Master of sanctity, p.17
Master of Sanctity, page 17
Telemenus recoiled as if shot, stepping away from the sergeant. He shook his head.
‘Now, which one of you is going to end it for me?’ The sergeant grunted in pain, bared decaying teeth and blackened gums.
‘I will, damn it,’ said Daellon.
‘No!’ Telemenus stepped in front of his companion and raised his storm bolter, aiming at Arbalan’s face. He met the sergeant’s stare, knowing that Arbalan could see nothing of his expression past the helm of Telemenus’s armour.
‘At least I know you can hit me from that distance,’ Arbalan snarled, unrepentant to the end.
‘You deserve this,’ said Telemenus. ‘I owe it to you.’
He fired.
The pair of them turned away, the echoing retort of the single shot muffled by their fleshy surrounds.
‘What did he say to you?’ asked Daellon.
‘Nothing of importance, I assure you.’
The answer hung in the silence, its falsity obvious to Telemenus, but there was no way of gauging his companion’s reaction.
‘Lungs, you say?’ said Daellon after a moment.
‘Yes, it seems to me that is the case.’ Telemenus pointed to a branching corridor ahead. ‘We follow the passages that are widening. It will bring us to the main airways, or whatever the equivalent is. Let us hope that some of our brothers are wise enough to do the same.’
A Losing Battle
Blasting and hacking through the walls certainly made progress into the fortress swifter. Sapphon and his Terminators, swelled by other stray warriors picked up along the way to number thirteen Space Marines, found themselves embroiled time and again by daemonic assailants. There were recurring forms, of pot-bellied cyclopean daemons and bounding, slug-like beasts, and there was a myriad of unique and disturbing manifestations from the palace itself. There seemed to be no pattern or reason behind the waves of attacks; sometimes minutes passed without assault while on other occasions they were beset by seemingly endless hordes of creatures.
By the haphazard nature of the defence it was impossible to tell if they were any nearer their objective. Sapphon might have expected an organised defence force to layer itself in increasingly strong positions the closer he came to the commanders. Here there was no such rigidity. Sometimes a solitary daemon would pop into existence, easily cut down. Other times it appeared that the citadel was making every effort to reshape itself to bar their path only for their route to eventually lead to a dead end or in a circle.
After ninety minutes of near-constant fighting, Sapphon was aware that they were already thirty minutes over the planned operation time frame. Nobody had yet reported low ammunition – power fists, chainfists, thunder hammers and lightning claws were used to bear the brunt of the attacks – but it was obvious that the Dark Angels First Company could not fight on indefinitely. Worse still, there was yet no sign of Belial.
‘We cannot know if the Grand Master survived teleportation,’ Sapphon said, during a brief council with Sergeants Asarael and Caulderain. ‘We must push on, to gather any remaining forces and, with luck, locate the enemy leaders.’
‘Perhaps we need to draw back and think again, Brother-Chaplain,’ said Asarael. ‘We should secure a location and then send out sweeps and patrols to establish ourselves. Roving needlessly from one area to the next does our cause no good.’
Sapphon took the criticism without comment and looked at Caulderain. The sergeant did not reply for several seconds, evidently collecting his thoughts.
‘I concur, in part.’ Caulderain turned and looked back at the squad of Terminators guarding the rear. ‘There is not a warrior here that would not gladly press forwards and take the fight to the enemy, but in doing so we may relinquish the true objective. Our deployment was compromised the moment the teleporting force was scattered. We have yet to recover from that setback.’
‘So we should wait here and hope that others find us?’ said Sapphon, unconvinced.
‘They are as likely to locate us in one place as we are to run in to them by happenstance,’ said Asarael. ‘For the moment we fight without any clear sight of our objective. To be honest, with due respect, Brother-Chaplain, we are flailing like blind men here.’
