The wolftime, p.46
The Wolftime, page 46
‘And completely in line with the mindset of the High Lords,’ said Mudire. His laugh died in his throat.
Guilliman turned his focus to something on his desk.
‘I trust I make myself understood,’ the primarch said without looking up.
Vychellan met the glance from Mudire.
‘Hearsay is not history,’ said the historitor. ‘I will make it clear to the others as well, though perhaps in slightly different terms.’
Vychellan was uncertain. He was included in this small conspiracy because he was privy to the evidence from the survivor, but what other secrets was Guilliman keeping to himself? He suspected the unspoken ban on this knowledge included Colquan, who would make much of an attempt to misinform the High Lords. Too much perhaps, given his attitude to Guilliman, as dangerous as the other threats listed by the primarch.
Vychellan had a choice to make.
‘I understand,’ said the Custodian.
‘…and then they said they had no more questions so I used the time to pray and ask the Emperor to give me another chance to strike for his servants, and I spoke to the preacher and asked him if the Emperor answered prayers like that, but the preacher was busy and needed to work with others and he sent me with the storm troopers back to the troop ship when we rejoined the fleet and it was like being on the Rigorous, except I had nothing to do except visit the chapel and speak to the Emperor, and that’s when I started hearing the voices of the saints, but they looked like my old crewmates except I have their souls with me, never let them go, and now I brought them back I should give them…’
Orad stopped talking and looked at the plastek object that had been thrust into his grip. From the depths of his memory he dragged out a word: lasgun. With a grind of huge gears, massive doors unsealed ahead of him and as the horizontal join became a widening gap he saw, as if for the first time, hundreds of other men and women in the drop-ship. They all had their heads shaved as he did, tattooed with the Emperor’s aquila. Orad glanced at his chest to where the ork brand had been, but there was nothing except acid burn tissue where the medicae had removed the offending mark.
Light – sunlight – streamed through the opening doors. The roar of other drop-ships and the fume of their landing swept into the alighting bay. In the distance Orad saw a pall of smoke, and beneath it jagged ramparts. He caught his breath, thinking it was the stronghold of Orguk, but the layout was wrong and he let the air escape slowly between gritted teeth. It was an ork fortress though, that much was obvious. Tanks and other vehicles spilled down the broad mountainside before it, and orks and grots covered the grey rock like a stain.
‘Welcome to the Forty-Fourth Martyrs.’ A tall man with a conical helmet and heavy coat limped onto the ramp formed by the lowered door. ‘You all have the honour of being the first troops to storm this xenos hovel and earn glory in the eyes of the Emperor. Most, if not all of you, will fall in the attack, but be lifted by the thought that you give your lives for the Emperor’s endeavour! Upon your graves the future of the Imperium will be built!’
He stood to one side and the troopers pushed out from the drop-ship. Mortar bombs, artillery shells, rockets and strafing runs split the landing zone while anti-aircraft batteries unloaded their rage and Navy fighters screamed past on intercept missions.
Orad looked at the lasgun again and then up at the massive fortress. His fingers moved to the forty-three small bones that made up his necklace.
‘For the Emperor!’ he bellowed and joined the charge. ‘I am the Emperor’s vengeance!’
The wind brought shouts and clashing metal up the valley, and Ulrik the Slayer followed it, drawn to battle like a nightcrow. The weather was worsening, a blizzard brewing at the mountaintops that would swathe everything in fresh whiteness before night fell.
The din of conflict brought him to the lower slopes, where ten children were fending off a handful of raiders – grown men and women with scale armour and sharp swords. One was a short distance behind on the ground and Ulrik’s keen sight picked out the sharp stones in the snow around him that had been his downfall. The other four advanced together, shouting at the herd guards to move aside. Milk and beef was not worth dying for, they claimed. The frozen ground was pitted with bovine tracks leading down into the woods at the valley mouth.
The adolescents stayed close to the largest of their number, who wore a coat of mail and had a sword in hand too. Still an adolescent despite his size. The smaller children all had knives bared and did not step back as the raiders advanced.
