The wolftime, p.40
The Wolftime, page 40
‘Hope has no meat on it, as we say,’ said Ulrik. ‘We’ve shown you where Gottrok is, and what we plan to do, the rest is up to your strategos and whatever.’
Hurak shook his head and downed the last contents of his mug. He regarded the empty vessel with a sad look.
‘Our wyrd is tied with the orks, I have seen it,’ Njal said, trying to reassure the captain. ‘Though I have warned against the dangers I do not think this will be our last battle, though that may be fast coming. Since the Everdusk tore open our skies I have heard its cacophony behind everything, but of late it has been eclipsed by another thunder. A roar, bestial and wordless, unceasing for breath to be taken. Not the rage of the bloodmonger but the bellow of ork gods, challenging the power of the Allfather. Sometimes the howl of the wolf is lost in the clamour, but still it is there. It is quite simple. Either the Wolf King returns for the last battle, or this is not our last battle. Either would be good news for the Imperium.’
Though he looked unconvinced, Hurak said nothing else. As the Primaris captain stood, he patted a pile of documents and maps that charted the next movements of the battle group and other nearby forces, but Njal doubted the Great Wolf would look at them. Hurak’s last glance was at the empty mugs.
‘Perhaps if we meet again I might try some mjod.’ He smiled and raised his hand in salute. ‘We are destined for lives of war and bloody deaths, but it would be good to meet again in circumstances less dire.’
‘This is the best time for a warrior to be alive!’ declared Ulrik, following the Primaris Marine to the door with a hand on his shoulder. ‘Plenty of foes and glory to share.’
When the heavy wood of the door thudded back into its frame, the Slayer turned around, his expression grim.
‘I think our fate is more closely tied to the actions of Guilliman than our own,’ said Njal. ‘Even if we survive Gottrok there are too many orks, too many foes of all kinds.’
‘You said it yourself,’ said Ulrik. ‘We cannot die until the Wolftime.’
Njal sighed and stood up, taking his staff in hand.
‘I was offering reassurance. There are many that have become undone by doing nothing and simply wishing their wyrd to carry them to a foreseen victory. As one that has cast the runes and seen the boiling othersea, I would not set so much store by prophecy.’
‘Whatever happened here, I think we may be too late,’ said Captain Bargoza.
The central viewport focused on a field of debris and plasma residue a few hundred thousand miles from the translation point. Further in-system, perhaps a million miles, an intermittent glint betrayed the position of the warp relay station that had guided the Heretics’ Reward to the Korshak System.
‘At least three vessels, all attacked within hours of each other.’
‘Ambush,’ said Vychellan. He stood between the captain and Mudire. On the other side of Bargoza was Captain Som, head of the detachment from the 394th Deltic Lions. She was shorter than Bargoza but broad in shoulder, her physique emphasised by the carapace breastplate and shoulder pads that were part of her uniform armour. Her helm mask and goggles were clipped to her belt, revealing a flat face with brown, active eyes. The puckered scar of a wound marked her right cheek.
‘Not just the Navigators drawn to the beacon,’ said Som. ‘The orks must have found merchant ships gathering for convoy. Separated from their escorts.’
‘If they even had escorts,’ added Bargoza. ‘Too many duties, not enough ships, even before the losses we’ve suffered the last few years.’
‘I am still detecting the broadcast from the beacon outpost.’
They all turned at the quiet voice of Lesaso Yaoic, the ship’s young astropath. Young being a relative term, given that he was in his twenties Terran-standard, but the Soulbinding had already aged him at least two more decades. His green hood had fallen back to reveal shoulder-length, greying black hair, a short-cropped beard of the same.
‘The orks have not attacked the station.’
‘That seems wrong,’ said Mudire. ‘Not like orks to leave survivors, unless someone else got here before us and scared them off.’
‘Our Navigator detected no evidence of recent warpwash and the battle debris is no more than ten days old,’ said Bargoza. She looked at Som. ‘Are your squads ready to land on the beacon station to check all is well?’
