The Devastation of Baal

by Guy Haley

  Chrismsae led him over the shoulder of a massive habitation section. Dark holes of glassless viewports were glazed with rippled yellow ice. Chrismsae’s clothing was hardly adequate for the lowlands, and up on the mountaintop he was blue with cold. His teeth chattered and he jammed his hands into his armpits periodically to warm them, and yet he did not appear to notice the gravity of his suffering. Seth supposed the boy had never been truly warm.

  ‘Down there.’ Chrismsae pointed to a shelf at the top of a cliff. ‘The others.’

  Seth trudged down to the cliff edge. His armoured boots broke ancient ice and he half skidded, coming to a swaying stop at the brink of the cliff.

  The far side of the orbital was a shattered mess. A scrubby forest clung to the exposed internal structure, cloaking it in vegetation. Over time, deep fields had formed in hollows, and taller trees grew from them. This relative verdancy gave out once more at the beginning of the plains. Baal Primus’ erratic rains fell only on the higher ground; beyond was a cold badland of crevasses and razored ridges, made in that moment twelve thousand years ago when the orbital had plunged from the sky, and turned paradise into hell. It had changed little since.

  Some miles out the shock ridges spread, allowing for wide depressions between. In one of them a small army mustered, their transports roaring up into space and back again. Seth’s face pulled tight. Centuries of mishaps had led him to isolate his warriors from his allies. When the Flesh Tearers were in battle they were at the mercy of the Red Thirst. Sanguinius’ dubious legacy gave them the strength to overcome enemies of far greater numbers, but if the thirst were not appeased, their allies or civilians paid the price. His predecessors had been less scrupulous than Seth, or perhaps more cursed. Near excommunication had been the result, and with it the discovery of the flaw in Sanguinius’ gene-seed that would have endangered all the Chapters of the Blood. He did not like to fight alongside others. He had deliberately positioned his force away from the three other Chapters sent by Dante to protect Baal Primus.

  And now here was a fifth Chapter, who dared to establish themselves on his doorstep.

  He called upon the talents of his armour to discover who the interlopers were. A glint in the sky grew instantly in his vision, magnified by his helm lenses until it became a Thunderhawk gunship with a battered livery of dark red and silver.

  Only one Chapter bore those colours, a Chapter that had a reputation for frenzied savagery that exceeded that of his own brotherhood.

  ‘The Knights of Blood,’ he said. The newcomers were still arriving by Thunderhawk and unarmoured lighter. The ships touched down without shutting off their engines, returning to orbit to shuttle down more.

  Twenty Thunderhawk flights was all it had taken to bring the Flesh Tearers down to Baal Primus from the battle-barge Victus. There were so few of them left. Even that had taken too long, for Seth’s armoury was almost as empty as his barracks. The spirits of his war machines were bloodthirsty like their masters and the vehicles were apt to make rash, aggressive moves that too often resulted in their loss.

  The Knights of Blood had the edge in numbers of men and machines. If what he heard was true of them, they would not likely withdraw. He toed the snow, watched it crunch and fritter to pieces that tumbled from the edge. Dante did this on purpose, he thought.

  He fought back his anger and called up to Chrismsae, huddled out of the wind in the lee of a communications spine poking up from the snow. ‘How long to their landing site?’

  ‘A half day, my lord.’

  Half a day. For all his complaints, Appollus would have things under control at the fortresses. He trusted Codicier Belthiel to keep him in line. This could not wait.

  ‘Take me there. Now,’ said Seth.

  As Seth approached the landing zone of the Knights of Blood he saw that they did not intend to stay there. No castella or other temporary defences had been established. Instead transports waited in column to take them away. He could see no warriors, assuming them to be within their Land Raiders and Rhinos. The Knights of Blood were close to moving out. It was a foolish hope to expect them to go further away. He knew in the pit of his stomach they intended to make for his own position.

  Baal passed in front of the sun, bringing on the first of Baal Primus’ two long nights. Nothing was simple in the Baal system, not even night and day. The Blood Angels were the same, with their art and their denial. He embraced his savagery. Simplicity was the key to holding the thirst at bay. He had no time for games.

