The wolftime, p.36
The Wolftime, page 36
He was aware that he was full of energy now but that would not last long, and there were many miles to go, and a sea to cross, before he reached Asaheim. A short, intense burst would not overly drain his reserves but might put off his pursuer.
Gaius ran hard for the next hour, not trying to mask his progress, intent on simply covering ground. His long legs swiftly passed the miles, crossing streams for the first time in many days, seeing patches of dead leaves where snow had melted. The Primaris tried his best to listen for the sound of the following creatures disturbing the birds, but did not stop to do so. Speed. The crowned stag that cannot be caught. That was Gaius’ driving thought as he bounded beneath the pine canopy.
He had covered a little over half the distance he wanted when he was brought up sharply. Coming out of the treeline he found himself on a stony shoreline covered in patches of shining ice. Floating bergs and smaller floes broke the stretch of water ahead.
The ocean.
Gaius had run as far as he could, but it was not far enough. Night was coming fast, and he would have to fight.
The hunter was as dark as the night shadows and Gaius recalled a single word, spoken in hushed tones even among the warriors of the Aett: Blackmane.
As much as he had tried to think of a better plan, there was simply no better place to face it than on the rocks of the shoreline, where the footing was better, the meagre starlight a boon. Given that necessity, against the imagined taunts of Drogr and others, he was not stupid enough to think he could take on a Blackmane thunderwolf head-on. He knew such beasts had been killed by others on their Trials of Morkai, and he was bigger and stronger than any aspirant, but it would take cunning as well as brawn.
The wolf, as tall at the shoulder as Gaius, came forward slowly, amber eyes catching the faint light on the very edge of the treeline. He could hear it sniffing the air, drawn to the pile of small carcasses and blood smears on a pile of rocks ten yards away; placed close enough for Gaius to strike and to mask his own scent, far enough away that the thunderwolf would not see him crouched behind the largest of the boulders on the shore. He heard the pad of feet, slow and deliberate, the huff of breath as it sniffed again.
Crouched behind the rock, Gaius relied on his ears and nose. He had gathered scores of smaller stones and created a spread of shallow shingle around the ambush site, so he could hear the clink as the wolf came within. He could smell the wolf through the tang of blood, and hoped that being downwind of the lure masked his scent. The Blackmane had a powerful odour, reminding him of the Aett.
He held the spear at an awkward diagonal to hide it from view, his muscles twitching, already taxed by his previous exertions. Gaius pictured the attack, trying to position the wolf by smell and sound as more pebbles scraped on each other. He could hear its heart beating, fast and strong as it smelled blood. It would be alongside the first of the rocks concealing the bait, its head level with the large boulder. The strike would need to be perfect, behind the shoulder and through the ribcage into the heart. Gaius would have to go round the boulder rather than over to get a low enough angle. The wolf would turn at the noise, baring its chest more. He would have to angle to the right and thrust left so that the boar-tusk would strike laterally through the thinnest muscle.
Gaius mentally practised shifting his grip as he sprang forward, even as he had physically drilled over and over while the sun had set and he had conceived the plan. Gaius had strengthened the shaft of the spear as best as he could but had no idea whether it would take the force of an impact. If it bent or broke it might not penetrate the ribcage at all.
The whisper of the trees and the sluggish, ice-laden sea were the only sounds. The shingle was still.
Gaius felt something drop onto his cheek, like a bead of thick sweat rolling down his face. He looked up at the moment the wolf atop the boulder looked down, its hot, charnel breath washing over him, saliva drooling from its jaw.
He swung the spear.
The wolf leapt.
Neither Blackmane nor Gaius hit their mark as they wished. The spear struck its shoulder, not mouth or neck, but the blow deflected its jaws away from the Space Marine’s face, snapping on air as the claws on its right forepaw raked across the cladding fur of his cloak.
The spear came free as the beast landed and spun. Gaius drew back for another strike but the wolf was fast, pouncing again before he could thrust the weapon. Gaius dodged instead, losing the chance to attack as he flung himself past the boulder, gaining a vital second to gather his wits and assume a proper fighting stance.