‘Ready and willing,’ replied the Tempestus Scions captain. ‘We’ve been stuck on your ship for weeks now. A leg-stretch would be welcome. Maybe even a fight. Just a small one.’
‘We have already delayed our arrival at Himhertha, is there any reason to remain here longer?’ said Vychellan.
‘My counterpart on the beacon station has continued to repeat his call for assistance,’ said Lesaso. ‘If the threat has passed, he seems unaware of it. At the least we need to make sure there is not a contingent of orks abandoned on the station, and besieging the defenders, don’t you think? If not, others may respond in error to their continued distress messages.’
‘We’ll have to decelerate hard to deploy the troop carriers, but it shouldn’t take more than a day to reach the station and back to the Mandeville point that’ll take us towards Himhertha,’ Bargoza told Mudire.
Vychellan knew it was not his order to give and a delay of perhaps another day was acceptable, but he did not like the idea of their mission being considered secondary to other military needs. Every battle risked failure. Like the crusade itself, an accumulation of small adjustments could end up drastically altering its purpose.
‘We might get some idea of what happened,’ said Mudire. ‘Himhertha can wait a little longer.’
‘Will you be joining us, Custodian?’ Captain Som asked.
Vychellan was fully armoured, as always, so preparation was no issue. Like the Tempestors it had been some time since he had experienced battle. As he had told Mudire, he was conditioned to be patient, but that was not the same as enjoying the tedium of inaction.
‘Yes, I would like that,’ he told Som, though he thought there would be little challenge for him, accompanied by a hundred and fifty of the Astra Militarum’s finest storm troopers.
Sailing north took them out of the storm belt, though the wind grew chiller and the first floating ice isle appeared. Their lower portions extending far out from what could be seen on the surface, moved by the same winds and currents that carried the lashed ships, the city-sized icebergs were surrounded by flotillas of smaller floes and sheets. Gaius kept constant watch, looking for telltale darkness in the water, shouting instructions to the pilots at the steerboards while Gotrin and Hengla trimmed the sails together.
It was painstaking, draining work for the crews, made the more difficult when the wind rounded northerly, forcing them to tack back and forth every few miles to keep on course towards Asaheim. Each manoeuvre threatened to pull the ships apart, foul the steerboards or break one of the masts, and the watch crew were changed and rested frequently. The routine became settled with practice but both captains kept a sharp eye to make sure there was no laxness or presumption that put the ships at risk. Gaius remembered Drogr’s squad operating together in the same way, utterly at ease with each other, but communicating non-stop to ensure all was well.
Fortunately the increasingly frequent snow provided water to catch in emptied barrels, and there was plentiful food from the last hunt on shore – despite Gaius’ prodigious appetite and the energy-sapping labours of the crews.
The night skies sometimes cleared, revealing the baleful gaze of the Eye of Terror and Great Rift, a scarlet-and-purple wound on reality that waxed and waned by the hour. Gaius could not see well enough by its dim light to warn of underwater hazards and so the sails were taken down and the dual-ship crawled forward under the power of a few oarsmen, with others at the front poling the water to check for obstructions.
Before midnight, the Tidebreaker called for a halt, sending all but a handful of folks to their sleep, himself included. Gaius had recuperated with snatches of sleep during the day and so stayed awake with the men and women stationed fore, aft and at the mastheads to watch for icebergs. The Space Marine kept a slow, steady patrol from ship to ship, letting his gaze wander over the rippling waters, trusting to periphery vision to warn of incoming dangers.
It was this that alerted him to the stream of effervescence about one hundred and fifty yards off the starboard bow. Striding over the lashed ships, he looked closer, picking out the bubbles as they caught flickers of starlight. They were now a hundred yards away and heading straight for the ships.
‘Arise, arise!’ he bellowed, stamping a massive foot on the deck planks. ‘Wake up! To arms!’
The crews roused around him, yelling in shock and inquiry. He saw a long, thick body sliding through the water, a frond of growths around a serpentine head. Gaius judged it at least a hundred feet long before it sank out of sight about forty yards from the ship.
