Born of Flame

by Nick Kyme

  ‘We are indebted to you,’ he said, and then after a short pause ‘Brothers.’

  Obek came forwards past his men.

  No reaction came from the Iron Hands, who remained still, except for one. A shield-bearer – he turned his head away from the Salamanders legionaries whilst the others stared coldly through their retinal lenses. The Raven Guard came forwards, though. He had taken something from a pouch on his belt and presented it to the captain.

  A hololithic emitter. Obek immediately recognised it. A grainy image issued from the holo-lens a moment later, another Iron Hands legionary, if his bionics and the metal clad to half of his face was any gauge. He looked old and scarred, and had a sharp beard that resembled a piece of shrapnel.

  ‘I am Kastigan Ulok, Iron Father,’ he uttered in a hollow, metallic voice. ‘Know that you are saved, Salamanders. Know that you are now guests of the Shattered Legions.’

  Obek nodded solemnly, and ordered the others to stow their weapons.

  ‘Morikan will take you to my ship, the Obstinate. There is much for us to discuss, son of the Drake. Much indeed.’

  The Raven Guard, evidently Morikan, closed his hand to end the transmission. He beckoned once and then turned.

  ‘Have you encountered our ship?’ Obek asked, calling out to him, but the son of Corax didn’t react. ‘We have injured here, we need–’

  The shield-bearer interrupted. His voice was deep and cold, but carried some compassion. ‘Your needs will be met,’ he said, and took off his helm. A severe-looking warrior with pale skin and coal-dark hair closely cropped to his scalp stared back at Obek. ‘I am Ahrem Gallikus, of Clan Gaarsak.’ He extended a hand and Obek took it. ‘Saurian will look to your wounded.’ Gallikus regarded Obek’s severed arm. ‘And I believe I can take care of that.’

  Obek’s eyes narrowed. ‘Saurian? Is he…’

  ‘A Salamander, yes. He has been with the Obstinate since the beginning.’

  ‘I should like to speak with him once we are aboard.’

  ‘And he you,’ Gallikus replied, giving a half-glance at the other Iron Hands legionaries now filing out of the chamber, ‘but Ulok will want to talk to you first.’

  ‘And the Wrought?’ asked Obek, gesturing to the weapons vault.

  ‘Ah,’ Gallikus replied, ‘is that what you call it? Ulok will want access to it and everything within it.’

  Zandu scowled. ‘What?’

  Obek raised his hand to placate him, but said to Gallikus, ‘This is Vulkan’s hold and thus ours by right.’

  Gallikus returned his helm, suggesting the conversation was at an end. ‘I understand, but this materiel is needed. For the mission.’

  ‘What mission?’

  Gallikus turned to follow the others. ‘To find and kill him, of course.’

  Servitors and menials carrying the stamp of Iron Hands had begun to flood the approach corridor, here to denude the vault, Obek had no doubt.

  ‘Kill whom?’ he asked, and Gallikus paused to answer before carrying on his way.

  ‘The Warmaster Horus.’

  EIGHTEEN

  Obstinance

  The Unscarred were ferried to the Obstinate aboard a pair of Iron Hands Thunderhawks. So few Salamanders legionaries were left from the original landing party that they could have fitted aboard a single gunship, but the one they knew as Morikan ‘the Silent’ had ensured their diminished number was divided across two. So it was in silence that Obek made the journey to the battle-barge waiting above, unable to say for certain that their situation had improved since being rescued by the Shattered Legions.

  Once docked, the Unscarred disembarked into an assembly deck of dark iron populated by servitors and other mechanised serfs. Shadows and the clouds of venting pressure could not hide the other vessels already in dock upon their arrival, Thunderhawks and Caestus assault boats in varying states of readiness and disrepair. Two Stormbirds loomed over the mismatched fleet – one had been stripped for parts that were being used to restore the other.

  Industry ran deep within the Iron Tenth and here the machines toiled unceasingly.

  ‘Not much flesh amongst these Iron Hands,’ remarked Zandu quietly as he crossed the short distance between the two gunships.

  Obek clasped his forearm as the two were reunited, nodding to Varr and Phokan but casting a concerned glance at T’kell and Xen.