It didn’t help. The Blackmane’s leap was like being hit by a speeder, spinning Gaius to the ground. He lost his grip on the spear and felt claws ripping through hide, underskin and then flesh. With fists that could bend steel the Primaris Marine battered at its head, but the skull was thick, the jaw muscles taut and unyielding beneath his prising fingers. Teeth sank into his left shoulder, punching deep into the trapezium muscle and locking tight. Gaius bellowed in pain, changing his attack to drive his fingers into its eyes, the other hand snatching at its throat, vice-grip augmented by artificial sinew coils foiled by thick fur and corded neck muscles.
The Blackmane scrabbled for footing, back feet pushing them across the shingle, foreclaws opening up Gaius’ abdomen even wider, jaw worrying at his shoulder, almost down to the bone now. The wolf released its jaw-grip for a second, arching its head back, Gaius’ thick blood congealing on fangs and gums. It had never tasted Space Marine before and spasmed as it swallowed down the rich life fluid.
Gaius thought to grab the jaws and prise them apart but stopped himself, suddenly seeing himself defenceless as they snapped shut, severing his fingers between long fangs. The thought brought to mind Ullr’s pendant, still around his neck. Gaius ripped it free as the wolf lunged again, its jaw aimed at the Space Marine’s throat.
Two fangs found their mark. The pendant plunged through the eye mangled by Gaius’ fingers and into the brain beyond; the Blackmane’s canine sank into the side of its prey’s throat, tearing flesh.
Gaius felt the weight of the wolf falling onto him while his vision swam. Blood spilled down onto the pebbles from his ruined throat and the eye socket of his foe. He tried to lift a hand to the wound, to sit up and stem the flow, but the dead weight of the wolf pinned him down.
Strength failing fast, Gaius fell back to the stones, the last of his lifeblood ebbing away.
Chapter Twenty-one
HURAK’S ANSWER
A DETOUR TO ORKS
THE GREAT WOLF’S JUDGEMENT
Hurak had been on plenty of battlefields in the bloody years since he had been woken by Cawl but he had never experienced an atmosphere quite like the one that permeated the Wolf Hall the day after the feast. Guilliman and a few selected advisors sat at one side of an immense table, including Stratarchis Tribune Colquan, who had invited himself. Opposite was Logan Grimnar and his counsellors, including Ulrik the Slayer and Njal Stormcaller. Hurak was surrounded by legends, but he felt nothing to celebrate. The only way the Space Wolves could have created a more confrontational air would have been to draw weapons.
Though the Great Wolf and Guilliman sat opposite each other, both said very little. The same had been true at the feast, not only by inclination but as a consequence of being at opposite ends of the long head table. After the primarch’s astounding display of humility they had exchanged greetings and little else. Now, their officers carried most of the discussion. Hurak had little to say and kept his eye on Colquan, who had insisted on joining the expedition just before it had left the Dawn of Fire. The tribune had barely said a word beyond introduction to the Space Wolves and it was unclear why he had wished to attend what Hurak had hoped was going to be a formality.
That hope proved premature.
It was a bellicose meeting. The main point of contention from the Space Wolves seemed to be the effect of so many recruits not from Fenris, and how that would change the customs and character of the Chapter. They argued in Imperial Gothic but occasionally switched to their own tongue to debate among themselves, which seemed not only impolite but also impolitic: airing their internal disagreements, even if the substance of them was unknown, was surely unwise – Guilliman had not admitted whether he understood Fenrisian or not and the Space Wolves clearly assumed he was ignorant of their language. There were undertones of accusations of authoritarianism regarding the arrangement between the Space Wolves and the Indomitus Crusade. Lieutenant Castallor had warned as much in his reports, and had been invited to join the proceedings as the most experienced counsellor in this regard.
