The wolftime, p.20
The Wolftime, page 20
He hurried past, furs clasped tightly though it was only early autumn and the wind had no bite. He pointed to a muddy patch a few paces away from where Gytha had fallen. There were marks in the mud: the print of a deer, but two of the four marks had three toes not two.
‘There was talk that the Sky Warriors fought the Burning Ones here and there’s been wyrdkine seen by hunters,’ said Orin. ‘We shouldn’t have stayed here, not for a whole season.’
‘We weren’t going to,’ said Bjorti. He put an arm across Gytha’s shoulders, the exposed skin sheened with forge sweat. ‘But it’s been a clear summer, no ground motions or heavy storms.’
‘Might still be good for winter too,’ said Agitta. She eyed the tracks suspiciously. ‘Least it would be if it’s not kast-marked.’
‘Something is kast-marked,’ said Faeras, glaring at Gytha. ‘Angersas says their gothi has felt the kast and the wyrd both flowing strong.’
‘The gothi of Sigurheim spends more time with the wyrdshrum and mead than he does reading runes,’ snapped Bjorti.
‘No, Faeras is right,’ said Gytha, pushing herself out of his embrace. She held a hand to the side of her head where it felt a vein as thick as a sail cable pulsed under her skin. ‘These are not dreams. I cannot ignore them any longer.’
‘What’s going to happen?’ demanded Lufa.
‘Ma, what does that mean?’ Korit started to cry. Agitta came forward and pulled her from her mother’s leg, hoisting her up onto a hip.
‘The council will decide,’ said Gytha, looking at Lufa and then Bjorti. ‘I trust the council.’
‘Aye, we’ll see this is done right,’ said Faeras. He motioned again for Orin and Noraslov. ‘She can stay in her own home, but she’s not to leave. Bring her to the thegnhalle at dusk.’
‘I’ll see to this,’ said Agitta, stooping to pick up the dropped bucket with her free hand. ‘Come on, Lufa, time’s wasting.’
Gytha’s son darted a pleading look towards his father but received a silent shake of the head in reply. Sighing, he headed into the woods after his grandmother and sister.
‘I’ll fix some broth for you,’ said Gytha, waving for the aettgard to follow as she headed down the hill. But her lightness of voice was a stark contrast to the emptiness in her stomach, facing a truth she had avoided since the spring.
She was touched, but was the vision wyrdknak sent from the Verse to help, or had she become wyrdkast, tainted by maleficarum?
Arjac stepped out onto the bridge leading to the upper-south landing dock and the wind hit him like a tank shell. As he was clad in his full Terminator armour that was not an issue, but it did raise further questions about why he had been called back from the domains of the Iron Priests.
The landing pad itself was one of the smallest of the Aett, barely big enough for a supply lighter. That was intentional, limiting the envoy from the Imperial ship to an unarmed shuttle, which had been transported from the system limits to Fenris’ orbit sealed inside the victualling bay of a frigate. If it had been orchestrated by anyone other than Logan Grimnar, Arjac would have thought it an exercise in pettiness – a deliberate attempt to humiliate and dominate his coming visitor. That it was the Great Wolf, backed by his many centuries of tempered leadership, meant that the cited issues of security justifying these measures were likely his genuine concern, even if perhaps sliding towards paranoia.
The bridge became a tunnel after it crossed a deep ravine to the outcrop on which the upper-south dock had been built, lined with flickering lumens, the entrance banked with snowdrifts. A few strides further brought the end of the howling wind, and after another twenty yards the passage passed into an arch linking to a bunker-like control chamber. It was usually the domain of kaerls, but like all rooms of the Aett had sufficient head room for the Space Marines. Even so, Arjac was surprised to find the full Chapter leadership waiting within: Grimnar, Njal, Ulrik, as well as Leifar Twice-Slain bearing Logan’s personal standard, which barely fitted into the chamber. An overwhelmed-looking kaerl manned the comms and surveyor station, more used to dealing with supply runs than a full diplomatic engagement.
‘We’re all here now,’ said Grimnar, glancing at Arjac as he addressed the Chapter-serf at the controls. ‘Send the final descent signal.’
