‘By Russ! Are you a troll?’ he shouted in alarmed Fenrisian. The ork did not even bother to answer, merely aiming another blow at him, which would have severed his head if it had connected. Its return swing bit deep into the stonework at Ragnar’s feet sending chips of plascrete flying in all directions. Sergeant Hakon took the opportunity to send his blade into the ork’s neck, severing tendons and veins. But once again, the skin and sinew began to knit almost as soon as the wound was inflicted.
‘I have favour of Gork!’ Gurg screamed. ‘And you now die.’
‘It’s the power of the talisman!’ he heard Karah shout. ‘He’s attuned himself to it and now it’s healing him.’
Ragnar ducked another swing of the huge axe. The woman’s words filled his thoughts. If the talisman was what made the ork invincible, then perhaps he should try and get it away from him. Almost at once he saw his opening. He lashed out at the warlord’s hand, smashing his blade into the fingers which grasped the talisman. It seemed as if Gurg realised what he was doing and closed his hand in a determined effort not to drop the thing, but it was too late. His fingers were severed. The second fragment of the Talisman of Lykos fell to the floor and the green aura faded from around the huge ork’s frame. The brute responded almost instantly, bending down to try and grasp the thing, but Ragnar back-heeled it away in the direction of Karah and aimed another blow at Gurg.
This time the ork jumped back and clear. The warlord took in his situation at a glance and realised that without the talisman’s power he had no chance against the Space Marines. Acting quickly, he turned and raced back behind the throne. Ragnar heard a door open and then slam shut. Even as the Wolf raced to intercept the ork, he knew he was too late.
He lashed out at the plascrete door with his chainsword. The blade whined as it ricocheted off the rock-hard substance. Behind him he heard Karah Isaan’s triumphant shout: ‘I have it. We can go.’
‘Ragnar, regroup! We don’t have time for that. We must get to the roof!’ Hakon shouted.
Mind reeling with frustration and disappointment, Ragnar turned back. He could see that the others were already making preparations to depart. Karah brandished the amulet in her hand. Hakon was hoisting Lars’s corpse onto his shoulders. Seeing Ragnar’s troubled glare, he said, ‘We leave no bodies for the orks, boy. We must reclaim his geneseed for the Chapter.’
Using the body partially as a shield, he raced out into the corridor. Bolter shells tore into poor Lars’s corpse as the sergeant moved steadily down the corridor, eliminating his enemies with well-placed shots. ‘I just hope the others have got the teleport beacon set up,’ he shouted.
So do I, thought Ragnar, racing up the flight of stairs. Otherwise all of this is for naught.
Behind them, he could sense the horde of orks at their heels. Ragnar ducked as another bolter shell almost hit his head. He turned and grabbed Karah as she toppled forward. Briefly, he wondered whether she was hit, but then he saw she was merely exhausted. The use of her powers had drained her almost completely. She held out both parts of the talisman to him.
‘Take them,’ she said. ‘I can’t go on and they must be taken away from here.’
‘Don’t be foolish,’ he replied, bending down and lifting her as if she were a child. He draped her across his shoulders and raced on. To him she seemed to weigh almost nothing. She was not much of a burden. ‘Just don’t drop those things,’ he said, ‘It’ll be hell going back for them.’
‘I’ll try to remember that,’ said her ironic voice from just behind his head. Ragnar heard ork war cries behind him. It gave his feet wings as he pounded on up the stairs towards the roof.
Sven and the others were waiting for them. They had taken up position near a great rusted metal air vent in the centre of the roof that provided them with some cover. Ragnar thanked Russ for their foresight. He suspected they were going to need all the cover they could get in the next few minutes.
They had already set up the emergency beacon. The brass coils were humming and an array of runes flashed in sequence on the display. Ragnar sincerely hoped it had been configured correctly, for it was their only chance of escape. Space Wolf or not, he did not think they would long survive an encounter with several thousand greenskin warriors.
Ragnar and the others hurried to join their comrades. He could tell from the dour look on Sven’s face that there was something wrong.