  The equipment of the Knights of Blood was as battered and spattered with old blood as that of his own Chapter. The vehicle insignia followed Codex Astartes norms, and from that he saw that this was an ad hoc formation, made of units drawn from across the Chapter.

  Several years ago, the Knights of Blood had declared a crusade against all the enemies of the Imperium, but so savage was their campaigning, and so broad their definition of an enemy, that they had been declared renegades by the High Lords of Terra themselves. Before then they had been like the Flesh Tearers, looked upon warily by their allies. Now they were friendless, and persecuted, though they protested that they were still loyal to the Imperium.

  Another force close to extinction. Though they had gone further down the road of damnation than Seth and his warriors, it was only chance their positions were not reversed. Stepping into their landing zone brought him closer to their fate, and he did so warily.

  The Knights of Blood brought no supplies with them, only fighting vehicles. Empty ammunition crates littered the sand, left where they had been thrown open. The dust was churned up. Sheets of it floated slowly on the breeze, final flags to wave off the departed Thunderhawks. All about was a sense of disarray, though the materiel ­scattered around was modest. Few Space Marine Chapters would be this careless in deployment.

  The tanks, however, evinced order. They stood silently in the desert. Wind moaned through their fittings.

  ‘Remain here,’ said Seth to Chrismsae a hundred yards out from the line of tanks. The scrawny youth shook his head emphatically. He unslung his makeshift firearm, and slipped into Seth’s shadow.

  ‘Stop!’ A metallic voice rang out from the Land Raider heading the column. Its engine burst riotously into life. Lights snapped on. Grinding tracks spun on the spot. With servos purring the Land Raider brought all of its considerable weaponry to bear on the Chapter Master.

  ‘State your name,’ demanded the metallic voice. ‘State your business.’

  ‘You know who I am,’ snarled Seth. ‘I am Gabriel Seth, Master of the Flesh Tearers. You state your business to me. This is my area to defend.’

  The Land Raider’s engines roared. The sighting lasers of machine-spirits dotted his armour. Seth’s hand went to the handle of the eviscerator mag-locked to his backpack. He tensed to charge, knowing he could not make the tank before its lascannons blew him apart. Chrismsae whimpered.

  Electric motor whine harshened the wind. A band of ruby light slit itself across the tank’s front, widening as the assault ramp came down. A Space Marine almost as big as Seth strode out into the ecliptic night. His armour was finely wrought, and had many honours painted and engraved into its plates, but all were battered. The gold was knocked from the laurel wreath about his head, the skulls on his elbow guards and knuckles roughened by abrasion. Seth scented the rot of old gore hidden in the crevices of the battleplate as he approached.

  The warrior halted before Seth. They sized each other up, violence a twitch away.

  ‘I brought him, like you ask!’ said Chrismsae.

  Seth gave the tribesman a hard look. Seth’s face was hidden by his helm, but Chrismsae shrank back from his anger. The knight had scarce little more time for him.

  ‘Silence, wretch. I would not brag of your cunning, lest Seth here think it treachery. He is not known for his forgiving nature.’ The Knight of Blood turned his attention to Seth. ‘Hail and well met,
Flesh Tearer, Master of the most feared warriors in the Imperium.’

  The Knight of Blood extended his hand. Seth looked at it. The knight carried himself with exaggerated care. It did not conceal the red heat of thirst-born fury radiating from him.

  ‘Almost the most feared,’ said Seth. ‘Leave, or your men may take back your body. Give me your name so I can add it to my battle honours.’

  A hard laugh grated out from the other’s voxmitters. ‘I am Sentor Jool, Firstblade of the Knights of Blood. There, your question is answered, but I will not leave.’

  ‘I will make you.’

  ‘You cannot fight us all, Seth,’ said Jool.

  ‘Every life is a game of one death. Do you care to bet yours?’

  Jool laughed again. ‘Why did you come on foot? Do you have no aerial craft?’

  ‘Why did you land so far from my position?’ countered Seth.

  ‘The reputation of the Flesh Tearers precedes you. I wished to have my warriors ready, in case of a less than warm welcome.’

