The Space Wolf Omnibus - William King

by Warhammer 40K

  Grimnar cocked his head to one side and smiled coldly. His eyes were fixed on Ranek.

  Ranek held his chieftain’s gaze easily as he said, ‘That is so, Great Wolf. Though I would give much to know how this outsider knows what lies in our Hall of Battles.’

  ‘It is not a secret,’ Sternberg said. ‘Your Chapter are not the only people who keep records. The Inquisition, too, has extensive archives, and there was an inquisitor present when that trophy was taken. He recorded that it was given over to the safekeeping of the Space Wolves. I wanted to know more before I troubled you with a vaguely worded prophecy, Logan Grimnar, so I went immediately to Abramsas and consulted with the archivists of my Order. One part was given to the Wolves. One part was given into the keeping of the Imperial Guard Commander, Byran Powys, and one part was given to Inquisitor Darke. All of them had fought in the battle on Aerius.’

  ‘What happened to the others?’ Grimnar asked.

  ‘Powys and his men returned to Galt. There is no record of what became of his part of the talisman. Inquisitor Darke and his starship, the Epiphany, were seen to make a warp jump into the outer systems, but never arrived at their destination. The only part of the Farseer’s artefact whose whereabouts are certain is the part you hold.’

  ‘Why do you think it is significant?’ Ranek asked sharply.

  ‘The eldar are an enigmatic people and not given to explaining themselves, but before he died, the Farseer referred to the arcane thing he carried as a “key”.’

  ‘And you have come to Fenris on the strength of this?’ enquired Ranek. If the Great Wolf felt any annoyance at the way Ranek was interrupting the discussion he did not show it. Then again, Ragnar thought, it was the duty of his councillors to ask questions and to give advice.

  ‘We both know, Brother Ranek, that the fate of entire worlds has been decided by things that seem less significant. Who am I to doubt the oracle’s words? All I can do is pray that my interpretation of them is correct, and that I may save the people of Aerius.’

  Sternberg paused a moment, then added: ‘The oracle’s words have been confirmed by seers of my own Order and by my own consultations with the Imperial Tarot.’

  ‘The Tarot is notoriously ambiguous,’ pronounced the chief Rune Priest, Aldrek. He ran one bony, claw-like hand through his long white beard. The metal raven on his shoulder cawed ominously.

  ‘Just so, but my readings have been remarkably uniform, and at every consultation the same combination of cards has occurred. The Eye of Horus in combination with the Great Hoste, the Shattered World above the Emperor’s Throne reversed. The Galactic Lens reversed.’

  Once again there was an ominous silence from those gathered around the Great Wolf as they pondered the meaning of the inquisitor’s words.

  ‘That is a very bad combination of cards,’ Aldrek said. ‘It signifies great danger for the Imperium: the gathering of the powers of Chaos, the death of worlds.’

  ‘I know this,’ Sternberg said plainly. ‘Which is why I am here.’

  The ancient warriors around Grimnar exchanged glances. Ragnar wished he knew what they were thinking. Eventually Aldrek spoke.

  ‘This is a very grave matter, Great Wolf. I ask permission to withdraw with my brothers and consult the runes.’

  Grimnar nodded his assent and the Rune Priests withdrew towards their own chambers without further ceremony, their footsteps echoing off through the vast lair. Ragnar wondered what was going on. He knew almost nothing about the Imperial Tarot but it was obvious that his superiors were treating the inquisitor’s words with the greatest concern. He felt it incumbent on himself to pay close attention to what passed here. Perhaps it was not the inquisitor who had caused his sense of foreboding earlier, but the knowledge he carried.

  ‘We must await the deliberations of our Rune Priests,’ Grimnar said. A look of disappointment must have passed across Sternberg’s face, for the Great Wolf added, ‘Only a fool ignores the wisdom of his advisors, Ivan Sternberg, and no Great Wolf can afford to be that.’

  Sternberg nodded. ‘Of course. I understand. I also believe that the runes will confirm what I have said.’

  ‘I never for a moment doubt it, Ivan Sternberg. Still, while we wait we must eat. A feast of welcome has been prepared. And such a feast: I have not looked upon its like in a hundred years.

