Born of Flame

by Nick Kyme

  He turned to Numeon.

  ‘When the Army cohorts are fully engaged and the bulk of the eldar drawn off, be ready to launch our assault on the node. If we attack decisively and quickly we can destroy it before too many lives are surrendered to the meatgrinder.’

  Numeon’s voice was gravelly through his battle-helm. ‘You think the aliens will lose heart once we’ve brought down their obelisk?’

  ‘The only reason they’re here and not withdrawing to the forest where they can employ their preferred tactics is to defend it. That motivation ends with the destruction of the node. Our opportunity is close. We must just be patient.’

  Vulkan’s eyes scanned the outer defences. The temple walls were ceremonial, not designed to withstand any form of concerted attack and certainly not one from the Emperor’s Angels of Death. He perceived rookeries in the upper towers, partially occluded where the jungle canopy had encroached upon them. Pterosaur-riders lurked there in arboreal nests, waiting for the Legiones Astartes to engage. Hidden in the penumbral dark of the forest, he also detected mounted raptor-beasts. The eldar were keeping their assault troops in reserve. He didn’t doubt that they would encounter more witch-psykers too. It was imperative that they neutralise the objective swiftly before the enemy could channel the node’s power.

  The first ranks of the Army had gained the outer temple defences and were fighting hand-to-hand. Phaerians were brutish men who fought like savages against the eldar’s graceful lethality. Even so, the Army grunts had numbers, and skill was worth little pitched against such odds. An eldar wearing a mottled green cloak shot a man at close range, punching his heart muscle through his back and spine. Switching from his rifle, he drew a blade on another that flashed like quicksilver and released a crimson spray from the Phaerian’s throat. Three of his comrades ganged up on the alien, and he was borne down beneath the weighted butts of their auto-carbines. Others died equally grimly: stamped to mulch by Army-issue boots, beheaded by alien mono-wire, gutted on bayonets or slashed apart by falchions. Phaerians moved in packs, shoulder to shoulder; where the eldar roved as solitary killers, finding partners briefly before breaking apart again to seek fresh enemies. It was almost primitive in its brutality.

  The bloody tableau unfolding on the battlefield washed over Vulkan. Overwhelming force was not drawing the eldar into a full attack as he’d hoped. But as he regarded the melee dispassionately, he did see the slightest thinning in the aliens’ defences as they began to stretch.

  ‘They are holding back until we are fully committed,’ said Numeon, as if reading his primarch’s thoughts. The equerry had just noticed the secreted saurian troops in the lofty arbours and foliage around the temple.

  Vulkan’s fiery gaze narrowed to ember-like slits. ‘Then let’s give them some encouragement. Release the Fifth and Fourteenth companies, the Fireborn.’

  Heka’tan was not a prideful captain. The ambush in the jungle had cost the 14th more legionary blood than he was comfortable with, but he was pragmatic like all Salamanders and knew this was simply war. Losing Sergeant Bannon was a bitter blow – he had fought alongside Bannon for over a century – and the flamer division was virtually destroyed by the charge of the carnodons. It had been split and redistributed around the other squads. It seemed strange to have specialists scattered around the 14th but Heka’tan couldn’t deny the tactical flexibility it offered.

  His fellow captain of the Fifth, Gravius, had sustained losses in his company too. Like Heka’tan, he was humble and understood his place in the war. Even so, when the primarch’s order came down from the ridge, Heka’tan clenched his fist in anticipation of some vengeance. He knew that Gravius would be doing the same.

  Crouched at the edge of the battling Army cohorts, Heka’tan turned to Kaitar.

  ‘The anvil calls us, brother. Lord Vulkan would see our wounded self-esteem restored in the tempering flame of the forge.’

  Kaitar nodded as he racked the slide on his bolter. On his shoulder guard, he’d inscribed the names of Oranor and Attion in black ash.

  ‘This shall be their requiem.’

  ‘For all the absent dead,’ Luminor added, crouched at the captain’s opposite side, his white Apothecary’s plate stained with Legion blood.

  Heka’tan’s command squad was gathered about him. All were humble, self-abnegating warriors, but like their captain they welcomed the opportunity to avenge the fallen.

  ‘Into the fires of war,’ Heka’tan promised, then raised Gravius on the comm-feed.