‘Trouble?’ he heard Sergeant Hakon ask.
‘Aye, trouble,’ Sven replied. ‘The beacon is scanning for a carrier signal but we can’t find it. We don’t even know if any of our ships are up there and in range.’
‘It’s possible that the orks have a low-intensity power field around the building. It could be disrupting the signal,’ Inquisitor Sternberg suggested, running a hand through his grey hair. ‘If we can find some uncovered frequencies there’s a chance we can punch the signal through. Let me see the controls, lad.’
The Blood Claws around the beacon did not move. They had all stood and were all looking at Sergeant Hakon in silence. They had noticed the significance of the burden he carried, and knew from the scent that Lars was not simply wounded but dead. Their own scents carried their grief and their concern to Ragnar’s nostrils. Sergeant Hakon grimaced at them, showing his teeth.
‘He met his end like a true Space Wolf. I suggest you prepare yourselves to do the same. If Inquisitor Sternberg cannot fix this beacon, all of our souls will go to greet the Emperor within the hour. Now move aside and let the man do his work.’
The Blood Claws did as they were ordered and Sternberg swiftly knelt over the beacon and began to make adjustments to the controls. ‘Do not stray more than ten paces from me,’ he said as he worked. ‘If the ship can get a lock on us, they’ll respond to the distress signal immediately. Anyone out of the beacon range will be left behind and there’s not much anyone will be able to do about it.’
Ragnar strode over and gently placed Karah Isaan on the ground next to her fellow inquisitor. He was taking no chances with her safety, or the safety of the talisman, he hastily assured himself. She gave him a wan smile of thanks and drew her pistol, ready to defend herself. Ragnar turned and joined his companions. The Wolves had fanned out to cover all points of the compass. They all kept themselves facing outwards, and as spread out as possible. Ragnar knew they were all thinking the same thing he was. Clumped together at close range like this, they would be easy prey for a single grenade.
He could hear wild howls coming closer. Even as he watched, the first of the pursuing orks emerged from the stairwell – to be cut down by a withering blast of fire from the Space Wolves. Fortunately only a few of them could get through at a time. As long as the ammunition held out, they could be kept at bay.
‘Watch out!’ he heard Sven shout, just as the acrid stink of ork hit his nostrils. ‘They’re coming up the outside of the building too.’
‘Fire escape’s still intact!’ he heard Tethys shout. Ragnar had no real idea what he meant. In the village where he had grown up no building had been more than a single storey high, and the Fang was carved from the rock of mountains. Even as he whirled and snapped off a shot, it dawned on him that it was probably some way out of the building in case of emergencies, if the internal stairwells were blocked or the dropshafts weren’t working. Right now that did not matter. What mattered was that it was providing the orks with another means of getting to them.
Shots from behind him told him that a few of the greenskins were managing to escape from the exposed stairwell. He turned and fired from the hip, blowing the head clean off one of the brutes. Its brains splattered over its companions but they merely bellowed louder and ran faster. The chatter of gunfire from off to the right told him that some of the orks had taken up position on the edge of the roof near the fire escape and were pouring hot lead onto the Space Wolves from their flanking position. It was not looking good, and it was getting worse.
From below, he could hear the sound of breaking glass and the roar of what
sounded like mighty rocket engines. Suddenly, dozens of ork troops rose into view, massive jetpacks strapped onto their backs, huge boltguns held in their hands. Ragnar shot at one of them. His shell buried itself in one of the jetpacks. Sparks flew and the ork swung out of control, smashing first into one of his companions and then into another. It gave Ragnar a small sense of accomplishment but he knew he had barely slowed the inevitable. There was no way so few of them could hold the teeming greenskins at bay. Even now more and more orks were clambering over the dead bodies of their comrades in the stairwell and charging into view. Overhead he could see a few of the rocket packers preparing to hurl down stick grenades. It seemed that, like it or not, they were going to have to spread out and away from the beacon or be torn apart in a rain of explosive death.