The herders’ leader took the initiative, attacking just as the closest raider lifted back her sword to charge. Ulrik smiled as the youth’s sword point found the raider’s throat, splashing blood.
The youth’s victory was short-lived as a sword struck him in the back. His peers charged forward, one of them losing a hand as they tried to grapple the remaining three to the ground, fended off with sword swipes and kicks. The eldest was not to be stalled and attacked again, the edge of his blade catching a helmed head, knocking down the wearer. The raider stabbed from below as he rose, driving the point into the youth’s side, splitting iron rings and flesh.
Not to be undone, the youth pushed forward until the blade jutted from his back, his own sword hacking down into the face of his foe. The last two backed off then, while the youth pushed himself up and pointed his sword in their direction. Grabbing their companion, still dazed by the stones, the raiders fled back up the valley.
For about a minute the youth remained standing, swaying like a sapling in a strengthening wind. Without a sound he fell sideways, sword falling from his grasp. Ulrik watched intently and breathed a sigh as one of the younger herd guards put the blade back into their leader’s grip. Two stayed while the others ran back into the woods for help.
The light from the hall pooled into the darkness from the open doorway. It had been dug into the mountainside so that only the front was constructed out of broad logs. Swathed in a cameleoline cloak, Ulrik passed the forge and other buildings unnoticed, skirting round a crowd that had gathered by the smithy, their talk hushed and respectful. A young girl sat beside the wide doorway of the hall, swathed in a blanket.
She gasped and stood up as Ulrik allowed the cloak and hood to fall back, revealing his furs and wolf-skull helm. She was surprised but not afraid.
‘You are a servant of Morkai. Have you come for my brother?’ she asked.
‘Perhaps,’ said Ulrik, stepping past into the light of the hall.
There was a broad man by the table on which the youth was laid, a bloodied mess of rags in his hand. His muscle and callouses gave him away as a smith while his expression identified him as the father. He had only eyes for his son even as the others noticed Ulrik and drew back, whispering praises to the Allfather and the spirits.
Ulrik examined the boy, pale and lifeless, yet still breathing. He was old, but not too old. The Canis Helix worked beyond the maturity limit of other gene-seed. The youth would bleed to death before morning, despite the healers’ attention.
Even now there was no pain or fear in his face, relaxed in half-death.
‘What is his name?’ the Slayer asked.
‘Lufa Gythasson,’ the father said.
‘You gave him his mother’s name… Of course,’ said Ulrik. ‘Strong blood. Strong will.’
‘Will he live?’ asked the father.
Ulrik lifted the boy from the table and took him away, turning at the threshold, a skull-faced incarnation of death. He remembered doing the same more than half a millennium before. A brave, sincere youngster called Logan.
‘Do not mourn for him, for he shall be reborn a hero.’
Epilogue
‘I have no idea where we are, or why,’ Sergeant Coulas told the squad in reply to Kalum’s question. ‘This is where the transport brought us and this is how we were to be dressed and armed.’
The ten Sons of Russ had thick pressure suits with goggle-visors and removable rebreathers instead of their normal Mark X armour, and their bolt rifles had been left behind too, leaving them only with their combat knives. Kalum had trained with his battle-brothers many times, both armoured and without, but the bulky environmental suits hampered his movements as he turned to the others.
‘Maybe some kind of decontamination procedure,’ he suggested.
He could feel forward motion from the conveyor, which was about the size of a Land Raider but had no viewing ports. It clattered to a halt and the doors opened. Sergeant Coulas led the squad out into a chamber walled on three sides by thick, angled armaglass. A binary star burned in the distance, the bulk of two worlds visible in the periphery of their glow. Illuminated by these celestial bodies was a vast expanse of rock and metal, crushed together by the tides of the warp.
A space hulk.