  ‘The 5th are readying as we speak,’ the other captain uttered. ‘I will take them into the enemy’s flank. We move on your order, brother-captain.’

  ‘Then consider it given, Gravius. Glory to Vulkan,’ Heka’tan replied.

  Kaitar turned and roared to the others, signalling for the forward squads to march. ‘Glory to the primarch and the Legion!’

  More than two hundred voices replied as one. ‘Fireborn!’

  Flamers broken up amongst the divisions came forward in the ranks to lay down a curtain of fire before the advancing 14th. Heka’tan led them slowly at first, cutting down the eldar with methodical bolter bursts. He’d kept his big guns in reserve, and as the eldar drew off some of their forces to counter the threat, the captain gave the order for them to shoot.

  Missile contrails clouded the air and thick conversion beams hummed powerfully as sergeants unleashed the might of their heavy divisions. To counter the barrage, the eldar released their pterosaurs and the winged reptilians dived towards the bigger guns at the back of Heka’tan’s formation. Heavy bolters struck up next and the air was filled with their blistering shells. Flung javelins fell in a piercing torrent but most were destroyed before they struck legionary bodies. Flying saurians were chewed apart by the fusillade, but more were descending from their rookeries.

  The sergeants of the forward squads kept them moving, firing from the hip. A massive squadron of raptors appeared on the flank, their riders brandishing power lances and spitting curses at the Emperor’s warrior angels. Dreadnoughts lumbered forwards to intercept them. Attion had been alone when he fought and was killed by the carnodon, but now an entire unit of the armoured monsters was coming at the raptors.

  ‘Disrupt their flank attacks, venerable brothers, and break up the aerial sweeps from their flyers,’ Heka’tan’s voice rang down the feed.

  ‘In Vulkan’s name!’ they responded together as they clashed with the eldar riders.

  The distance to the temple was closing. Heka’tan revved up his chainblade, whispering an oath. His command squad were locked in beside him. He opened the feed again. ‘Heavy divisions withdraw into the forest. Captain Gravius – we are about to engage.’

  The reply came swift and eager. ‘We are the hammer, Captain Heka’tan. Become the anvil and let’s see them broken.’

  ‘It shall be done,’ Heka’tan promised. The hellish kaleidoscope of close combat was almost upon them, ‘Salamanders. Bring them down!’

  From the summit of the ridge, Vulkan watched the Fifth and 14th companies attack. It prompted a flood of eldar to uncloak and join the battle. In a matter of moments, the defenders of the psychic node had swelled with foot soldiers and saurian-riders.

  ‘They’ve drawn out the eldar reserves,’ said Numeon. The eagerness for combat in his voice was obvious and spread to the rest of the Pyre Guard.

  Atanarius gripped the haft of his double-bladed power sword as if strangling an enemy. Ganne’s gauntlets cracked noisily as he clenched and unclenched his fists; Leodrakk and Skatar’var swung their power mauls off their shoulder guards and into ready positions in unison. Only Igataron was still, but then raw aggression bled off him in waves anyway.

  Vulkan felt it too, but coaxed the embers of his belligerence a little longer before choosing to release it.

  Numeon crouched near the edge of the ridge, the pommel of his halberd staved into the ground to support him. ‘I see none of the larger beasts amongst their number.’

  There were n
one. Vulkan had found no evidence of carnodons hidden in the jungle depths. ‘Apparently, they are wary of our strength.’

  Numeon stood up again. Varrun was behind him, sharpening the edge of his gladius, but did not offer a hand to the equerry. No warrior of the Pyre Guard would ever insult another by doing such a thing.

  ‘You mean your strength, my lord.’

  ‘My strength is our strength, Numeon. We are one, the Legion and I.’ Despite his inner feelings of estrangement, this much Vulkan knew was true. Save perhaps Horus, who had his Mournival, all of the primarchs trod a solitary path. It was simply that the primarch of the Salamanders felt it more acutely than his brothers.

  He was surveying the battlefield intently when his expression changed from one of aloof detachment to satisfied vindication.

  A cadre of eldar had emerged into the open.

  I’ve been waiting for you…

  When he spoke, his deep voice was full of threat, presaging violence.

  ‘Now we strike.’

  Numeon turned to the others, brandishing his halberd like a rallying standard. ‘Pyre Guard. Embark!’