  ‘Then it must be a sumptuous banquet indeed, old friend, for I remember you and your companions as being the greatest trenchermen I have ever set eyes upon,’ the inquisitor grinned.

  ‘Let us go to table. Descriptions are all very well, but you cannot eat words.’

  The Great Hall was lit by a massive fire. Giant flambeaux, treated with some chemical process to make them burn brightly and for many hours, blazed in brackets set on the vast stone walls. Servants hurried about, carrying great platters which groaned under the weight of venison and boar and bread and cheese. Serving maidens brought great tankards filled with ale. Grimnar, Sternberg and his retinue all sat at one large table, toasting each other between mouthfuls of food. Ragnar and his companions sat at the Blood Claw table and exchanged glances. It was obvious to Ragnar that his comrades were all as baffled by the speeches of the inquisitor and the Great Wolf as he was, but he could see that they were all just as curious too. It had all sounded significant and ominous and hinted at mighty deeds to come – deeds in which they themselves might play some part. Ragnar breathed an earnest prayer to Russ that it would be so.

  The young Wolf tore a hunk of breast from the chicken on the table before him and stuffed it into his mouth, washing it down with a swig of ale. The foam bubbled in his mouth. From the corner of his eye he caught sight of the female inquisitor staring at him and he coughed in surprise, sending a mouthful of ale spraying over Sven.

  ‘As always, you have some difficulty holding your bloody drink, Thunderfist,’ Sven growled at him. ‘Perhaps you should stick to milk. Everyone knows you prefer it.’

  ‘The day I cannot drink you under the table is the day I will do so,’ said Ragnar immediately, casting his eye back in the direction of the inquisitor. He was disappointed to note that her gaze was fixed upon Sternberg and the Great Wolf once more. However he saw that the Wolf Priest Ranek was now gazing at him significantly, and he looked away hurriedly.

  ‘That sounds like a bet,’ Sven said. ‘Pity I can’t bloody take you up on it! I would not want to force you to forswear ale for the rest of your life. That would be a punishment worse than death.’

  ‘Are you afraid?’ asked Ragnar.

  ‘Only for you. I will accept your bet but only if the forfeit is that the loser must drink only milk for the next week. Wouldn’t want you to go the way of Torvald.’

  Ragnar considered that that sounded fair. It meant that neither of them would be honour-bound not to touch ale for the rest of their lives, a forfeit which would have been torment to any Space Wolf. In the whole history of the Chapter only one man had ever had to pay that ultimate price, Torvald the Mild, and it was said that he had gone mad. Ragnar reached for the jack to begin drinking but, before their match could begin, the doorway to the Great Hall was flung open. The Rune Priests had returned and their faces were grim.

  They marched straight up to the main table and as their presence was noted, silence filled the chamber. All eyes focussed on them respectfully. Logan Grimnar cocked his head to one side. ‘You have consulted the runes, brothers.’

  It was not a question.

  ‘We have consulted them, Great Wolf, casting them in the prescribed manner, as our forebears have done these past ten thousand years.’

  ‘What did they reveal?’

  ‘The future is cloudy and grim, Great Wolf.’

  Nothing new there, Ragnar thought. Few prophets would ever get a reputation for folly by saying such words.

  ‘But we believe we must grant Inquisitor Sternberg all the aid we can. It appears the menace of the Dark Enemy looms and it can only be forestalled by the use of this talisman which has been spoken of. That m
uch is clear to us.’

  Logan Grimnar considered these words for a moment. ‘Then it pleases me to grant your boon, Ivan Sternberg,’ the Great Wolf said, addressing the inquisitor. ‘It appears that in doing so I may perform service for the Imperium and for my brethren.’

  Inquisitor Sternberg nodded his appreciation. ‘I thank you, Great Wolf.’

  Ranek leaned forward and whispered something in the Great Wolf’s ear. Logan Grimnar nodded and turned – and for some reason his piercing gaze fell on Ragnar for a moment. After three heartbeats, Grimnar’s gaze swung back around and he nodded to Ranek. As the hubbub of the meal returned around him and he directed his attention to the meal once more, Ragnar thought nothing of it – but a few minutes later Ranek was at his shoulder.