  ‘Our reputation?’ said Seth. ‘What of yours?’

  ‘We are kin in many ways. That is why Dante asked us to fight alongside you.’

  ‘Dante sent you.’ Anger curdled Seth’s stomach, and he realised there was a weak part of him that hoped Dante was not involved. He was disappointed. This was not betrayal, exactly, but Dante should have told him. Seth would have objected, but that was beside the point.

  ‘You fight with no one,’ said Seth. ‘You did not attend the feast. Why should I believe you?’

  Sentor Jool looked up at Baal. The planet’s nightside was dark, the false firmament of ship lights bright upon it. The Arx Angelicum was bathed in sunlight on the far side, invisible to them. ‘We do fight with others. We did not attend the feast. We are unworthy of fellowship. The lure of the Black Rage is too powerful for us. But we will fight alongside you.’

  ‘Is that an insult, or a crass attempt at flattery? I fight alongside only those I choose, and I did not choose you.’

  ‘You will. There are very few of you left, I understand. These last decades have been hard on your numbers even as your reputation crawled back out of the pit of gore your predecessor cast it into. We are the same.’

  ‘We are not the same,’ said Seth.

  ‘We have few warriors. We have that in common. If we combine our forces, our savagery will become the stuff of legend. The enemy will be here soon. We are coming to your side whether you wish it or not. It has been preordained.’

  ‘You have seen this.’

  Jool nodded. ‘It cannot be denied. We are the chosen of Sanguinius. We are blessed with his foresight.’

  It was Seth’s turn to laugh. Jool stared at him.

  ‘The chosen of Sanguinius? Arrogance.’

  ‘We believe it to be true,’ said Jool evenly. ‘They are coming soon. We waited outside the system bounds, beyond augur range, and slipped in when the shadow grew. We have seen them. You will see too, they will be here in a few days at the most. We feel them, we feel their hunger.’

  ‘You can feel them,’ said Seth levelly.

  ‘I told you, Seth, we are closer to Sanguinius than any other. We have his gifts, as well as his curse.’

  Seth looked at the Knights of Blood. They had a good number of tanks. If they were combined with his own…

  ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘The Flesh Tearers fight alone.’

  ‘You fortify,’ said Jool. ‘This is not your way of battle.’

  ‘I have fought the swarms before. I will harbour our savagery so that it will be best used. You throw yourself into their maws if you wish.’

  Jool laughed again. His mirth irked Seth. ‘Tell me of these forts.’

  ‘There are bastions on the wrecks that have survived the ages. I have ordered two rebuilt. You know this. You will have spied on me from orbit.’

  Jool said nothing.

  ‘We do not have the space to garrison your warriors,’ said Seth. ‘Fight elsewhere.’

  ‘Rust and dust has this world in its grip. Has the metal not rotted through?’ asked Jool.

  ‘Not all,’ said Seth. ‘There are defensible positions in these mountains, but not many. The local tribes live in and around them. Against the hive fleets, their nature will work against their defence. There are too many tunnels for the enemy to exploit.’

  ‘Then why stay here?’ asked Jool.

  ‘That is my concern,’ said Seth. ‘Move on, go to Stardam and the Blood Wings. They may welcome you.’

  ‘You know they will not.’

  The Chapter Masters stared at each other for a long moment. Abruptly, Jool broke eye contact and called to Chrismsae. ‘Boy, come here.’

  The tribesman stepped, blinking and afraid, out from Seth’s protection.

  ‘Do you know the origins of these mountains?’ Jool asked him.

  ‘They are pretty jewels, stars ripped out of Baalind’s Necklace,’ said Chrismsae. ‘Given to Baalind by Baal, and broken by their nasty, jealous sister.’

  Jool gestured at the crumpled masses. ‘Do you believe this?’

  ‘It is story we learn from babehood,’ said Chrismsae warily. ‘We tell others. Like stories of angels, all is truth.’

  ‘It is not true,’ said Jool. ‘Would you like to know the actual truth?’

  The boy nodded hesitantly. On the eve of an invasion that would destroy his world, he was still calculating if a good story might buy him a couple of hours by a fire. Seth’s scorn increased.

