Luther first of the fall.., p.13
Luther: First of the Fallen, page 13
‘The dead of Greyhome,’ whispered Galass, trembling beside me.
I was shaking too as I reached for the pistol in the pile of belongings I had used as a pillow. Slipping it from its holster, I stood up.
‘You think you can shoot a wraith?’ whispered Galass, grabbing my arm. ‘These are not quest beasts!’
We watched the spectral warriors glide through the mists, heading deeper into the marshes. I could see nothing of them but vague outlines, like shadows cast upon the mist. As each passed I expected a head to turn towards us, to see us standing in dread at the hilltop, to issue some ghastly cry of alarm.
But we were not seen, and I thought perhaps the ghosts were not there at all. Or maybe just a memory, imprinted on the land about Greyhome, replaying when starlight and fog were in correct conjunction.
It must have been minutes but it felt like hours, until the last of the apparitions faded into the fog. We stayed still for longer, eyes trying to peel back the mist, imagining that the spectral column would return.
Neither of us slept again that night. Though at times my eyelids were as heavy as lead, the moment they fluttered closed I thought I felt the icy touch of some ghast on my skin and I would be wide awake again. Even so, when the first orange smudge of dawn started to gleam in the mists it felt like waking up from a dream, so unreal had been the encounter.
We readied ourselves and our steeds in silence, neither of us with a hunger for breakfast. The early morning sun dispelled much of the fog, revealing a high mound on the horizon to the north, topped with a scattering of trees and broken walls.
‘That must be Greyhome,’ I said, taking Accadis’ reins to lead her down the hill. ‘We could be there by noon.’
‘Not I,’ said Galass. Her eyes were bloodshot, her brown skin darker still around them, as though it had been many nights since she had slept. ‘I have seen enough of Greyhome and my ancestors. The darkness dwells there now, even after many centuries. Let us return to the forests and hunt like knights.’
‘What of the Tale of Galass and Luther? Are they to say that we dared the Shadowmire but were baulked? The ghosts have gone and if they were not some trick of tired imaginations then they intended us no harm. Come on, we shall be back to this camp before sundown, I promise.’
‘You promise?’ Her laugh was as cold as the ethereal touch in the night, and cut sharper than my chainsword. ‘Kirl was right, I was wrong. This is no place for two squires. My ancestors barely escaped these fens, I will not give them a second chance to end my line. The spirit of Ezrekiel knows my blood – I can feel his presence in every root and ripple, seeking me, hungering for those that escaped his wrath.’
With that, she mounted her steed and started precipitously back down the mound, retracing our steps of the day before.
‘South!’ I shouted after her. ‘Keep the rising sun on your left!’
I cannot say whether she did not hear me or ignored me, but she continued on to the west. I watched for a short while, highly tempted to follow. But my own words came back to admonish me. Would the bards sing of how the brave Sar Luther ran away from a half-dreamt ghost rather than daring the bones of the ancient city? I had vowed to return to Aldurukh to honour the Order, and I would do so with a tale that would be remembered for an age.
Such is the stupidity of youth.
At least Accadis seemed willing to stay with me, and I mounted when we reached the weed-choked waters. Northwards she plodded, slow and purposeful, making sure of her footing with each step. By mid-morning the clouds had gathered again. Little of the sunlight reached us through the haze, and I lost sight of the mound of Greyhome. Even so, we pressed on as straight as possible, my steed sometimes plunging belly-deep into the pools and pushing up the muddy banks with loud snorts. They might have been effort alone, but I started to imagine an air of complaint about her exhalations.
My earlier optimism faded as the morning passed, even as the light of the sun faded too. I judged it midday at least but there seemed no solidifying of the ground beneath Accadis’ hooves and no sign of an upward slope that would mark our ascent to the old city. I started to sing, as I had done before, but now my voice seemed flat, dissipating into the nothingness to be received by unwelcome silence. Croaks and creaks of disturbing kind sounded to either side, and unseen things splashed into the waters.