They turned at movement from beside them, to see a Space Wolf who had been standing beside the conveyor door. Kalum felt slightly foolish that he had not noticed the Space Marine immediately, but his gaze had been drawn by the spectacle beyond the armaglass.
As it was meant to, he realised, feeling even more foolish.
The warrior was Primaris, his armour painted in the full colours of the Chapter, much scarred and pitted, his plastron Imperial aquila almost lost beneath necklaces of fangs, claws and other fetishes. He carried a bolt rifle, the weapon of an Intercessor, but his squad markings were nothing like those of Coulas’ warriors. He wore no helmet, his hair and beard a riot of blond that framed his weathered face.
‘You are on the Garmr, named after the great hound that hunted across the ice of Fenris in the first days,’ said the Space Wolf. ‘It is a space hulk, as you can see, but we have control of it. Mostly. Sometimes it slips its leash.’
The Space Wolf strode across them and pointed out through the armaglass to their right.
‘Over there is the Chapter enclave. It is about ten miles away. Not far as the nightraven flies. It’s about three times that distance through the guts of Garmr, which is how you will be going.’
‘It’s a navigation exercise,’ said Sergeant Coulas. ‘To find the enclave without auspex.’
Kalum was put off by the Space Wolf’s laugh, short and brutal.
‘Finding your way is the easy part,’ the warrior said. ‘You see, although we can control where the hulk goes, pretty much, we haven’t really finished clearing out the orks, renegades and assorted scum that make it their home. Probably some other xenos in there that none of us have heard of before. If you see any, bring their skull back as a trophy, we’d all like to see it.’
He stepped back to the conveyor, the doors still open, and motioned for the squad to enter.
‘The shaft takes you down into the first staging area. You have sixty seconds to leave. If you attempt to return to the staging area it will be flooded with plasma and you will be killed. Understood?’
‘Understood,’ said Sergeant Coulas, who had a strange look in his eye as he turned to the squad. It could have been distortion from the pressure suit goggles. ‘No drill, no mistakes. The moment we enter this conveyor unit we are in combat mode. Fall in.’
The squad trooped back to the conveyor. Kalum shared their bemusement but could feel his body starting to react to the call to battle. Heat washed through him, hearts quickening.
‘There is air, artificial gravity and tolerable pressure in much of the Garmr, but not all, so be aware at all times. Trust each other and your senses. Those that make it to the enclave can call themselves Wolves of Fenris. I hope to see all of you there.’ The Space Wolf smiled, showing pronounced canine teeth. ‘Count your wyrd blessed that you’re not being tested on Fenris, but don’t think that Garmr is any less forbidding than Morkai.’
‘Who are you?’ Kalum asked as he stepped past the Primaris Marine.
‘Kjarg Iron-Oath,’ the Space Wolf replied. ‘Don’t disappoint me.’
Appendix: Fenrisian Lexicon
General note: Fenrisian language is rarely written in Imperial Gothic, while local physical records are in Fenrisian runic script of which there are many varieties, several of which are used by the Space Wolves Chapter depending from which area of Fenris a Space Marine was recruited. Spellings are therefore approximate and there are several accepted variations in Imperial records for many Fenrisian words and terms.