  ‘There is a hall I would most dearly love to visit,’ said the Knight of Blood. ‘Perhaps you can tell me if it still exists?’

  The junker fell to his knees. ‘Yes, angel. If you says so.’

  ‘It is the exterior of an old enginarium, though you will not understand that term. A large place, not distorted by the fall of the stars. There is writing there. Show it to me, and I shall tell you the true story of the Necklace.’

  The boy was confused. ‘I don’t understand, lord angel.’

  ‘A place deep under the ground. You call it the Fellholme. To you it is a place of daemons and horror, but your ancestors lived there, once. Do you know it?’

  Chrismsae shook fearfully.

  ‘You are wasting your time. The junker tribes are afraid of the orbital interiors,’ said Seth. ‘You are wasting my time.’

  ‘I am not. You shall see.’ Jool bent forward so that his breathing grille was level with Chrismsae’s face. The stink of blood coming off him was overpowering. Old and rotten though it was, Seth’s mouth watered.

  ‘You know the place I speak of,’ Jool said in a menacing whisper. ‘You will take us there, or I will kill you.’ He did not ask Seth if he wished to attend.

  Seth growled a warning at this assumption. The knight’s presence tugged at his thirst. His fury, never far buried, rose in sympathy to the rage radiated by his distant cousin.

  ‘You do not wish to see the history of men on this place, most holy to our shared lord?’ said the knight. ‘What other tasks detain you?’

  ‘The fortifications.’

  ‘Your men and slaves can do that. When did the mighty Gabriel Seth stoop to dirty his hands with peasant’s toil?’

  Seth stared at the knight. Chrismsae looked between them nervously.

  ‘I will come,’ said Seth. ‘I do not care for history, but I will not have you lurking under my feet unseen.’

  They went back to the mountainous derelicts. This time they went directly inside, following tunnels to the heart of darkness beneath. Once they were past the tangled mess of the northern faces the ways went straight, bent only slightly by impact and war damage. No natural tunnel could have brought them so far so quickly.

  In other respects, the buried corridors and chambers were like natural caverns. Water trickled down the walls into pools where blind thing
s swam. Flying creatures burst from rooms filled with their reeking dung, and flew chittering away. Minerals leached from high above formed organic-looking rills. Seth stopped by one impressive formation, brilliant white streaked with blue oxides in the circle of his suit light. There was plenty of stone used in the construction of the orbital, but he thought the calcium in the rock came from human bones.

  A hall they passed through twenty minutes later bore out his theory; it was crammed from floor to ceiling with a tangle of remains. Thousands of grey skulls looked out in silent shock.

  There were other living things down there, humanoid creatures that stared with coldly luminous eyes from the dark, then ran away from the Space Marines. Chrismsae was terrified of them, but his fear of Jool and Seth was greater, and he led them on into the depths of the wrecked orbital.

  Decay, ruination, death. They seeped into Seth’s bones. The Necklace was a kingdom of the dead. The remains of ancient times presaged the end come again. Seth felt that in his hearts.

  There were few obstacles. Chrismsae evidently knew the route. He took them down random side passages that turned out to bypass crushed arterial ways, or corridors filled in by debris falls or still, black lakes.

  Finally, they emerged into a vast space, so high Seth’s luminator beam faded before it reached the ceiling.

  Jool made a satisfied noise. ‘We are here.’

  A storm of insects rushed from a wall when Seth’s light touched them. Chrismsae cowered.

  ‘There are writings here, do you know that?’ said Sentor Jool. He stepped into the room, hunting for something. ‘A record of the fall of Old Night, and the end of humanity’s first stellar empire.’

  ‘I have heard nothing of this,’ said Seth.

  ‘The Blood Angels regard themselves as superior to every other Chapter of the Blood,’ said Jool bitterly. ‘Their librarius holds secrets they would never dream of sharing.’

  ‘Then how do you know?’

  ‘Our founder, Ousten Galael, was a native of this moon. We envy you primogenitors for your closeness to the source of our bloodline, but we were lucky enough to be established by captains from the Blood Angels themselves. Galael had his own records.’