I found myself turning in the saddle often, expecting to see something behind me. I hoped it would be Galass, having found her courage, but dreaded to see a more ethereal rider. Yet there was neither living nor dead, just the emptiness of the fog haze that swirled from the warming pools. I carried my pistol in my hand, reassured by its weight, as much as anything could bolster my weakening nerve.
It was then that I drew most heavily on the lessons of my mentors. ‘Bravery,’ I told myself and Accadis, ‘is not the absence of fear but to overcome it.’
Had I been walking, I suspect I may have turned back, or veered aside, but Accadis trod purposefully onwards. I abandoned any notion that we would return to the bivouac we had made, even if I believed we could find it again. Instead I planned to make camp amid the ruins ahead, the moment we found firm land.
As seeming reward for my positivity the going became easier for Accadis, and in the gloom ahead I spied a larger darkness that was the slope of the great mound. The destrier sensed it too, straining to move on. I was not yet ready to give her free rein, for there was still ample treachery to be found in the muddy slope ahead.
‘Patience,’ I told her, leaning forward to holster my pistol and use my free hand to pat her neck.
The marsh to our left exploded, throwing mud and water over us. Accadis whinnied and bucked. The rein only in one hand, my weight ill-balanced, her sudden panic hurled me from the saddle. I swung from the rein and splashed down into the filth. I spluttered, the mud and weeds dragging at my attempts to pull myself free even as Accadis shrieked again, a most terrifying and unnatural noise.
Blinded by mud, I fumbled forward, trying to find saddle or stirrup. Something was thrashing through the water, which was about thigh-deep on me as I stood up. Accadis was beyond my reach, with my pistol on the saddle still, and my chainsword also.
My foot caught on what I took to be a weed or root and I fell forward, but it was not soft marsh bed that my hand struck but something harder yet yielding. A sudden pain flared through my leg and I flailed out of the silt, gasping down air and water in equal amount. Choking, I scraped the mud from my face and then bellowed as the pain in my ankle became an agony and I felt barbs burying deep to the bone.
I realised that it was no thorn-twist that had seized me, but some creature of the marsh. Red swirled amid the brown water and my assailant pulled again, trying to drag my leg from underneath me. My other foot slipped and I twisted as I fell, the water breaking my fall as I landed atop the creature.
I felt it release my leg, but my relief was short-lived. Half a dozen sharp teeth sank into the inside of my wrist, piercing flesh between the vambrace of my harness and the palm of my gauntlet. Some power smiled upon me at that moment, for had those fangs entered by a fraction more then surely an artery or tendon would have been severed. Either would have been death, through blood loss or being rendered defenceless.
I pounded at the dark shape with my other fist, driving the studded knuckle of my gauntlet repeatedly into whatever I could see, even as the beast pulled me down into the mire. The water splashed up into my open mouth as I shouted, choking me again, and as I retched, my attacker renewed its attempts to drown me, circling behind me with my arm in its jaws, turning me over so I was face down in the murk. Blinded and starved of air, fearing that to rip myself free of its grip might well tear away my hand, I sought some soft part to jab or squash with my free hand.
My panic grew as I felt the water deepening, the sanctuary of the shore seeming to slip away even though it was I that was moving, dragged back into the marsh. I tried to turn and kick but instead entangled myself with water plants.
This proved to be a boon, as the strength of the creature was tested against the roots of the binding weed, with my body as the link between them. Though I was but an adolescent, I had been trained daily since the days I first walked, and my body was lean and muscled, augmented by the rudimentary systems of my harness. As a squire I had not yet earned full powered armour, but my half-suit still contained systems to boost my strength.
Unfortunately, my lungs would give out before my muscles, unable as I was to draw breath or turn to my back.
A sudden renewed thrashing made me think a second attacker was incoming, and I feared death was but moments away. Something heavy parted the water nearby, the wave lifting me and my assailant together. As oxygen starvation made stars dance in my vision, I waited for the clamp of new jaws on leg or throat or midriff.