  Supported by its landing stanchions on a patch of scorched earth behind them was a Stormbird. Its idling engines quickly built to loft speed and the vessel took off just as Vulkan and his inner-circle warriors got aboard. The other companies on the ridge would stay in reserve and could only watch as their lord took off.

  The embarkation ramp was still closing when Numeon voxed the pilot from the hold.

  ‘Lock assault vector on the node. Missile batteries and–’

  Vulkan stopped him. ‘No. We do this hand-to-hand. Put us down at the edge of the node. I want to crack that thing with my hammer personally.’

  Jamming his chainsword into the eldar’s guts, Heka’tan bellowed for his warriors to drive on. ‘Advance, Fourteenth! Vulkan is watching you.’

  Vulkan is always watching. As the anvil tempers us, so too does the primarch.

  A welter of gore erupted from the corpse as he tore the blade free, and he was quickly pressed into defending against another attack. An eldar with an ornate sword struck at his guard. Sparks flared from the clashing weapons as Legiones Astartes aggression met alien finesse, but Heka’tan’s blood was up and he dispatched his foe with a close-range burst from his bolt pistol. Scorch marks blighted the forest green of his vambrace, occluding the lines of arterial blood staining much of his armour. It was war’s baptism and he embraced it with a shout of triumph as he sought out another foe.

  This was where he wanted to be, in the thick of battle, eye to eye with the enemy and taking eldar heads. Heka’tan originated from Nocturne, he knew the terror of the slave raids; he had lived through them as a boy. Though his apotheosis had altered his memory of those torments, the intrinsic enmity remained. These were not like the slavers, their anima was different, but they were of the eldar caste so Heka’tan’s contempt felt justified.

  A spit of flame spewed to his right flank, warming his pauldron and burning up a clutch of eldar snipers intent on evening the odds. He didn’t slow. Momentum was everything. It was as inexorable, methodical, and exacting as an avalanche. Gravius was fully committed too; Heka’tan had heard the shouts of the valiant Fifth as they’d closed for the kill. In truth, the near defeat in the jungle had wounded them both. The chance to excise those feelings in the fires of war was the greatest boon his primarch could have granted them.

  Hammer and anvil, brothers, the words resounded in his mind, let us show them that the Salamanders are not easily bowed.

  The melee was intense, a sweeping chaos of bloody images. Burning alien flesh was redolent on the breeze, mixed with the stale aroma of their reptilian mounts. Grunting and baying, they were finding the Legion a tougher foe to overwhelm without their massive carnodon cousins or the intervention of their witches…

  …Until a lightning storm erupted around the psychic node and four enrobed figures stepped forth. Heka’tan was close enough to see it happen through the press of warring bodies. It was as if they’d been carried on the lightning itself, invisible passengers riding the eldritch energy, and merely let go of its arc. They embarked to set foot on the earth as any man would step from a ship. Bolts of verdant green still coursed over the arcane sigils, covering the psykers’ trappings in the wake of teleportation. As three witches stood sentinel around the node, a fourth came forwards.

  Though the eldar were an androgynous race, Heka’tan could tell that this one was male. He wore no helm but sported an array of sigilic tattoos upon his pale and imperious face. His long hair was swept back, tied up with a runic clasp that ran around his temples in two half-hemispheres that each terminated with a ruby-like gemstone at his forehead. It had the effect of a crown, and once again the Salamander was struck by the sheer decadence and arrogance of the aliens.

  Unlike the others, he wore viridian robes shot through with cerulean blue. He parted the ensemble to draw forth a glittering runesword of unimaginable beauty. The weapon was psychically linked to its bearer and the blade crackled actinically as witch-fire filled the eldar’s eyes.

  A growing void expanded slowly around him as the other aliens backed away.

  Heka’tan soon found himself with clear ground between him and the warlock.

  Kaitar, Luminor and the rest of the command squad were in sync with their sergeant’s orders before they were even given.

  ‘In Vulkan’s name, kill that thing!’

  They charged together. The warlock watched them come, his blade held in a swordsman’s guard position. He wore the leggings and tunic of a warrior-ascetic, festooned with runic iconography and arcana. Moments before the clash he tipped his head in what might have been a salute.