Bolter shells blazed all around him, taking out part of the air vent. Shrapnel spanged off his armour. If they stayed here, then the sheer weight of enemy fire was going to kill them anyway. Ragnar took a deep breath, offered up a prayer to sacred Russ, and prepared himself for a desperate last stand. He also prayed that he would meet his end as well as Lars had.
Suddenly the orks stopped firing, as if at a single command. He wondered why until he saw the massive figure of Gurg step out of the stairwell onto the roof. All of the orks held their fire at a gesture from their chieftain. Such was the barbaric majesty of the warlord that the Blood Claws, too, stopped shooting. Only Inquisitor Sternberg kept moving, tinkering frantically with the controls of the beacon.
‘Good fight,’ the ork warlord boomed. ‘Over now. Surrender, give me back jewel. Maybe let you live.’
‘Space Wolves don’t surrender to greenskin scum like you,’ said Sergeant Hakon and made to raise his pistol.
‘Fair ’nuff,’ said Gurg with a shrug. ‘Your lives over.’
‘No! Wait!’ Ragnar shouted suddenly. ‘What are your terms?’
All of his comrades’ eyes were upon him. He thought he saw contempt written on their faces. Not that it mattered. He was not really afraid for his life; at least that was what he told himself. He just did not want them to fail in their mission, and for Lars to have fallen in vain. Right now the most important thing was to buy Sternberg time to fix the beacon, whatever it took. It was their one hope of getting away from here with the talisman. At all costs he had to keep the ork talking. He saw Hakon’s nostrils flare, as if reading his scent, and comprehension dawned on the sergeant’s face.
‘One wolf-cub fears for life,’ Gurg rumbled. There was a note of malicious enjoyment in his voice.
Good, thought Ragnar, every little helps.
‘I will wring his neck myself,’ Hakon said bleakly. Ragnar was not sure whether he meant it or was simply acting out his part in the little drama.
‘Just give him to us, sergeant,’ he heard Sven say viciously. ‘We’ll make him suffer.’
‘What are your terms?’ Ragnar asked once more.
‘Put down guns. Give me jewels. That’s it.’
‘Do you guarantee our safety?’
‘Guarantee you die if you don’t!’
‘At least we’ll die fighting, then, and not be tortured and eaten by you ork cannibals.’
‘If you want!’ The warlord began to gesture to his warriors to attack. Ragnar’s mouth went dry. He thought the game was up and that it was all over. A quick glance told him that Sternberg had not yet got the beacon to work.
‘No! Wait a moment!’ Ragnar shouted. ‘Are you really so afraid of us?’
‘What you mean?’
‘Do you fear to face me in single combat?’
‘First you offer surrender. Then you offer fight me! Make up your mind, boy. What is it?’
‘Will you fight me one-on-one, or are you afraid?’
‘No afraid. No stupid either. Why fight you? Have you killed like this!’ The ork snapped his fingers.
‘Then you are afraid!’
Gurg turned away, shaking his head in disgust, and barked a quick command to his followers. Ragnar did not have to speak ork to know he was saying: ‘Kill them.’
Suddenly the orks were raising their guns to fire. From overhead a mass of stick grenades began to fall. Ragnar knew there was no escape, no way out. His last desperate gamble had failed and that it was all too possible that his comrades would take the belief that he was a fool and a coward with them to the grave.
He tried to snap off a shot at Gurg, determined at least to try to kill the warlord, but a seething sea of green faces surged between them. Bolter shells blazed all around him. The sound of thunder filled his ears. Something hit him. Pain tore through him. A blinding flash filled his sight. There was a sensation of coldness, of being torn apart. Eventually it was over.
Slowly Ragnar’s vision cleared. He looked around. The orks were gone. The air smelled different but he almost instantly recognised in what way. It smelled like the inside of the Light of Truth. Then it came to him that it could only mean one thing – that the beacon had worked, and that the teleport had reached down like the hand of the Emperor to sweep them to safety.
He glanced around at his companions to see the same look of shocked surprise on all of their faces. They were all just as amazed as he was to see that they were still alive. Ragnar felt his lips twist into a feral smile. Exultation filled his heart. They had done it. They had walked right into the heart of the ork stronghold, and escaped again, taking the talisman with them. They had succeeded in the first part of their mission.
