The wolftime, p.26
The Wolftime, page 26
‘What’s the word for “Titan”, do you think?’ said Neiflur, writing on the rough cardboard.
‘Irn-ent, iron giant,’ said a voice from the open door.
Gaius turned with a smile to greet Ullr. The pack leader looked slightly flushed, as though he had been running hard. Gaius stood up, hand extended, and Ullr took it in a strong grip.
‘It’s been a while,’ said Gaius. ‘I thought you were embarrassed to be seen with us.’ He forced the humour, using it to disguise a truth.
‘You’ve done a few things that would shame a Blood Claw, but I’ve not been avoiding you,’ replied First-Shot. He looked around the room, taking in everything. ‘Settled in well, I see.’
‘Are you alright?’ said Gaius. ‘You seem… energetic.’
Ullr nodded, distracted, and glanced back towards the door. The gesture was swift, unthinking, but it brought Gaius’ attention to a distant sound of voices.
‘The company are rowdy today,’ said Gaius, stepping past Ullr to look. The pack leader grabbed his arm and stopped him.
‘It’s like that sometimes.’ Ullr moved away from the door, his gaze shifting from one Firstwolf to the next. Gaius would have sworn he was counting. ‘You’re all here? Good. Good. I thought we could head to the practice hall, maybe exchange some ideas.’
‘I would appreciate that, but we returned from drill at the start of the watch, no more than half an hour ago.’ Gaius started towards his bunk. ‘Perhaps you could help us with our Juvjk, though?’
‘That’s a good idea,’ said Ullr with unnecessary enthusiasm. ‘A great idea. Why don’t we… head outside! I can explain more about Fenris when you feel the bite of the wind, hear its voice in your ear.’
‘Krom has us on the watch list, we can’t leave the halls,’ said Gaius. Though Dragongaze had withdrawn the company from active duty, they were still bound to provide defence of the Aett and the Hearthworld. ‘It’s a sign that he’s really accepting us as part of the company.’
‘Yes, that’s good,’ Ullr said, distracted. ‘We’re on watch too, come to think of it.’
The voxmitter panel in the wall opposite the door crackled into life, bringing the familiar voice of the Dragongaze to the halls of his Great Company.
‘Greypelts and Firstwolves, gear for battle and come to my chamber.’
‘Thank Russ,’ exclaimed Ullr, rather more from relief than excitement it seemed. The pack leader clapped Gaius on the arm while the rest of the Firstwolves roused themselves. ‘I’ll take you to the iron levels, my Greypelts will meet us there.’
‘Battle readiness, what could that be for?’ Gaius asked.
‘Could be any number of things.’ Ullr seemed very quick to leave. He stepped out into the passageway. ‘Come on, we’ll talk about it on the way.’
Gaius tried to temper his eagerness. It was likely some custom or ceremonial duty that required them in full wargear, but he couldn’t stop himself thinking that this could be the first time he went to battle as a true Wolf of Fenris.
Pushing himself through the howling wind into the cramped reception chamber, Mudire realised how skewed his perception of people had become. Two Space Wolves in broad Terminator armour waited for them in the interior, each far bigger than Mudire and capable of bludgeoning him to a paste without breaking a sweat. Yet they seemed out of proportion somehow, compared to the Custodian at his side, the Primaris Marines that he had followed into battle and, not least, the overwhelming presence of Roboute Guilliman.
The two introduced themselves in accented Gothic. Mudire was used to names of all conventions by now, and the grandiosity of the Adeptus Astartes, but he was not quite prepared for the sheer bellicosity of being confronted by Torfin Daggerfist and Nilskar Heart-Thrust. Thankfully Vychellan felt no need to compete by reciting his litany of honour names. The following shuttle landed a few minutes later and the group were assembled. With little ceremony, the Wolf Guard, for such Mudire guessed their escorts to be, took them into the halls of the Fang.
They passed into a long, high hallway with banners hanging from the ceiling – banners depicting flowing, jagged symbols on a strange silken plastek. Trophies. Heading up a stairwell at the end, the historitors and Custodian stepped beneath an arch decorated with a wolf skull easily as big as Mudire’s torso. Eliptyka was looking in every direction, trying to take it all in, while Copla-var already had a notebook in hand, stylus moving so fast his writing had to be little more than scrawl.