‘Why am I here, my lord?’ Arjac asked, using what little patience he had left to keep his tone civil.
‘To greet our visitor,’ said Logan, without any hint of humour. ‘I thought a full display of unity would assure him that I have the full backing of my council.’
‘This is a lot of effort just to tell him to piss off,’ said Arjac.
Grimnar rounded on Arjac, brow furrowing. ‘I’ll be giving the lieutenant every chance to speak his case, as I would any other petitioner,’ growled Logan.
‘What case? I don’t even know why you let him come at all.’
‘He invoked the right to petition,’ said Ulrik, staring out through the slit of a canopy looking over the blizzard-swept landing pad.
‘There was not a chance of an audience if they came offering aid, but instead Lieutenant Castallor requested a meeting to ask for the Chapter’s help in Guilliman’s crusade,’ said Njal.
‘I am bound by my rank as an Imperial commander.’ Grimnar almost spat the last two words, as though they tasted bad on his tongue. ‘The lieutenant has a right to a personal audience. So, this…’ Grimnar’s hand waved to include everything inside the chamber.
‘I think Krom put him up to it,’ grumbled Ulrik. ‘Castallor phrased everything so precisely. There’s no way we could turn him down and not be oathbreakers.’
‘And why are we meeting him in the arse end of nothing?’ said Arjac. ‘Do you honestly think one lieutenant will single-handedly storm the Aett?’
‘If you were bound and blindfolded, and carried bodily through the halls and chambers, would you be able to retrace your steps?’ the Great Wolf asked.
‘Pretty well,’ Arjac conceded. ‘Do you really fear Guilliman’s intent that much?’
The glower that twisted Logan’s face warned that Arjac’s choice of words had been poor.
‘For ten thousand years I and my predecessors, back to Bjorn himself, who first held this rank, have prised away every finger of the Imperium that has tried to throttle Fenris. What if these ambassadors had not answered the call on Noviomagus? They would have come to Fenris and found it empty but for those few tasked with watching our Hearthworld. Cloaked as friends they would await my return, but by then they would be encamped upon our territory, privy to our secrets.’
‘Others have been allowed onto Fenris,’ said Njal. ‘You make it sound as though we have stood inviolate for a hundred centuries.’
‘Each concession is a freedom relinquished, an imposition forced upon us by the Adeptus Terra,’ said Ulrik. Still he watched through the window. Flashing lights charted the descent of a lander outside, its jets lost in the wind. ‘Each admitted reluctantly.’
‘So we’re going to listen to everything Lieutenant Castallor has to say, weigh our opinions carefully, and then tell him to piss off?’ said Arjac.
‘Seems likely,’ replied Grimnar.
They awaited the arrival of the Ultramarine in silence. Amid steam and fire the lighter landed on the platform, bucking heavily through the winds as it dropped the last dozen feet. Landing claws screeched sparks from the ferrocrete as it slid to an ungainly stop.
The main hatch opened and an armoured figure stepped out. He glanced around for a few seconds before heading towards the door of the control chamber.
Russ’ Teeth, he’s tall, was Arjac’s first thought as Lieutenant Castallor ducked his helmed head through the doorway. He’s even got a hand’s breadth over me.
The short flurry of snow did nothing to obscure his Ultramarines livery, a strong blue with details in white and gold. A double-headed aquila adorned his breastplate, gilded like the scabbard at his waist. An empty scabbard, Arjac noted. Castallor had arrived unarmed, as instructed, but with the sheath still. Perhaps that was meant to be a message of sorts.
‘My lord, Great Wolf Logan Grimnar,’ said the lieutenant. He unsealed his helm with a hiss of escaping air and tucked it under his left arm as he bowed, eyes only briefly leaving the face of his host. He had a narrow chin and hollow cheeks, both of which were covered with short, black hair, as was the top of his head, like a crest. His skin was pale – a sign of months of confinement within a helm, starship or fortification – and Arjac wondered which it was, if not all three.
‘Lieutenant Castallor?’ said Logan Grimnar. ‘That is a rank that has not been used by the Adeptus Astartes since the Legions were broken.’
If he was taken by surprise by the comment, Castallor hid it well.