  Heka’tan’s first blow cut air and fouled in the ground, churning earth as the warlock weaved aside. Kaitar fared better but his gladius was repelled by the flat of the eldar’s sword. Luminor snapped off a half-clip from his bolt pistol but the shells detonated harmlessly from a kine-shield impelled by the warlock’s open palm. A blast of force put the Apothecary on his back, and Brother Tu’var threw himself in the way of the eldar’s sword to save him from the subsequent sword strike. The runic blade penetrated the Salamander’s guard easily, snapping Tu’var’s gladius, cleaving into his armour and sinking up to the hilt in his chest.

  Tearing the blade free, the warlock spun to cut open Angvenon’s plastron and fed a jag of lightning into the blow, spinning the Salamander and launching him off his feet. Battleplate smoking, Angvenon tried to rise, but fell onto his front and stayed down.

  ‘Break him!’ snarled Heka’tan, taking another swing. His world had condensed to this one fight, the rest of the battle a dim and bloody blur around him. This was the anvil, he realised, the moment when he would overcome and rise or capitulate and fall.

  It was like three warrior-knights fighting a dancer as the eldar dodged their clumsy blows whilst attacking with rapid thrusts of his rune sword.

  Heka’tan refused to give in.

  I am Legion. I am a warrior born.

  The warlock had reduced three of the Emperor’s Angels to oafs wielding lumps of noisy metal, and that rankled Heka’tan. He swung again but cut at shadows. Bringing up his pistol he pulled the trigger, but was hit by a barrage of lightning from the warlock’s clenched fist. Warning icons sprang into life instantly across the captain’s retinal display. Pain suppressors went to work in the same bio-mechanical reaction, keeping him on his feet. The bolt pistol was overloaded and exploded in his fist, showering Heka’tan with hot shrapnel. He was only dimly aware of the spasms jolting his muscles but knew he was injured when his vision started clouding.

  ‘Fireborn!’ It was as much a yell of defiance as it was a cry for reinforcement to the others.

  Kaitar and Luminor closed in, robbing the warlock of a killing blow. The view was narrowing, made worse by his battle-helm, so Heka’tan tore at the release clamps to discard it.

  It clattered to the ground and the smells, sight
s and sounds of the alien jungle staggered him before his genhanced senses could compensate. He still carried his chainsword, buzzing belligerently in his hand. One of Bannon’s ex-flamer division appeared in Heka’tan’s peripheral vision and he shouted to him above the din.

  ‘Legionary! Hell and flame!’

  A swathe of burning promethium swept over the combatants. Kaitar fell, buffeted by the blast and on fire, while Luminor shielded himself with his forearm. The warlock thwarted the flame storm with a flaring kine-shield, but as he threw up one defence he lowered another. Heka’tan leapt through the blaze with his chainsword in a two-handed grip and brought it down savagely as he landed.

  A feeble, choking sound emanated from the eldar’s gullet as he swallowed a metre of churning blade. All the wards and sigils protecting the alien were broken, his preternatural swiftness undone in a single brutal moment. He glared at Heka’tan who glared back, his eyes alive with a vengeful crimson glow. Pain should have slowed him, taken him out of the fight, but the sons of Vulkan were tenacious, just as their father had taught them to be.

  He came in close, teeth locked together in half grimace and half snarl. ‘Salamanders fight as one!’

  A gobbet of acid spit seared the ashen cheek of the eldar as Heka’tan visited a final insult upon him before the light in the alien’s eyes dimmed and he died. Wrenching his blade from the corpse, Heka’tan prepared to fight on.

  Ahead of the Salamanders was the node, but the warlock had bought the others in his coven enough time to tap into its power. A coruscation of energy was rippling between the three witches as if the stone was feeding and enhancing their abilities.

  Heka’tan had time to lift his chainblade in a rallying gesture before a lightning whip struck out from the node. The eldar coven channelled it, a bending, crackling bolt of energy that ripped Dreadnoughts off their feet and flattened Salamanders. It swept across the Legion in a wave, leaving electrified and scorched battleplate behind it. The eldar still engaged in the melee were struck too – the shimmering beam was undiscriminating – and Heka’tan realised then just what they were willing to sacrifice to protect the node. Mercifully, he and his command squad had been spared from the first bolt but a second was already building.