‘What are you doing?’ Mudire said.
‘This is a historic moment,’ Copla-var replied. ‘The first emissaries of the Indomitus Crusade to set foot on Fenris.’
‘Firstly, we’re not, because Lieutenant Castallor has already been here. Secondly, we are not emissaries of the Indomitus Crusade. We have no remit to treat with the people here, other than to find out what they know of Bucharis and Gathalamor. Thirdly, we are historitors, we should place ourselves aside from what we view. We unearth lost history, we record its unfolding events, but we do not create it.’
Copla-var looked momentarily ashamed but did not put away his note-making tools. Mudire heard Ahlek gasp behind him and turned to find the historitor staring out of a narrow window, peering through the thick glassite.
‘It’s incredible,’ whispered Ahlek.
Mudire glanced through the pane. They were looking from a spur or outcrop back towards the main spire of the Space Wolves’ fortress-monastery. It was easy to forget the snow-shrouded sides were more artifice than natural mountain, but hundreds of lit windows glimmering back through the constant blizzard acted as reminder. Armoured keeps and defence turrets the size of city blocks nestled among boulder-strewn valleys and poked from patches of pine forest clinging to the steep slope.
‘No waiting,’ one of the Wolf Guard called back from a doorway ahead. ‘Another mile and more to go.’
The room to which the historitors were conveyed was small in comparison to the many grand halls and long passages they had already traversed, but it did not want for decoration. Furnished in the same manner as much of the stronghold they had already passed, with chairs and tables fitting to the build of Space Marines, the walls were clad in ancient planks, darkened almost to black by smoke from a broad pit to one side. Shields painted with devices of many kinds hung on the walls, as did a great many horns, golden talismans and lumen-lanterns.
‘These are the symbols of the Great Companies,’ said Forgewelt. She pointed a stubby finger at the closest shield. It depicted a howling wolf head against a black moon. ‘This one is the Champions of Fenris, the Great Wolf’s own warriors. And this one, with the dark wolf head sinister against a corona is the icon of the Drakeslayers that we met, the company of Krom Dragongaze.’
‘They are called weregost, the talismans of our people. They predate the Wolf King’s arrival.’
At first Mudire could not see from where the voice issued. As he peered through the smoke from the pit his eyes fell upon a great chair at the end of the hall, faced by others, some of them scaled for normal humans. There was a figure upon the chair swathed in furs, almost indistinguishable from the upholstery of the throne itself but for the dark red splay of hair and beard of the same. The historitor caught a flash of gold and glimmer of ice.
‘You must be the one they call Njal, the Chief Librarian,’ said Vychellan, advancing swiftly across flagstones strewn with woven mats depicting scenes of ships at sea, battling serpents, and shield-and-spear-armed bearded warriors at war with each other.
‘That is the title the Imperium would give me,’ the Space Marine replied. ‘In these halls I am known as the Storm that Walks, or simply Stormcaller. I am runethegn here, and loremaster. This is the skjaldhalle, the Hall of Tales.’
‘Your archives are here?’ gasped Ahlek, hurrying after Vychellan, his data-slate gleaming in his hand. He brandished a cable with an elaborate two-pronged plug at the end. ‘Do you perhaps have an alphanomic port I could access them with?’
‘I do not,’ replied Njal, smiling. He gestured to the chairs in front of him. ‘Food will come soon, and drink, but let us take the time to speak on recent deeds and acquaint ourselves in this difficult time.’
‘We are gathering as much as we can about the Plague of Unbelief that spread from Gathalamor, and the tyrant Bucharis that perpetrated it,’ said Vychellan. There was a much larger chair clearly intended for him, with a gleam of fresh lacquer that suggested it had been newly fashioned. Though bigger than Njal’s throne, it was of far plainer design. The Custodian ignored it and stood to one side, his spear held easily in his hand. ‘Your assistance would be very welcome.’
‘And it will be forthcoming, but in your communication you said you bore news from the Allfather. I would hear these tidings first.’
