Cadian Blood Part 11

a"The Cadian Shock are the guardians of Scarus. But forgive me, brother-codicier. I do not see the ties between my home world and your Chapter. What are the Death Guard to you? How grave are their sins, that no other evil can match them in your eyes?a"

Zaur stood in silence for some time. When he finally moved, it was to place a gauntleted hand, cold as fresh snow, on Setha's head. When he finally spoke, it was in a buzzing voice contained within Setha's own mind.

See, Cadian. See what they did to us +

The vision began. A vision of a war a- The War a- that began ten thousand years before. In a distant solar system, one hundred centuries ago, Seth witnessed the betrayal that scourged the hearts of the Raven Guard against their Astartes brothers.

It was soon over. When the vision faded, Seth felt pale and weak. He bolstered his strength to speak his last question.

a"Zaur a"

a"Yes?a"

a"Since coming to Kathur Do you hear the voice, too? Something has awoken on this world. It cries for aid.a"

Zaur nodded once, very slowly. a"I hear it. I hear it even now.a" The codicier looked down at the Cadian. a"Have you heard the reply?a"

a"No.a"

a"That is my true fear, and the reason I have taken such stern heed of the Tarota's warning. Because I not only hear the voice crying for aid, I also hear something out there answering.a"

a"This second voice, what does it say?a"

a"It is wordless, much like the plea for aid we both hear. A simple, powerful projection that conveys a single message.a"

a"What message?a"

Zaur opened his mind once more, letting his sixth sense envelop Setha's surface thoughts. He could feel the rhythms of the mortala's body, beating and bubbling in their short lifespan. The Astartes knew, just for a moment, how frail and mortal it felt to be truly human. He feared nothing in his service to the Throne, yet he felt himself fearful of that incredible weakness.

a"Listen,a" said Zaur, letting the voices flowing through his psychic sense wash gently into Setha's lesser mind. It was a simple diversion of mental energies, the equivalent of a man damming one river to form another.

Come to me, the first voice said without words.

We come, was the equally-wordless reply.

We come.

Part II.

The Herald.

CHAPTER VIII.

Echoes of Heresy.

Within the warp.

We come.

It pulsed this wordless rea.s.surance in a relentless stream of subconscious telepathy. We come. We come. We come.

Sometimes it would forget its own name.

It knew this was because of the warp. Travelling in the domain of its master brought the creature close to its G.o.da's touch, and all that was still human within it would slip into unremembered darkness.

On these occasions, occasions which might last a mere hour and might last anything up to a decade or more, it would simply self-identify by the t.i.tle its various minions used when addressing it.

The Herald, they called it. The Herald of the whispering G.o.d they all served.

The Herald had not moved from its throne in many months. Barnacle-like scabs, crusty blooms of dried blood and calcified pus, now bound it to the bone and corroded metal of its command seat. The Herald felt the encrusted gore connecting him to the throne, and by extension, to the ship all around it.

The Herald knew its strength, its incredible might. It knew it would take little effort to move and shatter the solidified filth, but it wanted to enjoy the serenity of its repose for a few more moments. It breathed deeply within the decayed sh.e.l.l of its armour, feeling the silent rumble of its vessel spearing through the warp. Daemon-things in the darkness beyond the shipa's hull shrieked and clawed at the vessel, desperate to enter and prostrate themselves before the Herald. They left streaks of diseased flesh along the rancid hull as the great ship powered on, ignorant of the would-be supplicants.

The Herald chuckled.

Some of the creatures populating the bridge a- the weakest ones, whose lives meant nothing a- cowered and whimpered at the sound. It was the first time the Herald had made any noise in weeks.

One of the bridge crew, long deprived of its legs, crawled up the steps to the Heralda's throne. Once, it had been a man. Now it left a viscous trail in its legless wake, and had too many mouths.

a"We draw near, Herald,a" several of the thinga's mouths said.

Now the Herald stood. The crusted gore binding it to the throne shattered into powdery, infected shards, many still sticking to the Heralda's armour like warty protrusions.

With the Heralda's sudden, albeit slow, activity, the hollow bone spines jutting from its back began to emit a low buzz. The Herald was awake, and the hive within its body awakened as well. The first flies, bloated and sticky, skittered from the flared holes at the tops of the hollow spines.

The Herald turned its horned helmeted head, seeking something. It could barely see. Its eyes were gummy with b.l.o.o.d.y tears, having been closed for too long. Sight pained it.

a"Weapon,a" the Herald growled in a low, burbling voice. The bridge crew shrank back, some pressing against their consoles in fear, some because their own organic corruption bound them to their stations just as the Herald had been bound to its throne.

One of the figures flanking the great throne stepped forward. Its armour was that of an Astartes, but swollen, corroded and cracked through ten thousand years of plague and battle. It was the same gangrenous colour of the Heralda's own armour.

a"Herald.a" Blood-caked respirator pipes thrust into the front of the Astartesa' helm vibrated as the second figure spoke. a"I bear your blade.a"

At these words, the corrupted Astartes held out a colossal scythe in his swollen fists. It was over three metres long, the pole as thick as a mana's thigh, the curving crescent blade glinting in places under a patina of b.l.o.o.d.y rot.

The Herald took the scythe in its own gauntleted hands. A memory swam up through the warp-holy murk of its thoughts. A name.

Its own name?