  ‘Brother Ragnar, I wish to speak with you,’ the Wolf Priest commanded. ‘Come to my chamber now.’

  ‘Looks like you’ve weaselled out of the bet,’ Sven said.

  ‘There will be others,’ Ragnar muttered, wondering what could be so important as to drag him and the Wolf Priest away from the feast.

  TWO

  ‘This is an important task, Brother Ragnar,’ Ranek said emphatically.

  Ragnar, standing at ease before the Wolf Priest, gazed around the chamber for a moment. It was not one of the larger rooms used by the Wolf Priests for meetings. It was not a sacred place at all, just a room in the Great Wolf’s lair assigned for their use. No, more than that, Ragnar suddenly realised – it was a chamber assigned to Ranek. He could smell the old man’s scent, which was as potent here as the scent of a wolf in its lair. All the other scent traces were faint by comparison. He looked at it with new eyes, looking for some insight into the personality of the old man.

  ‘I believe you,’ Ragnar said, ‘but why are you giving it to me? Surely there are others who can perform it better. Why should I be the one to deal with these outsiders?’

  Ranek, settled upon a stone seat before him, ran one grizzled hand through his long white beard. His keen blue eyes bored into Ragnar’s. Ragnar forced himself to meet the old man’s gaze despite the discomfort. ‘You don’t want to do this, do you, laddie?’

  Ragnar scratched his head. It had been some time since the priest had called him that. It brought back memories of his very first meeting with the old man, what seemed a lifetime ago, when he had still been a barbarian living on an island lost amid Fenris’s world-girdling oceans. ‘No, sir. I do not.’

  ‘Why not?’

  It was a good question but Ragnar was not exactly certain of his answer. He really did not want to show the newcomers around the Fang, although he was actually quite curious about them, keen to know more about them. Why was he so reluctant to spend time with them? ‘I would rather be training with my battle-brothers,’ he managed.

  ‘That’s understandable, but you will still have plenty of time to do that.’ Ragnar could tell from his scent that Ranek did not really believe him.

  Ragnar shrugged and continued to study the Wolf Priest’s room. It was no larger than a meditation cell, and it was spartanly furnished. There was a huge slab of granite which was used as a table, and the carved block of stone which the old man used as a chair. Thick furs were cast over it to pad the rock. Doubtless the Wolf Priest had hunted down the beasts himself. On the desktop sat a glowglobe, one of the eternally burning lights of the ancients. It was set into the skull of some suspiciously humanoid alien monster. Beside this puzzling artefact lay rolls of parchment and one of the feather-tipped stylos used by the Space Wolves when they had to write. Ranek followed Ragnar’s gaze and understood.

  ‘An ork,’ he said, glancing at the skull. ‘The greenskin was the first off-worlder I ever killed. I took its skull as a trophy. I was going to use it as a drinking cup.’

  Ragnar looked at the old man fascinated. He had never heard this tale before. He wondered at the age of the skull. Given Ranek’s age it must have been taken from its original owner centuries ago.

  ‘Not a good idea. Wrong shape, really; the beer drains away through the eye sockets.’ It took Ragnar a few moments to realise that the old man was making a joke. The priest bared his large fangs in a grimace that Ragnar knew was meant to be a smile. It vanished as quickly as it came. ‘You haven’t answered my question.’

  Ragnar looked at him. ‘I think I have.’

  Ranek shook his head. ‘You have spoken truth as far as it goes but you are not telling me all that you think.’

  Ragnar smiled at the Rune Priest this time. Ranek was too difficult to deceive. He might lack the thought-reading powers of the Wolf Priests but his disconcerting cold eyes could see into a man’s heart with equal ease. Ragnar decided he would air his doubts. That was the way of his people.

  ‘I have no real answer, lord. There is just something about these strangers that makes me uneasy. I don’t quite know why but I sense a wrongness about all of this. I am not sure the Great Wolf should have granted them permission to come here. I do not think he should let them examine our trophies.’ Even as he dared say them, a part of him wondered whether he should voice these doubts. Who was he, a mere Blood Claw, to question the judgement of the Great Wolf? On the other hand, it was the enshrined right of every Fenrisian warrior to speak his mind, and the Space Wolves were nothing if not Fenrisian warriors.