Hurak made an error of judgement when he declared that the previous recipients of their Primaris reinforcements and accompanying technology had been grateful for the assistance. At this, the Great Wolf roused himself.
‘So we are to be thankful for handing over our sovereignty?’ he growled, addressing the point raised by Hurak but looking at Guilliman. ‘When it means nothing to be Fenrisian, when the blood of our Chapter is not chilled by our world, we should sing our gratitude from the highest peaks? Who will they listen to? Me? Or the Lord Commander? Or this magos, Cawl, that hid them from us when all the galaxy was burning?’
Nobody else spoke, realising that it was for the primarch to address the issues. All except Colquan, that is.
‘Your independence is your most notable trait, Chapter Master,’ said the tribune. ‘Several times in the past it has been more highly prized than the chances of your survival.’
‘A threat?’ said Grimnar, voice dropping low.
‘The opposite,’ said Colquan, leaning forward. ‘A warning, perhaps.’
‘This innuendo does nobody any favours,’ said Guilliman, looking at the tribune. ‘I have no intent to command the forces of the Fang, nor replace them. I wish only to coordinate the efforts of the Chapter with the ongoing objectives of the Indomitus Crusade.’
He switched his gaze to Grimnar, who had been about to speak but remained silent under the primarch’s stare. ‘You will be part of no battle group, answerable to no fleetmaster. When I have departed it is unlikely we will exchange words again.’
‘The chains that will keep us in bondage will be invisible,’ said the Great Wolf. ‘Duty. Oaths. Necessity.’
‘No different to those that bind you to the Imperium now,’ Guilliman assured him. ‘I require you to swear no new promises to me or the Throneworld.’
‘You’re just going to give us several thousand warriors, and the process to make more of these new Space Marines, and then hope we use them well?’ asked Grimnar.
‘Trust, not hope,’ said the primarch. ‘I trust the Great Wolf of Fenris to do what is right, what is needed. I trust you, Logan Grimnar, because you have earned it with deeds for over half a millennium. I have need, a very great need for that leadership. It is no exaggeration to say that the choice you make now will steer the course of the Indomitus Crusade more than any other since I left Terra.
‘I need you to fight orks, to quell their incursions and seek out whatever drives this unprecedented surge in attacks. Only you can make that decision because I will not be here to enforce it. I trust you to do the right thing. No laws or contracts can replace that.’
‘Trust must work both ways,’ said Njal Stormcaller. ‘If you give us these warriors you will call upon us, and the debt may remain unspoken, but it is there. We have a tradition on Fenris. Ut-geld. Unpaid gold, but it is not about coin. We have another. Geldfut. Task not yet done, a duty to be fulfilled. You place a great deal on our side of the scale, it is possible that it will never be balanced.’
‘Clearly you would rather cease to exist as a Chapter than accept such charity,’ said Colquan. ‘That much has been made clear.’
‘And why is that your concern?’ said Grimnar, still looking at the primarch. ‘You have enough warriors to replace us a dozen times over. Make your own Chapters, you don’t need us.’
‘Some of my advisors think that is the case,’ said Guilliman, prompting mutters and growls from the Space Wolves contingent. ‘I disagree. It is vital that you and your heritage survive because there will be more Chapters raised from Leman Russ’ gene-seed. Captain Hurak will explain.’
The Son of Corax kept the shock from his face – he hoped – and nodded with a smile while his mind raced. Why had the primarch put him in this position?
Irrelevant, he told himself. Concentrate on the question.
Hurak didn’t have the answer. The stares of the Space Wolves were intense but he pushed them from his thoughts.
‘It’s straightforward when you think about it,’ Hurak began while the rest of his brain sifted through everything the primarch had said.
He’s confident because he’s already told you the answer.
When?
All the time! Just say what you think the primarch would say. Think like him.
‘The Imperium faces its greatest threat since its inception,’ the captain continued, looking from one Space Marine to the next on both sides of the table, trying not to glance at the Lord Commander for reassurance. ‘It is broken, split by a barrier through which we can see and pass only with the greatest effort. Traitors and heretics burn worlds and enslave countless others, and now terrible armies of xenos assail us in numbers not seen for millennia.’
