When he grinned, which he did without any humour, he showed bestial canine teeth that spoke of his Chapter’s brazen genetic deviation. The Inquisition had never looked kindly on the Wolves, and his smile was merely one of the reasons why.
I took in all of these details with the briefest glance, but something else eclipsed them all, impossible to ignore. Every single one of the thirteen Wolves was stained in unequal parts red and black – their armour marred with dried blood or scorched black in flamer wash. The reek of their battle plate was the stench of charnel houses, of abattoirs, of battlefields newly given over to crows. As these rattling, burned warriors approached, I felt shamed by my pristine suit of armour. They’d been fighting a war for weeks, while we’d been locked in transit, readying for our eventual arrival.
A strange moment of insecurity. I had nothing to be ashamed of, but there it was.
Grimnar’s greeting was as gruff as everything else about him. He looked at Captain Taremar – both of them matched in size in their Terminator plating – and sniffed once, wetly, before spitting bloody saliva onto our deck. I’d been expecting a formal acknowledgement of our presence, but three words were all he said.
‘And you are?’
No disrespect. No impatience or suggestion of anger. He spoke the words as one would address a harmless stranger entering one’s domain. The voice itself was as rough as tank treads grinding over gravel.
Brother-Captain Taremar inclined his head in acknowledgement of a superior, given the divide between their ranks. ‘I am Taremar Aurellian, Captain of the Third Brotherhood, master of the Ruler of the Black Skies and a Knight of Titan.’
One of the Wolves snorted. ‘Sounds very mighty,’ he chuckled. Several of the others joined in.
Taremar’s eyes were the colour of clean iron, that same warm blue that edges into grey. They fixed on the Wolf for a moment, long enough to mark the man’s features, before snapping back to Grimnar.
‘Did I say something to amuse your kinsman?’ he asked.
The Great Wolf growled – literally growled – in that moment. It left his parted lips in a wet rumble. ‘Forgive my men. They’re short on good humour.’ He looked back, casting a glance over his shoulder. ‘Rawthroat. Watch your words.’
The one addressed as Rawthroat chuckled again. ‘Aye, jarl. As you say.’
Grimnar’s eyes were the earthy brown of soft loam, but their glare was as wicked as a blade’s edge. ‘Rawthroat speaks the Wolves’ way,’ Grimnar explained. ‘Rare is the Wolf to put titles in a greeting before his deeds.’ As Taremar drew breath to speak, Grimnar lifted a hand in warning. ‘I don’t call your deeds into question, captain, nor do I care what they are. I called. You answered, and you wear that armour. What I see is enough for me.’
He sidestepped our traditions without disrespecting them, without forcing his own upon us, while still praising our arrival. Galeo clearly sensed my thoughts.
+He is easy to admire, this Wolf Lord.+
I nodded in reply.
The gathered inquisitors took the moment as a cue to begin their own introductions. The presence of the Wolves had an effect on Annika that hadn’t been too hard to predict: she looked as wide-eyed as a lost girl, yet as proud as a new mother. Still, it would be some time before the introductions reached her. She stood in the middle of the group, not quite as hungry for attention as some of the others.
Grimnar silenced the first of them by raising his hand again. ‘These… niceties… can wait.’
Taremar nodded. ‘I concur. We have a war to win.’
Grimnar gave the Inquisitorial warbands the briefest of glances. I didn’t know under what circumstance that could ever pass as a greeting.
‘I am Jarl Grimnar and these are my Wolf Guard. There. Now we are all brothers.’ He gestured to one of his men. ‘Rawthroat.’
The named Wolf activated a handheld hololithic projector. It beamed a wide image onto the hangar deck, showing the landscape of the continent called Armageddon Prime. Entire swathes of the image were bleached in an unhealthy, flickering red, while hive cities were marked out as streams of angular Fenrisian runes. Grimnar stalked around the map, speaking as he moved.
‘You made fine speed to reach us so swiftly, but you have missed much. Blood was first shed months ago, when this war began with a rebellion. Cults rose. Seditionists preached. Entire sectors of the cities spat on the Allfather’s name.’