Mudire caught Forgewelt’s eye as she glanced in confusion at the Custodian. It seemed Vychellan’s assertion to eschew trickery did not extend to his own actions. Copla-var raised an eyebrow and also shared a look with Mudire, who gave a gentle shake of the head to discourage any comment.
‘I said I bore messages from Terra, not the Emperor,’ said Vychellan, bowing his head slightly. ‘Had He communicated directly with any living soul I expect a psyker as powerful as you would have felt its gilded ripple through the warp.’
‘I see,’ said Njal, and his frown showed that he really did, straight through the Custodian’s dissembling. His expression lightened a second later. ‘A misunderstanding, it would seem. Still, tell me of these portentous times and I will furnish you with stories of ones almost as dark.’
He looked beyond them and said something in Fenrisian, dismissing the two Terminator escorts. Mudire had forgotten they were there, so mesmerised had he been by the loremaster. He wondered if there was something else at play, a mind-trick, but he assumed Vychellan would not only be immune to such manipulation but alert to its possibility.
‘Come, let us talk!’ insisted Njal.
So talk they did, for many hours. The historitors did what they could to furnish Stormcaller with a broad view of the Indomitus Crusade, while Vychellan was quite open about events on Terra – the traitor and Neverborn attack, the purge by Guilliman and the subsequent politics and campaigns. For his part Njal supplied information about the Space Wolves’ latest battles, from Cadia back to Fenris, including tumultuous and confusing wars unleashed by the fallen primarch Magnus the Red and his Thousand Sons, involving somehow the Dark Angels Chapter and other forces fighting in the Fenris System itself. Njal also spoke of orks, flooding through the sectors they guarded in ever-greater numbers.
‘At first we thought that they were being driven here by the Everdusk, what you have called the Great Rift. As the abyss swallows suns and worlds, the orks would be pushed further and further into the territory under our protection.’ His face took on a grim aspect and he shook his head. ‘Now we are not so sure. News from afar, from Armageddon and elsewhere, tells that the Beast Ghazghkull is abroad again, feeding on the bloodshed as much as our traitor cousins. It may be that the orks are not moving from something but to it, drawn by Ghazghkull as they have been in the past.’
‘The breach in the warp has accentuated many things that before have been dormant,’ said Vychellan. ‘The Adeptus Astra Telepathica report unparalleled amounts of energy spilling into realspace.’
‘Yes, the othersea is a tumult and its waves wash deep over the shore. The orks feel it too, just as the aeldari and all other creatures with a soul are pulled and pushed by its tide.’
As promised there was food and drink, and despite some accusations he had read previously there seemed no attempt by their hosts to inebriate the visiting group. A spicy, stimulating drink called fyrkaf completed the repast and saw the conversation continue for many more hours.
Just as sleep was again creeping over Mudire, Njal finally alighted upon the topic of Bucharis and the Plague of Unbelief.
‘The Saga of Korbjorn Hammer-Smite, vanquisher of the Lying Priest.’ Njal nodded to himself in recollection, cracking his knuckles. ‘Now, before I can begin, you must understand that priests of Terra, those you now call the Adeptus Ministorum, came to Fenris in the aftermath of the War against the Fallen Wolves, and they tried to tell us that what we knew of the Allfather was wrong. As you can already guess, that did not end well, but they kept coming, and we kept sending them away. There was no love between Fenris and the Ecclesiarch’s minions from before their Church was even given a name. So even were it not for the evil in Bucharis’ heart and the Unbelief, as you call it, another man of selfish zealotry would eventually have come to settle the score during the Age of Apostasy, which we call the Time of the False Fathers.’
Njal continued, recalling without hesitation many transgressions of the Imperial Church against the Space Wolves and their beliefs; so many that Chapter-serfs came in with fresh drinks and a lighter meal, informing them that it was dawn of the next day. Before any other mention of Bucharis and the war on Fenris, Njal bid the historitors to rest at quarters he had set aside, and promised he would return that dusk.
The others had already filled memory crystals and notepads, but Mudire, trusting to their craft, had made not a single stroke with his nib. He was still waiting for the story of the cardinal, but as he slept in the cot in a dorm he shared with the others, his last sight of Vychellan standing immobile close to the door like a sculpted guard, his dreams were filled with wolf hunts and snarling ork faces.