‘Back from the water!’ Gaius warned, waving the lookouts to retreat. He glanced up at the watchers on the masthead. ‘Hold tight!’
He had raised the alarm just in time. A few seconds later something smashed into the bottom of the rightmost ship – Hengla’s vessel. The impact lifted the prow from the water, sending people falling along the deck. Aettgard and others struggled forwards, their spears and axes at the ready as the ships righted themselves.
‘It’s beneath us,’ called Hengla, standing at the base of the mast, one arm wrapped about the wood, a short sword in the other.
Gaius felt the ships rising on the swell of water caused by the beast’s passage. He strode aft, taking up a spear and a double-bladed axe. A froth of bubbles erupted under the stern, moments before the two men at the steerboard were flung sideways into the water by a sudden impact.
A fanged maw erupted from the waters, swallowing one of the struggling men. As the serpent snapped at the other, it became entangled in the cable that had linked the steerboards. The terrified sailor dragged himself up the mass of broken wood and rope, hauled the last few yards by the hands of others. The sea creature pushed out of the waves, parted rope dangling from its curved teeth.
Gaius threw the spear with all of his strength and weight behind it. The iron tip pierced scaled flesh around the mouth, cutting a deep gash along the sea serpent’s face. The wave of its emergence lifted the ship, and Gaius almost lost his footing. Around him others fell again, filling the night with cries of pain and the thud of armour as they bounced along the deck boards. Gaius felt icy water washing over his booted feet.
‘We’re holed below the water,’ cried Hengla, discovering the cause.
The serpent reared out of the spume, its head almost as high as the top of the mast, jaw wide. Like the tentacles of a squid, the growths that fringed its head lashed forward, swiping at Gaius and others, one coiling about the remains of the steerboard. The creature thrashed sideways, tearing at timbers, lifting men and women screaming into the night air.
‘To the other ship!’ bellowed Gaius, snatching up a second axe. He hewed at the tentacles clinging to the stern and mast, parting each with a single blow. ‘Get to the other ship!’
Hengla and others took up the call, taking crew and children across the precariously lashed poles and planks while waves dashed over the prow of the stricken ship and surged along the decking. Knee-deep in water, Gaius hacked at the ropes binding the craft together.
‘What are you doing?’ bellowed one of the men from Tidebreaker’s ship. ‘We’ve no room for all!’
‘This is the only way!’ Gaius shouted back, slashing through a wrist-thick cable that tethered the remnants of the steerboards to each other. Splintered wood bobbed up on the next wave.
A fresh round of bellows and screams turned Gaius back to the serpent. It had one of the aettgard in its jaws, raining broken mail links and blood. Two others, soaked with water, laden by their armour, swiped and stabbed at the creature with little effect, their axes slicing scales but finding no deeper purchase; they did not have the reach to land a meaningful blow across the gap between ship and serpent.
Gaius slammed his axe blades into the deck. With his hands now freed, he grabbed one of the fighters by his coat, turning to throw the warrior across to the other ship. He landed hard but alive. The second turned in surprise and swiftly followed, propelled by the Primaris Marine’s powerful arms, her shout short-lived as she tumbled heavily on the other deck.
Now alone on the sinking vessel Gaius took up his axes and slashed the beard of one across the jaw of the serpent as it swept down towards him. Blood splashed and the thing reared back, tentacles flailing in pain.
Gaius took the moment to hack again at the bindings holding the ships together, splintering wood and parting rope with each blow. As he cut the ships apart he caught the eye of someone on the other vessel staring at him. It was Gytha, almost obscured by the dark and spray.
‘It’s going!’
Gytha turned around at a shout from Bjorti, one hand still holding tight to Korit’s arm. Lufa was with his father, dragging at a piece of rope holding the two ships together. People were shouting and screaming, some trying to organise the work, others terrified by the monster that loomed over the other boat.
Her gaze drifted across to the adjoining vessel as the crowd parted for a few seconds. Gaius stood on the capsizing ship, axe in each hand. His fierce gaze met hers and words flooded back: The one needs the other.