‘The rebellion was a significant, but pathetic, heresy.’ Grimnar circled the map again. He reminded me of a hound seeking somewhere to sit down. ‘The planet soon suffered through the warp’s turmoil. Astropathy died in the minds of those who sought to send messages. The world fell silent. The Enemy of All masked its approach. Then came the Devourer of Stars.’
As he spoke, more of the map bleached with red. ‘The Steel Legions and Armageddon’s own defenders fell back from Armageddon Prime. The entire continent is a wasteland. Any human still drawing breath in the fallen cities no doubt wishes they weren’t.’
More and more of the map fell to the spreading stain, as inexorable as a tide. ‘We joined the fight after Hives Volcanus, Death Mire and Tempestora had already fallen.’
I watched the red spreading from the cities he named. ‘They are lost, though we’ve slowed the enemy’s advance time and again since those nights. Much of their populations were already in the Archenemy’s service even before we made planetfall.’
The hololithic changed to the other continent, Armageddon Secundus. Grimnar gestured next to the swathe of darkness marring the image’s edges. ‘This is the equatorial jungle. Our forces fell back ahead of the enemy, expecting to fight every step of the way.’ He spat again, marking our deck a second time with bloody spit. ‘That fight never came. The enemy delayed their advance. My scouts all told the same tale, no matter where I sent them: our foe halted his army’s advance to reign with pride over the rubble he’d created from the bones of the lost cities. Cairns of skulls rise where homes and manufactories once stood. Retaking the continent will be a war of rebuilding, not reconquest.’
Grimnar looked up from the hololith to spear Taremar with his gaze. ‘But now, the enemy comes. Look to the Styx, the river threading life through Armageddon Secundus. They will ford it within the week, and break through to the remaining hives.’
‘We will end him.’ Taremar’s voice was just as deep as the Wolf Lord’s, but much less ragged. Only one of them had been shouting orders every hour of every day for weeks on end.
‘Yes, you will.’ Grimnar’s face was sunburned leather, split by a white-fanged grin. ‘And if that were all we had to speak of, I’d leave you in peace to make your preparations. But there’s more.’ As he turned, taking in the entire hangar deck and all of us present, his mirthless grin left no doubt as to his authority. ‘Hives Helsreach and Infernus have seen nothing of the true threat. Their citizens have remained behind high, safe walls, far from the war.’ He turned his eyes back to our captain. ‘Do I make myself clear?’
‘I believe so.’ Taremar’s half-smile spoke more of suspicion than amusement. ‘Humour me, nevertheless.’
‘Sedition was weak and spineless in the cities of Secundus. What little rebellion rose was quickly quenched, even without our presence.’ Grimnar banged a fist on his breastplate, sharp and loud as a tolling temple bell. The sudden sound made several of the inquisitors flinch. ‘They are innocent, and more than that, they are good people guarded by faith and fine soldiers – far from the front lines. With the cities untouched and the people free from taint, they will not be “processed” by the Inquisition after the last day has dawned. Am I being clearer?’
Taremar’s eyes flicked to the gathered inquisitors. The glance lasted less than a second, but it was enough for Grimnar to release a low, dry growl in the back of his throat.
‘Look at me, damn you. Not them. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
‘High King–’ began Taremar.
‘Jarl is enough of a title for me.’ Grimnar l
ooked back to the hololith. ‘The situation is grave enough. I have no wish to let your… associates… in the Inquisition take a heavier hand than necessary. Do you understand?’
Taremar conceded with a nod. ‘I do. But the mistrust that plagues you is not my burden to bear.’
‘Be that as it may, you’ll remain in orbit until you’re summoned. I will summon you for the final strike, and the people of this planet will never know you existed.’
Taremar was no lesser lordling to be commanded like this. To his credit, he did nothing more than nod in respect of the Wolf Lord’s wishes, when a battle of wills and authority would serve no one.
‘I am a Grey Knight of Titan, and I have a duty to do. A warning, however: do not presume to order me as you would a servitor. We will do as we must, and no word or action you take will sway that truth, Wolf Lord.’