It was a good start, they had settled down and so had Hurak’s thoughts. He needed to add substance, but first the stakes had to be made clear.
‘The Indomitus Crusade is the single most important endeavour since the Great Crusade forged the Imperium, and as then, so now. All arms of the Imperial military, all servants of the Emperor, must come together in single purpose. Under the banner of the Master of Mankind and led by one of His primarchs, we must reconquer the galaxy, or else the Imperium will be no more. This is a fight for the existence of the Imperium, the war we all have sworn oaths to wage in protection of the Emperor’s domains and the preservation of all of humanity.’
The reminder that in the Great Crusade the Legions had fought alongside each other had come to him in the moment. Hurak was pleased with himself so far but was still feeling out the answer. He couldn’t obfuscate for much longer.
‘Even with this endeavour gathering momentum, even with every Chapter and regiment, squadron and order militant fighting in common purpose, the threat faced and the obstacles to overcome are beyond us.’
It was an astounding admission, and the first time Hurak had made it. He allowed his gaze to move to the Imperial attendees so that he could look at the primarch’s reaction. He saw approval and encouragement in Guilliman’s expression. The sensation was like coming before a warm fire after enduring the cold outside.
‘Every servant of the Emperor must fight. They must bite and claw to resist the enemy, they must give their lives for every inch of soil lost. They must allow homes to be destroyed, families to be wiped out, and sell their own lives in defence of nothing, against impossible odds.’
Grimnar growled, but it was not out of anger but consternation. The words were a reminder that Fenris was not an island alone but one of a million worlds united under the service of the Emperor. Hurak now fixed his gaze on the Great Wolf, not challenging but enthused.
‘They fight on because they believe. They believe in the Emperor’s salvation. They believe in the Adeptus Astartes, the Space Marines, the Angels of Death. They hear that a primarch has returned but can dismiss that as rumour, legend, a distant and unknowable figure. Many will have never seen a Space Marine, but all will have heard a name. And the name will have been one handed down for generations, since the time of the Imperium’s founding. Other Chapters may rise to fame, may be known in stretches of the void and in the deep hives, but only a few can be named across the Imperium.
‘The Ultramarines. The Salamanders. The Blood Angels. The Dark Angels. The White Scars. The Imperial Fists. The Iron Hands. The Raven Guard.’ He paused, remembering their dislike for the name, but continued anyway. ‘The Space Wolves.
‘Names that have endured alien invasion, insurrection, religious cataclysm, civil war and every other horror imaginable. Names that have their own mythology, that carry more weight than a dozen oaths of protection. To know that those warriors are fighting, to believe that those legendary Chapters are coming, is to have something to fight for. So many call “For the Emperor”, and to His duty they sacrifice themselves, but when they think of the Emperor’s protection, it is the Space Marines that make it manifest.
‘To even contemplate the removal of one of those names from that ancient roll of honour… The disaster to morale and loss of hope should even the rumour spread that one of those Chapters is no more…’
It was better left unsaid, and Hurak shook his head and trembled at his own words, filled with a sudden and deep desire to travel to Deliverance and pay homage to Corax on the world of his Chapter’s raising. He wanted to belong to that brotherhood of warriors that had stood upon the same brink of annihilation and yet had fought back, never surrendering to the hopelessness, always determined to wage war no matter the odds against them.
Logan Grimnar’s expression was hard to read. He stared at Hurak but was not really looking at him. His jaw was clenched tight, hands making fists on the tabletop.
‘Food is coming,’ Grimnar announced tersely, standing up. The other Space Wolves followed, surprised by his action.
And without further ceremony the Great Wolf led his companions from the chamber.
For a few minutes after Logan Grimnar had left, Guilliman did not speak and nobody else broke the silence, including Hurak. No one was sure what the abruptness of the Great Wolf’s departure signified.