  ‘Have you not heard, brother?’ he replied, returning his attention to Zandu. ‘Our saviours think it weak.’

  Zandu laughed, precipitating a bout of coughing that left red flecks on the back of his gauntlet. Sobering, he replied, ‘Perhaps they are right.’

  ‘Are you injured?’

  ‘No more than anyone here.’

  ‘Report to the Apothecary once we’re done.’

  ‘Done with what, Firebearer?’

  Obek’s gaze was drawn to the vaults of the immense assembly deck as a great gate began to open that led deeper into the ship. A gauntleted fist had been emblazoned upon it, a terse and functional piece of artifice that nonetheless suggested who dominated aboard the Obstinate.

  ‘With whatever awaits us beyond those gates.’

  The injured were immediately taken away, presumably to the apothecarion. It left only a small cadre of able-bodied Salamanders legionaries who were quickly escorted under guard to a receiving hall.

  More dark iron greeted them as they were ushered firmly into a large, austere chamber that had little by way of ornamentation, save the square columns that ran around its periphery and the starkly appointed throne sitting at the far end of the room.

  Obek recognised the legionary occupying it from his facial augmetics and spiked beard.

  ‘Ulok.’

  Morikan the Silent stood at his side, almost disappearing into the shadows.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ahrem Gallikus softly, ‘but he’s going to address his men before he talks to you. I’d advise silence,’ he added, and went to take up a place farther into the chamber, in front of the Salamanders legionaries.

  Obek grasped his arm as he passed.

  ‘Is this it?’ he asked. The chamber had fewer than sixty warriors in it, including the remnants of the Unscarred. ‘Where are the rest of the legionaries who I saw take the Wrought?’

  Gallikus looked down at the gauntleted hand on his arm and Obek removed it.

  ‘At rest,’ he said, before taking up position with the others. He looked askance at Obek, speaking in hushed tones to the legionary alongside him before turning to the one on the throne.

  Ulok rose to his feet before he began, holding out his hands to quiet the hubbub of subdued voices.

  ‘A great victory,’ he said, nodding as he slowly brought his hands together again, ‘and a firm step towards our father’s retribution. For though it was the Phoenician who struck him down, we know whose hand wrought the deed and whose hand must be severed in reply.’ At this remark he held up his own bionic hand, the symbol of his Legion, and clenched it into a fist. ‘He has many names, but we shall know him only as traitor.’

  Zandu leaned in to Obek, and whispered, ‘Is this a briefing or a sermon?’

  ‘Neither,’ Obek replied, his attention on Ulok.

  ‘His legionaries have been put to flight,’ Ulok continued, ‘relinquishing a great armoury that we shall use to replenish our own war materiel.’ He nodded again, lowering his gaze to his iron hand, and uttered in a quieter voice that still carried, ‘It is much needed.’

  Zandu was about to protest, but Obek laid a hand upon his shoulder to stop him. Something about this Ulok suggested it would be unwise to interrupt, even if he had just sanctioned the plundering of Vulkan’s weapons cache.

  Ulok raised his eyes again. ‘The Mechanicum adept is within our grasp,’ he declared to the assembly. ‘We have but to–’ He stopped short, having now turned to face Obek and his men. ‘Who are these legionaries in our midst, Gallikus?’ he asked.

  Ahrem Gallikus went on bended knee and bowed before answering. ‘Salamanders, Iron F
ather,’ he replied, ‘or so they claim.’

  Zandu exchanged a concerned glance with Obek.

  Ulok frowned; at least, the side of his face that was flesh and blood did. ‘I thought they were all dead… apart from Saurian.’

  ‘We live on,’ said Obek, and stepped forwards, ‘the evidence is before you. I am Captain Rahz Obek of the Unscarred, also called Firebearer.’

  Ulok gave a look of indifference. ‘I have met Salamanders before, aboard this very ship. They came seeking an alliance, speaking of the resurrection of their primarch, a claim I knew to be false, and tried to kill us. How do I know you are what you say?’

  Obek took another step, prompting the Iron Hands legionaries to reach for their weapons. Only Morikan the Silent did not move but he sensed the Raven Guard’s eyes upon him through the lenses of his corvus helm.

  ‘See!’ said Obek, and gestured to his onyx-dark skin and red eyes, ‘the traits of Nocturne.’