No Manreaper. The name of the weapon it now held. With a psychic nudge, the Herald activated the antiquated power weapon. Its scythe blade hissed as energy flooded the ancient metal. The organic decay taking root on the blade itself crackled and popped as it burned away. The stench was cancerous, but that was far from unusual in the Heralda's presence. The entire ship itself reeked of the egg-like s.h.i.t-smell of a terminal wasting disease. The air within the vessel was poison to all but the creatures that dwelled within.

The Herald took a deep breath within its enclosing armour, savouring the holy scent that reached its acute olfactory senses. Vision returned with increased clarity now, shapes resolving clearly to make out the scene of the bridge all around. A great screen faced the throne, showing the beautiful chaos of warp flight. It was like looking into the mind of a madman, seeing all his thoughts as colours.

a"Near?a" the Herald growled. a"Soon?a"

Speech was also difficult. The Herald swallowed to clear its throat. Whatever had been lodged there wriggled as it went down.

a"We are only hours from our destination, Herald,a" the Traitor Astartes said.

a"The Legion?a" snarled the Herald.

a"The Legion stands ready, great Traveller.a"

Traveller. Another of its t.i.tles. And tied to its name a"My ship,a" purred the Herald wetly. Its scabby gauntlets stroked the corroded throne. a"My ship. Terminus Est.a"

a"Yes, lord.a" The Traitor Astartes was used to the warp-sickness affecting the Herald. He knew it would pa.s.s soon.

The Herald grinned behind its horned helm, facing the screen ahead and clutching its scythe in a greedy hand. The bulk of its Terminator plate would have been immense anyway, but the scabs, buboes and bone spines thrusting from the off-green armour swelled it to four times the size of a mortal man.

a"Kathur,a" it said. a"We draw near to Kathur.a"

a"Yes, lord.a"

And then, like a bolt from the chaotic storm outside, the Herald recalled its name. Who it had been. What it had become. It smiled again, and began to give orders to its wretched crew.

In life, ten thousand years ago as the galaxy had descended into the war that would never end, he had been the First Captain of the Death Guard.

Now, the Scourge of Scarus, the Traveller, Host of the Destroyer Hive, Herald of the Grandfather of Decay, prepared to do battle once more.

a"Kathur,a" smiled Typhus through his black lips. a"Their little shrineworld.a"

Seth met with Thade as the captain was in his tent, performing the rites of maintenance on his chainsword. The smell of purified oils flavoured the air. Thade was on his bedroll, wearing his grey fatigues with the blade in his lap. It was the first time the psyker had seen Thade without his body armour on in weeks.

a"Sir?a" He stood at the tenta's canvas entrance, looking in through the open door curtains. Thade was using a hand-pick to sc.r.a.pe dirt from the High Gothic runes etched into the bladea's flat.

a"Come in,a" he called.

Seth stepped in and froze at the sudden growl. The sound was mechanical and very, very angry. Seth knew it well. He turned his head slowly to see Thadea's cyber-mastiff, its bodywork of chrome and iron restored to its undamaged gunmetal grey. The size of a bloodhound, the shape of a wolf with particularly vicious jaws, the cyber-mastiff glared at him with black eye lenses.

It was still growling.

a"Uh Good dog,a" Seth said, feeling foolish for letting it slip out.

a"Down, boy,a" the captain said. a"Sorry, Seth. One second. Rax, log targeta's bio-spoor. Record name: Seth. Record status: Null target.a"

The robotic doga's eye lenses whispered as they turned - focusing, recording.

a"Acknowledge,a" said Thade.

The dog opened its beartrap jaws and its internal vox-speakers emitted a throaty machine sound. With some imagination, it was almost a bark.

a"Youa're safe now,a" Thade said, going back to sc.r.a.ping the last traces of gore from the etched lettering of his blade. a"When he was damaged last month, it wiped his cogitatora's targeting and recollection file.a"

a"His what?a"

a"His memory, apparently. Dona't look at me like that; it was Osirona's explanation. Rax needs to re-record everyonea's bio-spoors so he doesna't sight them as targets.a"

a"Am I a null target now?a" Seth leaned on his staff, feeling his headache pound behind his eyes. Throne take that d.a.m.ned dog, hea'd never liked it.

a"You should be. Rax? Prime for battle.a"

The cyber-mastiff inclined its head towards Thade, its jaws opening slightly. Seth noticed its steel teeth glinting in the dim sunlight coming into the tent. Each one polished like a prize dagger.

a"No need to test it, Ia'll take your word for it,a" Seth murmured. a"Great Eye, did Osiron polish its teeth?a"

a"He did. If you get up close, you can see the Litany of Protection etched into each fang.a"

a"Ia'm not getting up close.a"

a"Well, I thought it was a nice touch. Stay still a- let me test this. Rax? Kill.a"

Seth felt his entire body tense at the command. He didna't expect the dog to attack, but the possibility made his stomach twist and his eyes ache. The captaina's humour, such as it was, did not match his own.

Rax closed his jaws with a slam of meeting metal. Its internal speakers droned an almost puppyish whine.

a"Youa're safe,a" said Thade. a"Rax, stand down.a"

The cyber-mastiff powered down, closing its jaw and clamping its rows of shark-like teeth. It sat much the way a real dog would: haunches on the floor, but its head tracked left and right, slowly, like a security camera.

a"A simple a'yesa' would have sufficed.a"

a"Stop whining, youa're still alive. Now, you wanted to talk to me,a" Thade said, a"but first you have a question of mine to answer.a"

a"Of course.a"

a"An hour ago, you were with the Astartes psyker.a"

a"I was.a"

a"Now tell me why.a"

Seth chuckled, but it became a cough that tasted of blood. a"Thata's not a question.a"