  To his surprise, Ranek was standing straighter. His scent told Ragnar that the old priest was paying closer attention to him.

  ‘You have doubts about the strangers?’ Ranek asked.

  ‘I know not, not for sure. Maybe about their mission. About something. There is something here that makes me uneasy.’

  Ranek nodded, almost to himself. ‘I agree with you.’

  Ragnar was not surprised. He could sense something of the old man’s moods from his scent. Reading scents was part of being one of the pack. It was what let the Space Wolves act with a co-ordination and precision that few other humans could match.

  ‘Unfortunately the Great Wolf does not see eye-to-eye with me on this.’

  Ragnar raised an eyebrow and altered his stance uneasily. Such dissension in the upper ranks was rare. No, he corrected himself; he did not know that. It appeared rare. Perhaps it was always there and he just did not have the opportunity to see it. He was a Blood Claw and in training, and he rarely mixed with the Chapter’s mighty rulers. There were few opportunities to. They were out in the field for so much of the time; in comparison, he as yet had not gone much further than the Fang.

  ‘Logan Grimnar trusts Inquisitor Sternberg. The inquisitor saved his life long ago and there is a debt of honour there.’

  ‘Are you saying you do not trust him?’ Ragnar dared. It was a bold question for a Blood Claw to ask someone as senior as the Wolf Priest but somehow Ragnar knew he would get an honest answer. Ranek smiled, but there was no warmth in the man’s lined face.

  ‘I trust him well enough,’ he said. ‘I have no doubt of his loyalty to the Emperor. There is no taint to him or to any of his retinue… but he is not one of us. He is not one of the pack and there are mysteries within the Fang that are only for us of the pack to know.’

  Ragnar thought he knew what the Wolf Priest meant. There was a bond between those who had been initiated into the Wolves, who had passed through the Gate of Morkai and bore the geneseed of Russ within their bodies. It was something that no one else could share. These off-worlders were outsiders and more. They were not of the pack. They did not share the sense of place and group identity that every one the Chapter members did. Then another part of what the Wolf Priest had said to him sank in and he almost laughed.

  ‘I am only a Blood Claw,’ Ragnar said. ‘I know very little of any mysteries.’

  Ranek smiled back at him. ‘Then you cannot give them away, can you?’

  This time Ragnar did laugh, suddenly appreciating the old Wolf Priest’s cunning. It was true: he could not reveal what he did not know. On the other hand, those who had progressed further into the Chapter would know more of the ancient mysteries, certainl
y – but was it really so likely that they would give them away to strangers? He voiced his question aloud.

  ‘All too possible,’ Ranek said. ‘Inquisitors are good at ferreting out secrets. They cannot help it. It is their great yet unenviable task in life. I would go as far as to say that it is their life. It would take a warrior of great cunning to converse with them and be able to keep secrets.’ His tone changed again and became utterly serious. ‘And I have my doubts about what is going on here. I do not know why it should be, but I feel the same as you do. My instincts tell me that there is something dangerous afoot, something that threatens the Chapter. Ragnar, I want you to show these strangers about, and I want you to keep a real eye on them. Furthermore, I want you to come and tell me everything you see. You are quick and your senses are keen. This is why I have chosen you for the task.’

  ‘Do you want me to report directly to you, lord?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And nobody else? Not even the Great Wolf?’

  ‘Only if he asks that you do so.’

  ‘I will do as you command,’ Ragnar said uneasily. He wondered what was really going on here. He sensed dissension within the high command, cross-currents in the sea of Chapter politics that he could only guess at. Perhaps the Wolf Priest was acting on instructions from the Great Wolf; perhaps he simply wanted Ragnar to believe that he was acting on his own initiative. Why that might be the case, Ragnar could not guess. Such speculations made his head spin, so he suppressed them. It was always easiest to stick with the simplest line of reasoning until that was proven wrong. Besides, in a way he was glad he had been chosen for the task. He was curious about the strangers… particularly the woman.

  ‘Good,’ Ranek said. ‘Be open with them. Show them around. Tell them what you know.’

  ‘And tell you what they ask about?’

  Ranek nodded and gave a wide, fang-filled smile. Ragnar wondered what he was letting himself in for.