  ‘Those who came aboard this ship looked the same. Behind the subterfuge of their flesh I found a different mark, a serpent beneath, one that had three heads.’ Ulok’s eye narrowed as the focusing rings on his bionic eye adjusted at the same time. ‘What were you doing in the armoury? Where is your ship? Were you stationed there, a garrison?’

  ‘No,’ said Obek, shaking his head. ‘We had hoped to use the Wrought as a safehold…’ He paused, realising he had divulged too much.

  ‘For what? Is it in there now?’

  ‘No, it is still aboard our ship, which we have lost contact with. We are grateful for your help, but need only to be–’

  ‘What is on your ship?’ Ulok asked coldly. ‘I will not ask again.’

  Obek shook his head dismissively. ‘Relics. Artefacts of cultural significance from Nocturne.’

  ‘What manner of… relics?’

  ‘It is of no concern of yours.’

  Ulok smiled. ‘I see,’ he said, and gestured to his warriors. ‘Take them.’

  A ring of stout boarding shields with boltguns locked in their firing nooks surrounded the Salamanders, who had barely reached for their weapons.

  ‘Don’t,’ Gallikus warned them. ‘These legionaries are Medusan Immortals. If you resist, they will kill you.’

  ‘You should listen to Legionary Gallikus,’ Ulok told Obek and his men.

  ‘What do we do?’ hissed Zandu.

  ‘Submit,’ Obek replied, and raised his hands. ‘We can hardly fight them. Even if we survived, it would only confirm what we are not.’ He met Ulok’s gaze but found no malice or self-satisfaction, only the conviction to do what must be done to protect his men and his ship.

  ‘How long do you intend to hold us?’ asked Obek.

  ‘Until your true nature can be determined,’ Ulok replied.

  ‘Find our ship, and you’ll see that for yourself.’

  ‘I intend to, Captain Obek. I intend to.’

  NINETEEN

  Ties that bind

  He had not always been ‘Saurian’. It was an honorific, although one he had done little to earn, save living when so many others had not. In this way, he had failed in his calling as an Apothecary. On the fields of Isstvan V, his reductor had remained empty, the gene-seed of his brothers left to rot instead of being harvested.

  Recruitment to Ulok’s cause had given Saurian purpose, but of late his sense of fulfilment had waned. At first he had been necessary, but now, what with the Revenants… there was precious little use for a field medic.

  So when the injured had been brought aboard the Obstinate and into his apothecarion, and kindred legionaries also, Saurian had rejoiced and a small part of him had remembered his old name, his old purpose.

  ‘Hold him…’ he murmured, prompting a medicae-servitor to lock the two cybernetic clamps it had instead of hands over the forearms of the struggling Salamanders legionary.

  The warrior had lost both legs, and was badly burned. Pain jerked his body, making treatment difficult. Saurian’s narthecium had seldom seen such use, but it was put to work now as the Apothecary administered a powerful nerve suppressant.

  In a few seconds, the struggles ceased as the legionary fell into a sus-an coma. Six of the twelve inductees had already slipped into suspended animation. Saurian would not be surprised if there were more.

  One, however, was awake. Unlike the others Saurian had seen, this legionary still had his honour scars. A great many of them, in fact. It was curious. The legionary jerked his head to beckon the Apothecary over.

  Leaving the medicae-servitor to its duties, Saurian went to the stricken legionary.

  ‘Are you in pain, brother? I can ease your suffering if you are.’ He had not meant it to sound like a threat. Perhaps he had been around Ulok too long? No, he had definitely been around Ulok too long, but there was nothing to be done about that now. Oaths were sworn, ties that bound him to the Obstinate. Saurian was many things, but oathbreaker was not amongst them.

  ‘I did not mean–’

  ‘Will he live?’ asked the legionary, croaking each word. He clutched at his throat. ‘What is this? I don’t…’ He trailed off, struggling to speak.

  ‘You have been unconscious for several weeks, brother.’

  The legionary’s eyes widened, his focus suddenly on his surroundings instead of the unarmoured Techmarine lying on the slab across from him with half his head missing, and next to him a body swathed in a mourning shroud, a darkening blood stain around the hole where his chest used to be.