How quickly that sentiment had proven false.
She watched as the last of the ropes parted beneath the fall of the Sky Warrior’s axe, even as the sea serpent slid higher, its bulk heaving onto the tilting ship. She saw every detail as Gaius turned, blood drops flying from the beard of one axe and falling from the serpent’s descending fangs. Lamplight flickered from the blade edge as the axe swept upwards, while Gaius seemed to fall, the ship breaking in two as the full weight of the sea beast crashed down upon it.
A few arrows and axes flew across the widening divide, missing or bouncing harmlessly from the serpent’s scales. Her last view of Gaius was of one axe buried haft-deep in the serpent’s neck, the other pulled back for another blow. Dark blood sprayed from the wound, coating his face and chest as he slid down the breaking planks.
The serpent dived, dragging debris and the Sky Warrior with it, a huge froth of red bubbles and broken timbers spraying upwards from the remains of the ship. Aft first, the vessel slid down into the water, air escaping to wash red froth over the side of the surviving ship.
Mudire found himself called back to the strategium just half an hour after he had returned to tell the other historitors what was happening. Vychellan was already there, or perhaps had never left, but Captain Som was organising her troops in the modified hangar bays in the lower portion of the ship. She was there in spirit, via an intervox link.
‘At closer range we detected several larger masses among the debris field,’ Bargoza reported. ‘Two merchant ships and the remains of an Imperial light cruiser.’
‘So they had an escort after all?’ suggested Mudire. ‘And the orks were strong enough to take them out.’
‘But there’s no evidence of an attack on the beacon, as far as our surveyors can detect,’ added the ship’s captain.
‘So the landing is off?’ Som sounded disappointed.
‘It would seem so,’ said Vychellan. ‘I am surprised that you have not been able to contact any of the station inhabitants to tell them the threat has passed.’
‘I did,’ said Bargoza. ‘They have ceased their distress signalling.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Mudire, remembering how despondent the captain had been at the thought of arriving too late to help. ‘We came as quickly as we could, but we weren’t close enough.’
‘If we hadn’t gathered at Fenris…’ The captain’s expression turned to anger. ‘Patrols would have swept through here weeks ago.’
‘Also not your fault,’ Vychellan told her.
Mudire looked at the artificially rendered clouds of gas and plasma on the oculus, three red runes depicting where the Imperial vessels had been.
‘Was the light cruiser one of yours?’ asked Mudire. ‘From Battle Fleet Alpharis or another part of Primus?’
‘We picked up an identifier, not one of ours.’ Bargoza turned to a subordinate, who passed her a hard copy of the surveyor reports. ‘No void shield operating, there seems to be a reactor leak, all comms dead. Nothing in our registry, so we had to decode the name. The Rigorous.’
Mudire turned, his attention moving from the oculus to Vychellan. ‘Why does that name seem familiar? I must have read it or heard it somewhere recently.’
‘The first vessel dispatched to Fenris carrying Primaris gene-seed was named the Rigorous,’ the Custodian answered without hesitation. ‘It was believed lost in the warp.’
‘Nearly three years ago!’ Mudire stared at the display. ‘Why is it here, now, attacked by orks?’
‘Captain, stand to, battle orders,’ snapped Vychellan.
‘We’re at ready quarters already, but there’s no point going to full alert. There’s nothing to engage.’
‘Scan the Rigorous again,’ insisted Mudire, moving towards the lieutenant beside Bargoza. ‘Something is wrong. Full surveyor report.’
‘It’s crippled, historitor,’ the officer protested. ‘Drifting in the void.’
‘Sir, the latest sweep indicates a possible power surge in the engine decks,’ a petty officer reported from the lower deck of the strategium. She glanced uncertainly at her superior before continuing. ‘We thought it could be a system failure or another reactor shield collapsing.’
‘The Rigorous was not the escort, it was the attacker,’ growled Vychellan. ‘The beacon was a lure for us as well.’