Grimnar laughed for the first time – a dry bark of a sound. The Wolf Guard at his side relaxed with his laughter.
‘I know how your Inquisition works, captain. I know how those wheels turn, with regiments of Imperial Guard butchered for the sin of seeing into the ordos’ dirty secrets, or entire ship crews given over to void-graves because they chanced to catch a Grey Knights vessel out of the corner of their eyes. Let me speak clearly, son of Titan. These people have seen nothing, and suffered no taint. My brothers and I fight for their lives, watering this world’s earth with our blood so they might breathe another day in the Allfather’s empire. So you will do more than nod and agree, you will give me your word not to appear before them. I will not have your presence damn them into early graves. Now nod or swear an oath or do whatever you need to do. But I will have your agreement, Captain Taremar.’
Taremar nodded. It looked as if even the negligible motion cost him dearly.
‘Good,’ said Grimnar. ‘It’s more than a matter of morals, of course. You and your warriors are the final weapon, captain. We can’t let the enemy know you’re coming.’
One of the inquisitors cleared her throat. ‘What of the Devourer of Stars?’
I noticed Jarl Grimnar never stood with his back facing the Inquisitorial representatives. His mistrust ran deep – as deep as an old wound, perhaps. I wondered at the history there, and whether Annika had access to those archives.
‘What of it?’ he asked the sharp-faced woman who’d interrupted. In her robes of red velvet, she seemed more ecclesiarch than inquisitor.
She sighed, as if already weary of dealing with the Wolves and their lord. ‘Where is it?’
Grimnar stared at her for several heartbeats. Several of the Wolf Guard followed his gaze. One even removed his helmet to stare with his kindred.
‘We destroyed it.’ Grimnar spoke slowly, as if explaining something painfully obvious to a lackwit. ‘We blew it up. What, in the Allfather’s name, did you expect?’
Again, the sigh. ‘Where,’ she said with exaggerated patience, ‘is its wreckage?’
Grimnar turned to face her fully. The growl of his armour joints matched the growl from his throat.
‘We–’ he snarled the words in low-tenor mimicry of her tone.
‘–destroyed that, too.’
‘It had critical value as an object of study, and the–’
‘Hush, witch. Don’t make me kill you.’ Grimnar turned away from her, ignoring her completely. ‘Captain.’
‘Jarl,’ Taremar replied.
The Wolf gestured back to the hololithic display. ‘I am gathering the world’s forces – the armies of this last continent – to hold back the enemy’s advance at the River Styx.’
Taremar followed the lord’s sweeping hand wave. Any irritation he’d felt vanished in that moment, replaced by his gaunt, cadaverous calm. He’s an ugly hero, Darford had said of Captain Aurellian on the journey here. I couldn’t argue with that, though I couldn’t imagine why he thought it mattered.
‘Casualties will be catastrophic,’ Taremar replied.
‘I’m not blind to that, Knight.’
‘Defending the cities would offer a far greater advantage.’ The two leaders shared another glance. ‘But the people will witness the enemy,’ Taremar finished. ‘Why save a world if all its people are put to death for knowledge of the Principal Evil?’
Grimnar gave a breathy snuff of air. I wasn’t sure if it was a chuckle or a snort. ‘A fast learner. Look to the Styx, Captain Taremar. That will be where I need you. I’ll send the signal, and your men must strike with every breath in their bodies.’
‘It will be done.’
‘We have a day. Two at most. The outriders of their red horde are already dogging at our lines. You know what you face, do you not? You know what I’m asking of you, and what you’ll be teleporting into?’
In answer, Taremar merely gestured to the hundred Grey Knights standing alongside him. A suggestive impulse flashed through our minds, a nudge from our captain, and we saluted in perfect unity, hands to breastplates in the sign of the aquila.
‘We know,’ said Taremar.
Grimnar returned the salute, as did his Wolf Guard. A lesser leader might have addressed his final words to our commander, but Grimnar took the time to meet each of our eyes before speaking.
‘Watch from the skies, brothers. Come running when we howl.’