Instead there was another mighty splash and I felt my wrist let go. Flexing, I was able to break the surface, heaving down a long breath before crying out in pain.
I could barely see. I felt my cloak pulled, dragging me backwards. I thought it was my foe, but as I twisted to find some way to attack, I saw instead the welcome bulk of Accadis. With fabric between her teeth she pulled me towards the shore, which I saw now was still only a few metres away. In my dread I had thought myself hauled into the terrible depths of the marshland.
Snorting, my destrier made drier ground, pulling me for at least a hundred metres until we were well clear of the water. As I gasped and coughed on hands and knees she stood guard beside me, pacing back and forth as though a sentry patrolling a wall.
Eventually I fell to my back, chest heaving. I cried, weeping tears of terror and relief together. Accadis nuzzled me then for comfort, and her warm breath was as welcome as blanket or fire in a gale.
Though all was swathed in gloom from the clouds I could tell that night was coming swiftly. I was just about able to stand on my bad leg and could use my injured hand well enough, and awkwardly bound both with bandages from my packs. As with our last campsite, there seemed no piece of dry wood for a fire and I had not the strength even to bend a sapling to make a roof. Looking up the slope, I could see the broken remnants of Greyhome’s walls and scattered masonry that must have been outworkings, but realised I no longer had any desire to venture into the ruins.
I found the toppled remains of a wall a few metres away, enough that in the lee of it there was dry ground, though still nothing that would take a flame. Accadis continued further along the slope, cropping at the sporadic patches of weeds and grass. My body felt flushed out in the aftermath of my dread, so that even the dull ache in my wrist and ankle was not enough to keep sleep from stealing over me as I sat feeling dejected and lost.
Movement in the bushes woke me.
It was by now pitch-black and I heard a snuffling noise accompanied by the rustle of leaves and scratch of displaced twigs. I thought it might be Accadis returning but heard no heavy footfall nor loud breath that I would have expected.
I slipped my hand to the pistol I had wisely taken from my saddle holster, but could see barely my hand in front of my face, never mind a target further away. With my back to the crumbling wall I slowly stood, still hearing the approaching disturbance, now no more than six or seven metres away but as invisible to me as the air itself.
The scuffling stopped and I heard a sharp inhalation a little to my right. I adjusted my aim to where I guessed the creature was but held my fear in check, forcing myself not to shoot until presented with a definite mark.
I got one a few seconds later when something erupted from the nearby scrub, just a shadow darker than the night.
In the flare of the bolt’s firing I saw jaws wide, rows of finger-length teeth gleaming in the stark yellow light. Dark scales, black or green perhaps, still slick from the marsh waters. Eyes of black reflecting a pinprick of muzzle flash.
My bolt hit, somewhere along the beast’s flank. I heard the thump of the second detonation and the thing shrieked and flinched. Even so, I had no time for a second shot: the creature was almost at my legs again.
I turned and ran, darting to my left as it flung itself over the last metres. My armour whined as it assisted my hurried steps, trying to replicate my panicked movements. In my haste I forgot my training, the slightly loping stride one must adopt so that the armour can work efficiently. Instead the servos stuttered and shook, almost staggering me.
My gasping breaths did not hide the crash of foliage around and behind me, and I thought that I had more than one pursuer. Knowing the beast was equally deadly in the water I instinctively angled up hill, running diagonally up the slope. Here my armour was of more use, boosting my slower strides so that I nigh leapt from fallen stone to fallen stone, and bounded over broken tree trunks and toppled logs.
I pulled out my knife as I ran, more to slash at any entangling limb of a trailing plant than as a weapon against my assailant. A few dozen strides further up the hill I stumbled, my knee smashing into something unseen in the darkness that sent me spinning sideways. I felt something hard beneath my hand and knee, though covered with moss and filth. Flagstones, I thought, or more of the strange featureless stone we had seen in the outskirts.
In desperation rather than bravery, I turned towards my attacker and lit the lamp of my suit. Pale light sprang out into the night, illuminating the slope and the twisted trees that littered it. The bushes about twenty metres away moved violently and I raised my pistol again, taking in a deep breath to calm myself.