The wind shrieking past the hull of the Thunderhawk and the constant roar of its engines meant the Space Marines had to use their voxmitters to speak to each other over the noise. The Firstwolves sat on one side of the compartment with the Greypelts opposite, except for Sáthor, who was in the piloting chamber. Nothing but whiteness whipped past the viewing ports.
‘Where is this defence station?’ Gaius asked as he pulled out the magazine from his bolt rifle and inspected it again. The Iron Priests had assured him that the bolts within were exactly the same as those manufactured elsewhere, but Gaius was convinced the magazine weighed lighter in his hands.
‘The Broken Valleys, at a place called Kraken’s Jaw on the coast of the Iron Sea,’ replied Ullr. ‘There’s only about twenty different places outside Asaheim that are stable enough to put down orbital defences. Now and then, they aren’t so stable. It’s probably been taken out by an earthquake or volcano.’
‘Problem is, if a place is secure enough for a defence post, it attracts other things,’ added Garnr. ‘Creatures, people. With Helwinter coming, any safe nook or peak is heavily contested. Something big might have moved in, perhaps smashed the comms array.’
‘What about humans?’ said Doro. ‘Would they interfere with it?’
‘Like I said, plenty of people around,’ said Ullr. ‘There are Ordassons, Geldmathr, the Fire-breakers, Landsattmaringi, Icewalkers and Shoreweavers, plus any other groups that have arrived in the last few years. But folks tend to stay away, there are defence systems to encourage a wider path. If they were taken down, the surface control building would make a sturdy home. But most folk won’t go near anything to do with the Sky Warriors.’
‘I heard that Aersorings turned a defence laser into a shrine to the Allfather a few decades back,’ said Eirik. ‘Painted moorboar’s blood all over the targeting lenses and hung iron talismans on the traverse gears.’
‘And a peak serpent made its nest in a thermal generator hall, under the Stonecaps,’ said Garnr.
‘But it’s probably just a broken transmitter,’ growled Ullr. ‘Nobody should get excited.’
‘You’re Geldmathr, right, Ullr?’ said Eirik. ‘You came from here.’
‘Further south,’ the pack leader replied. ‘The fjord-set Geldmathr, not these forest folk. My grandfather was Ursinking though, from the Stormwaters. When they crossed the churning seas they lost hundreds, ended up having to join the Geldmathr.’
‘That Ursinking blood is strong,’ said Hari. ‘My great-uncle was Ursinkingr too. Plenty Wolves of Fenris come from them down the years.’
‘How do you know all of this?’ said Garold.
‘When the land falls apart, the only thing that is constant is family, your tribe,’ said Eirik. ‘Can’t be loyal to rocks that will sink, waves that will drift away. You need to know who to have at your back, and who to put to your front. You’d know that if you were Hearthworlders.’
‘I remember nothing from before I was woken by Cawl,’ said Garold, his tone defensive. ‘I am a Primaris Marine, a Son of Russ, and that is what is important. Bonds of the past are nothing to the bonds of the present.’
‘How do you know what you are fighting for?’ asked Ullr. ‘What are you protecting?’
‘The Emperor,’ said Garold. ‘The Imperium He built. We defend all worlds, not just one of them.’
‘That’s places,’ scoffed Dethar in his modulated voice. ‘What about ideas? Traditions? Truths?’
‘The Emperor’s Truth,’ said Doro. ‘We are united in His service. All else is second to that.’
The Firstborn did not reply and silence fell between the two squads for several minutes. Gaius could still see nothing but white outside, and the timbre of the wind and engines had not changed at all. There was still over an hour of flying until they neared their destination.
‘You said Helwinter is coming, what’s that?’ asked Anfelis.
‘Fire and ice!’ Forskad laughed. ‘Starstorm!’
‘A periodic phenomenon,’ explained Gaius, recalling the description from his guide. ‘At the aphelion of orbit, Fenris passes through a dense asteroid field, so while at its coldest there are also extreme meteor storms.’
‘You make it sound so dull,’ said Forskad. ‘The blizzards will strip the skin from your face and freeze your eyes, and the seas are frozen ten feet thick around the coasts. The skies burn and though the Wolf’s Eye is distant, the night is banished by heavenfire.’