‘There have been a lot of changes, Lord Grimnar. Many overseen by the same mind that wrote the Codex Astartes when that rank was retired.’
Ulrik laughed, more of a bark, and slapped a hand to his chest. ‘You’re a good one, I can see why they chose you,’ said the Wolf Priest, his fangs catching the light of the command console as he grinned. ‘Just slipped it in there, a reminder that your primarch is back from the dead.’
Castallor’s expression remained inscrutable and he made no immediate reply. After allowing a few seconds to pass, weathering the intent stare of the Great Wolf, the lieutenant spoke again.
‘Your Chapter’s participation would be an enormous boon to the Indomitus Crusade, Lord Grimnar. Your expertise, the knowledge of the enemy you have gained in these last difficult years would be invaluable.’
‘Flattery?’ said Arjac. ‘Is that all you bring to us?’
‘He can carry on if he wants,’ said Logan, smiling softly. ‘For a minute or two.’
Still Castallor showed not the least sign of being impatient or insulted. He turned his attention to Ulrik.
‘You are head of the Apothecarion, Lord Ulrik? Have you studied the Primaris data I dispatched?’
‘I looked at it,’ replied the Slayer. His next words were directed to the Great Wolf. ‘Impressive. Well, you can see for yourself with the lieutenant here. Bigger, stronger. All of the usual pieces we put in.’
‘The Canis Helix?’ Njal asked quietly. ‘Is it really the gene-seed of Russ?’
Ulrik nodded. ‘Seems so to me.’
‘How many are there of you?’ Grimnar demanded. ‘How many Primaris Marines does Guilliman have?’
‘I do not have the answer to that question,’ said Castallor. ‘The Lord Commander–’
‘Lord Commander?’ interrupted Logan. ‘He flaunts the title he stole from Rogal Dorn.’
Arjac knew the Great Wolf was making a point, because Roboute Guilliman’s role as Lord Commander of the Imperium’s forces had already been communicated by Dragongaze; he wasn’t sure what the point was.
‘Lord Commander Guilliman directly leads Fleet Primus. There are other crusade fleets commanded by different officers. Current estimates of the Primaris strength of Fleet Primus is between eighteen and twenty-two thousand operational warriors.’
Arjac took in a sharp breath while Logan mouthed the number silently to himself.
‘How many Sons of Russ?’ asked Ulrik.
‘Three or four thousand, I think. We have only two companies with us in the torchbearer fleet. We thought it better to bring you the Primaris foundry materials as swiftly as possible rather than waiting to gather more existing troops. They will be on their way soon, if you honour us with accepting their command.’
‘What’s our current strength?’ Logan said, looking at Njal and then Ulrik.
‘Less than seven hundred at last muster,’ replied the Stormcaller. ‘When the Great Companies return, probably even fewer.’
Logan’s jaw worked as if he actually chewed over this information, his beard swaying.
‘Our arrival is timely, it seems,’ said the Ultramarines lieutenant. ‘Many Chapters are hard-pressed.’
‘You came for our aid, remember?’ said Arjac.
‘Three thousand? Did Guilliman rip up his rulebook?’ said Grimnar. ‘What happened to Chapters of a thousand Space Marines?’
‘The situation, the predicament of the Imperium, requires new thinking,’ Castallor explained. ‘New Chapters have been founded to replace losses over the last ten thousand years, and more will come. But for the immediate future, necessity overrules hierarchy. They will be your warriors, Lord Grimnar.’
‘And I need to come to Guilliman for more when they are dead,’ growled the Great Wolf.
Castallor looked confused, his eye passing to Ulrik. ‘Were my communications not clear?’
‘They were clear, I just haven’t told the Great Wolf everything yet,’ said Ulrik.
‘Told me what?’ Logan said heavily.
‘The technology for creating the Primaris Marines will be brought to Fenris.’
‘We’ll be able to make…’ Grimnar waved at the lieutenant, eyes widening. ‘An army of these?’
‘It doesn’t solve the problem of suitable aspirants,’ Arjac said. He directed his next question to Castallor. ‘Still need the right raw materials to work with, yes?’