FIFTEEN
NAMES
I
In the hours after the Wolves departed, most of our ragged brotherhood retired to their own final preparations. My bond with Castian allowed me to reach out and find them with no effort at all, but I had no wish to stand with them for now. Malchadiel, Enceladus and Galeo were joined in psychic communion, meditating to be ready for what we faced on the world below. Dumenidon, like myself, had retreated to be alone. I sensed his exertions, the burn of his utter focus, as he trained with a blade in his arming chamber.
I had no desire to train, nor did I wish to waste the time in meditation. I’d given all time to those pursuits during the journey to Armageddon. Something else dragged at my attention now.
I stood before the entrance to her private suite, and rapped my knuckles on the bulkhead. The wall-speaker came on with a click.
‘Who comes?’ asked a soft female voice.
+Hyperion,+ I sent through the door. The speaker clicked off, and the doors rolled open on oiled mechanics.
‘Hello, Hyperion,’ Vasilla said with a smile. She had the gunmetal-grey promethium tanks strapped to her back.
They were in the middle of their own preparations. Darford stood by a workbench, poring over his disassembled rifle, cleaning the spare barrels with a cloth. The Khatan was wrapping the grips of her spear, while Merrick had taken a screwdriver to his cyber-mastiff’s jaws. Annika and Clovon attended to their own weapons. They were sitting on opposite sides of the room, which only spread the scent they shared. He smelled of her skin; she of his. It wasn’t the first time they’d reeked of last-minute intimacy before a mission.
I would never understand humans.
‘Are you well?’ Vasilla asked.
‘Well enough.’ I wasn’t sure I liked how the girl was looking at me. For want of anything sensible to say, I asked if she was well herself.
‘Glad to be here,’ she said. The saddest thing was that she meant it, at no older than sixteen. Her devotion to duty was admirable, but our order was supposed to carry these burdens so humanity didn’t have to. I felt guilty every time I looked at her.
‘You are a scrivener,’ I said to her. ‘I don’t understand why you gird yourself for war.’
‘Even a scribe can fire a weapon, Hyperion.’
I neither agreed nor disagreed. Annika either sensed my awkwardness or my attention, for she rested her bolter down and raised an eyebrow.
‘What is it?’
‘May we speak?’ I asked. +Alone.+
‘Of course,’ she said, and added ‘Here?’ silently.
+Here will be fine.+
She cleared her throat, drawing her companions’ eyes. ‘Give me a few minutes,’ she said to them. They fil
ed past me. Only Clovon tried to meet my eyes on the way out. I ignored him.
Once they were gone, Annika moved to sit up on the edge of Darford’s workbench. Her black hair was still loose; I knew she’d tie it up before she went into battle.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.
‘Nothing is wrong. I have a question, that’s all.’
‘I know what you’re going to ask.’ The tribal tattoos on her cheeks curved as she smiled. I couldn’t tell if her expression was one of amusement or sympathy – it wasn’t easy for me to discern the minor differences in such things.
I had to take a breath and gird myself to the words before I spoke them.
‘Who was I?’
Annika reached across the table, picking up a data-slate. She tapped the screen, cycling through readouts.
‘Are you sure you want to know this?’ From the tone of her voice, she seemed to be teasing, or amused in some way. ‘This isn’t like you, Hyperion. Disregarding the traditions like this.’
That was true enough. ‘I die tomorrow, Annika.’
Her smile faded, no different from the sun going behind a cloud. She had the sense and grace not to argue with me, or offer a worthless denial. We looked into each other’s eyes for long enough that I began to grow uncomfortable. I wasn’t sure why.
‘I have the information already, but it’s behind several cipher locks.’ When she spoke, her voice was quieter, softer. ‘I’ll need a few minutes to enter all the passcodes.’
‘I will wait.’
I walked around her chambers, as she’d walked around mine so often in the past. The principal difference was that I didn’t touch anything, thereby annoying her. Room by room, I walked through the suite of chambers. Darford’s room was a mess of weapons and clothing, which I found odd for such an immaculately attired man. Vasilla’s chamber was almost devoid of furniture, but for a writing desk and a small shrine. The Khatan’s smelled of her – that is to say, of sweat, dreadlocks, and long nights.
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