‘I appreciate your honesty, brother-sergeant.’ Sapphon understood the logic of what he was being told but it strained against his instinct to remain in one place and simply allow the enemy to come at them when they pleased. He had always been taught that one should seize the initiative; that action was always preferable to inaction, daring and courage are at their highest when on the offensive. ‘I must reject your assertion, however. I think that should the whole fortress be turned against us, as it surely would if we remain in one place for any length of time, we lack the resources to victoriously resolve such a situation.’
‘But we cannot simply advance for the sake of advancing, Brother-Chaplain.’
‘Brother Sapphon made his intent clear,’ said Caulderain. ‘We should turn thought as to how best to make mobility a successful strategy.’
Several more minutes of talking did not resolve the fundamental disagreement but Sapphon, Caulderain and Asarael did concur on a plan to widen the scope of their search. Having discovered there was limited vox-communication possible, up to about a hundred and fifty metres, they could divide into three or four forces, covering a wider area. If one prong of the advance encountered severe opposition there would be other squads on hand to quickly assist.
Another few minutes had passed when this new strategy bore results. Sapphon was called to Asarael’s squad, out on the right flank of the attack. The Chaplain found them in a chamber that looked like the inside of an egg, the walls ridged and cracked rather than smooth, pale grey in colour. They had broken a hole into the wall, revealing a dark passage that spasmed intermittently like a gullet, the fleshy walls contracting several metres before expanding again.
‘What have you found?’ asked Sapphon, ducking his head through the ragged gap.
‘The hole, Brother-Chaplain,’ replied Asarael. ‘It was already here.’
Sapphon stepped back and examined the breach. He could see marks where bolters had blown holes in the wall, these wounds then used as purchase for the fingers of a power glove to grip and tear.
‘Already here, you say? Do you think we have come upon our own trail?’
‘No, brother, I do not.’ Asarael handed something to Sapphon; a storm bolter magazine. ‘We found this.’
Examining the empty magazine, Sapphon recognised the marking from the armourium on its underside.
‘This was issued by the Grand Master’s artificer!’ Sapphon looked at the wound in the wall again but it was impossible to tell how long since it had been made.
Redirecting the efforts of his squads Sapphon coordinated his search around the area where Belial had passed. Signs of intense combat, including heavy flamer and assault cannon fire, confirmed that the Grand Master had gathered another force with him. The trail they had left was clear to follow once it was located and Sapphon led his warriors on with some hope and expectation.
The Terminator squad forging ahead of the main body of warriors soon reported the sound of gunfire; the enemy had yet to use any kind of normal weapon. Sapphon ordered his squads to advance at speed and provide whatever support they could. They split along a number of brick-walled passageways, passing through yard-like spaces that opened out beneath a sky of tumourous growths hundreds of metres above.
It was in one such larger space that Sapphon found Belial. The Grand Master and a dozen Terminators blazed away with their weapons at a monstrous many-headed creature formed of mutated brick and twisted sinews of rusted iron and discoloured bronze. Blunt-nosed heads snapped forward with teeth of broken glass, kept at bay by the fusillade of the Terminators. More of the creature dragged its bulk from the far wall, a serpentine body growing out of the stone and mortar.
‘Have your men flank left,’ was the only acknowledgement Sapphon received from the Grand Master.
He complied, using the covering fire of the other Space Marines to close on the beast’s body. The daemonic creature spied the Chaplain dashing towards its side and a blocky head swung down, smashing Sapphon from his feet in a crash of ceramite and bricks. Asarael stood over the Chaplain, firing intently, while Sapphon righted himself.
From an archway ahead another Deathwing squad emerged, assault cannon to the fore. They had been sent to come at the creature from behind, though their rear attack was now compromised by extra heads and limbs extruding from the daemon beast’s back.
‘Death to the xenos! Attack!’ Sapphon charged to draw its attention. The Terminators around him responded in an instant, his battle cry delving deep into hypno-conditioned minds to override whatever they had been planning to do.
He slashed his crozius arcanum into a wide mouth, shattering brick and glass. Beside him Asarael buried his power sword hilt-deep in a sinuous neck. Power fists turned brick and metal to powder and shards.