  ‘Where… am… I?’ Every utterance was a struggle, but delivered with an urgency that took Saurian aback.

  ‘Do not try to speak, everything will be explained in–’

  The legionary gripped the side of the slab and tried to rise. Saurian put a gauntleted hand on his chest to keep him down. ‘Veteran, you are wounded. Stay down.’

  He moved fast, even for a warrior of the Legiones Astartes, seizing the Apothecary around the throat.

  ‘Where am I?’ he asked again, shouting, ‘Tell me!’

  Saurian’s gorget protected him, but he felt the grip of those fingers regardless, and heard the slow buckling of metal as it gave against the legionary’s feverish strength. Saurian turned his wrist so he could lean in with his forearm and use the enhanced strength from his war-plate to instantly break the deadlock.

  ‘Cease your struggling,’ he told the legionary, who still fought. A punch cracked Saurian’s left retinal lens. A table of surgical instruments was upturned as the legionary kicked it.

  ‘Tell me!’ he roared, his voice a knife-edged rasp.

  Saurian hit him hard with a tranquiliser from his narthecium, and the legionary relaxed.

  ‘A sedative. Mild enough so we can still talk, but so you can’t fight,’ Saurian told him, ignoring the anger in the legionary’s eyes. ‘You are aboard the Obstinate, an Iron Hands battle-barge, now in the arsenal of the Shattered Legions and Iron Father Ulok. Look around…’ Saurian gestured to the row of slabs, the two medicae-servitors who had remained intent on their protocols during the entire fracas, the banks of monitors, vials of replacement tissue and organs, the racks of surgical tools and stimulant injectors.

  ‘You are wounded, brother. This is the ship’s apothecarion.’

  The legionary glared, but appeared to relax. He was struggling to speak again, the sedative having impaired his capacity to do so.

  Saurian leaned closer, confident of there being no further attacks. The words were faint, but he heard them well enough, not needing to catch the movement of the legionary’s eyes as they identified the subject of his question.

  ‘Will he live?’

  Saurian stepped back.

  The Techmarine on the slab across from the other legionary was T’kell. He was Vulkan’s Forgemaster. Everyone in the Legion knew of him.

  Even estranged from his brothers, Saurian felt a deep kinship for these warriors, so it was with some bitterness that he could not answer in the affirmative.

  ‘His injuries are severe, worse even than your
s.’

  The legionary gave a near imperceptible nod of understanding.

  ‘This…’ he gestured to an honour scar on his arm, ‘and this…’ and then another on his shoulder. ‘All of it.’

  Saurian frowned, and considered his charge might be delirious from pain. ‘I do not understand.’

  ‘Unscarred…’ said the legionary, gesturing again. ‘Unscarred. To honour their… sacrifice.’

  ‘These are your deeds, brother. Why would you–’

  The legionary was shaking his head. ‘Can’t undo what has been done. Just symbolic. I need a different symbol. Brotherhood. Unscarred.’

  Saurian nodded slowly. ‘As you wish.’ The only way to remove an honour scar was to burn it and obscure the carved or seared flesh. As Saurian reach for his tools, the legionary clenched his arm and he realised the administered sedative had been too mild. He was about to increase the dose when the legionary spoke.

  ‘Where are the rest of my brothers?’

  Obek sat in darkness, trying to appreciate the solitude. That had proven difficult over the last few days, surrounded as he was by his brothers.

  Ulok had sealed them in one of the Obstinate’s barrack halls, which appeared curiously sparse considering the size of the ship and the legionary cohort he had seen force the Sons of Horus into a retreat. He had not seen the renegade captain amongst the dead, alongside his torturer, so had to assume that he had escaped and lived. Of the magos, Obek knew nothing. Ulok had referred to a magos that must surely have been Regulus, but he had seen the creature destroyed.

  As well as meditation rooms, the barrack hall also had ablution chambers and a modest training area. Not that many observed their weapon drills, for Ulok had seen them all disarmed of any serious weapons before admittance and subsequent incarceration. A few Drakes practised their pugilism or duelled with the gladius, but most sat in silence and contemplated the failure of their mission.

  The Chalice of Fire was lost, its artefacts, as well as the battle-brothers aboard, amongst its casualties.