FENRISIAN (JUVYK / JUVJK) LEXICON
Juvjk – Translation – Notes
Adjarr – Lifeblood – The Rune of Blood
Aelfkid – Wood sprites
Aett – Clan-home – The Fang (Space Wolves only) / hearth/ den
Aettgard – Leader’s chosen warriors – Alternate name for Wolf Guard
Aettjarl – Settlement leader
Aett-rune – Home rune – (Great) Company sigil
Aett-skjald – Lorekeeper of a settlement
Aett-vater – Home-father – Commander or captain
Alfathir – The Emperor – The Allfather
Balka – Testicles Lit. Bollocks
Bludhaer – Hour of Blood – Battle or war
Bludhalle – Medicae / apothecarion
Damget! – Children of Damnation! – A curse or epithet
Drekkar – Fenrisian longship
Ekka – Fenrisian pines
Felhird – Beastmen
Fengr – The wolf within
Fenrys Hjolda – “Fenris Forever” – Battle cry
Fenryka – Of Fenris
Fenrys Hjammar Koldt – “Fenris’ Hammering Cold” – Battle cry
Fja vø – Go now
Fjorulalli – The Seal-mother
Fyrbrod – Gun – Lit. Fire-rod
Fyr-ent – Fire giant
Fyrkaf – Firedrink – Restorative beverage
Fyrmirdra – Fire serpent – A wyrm or dragon
Fyrstrom – Firestorm – Explosion
Gann – Death – The Rune of Death
Geldfut – Outstanding task / purpose – Mission
Geldwhal – Species of whale
Gmorl – Fate – The Rune of Fate
Gothi – Witch / Rune Priest / Shaman
Hamarrki – Spine
Hamarrkiskaldi – Instinct, intuition – Lit. Spine story
Hearthegn – Champion – The Great Wolf’s Champion
Hel – Damnation – A place beneath the ice for those that die badly
Hja – Yes
Hjammar – Hammer
Hjolda – Exclamation of surprise,welcome or frustration
Hould – The Hold
Husjarl – Trusted adviser or second-in-command – Lieutenant
Huskaerl – Soldier – Armed servant
Ja hjøld – Statement of approval
Jarl – Lord or Wolf Lord
Jarl-deck – Command deck orstrategium
Jarlhalle – Lord’s hall
Jarlship – A moderately sized warship – Equivalent to light cruiser
Jøva – Look, behold?
Juvi – Spokesperson, truth – Lit. The Word
Juvjk – Hearth cant
Juvykka – Fenrisian language
Kaerl – Mortal servant, thrall
Karlship – A larger-than-normal longship – A cruiser
Koenigsgard – King’s Guards – Retinue of the Great Wolf
Koldt – Cold
Maleficarum – Bad magic – Also bad luck / bad omen / bad spirit
Mjod – Space Wolves beverage
Morkai – The Deathwolf
Ragnarok – Ending – The Rune of Ending
Riven – A unit of 500 kaerls
Rivenmaster – Kaerl captain of amilitary unit
Runejarl – A Rune Priest – A Space Marine Librarian
Runekast – A sorcerer – A wyrd practitioner not to be trusted
Sálskjoldur – Soul-ward totem, worn as protection
Skjaldom – Vox-centre
Skjaldroot – A Fenrisian narcotic
Skjaldvers – A poem or chant – Warding prayer
Skjald-wisht – Daydreaming – Lit. Poet-wishing
Skaldwyrdfeyn – Protective chant to ward away ill wyrd
Skítja, Skítnah – Shit
Skitlbad – A Fenrisian game of skill
Skjald – Lorekeeper – Storyteller
Skjoldtar – A kaerl long gun
Skjoal – A drinking toast – Drinking without pause
Skold – Name
Sturmwyrm – Storm dragon
Thegnhalle – Council chambers
Tra – Three
Trysk – Ice – The Rune of Ice
Ulfnaki – Squad tactics – Hunt-style
Ulfwyrd – Lit. Wolf-fate – Power derived from ancestral magic, accumulated wisdom and respect
Under – Down
Underverse – Afterlife (negative connotations)
Upp – Up
Uppland – Afterlife (positive connotations) – Also the void, outer space
Upplander – One from the heavens – Stranger
Ut-geld – Owed debt – A favour or obligation
Utlander – Outsider
Vaerangi / vaerengr – Wolf Guard
Vahk / Vahk meh – Exclamation of surprise
Valkjyr – Angels – Choosers of the Slain in battle
Varg-Ulf – A wolf driven mad by wyrd
Verse – The cosmos
Vlka – Wolves
Vlka Fenryka – “Wolves of Fenris” – Legion / Chapter name
Volda – The world
War-aett – Base / command centre
War-skelt – Battle hymn
Weregost – Talisman, likeness – Each Great Company’s symbol is also its weregost