The thing that burst from the broad leaves was the size of a dog, barely as big as a mastiff. Confused, thinking it a different creature, I did not open fire, wary of another beast perhaps circling around. Yet in the light of the lamp it was clear that this was my attacker. The jaw was long, filled with teeth disproportionately large to the rest of its body. I saw my blood flecked on the scales of its face.
I almost laughed as I opened fire, putting a bullet into its mouth as it opened its jaws to attack. The bolt entered its throat before detonating, almost ripping off the head. The creature skidded through the mulch a few metres away, back legs twitching for a few seconds longer until it fell still.
The silence that followed was excruciating, as I expected all manner of creatures to descend upon me, drawn by the noise and the light. I was still not wholly convinced that the thing dead before me was the same that had attacked me in the marsh, but I noted the tail was like the flukes of a whale and the feet were webbed, ideal for a watery hunter. Its speed over the ground had been impressive too.
A loud thudding announced the arrival of Accadis, who must have been some distance away to have arrived so late to the fight. She whinnied and shied away from the corpse, shaking her head. There was no doubt that the creature was touched by the spirit of Caliban, but I could not in any confidence call it a Great Beast.
I patted Accadis on the neck, comforting myself as much as her, and stroked her flank as I looked at the creature that had so terrorised me. I wondered whether if I had been with Galass it would have attacked at all. Certainly if I had first come upon it on the land and in the light, I would not have thought twice about the confrontation. My fear was greater than I had ever imagined, but I was too young to realise what that meant. I laughed at my foolishness rather than learned the lesson of my experiences confronting the weakness within my soul.
‘Our quest is not over yet, my friend,’ I told Accadis, turning away from the beast with the terrible jaws.
‘It was several more months before I found a quest beast worthy of the title,’ Luther concluded, his gaze distant as he remembered the encounter. With a blink, he focused on Tatraziel again. ‘I returned to Aldurukh with my prize as I had promised, and was later made knight by the Grand Master on the morning of my coming of age, then departed to my gain-parents that noon. But it wasn’t until much later, when I was reunited with Sar Elegor, that I realised the true purpose of the quest.’
‘And you’re going to enlighten me?’ said Tatraziel. ‘I assume there is some moral to this meandering tale. I ask about Machius and you spin a story about a beast in the marsh.’
‘You never asked about Galass.’
‘The other knight? What of her?’
‘I do not know,’ Luther said sadly. ‘She never came to the Angelicasta. She may have died, or given up, or simply returned to her settlement to rule as her father intended. Seeing the ruins of Greyhome and the ghosts of her ancestors certainly scared her even more than the beast of the jaws scared me.’
‘And that’s the lesson?’ Tatraziel looked disappointed. ‘The real enemy is in our own minds? I have read many of your earlier words and I think you are nothing but a cheap storyteller. Not so much one of the lords or sorcerers from the tales of the Wandered, but one of the beggar-bards yourself.’
Luther laughed.
‘I cannot argue otherwise, because plainly I have not made my point clear. You see, as a knight the test is not whether you can slay a dangerous beast. My lord knew my skill at arms before I set foot beyond the gate. It is not even whether one has courage, or stamina, or wisdom to persist in the quest. Some quests are a matter of days, little test at all.’
Tatraziel’s expression changed from scepticism to suspicion, his eyes narrowing.
‘The test is in leaving the castle,’ said the Supreme Grand Master. ‘To give up all that came before and begin again with nothing.’
Luther nodded and smiled.
‘You are a better audience than most of your predecessors.’
Tatraziel said nothing for several minutes and Luther helped himself to more water from the jug the Space Marine had set down in the cell.
‘Our bonds to our homes restrict us,’ muttered Tatraziel. ‘Our families are a distraction. If we are to focus solely on what must be done, we cannot carry the weight of what we were born with. To be a Dark Angel is the beginning and the end.’