The plot worked, distracting the daemon-thing from the squad coming up behind. The heavy weapons trooper aimed his assault cannon and let loose a sustained burst, hundreds of shells slamming into the creature, cutting away its lower half. Separated, the top part of the monster collapsed into its constituent parts, showering the Terminators with stone blocks, bricks, pieces of piping and twisted, rusted girders and support bars. As a bank of dust swept over the warriors, it seemed as though a roof had collapsed on the Dark Angels.
Sapphon picked his way across the mound of rubble, which shifted and broke beneath his heavy tread. He came across Belial snapping out orders to his warriors, sending them into the adjoining passages and chambers.
‘Praise to the Emperor that you live, Grand Master,’ said Sapphon.
‘Thanks also for your safe delivery,’ said Belial, out of politeness rather than conviction Sapphon presumed. The Grand Master looked past at the squads following the Chaplain. ‘I see you have found some more of my warriors. Gratitude for keeping them occupied.’
‘We endeavour for victory,’ said Sapphon.
‘A distant prospect, I must conclude,’ said Belial. His voice lowered, a difficult trick with an external vocaliser. ‘I do not think there is any target here for us to seize.’
‘Someone must be in control of the fortress, even if the one we seek is not present in person.’
‘Look around, brother,’ Belial said, sweeping an arm to encompass the ruined chamber. He sounded bitter. ‘There is nothing controlling this beast, for that is what we face. There are not mortal minds at work behind this conjuration. We have stepped into the body of a monster and it attempts to repel us, nothing more.’
This flat statement took Sapphon aback.
‘We must be sure of that,’ he said. ‘To risk so many warriors, for the brothers we have already lost, we cannot take anything as certain. Though perhaps no mortal design controls this place it must have certainly been shaped by one. What point would exist in creating a palace in which nobody lives?’
‘Do not think to get answer from me,’ said Belial. ‘I do not speculate on the workings of the abyssal foe, with good cause.’
‘But one might seek shelter here even if not to be its ruler. Anovel came here, I am certain of it.’
‘If your prisoner speaks truth, and there is no guarantee he does, then the one we hunt is no longer here. There is no mortal presence on this world, can you not feel it?’
‘Supposition is not evidence, Grand Master.’ Sapphon did not want to invoke his rank as Master of Sanctity – spiritual master even of Belial – but he felt he might have to. ‘Until we have scoured every part of this citadel and whatever lies beyond there is no means to know what might be found.’
‘A fool’s errand.’ Belial turned away and started to walk back down the pile of daemonic corpse-rubble but was stopped when Sapphon called his name. ‘Yes, Brother-Chaplain?’
Sapphon bit back a word of command. If needed he could say the words that would make Belial compliant, for a time at least. Grand Master or not, he had been subjected to the same procedures and hypnotherapies as every other Dark Angel; it was this secret knowledge with which Sapphon had been entrusted.
But it was no way to conduct command of an ongoing situation. Belial’s loyalty and dedication were not in question and awkward inquiries would arise if Sapphon used the secret words in such a manner. Instead he limited himself to one last appeal; if not to reason then to vengeance.
‘What of our brothers already slain in this duty?’ the Chaplain asked. ‘Are you willing to admit defeat so easily in their name?’
‘We will recover their armour and take their gene-seed, as we would all that give their life to the Chapter.’ Belial shook his head. ‘We will not forget them.’
‘I hope you remember that I advised against this course of action,’ said Sapphon.
‘It is noted that you wished to press on into an unknown situation for an indeterminate cause,’ said Belial.
‘No, not this immediate circumstance,’ said Sapphon, approaching Belial so that he could speak quietly. ‘I told you and our brothers that it was folly to commit our forces without more intelligence. I wanted to use the prisoner to gather information but you opposed my plan.’
‘Does it make it easier to see this, knowing that you were right?’ said Belial.
Sapphon looked around the chamber. Two Terminators had been killed in the recent fighting and he could see the war-plate of half a dozen more being carried in grav-nets slung on the backs of the survivors. He did not say as such, but their deaths were a vindication, not a condemnation. It irked Sapphon that their sacrifice would be doubly for nothing if they did not pursue the search for the Fallen, but he chose to hold his tongue, realising that Belial would not be swayed by argument.
