.

  Jump packs howled as Lorenz landed next t
o him, Ristan coming next. Giacomus, Arvin and Sergeant Basileus completed their squad. They spread out, peering into the dirty tents of the orreti. Arvin lifted piles of rags with the end of his chainsword distastefully.

  ‘Filthy xenos,’ he said. ‘Look at this place. Worse than animals.’

  ‘The area is clear,’ said Giacomus from one end of the camp.

  Dante knocked down a hut roofed with fabric. Besides a few bones around a dead fire, it was empty. ‘Nothing here either, sergeant,’ he said.

  Their jump engines whined down. Chainswords purred to a stop. An unnatural quiet fell. The myriad animals of the bush held their silence.

  ‘We should not be here. These things are no threat,’ growled Lorenz, toeing the shredded remains of an orreti. There wasn’t much left but a few jointed, insectile limbs and rag. Its blood stained the ground. The sight made Dante’s lips tingle.

  ‘They are pathetic foes. One bolt-round and there is nothing left of them,’ said Giacomus.

  ‘Quiet,’ said Sergeant Basileus, holding up his hand irritably. He pulled his auspex from his belt and bent his head to the screen. Far off a beast roared. The Space Marines fanned out into a defensive circle without thinking. Arvin lifted his pistol to cover the shadows. Dante shifted his grip on his chainsword.

  ‘Sounds big,’ said Giacomus.

  ‘Sounds angry,’ said Lorenz. ‘Let us go and fight that instead. There is more honour there than exterminating these weaklings.’

  ‘I will kill them all, weak or not!’ said Arvin fiercely. Dante and Lorenz turned to look at him, such was his vehemence.

  ‘I said silence!’ said Basileus. Lorenz made a dismissive noise, but obeyed. Arvin growled. The quiet chirruping of the auspex filled the clearing. The camp was small, three interlinked circles around campfires, fenced by barricades of scavenged metal.

  ‘The colonia is that way,’ said Basileus, gesturing to the north with his auspex. ‘Spread out. Stay low to the ground.’