The others were all staring at him. He wondered if they still thought he was a coward who would betray them, or whether they had realised that it had all been a ruse to buy them the time they needed. They looked worried and pale, and he wondered what was wrong. He opened his mouth to speak but no words would come out. He felt oddly weak, uncertain and dizzy. There was a strange buzzing sound in his ears.
Then he noticed the blood flowing from his side and face, and was aware of the searing pain surging through him. He had been hit, he knew, whether by an ork shell or something else. He raised his hand to his face and felt a great open wound. He felt organs leaking through his sides and looked down to see something long and rope-like protruding from his stomach. He reached down and felt his own innards starting to tumble out. Perhaps he had not been so lucky after all, he thought, and tumbled forward into darkness.
TEN
Ragnar’s eyes snapped open. He felt numb. Part of his body felt frozen. For a moment he was disoriented. He had no idea quite where or who he was. It seemed that he might be in the cold hell of his people after all. Perhaps he really had died with the rest of the Thunderfists when the Grimskulls attacked their village, and all of the other stuff, about going to the Fang and becoming a Space Wolf, was just a hallucination of his dying mind, a trick played by evil spirits. He stared at the unfamiliar metal ceiling and tried to tell himself that it wasn’t true. Sweat beaded his brow, and he could feel his heart racing.
He was alive, he told himself. He was not dead. He was not
Like a message of confirmation sent by Russ, Karah Isaan’s beautiful brown face came into view above him. He felt more than relief at seeing it. He felt a surge of something else, something he could not quite put his finger on, something he had not felt since Ana had been lost, something that really should have been impossible for him to feel as a Space Marine. He pushed the confused thought aside. He was alive. He was not trapped in some strange pre-death dream. At least he hoped not. It was a nightmare that he had often had since becoming a Space Wolf and it sometimes gave his life a complete sense of unreality.
‘Where… am I?’ he forced himself to ask.
‘The sanctum of the Light of Truth,’ she replied, reaching down to touch his brow with her long, cool fingers. ‘You were very close to death, for a long time.’
‘How long?’
‘Weeks. We have made another warp jump into a new system while you lay in the healing sarcophagus.’
‘What happened?’
‘Don’t you remember?’
‘Not much.’
‘You saved us. You kept Gurg talking just long enough for Inquisitor Sternberg to fix the beacon. It was quick thinking. He will want to thank you himself for it.’
‘I meant: how did I come to be here? Was I wounded?’
‘In several places. We had to dig bolter shells out of your chest and your head.’
‘Was it serious? Will there be long-term damage? Will I be able to walk and fight again?’
‘One question at a time, eh? I am supposed to be the inquisitor here.’
‘Was that a joke?’ he asked, confused.
‘Yes, it was. And in answer to your questions, you will heal just fine. You Marines are made very tough, and your body will heal anything that does not kill it, or so our chirurgeon assures me. Says he has never seen anything like it – that the Ancients must have been miracle workers to make such a thing possible.’
‘I have no idea what he means by that.’
‘Nor I really. The chirurgeons have their own mysteries.’
He could tell by her scent that she was not telling the truth but decided it was not his business just now to pry into whatever forbidden knowledge she might possess. After all, there were certainly mysteries about the Space Wolves that he could not reveal to her. ‘Are all the others well?’
‘Yes. A few minor wounds, nothing serious. Except… except for Lars, of course. They have already performed the funeral rites for him.’
‘And I missed them.’
‘Yes.’
Ragnar felt a strange stab of pain and loss. It was odd to feel such a sensation for someone he had really barely known. Lars had been one of the quiet ones, had kept himself to himself, and now he was gone and Ragnar would never have the chance to know him. It seemed like such a waste. He told himself that it was his sickness and weakness speaking. Lars had died in battle like a true Wolf, and no Space Marine could ask for more.
‘He saved my life, you know.’
The Space Wolf Omnibus - William King Page 48