‘If the Hunt has faltered, let us consider how we might extricate ourselves from this predicament,’ the Chaplain said, following Belial down the slope of broken brick and mangled joists.
‘Do not be vexed on account of our exit, brother. I have a plan.’
‘That sounds promising.’
‘Do not be too enthusiastic, it will not be easy.’
An Unexpected Encounter
Something had changed.
Like a breeze rippling across grass, a shudder passed through the structure of the fortress. Bronchial tubes and arteries had given way some time ago to dank stone tunnels lined with mouldering timber supports and rafters. The wave was made evident by creaks of wood and stone grating on stone.
At first Telemenus could not tell if anything had happened. A few blocks had shifted and splits had appeared in some of the wood supports, but the hall they had been passing across remained the same. A constant dripping had echoed in the distance for several minutes. It had become a trickle and as Telemenus listened it grew into a steady stream.
‘Look, there!’ The beam of Daellon’s suit lamp pierced the gloom, coming to rest on a fractured pipe off to their right in the depths of the grand hallway. The liquid pouring from the break was thickening, blobs of matter congealing in the spreading puddle. An eye blinked at the Space Marines, a small, rotund body forming around it. Razor-sharp teeth seemed to accrete from flakes drifting in the liquid.
‘I think the fortress has found us,’ said Telemenus.
‘What?’
‘It has noticed our presence at last.’
Daellon’s storm bolter barked, turning the glistening pod-creature into a mush. Others were coming to life around it, popping into existence in the foam of the spilling liquid, which had now become a torrent bursting forth from several places along the rusted pipeline. The pool was rapidly spreading across the floor of the hall, sweeping the diminutive creatures towards the two Terminators. Dozens of eyes peered curiously at them out of the slime.
‘I do not think it would be wise to remain here,’ said Telemenus. He cast around, looking for an exit. There had been an archway about twenty metres ahead, but now the gap had been swallowed up, filled with root-like hangings intertwined with each other, each as thick as a man’s arm. A dim luminescence still shone through the gaps from the corridor beyond. ‘Up there. We will break our way through.’
Firing again at the emerging tide of bestial polyp-things, Daellon stepped sideways towards the opening. Telemenus strode more directly and started to tear at the root with his power fist, pulling away the thick strands in clumps. Something like a pained shudder pulsed through the tendrils and they suddenly sprouted dagger-like thorns. A chorus of snarls, whines and growls caused him to turn his head.
There were hundreds of the pustule beasts now, and the detached interest in their eyes had become outright malice. Frowns deepened and tiny fangs were bared. Clawed hands reached out of the ooze, forming from the rancid liquid, pointing accusingly as hisses of displeasure echoed around the hall. Wooden pillars bowed and twisted, splitting from the ceiling, knot holes opening into eyes rheumy with crusted sap.
A barbed tentacle from the archway lashed around Telemenus’s storm bolter, trying to pull it from his grasp. He wrenched the weapon free, tearing more of the vine-like tentacle away from the opening.
‘Save your ammunition,’ he told Daellon, who was keeping up steady bursts of fire into the enlarging mass of bodies, detonating the growths like squeezed boils. ‘Their numbers are too great.’
‘Damn things do not stay dead,’ said Daellon. He turned his back on the tide creeping towards them, flowing and glistening across the flagged floor like giant frogspawn on the surface of a pool, algal growths slicking ahead of the mass, becoming fungus and moss as it climbed the walls and wood beams. Where yellow and green pus stained the liquid, new clusters of claws and eyes formed.
More tendrils slapped and scraped against Telemenus’s armour as he forced his way through them, tearing and pulling, the blue blaze of his power fist lighting the corridor beyond. Daellon punched his way through beside him, using his bulk to force his way into the passage ahead of Telemenus. Fang-like thorns clattered from their armour as they took several steps down the passageway.