‘Genetic suitability is still paramount,’ said the lieutenant. ‘As well as whatever personality traits you seek in your recruitment. We are Space Marines, more similar to you than we are different.’
Logan stroked his chin and for a few seconds Arjac wondered if the Great Wolf would accept the Primaris Marines.
‘These gifts you proffer seem magnificent,’ said Grimnar. ‘Warriors and tanks, as many as we desire! But they are not gifts, are they? This is a trade, a barter. What do you require in return?’
‘There is no price set on the delivery of these technologies,’ said Castallor. ‘There are prerequisites though, to ensure they are not misused.’
‘Ah, pre-requisites,’ said Ulrik. ‘Now the scorpawyrm shows its tail.’
‘Nothing beyond the practical,’ claimed the lieutenant. ‘Cawl’s modified gene-seed, and the equipment used for its implantations, requires new training for your Apothecarion. Tech-priests and others experienced in its handling accompany the materiel.’
‘I see,’ said Ulrik. ‘Upplanders given free access to one of the most sacred areas of the Aett, where the Wolves of Fenris are created.’
‘Unless you could create facilities in orbit or elsewhere,’ suggested Njal. ‘For a period until we have our own expertise.’
Ulrik nodded in agreement, contemplating the possibility, but Grimnar was less convinced.
‘There are other conditions?’ he said.
‘Only that you agree to coordinate efforts with the forces of the Indomitus Crusade.’ Castallor shifted his helm from under one arm to the other, the first movement of any note since he had entered. ‘The Imperium is on the brink of falling apart, every effort must be made to stop that happening, and the lord primarch has devised the best way to achieve that goal.’
‘So we have to answer to Guilliman,’ Grimnar said with a heavy sigh. ‘At last he gets to command the Wolves of Fenris, ten millennia after his first attempt.’
‘All Chapters retain their autonomy,’ argued Castallor, finally showing a moment of frustration. ‘But it would be anarchy if we set loose tens of thousands of Space Marines without some strategy to guide their deployment.’
‘So Guilliman doesn’t trust me?’
‘Trust is not an issue. I cannot speak for the Lord Commander’s personal opinion, but if he did not deem your Chapter suitable for these reinforcements, he would not have sent them. As it is, Fenris has been marked as a priority and my flotilla has deviated considerably from the main thrust of Fleet Primus to come here.’
‘Oh, now we’re supposed to feel special,’ said Grimnar. ‘Be thankful for the generosity of the great Guilliman.’
‘Logan, this is not an act of wisdom,’ warned Ulrik. ‘Do not conjure enemies where allies stand.’
The Great Wolf stepped back from his mentor, head to one side.
‘The Slayer sides with the Ultramarine? Of all here, I thought I could count on your support the most! You are our heart, the soul of the Wolves of Fenris. Everything that is great about this Chapter is written in your flesh, is guided by your words. Seven hundred true warriors of Fenris remain. What of our traditions, what of our spirit when we are swamped by ten times that number of worldless facsimiles?’
The Great Wolf spun to turn his words on Njal next.
‘And I hear the desire in your voice too, Stormcaller. You think this bodes well for us? You are master of the lore, guardian of our wyrd. Are we meant to confront our foes or shield ourselves with the lives of others?’
‘We likely have no future without the Primaris warriors,’ Njal said bluntly. ‘We will all die and then there will be nothing left of the Sky Warriors of Fenris. Is that what you want?’
‘Want?’ growled Logan. ‘What I want is nothing. I lead. I fight. I win. I do not want, I strive. But it has long been foretold that we cannot endure forever. From the lips of the Wolf King came the gmorlr morkai, the telling of the Wolftime. You should know better than I do that we cannot break our wyrd. The Wolftime may be our last battle, but it is our greatest. Perhaps we die so that the Allfather’s domains survive. Perhaps not. You know it is not our place to care about these things, but to trust to the Allfather and the wyrd He has laid for us.’
‘Only disaster follows the folly of refusing the swaying course of wyrd,’ said Arjac, addressing the Stormcaller. ‘You once told me wyrd was like the ekka of the deep forests. The wood can be bent, moulded even over time, but try to change it too much, too quickly and it will break.’
