Wolf's Honour Part 11

The Thunderhawk steepened its dive, coming into the planet's turbulent atmosphere at a sharper angle and increasing the speed of its re-entry. At once, the leading edges of the hull began to glow red with friction build-up. The Imperial vessel trembled like a ship in a summer gale, but her reinforced superstructure held against the strain. Several of the enemy fighters sharpened their dives as well, but their hunger for destruction proved their undoing, as the heat and turbulence tore their hulls apart. The rest of the swarm fell back, unable to match the a.s.sault ship's dangerous descent.

'Well, that bought us a minute or two,' the pilot shouted over the thunder of re-entry. The heat inside the c.o.c.kpit was intense, and the a.s.sault craft shuddered violently as it plunged towards the planet's surface. More and more warning icons flashed an insistent red on the tech-priest's display.

Ragnar held on for all he was worth. It was clear that the pilot was pushing the Thunderhawk to the edge of its performance envelope and possibly beyond. 'Will this get us on the ground any faster?' he shouted.

To the young s.p.a.ce Wolfs surprise, the pilot threw back his head and laughed. 'Oh, aye, lord! One way or another, it surely will.'

They were close enough to the planet's surface for Ragnar to make out dark oceans and broad continents studded with mountain ranges. There were no lights that he could see, but the shape of the land ma.s.ses was a perfect reflection of Charys as near as he could tell. All this just to facilitate a single ritual, Ragnar thought with a terrible sense of awe. He truly grasped the sheer scope of Madox's plans, for the first time, and felt something akin to dismay. He thought of the handful of s.p.a.ce Wolves in the troop compartment behind him and wondered how they could possibly challenge something so vast. Who are we to overcome an entire world?

The answer was obvious. We are sons of the Allfather, Ragnar thought, just as Madox once was. Whatever the traitor can bring to bear against us, we are its equal.

The Thunderhawk flashed past a rocky coasdine, plunging towards the dark surface of the world like a fiery comet. Vast plains stretched beneath the descending craft. Ragnar was amazed to see the outlines of enormous agri-combines, their subdivided crop zones radiating like the spokes of enormous wheels more than a thousand kilometres across. The young s.p.a.ce Wolf could just make out the towering granaries and equipment hives at the hub of each combine, where legions of farm servitors would shuttle back and forth like bees to tend their carefully monitored crops.

Within minutes, the fierce shuddering began to subside as the a.s.sault ship pa.s.sed through the upper atmosphere and dived through a dark sky empty of clouds. A torrent of green bolts slashed downward from high and to starboard. The daemon ships were closing the range once more. Ragnar eyed the mult.i.tude of warning runes flashing on the tech-priest's screen to his left. 'How long?' he asked.

'Otto?' the pilot said.

'Surveyor shows the city dead ahead at five hundred kilometres,' the augur operator replied. Then, suddenly, he straightened in his seat. 'Wait - I'm getting something-'

Bursts of green energy bolts howled down around the Thunderhawk from high and to starboard. The pilot muttered a curse. 'Never mind, Otto. I see them.'

'No! There's something else!' the operator exclaimed. He fumbled for a set of dials and adjusted them carefully, his head c.o.c.ked intently to one side. 'I... I'm getting a signal on the vox. It sounds like one of our recovery beacons.'

The pilot looked back over his shoulder at Ragnar. 'How is that possible?'

Bolts impacted across the a.s.sault ship's wings and fuselage in a string of sharp detonations. The Thunderhawk shuddered beneath the blows and seemed to plummet downward for a vertiginous instant before coming under control. Ragnar leaned close to the augur operator. 'Can you get an ident.i.ty code from the beacon?'

Otto shook his head. 'I can barely hear it at all,' he said, pressing a hand to his headphones. 'There's a lot of atmospheric interference-'

Another thunderclap smote the aft section of the transport, throwing the crew against their restraints. An alarm buzzed shrilly on the tech-priest's panel, but Ragnar was oblivious to everything but the signal that the augur operator was receiving. 'Can you isolate its location?' he asked.

The bondsman shook his head. 'I can get a bearing and an approximate distance,' Otto replied, shouting over the explosions battering the Thunderhawk. 'It... it looks like three-five-five degrees at about eighty to a hundred kilometres. That's deep in a range of low mountains on the far side of an agri-combine right ahead.'

Before Ragnar could ask further, the sound of the a.s.sault ship's engines changed pitch and the Thunderhawk slewed violently to starboard. The tech-priest let out a sharp cry. 'Number one engine's failed!' he said.

There was another stomach clenching drop as the a.s.sault ship fell like a stone. Both pilot and co-pilot wrestled with the controls. 'Increase power to number two,' the pilot ordered, his voice tense with strain. 'Can you restart number one?'

'No chance,' the tech-priest shouted back, 'turbine's seized!'

Ragnar was thrown forward as the Thunderhawk's nose dipped into a steep dive. The pilot was trading alt.i.tude for speed, trying to keep his ship in the air for as long as possible. The young s.p.a.ce Wolf clung to the stanchions and watched the ground rushing towards them through the c.o.c.kpit viewports. He could see the pale ribbon of a transit route crossing the plain below them, pointing to the outskirts of the agri-combine that Otto had mentioned.

The Thunderhawk began to shudder violently. 'Controls are getting sluggish,' the pilot grated. 'Where's my hydraulic pressure?'

A flurry of energy bolts surrounded the diving a.s.sault ship, and multiple hits slammed into the Thunderhawk's tail and wings. The wingtip heavy bolters returned fire with a roar, but then there was a loud explosion aft and the world seemed to spin out of control.

'Number two engine's. .h.i.t!' the tech-priest cried, and then lapsed into a desperate prayer to the Omnissiah.

'Well, that's it then,' the pilot said, his voice surprisingly calm as the horizon spun beyond the c.o.c.kpit viewports. 'Cut power to number three! Hurry!'

The co-pilot threw himself against his restraints, reaching desperately for the throttle levers. Ragnar saw that the s.p.a.ce Wolf wasn't going to make it.

Praying to Russ, the young s.p.a.ce Wolf pulled himself towards the pilots' controls. Fighting hard against the G-forces pinning the crew into their seats, he pushed his armour's systems to the limit and strained forward with his right arm. The tips of his fingers brushed the steel throttle lever and drew it back far enough to get a solid grip. Ragnar wrapped his fingers around the lever and pulled back with all his might, nearly tearing it from its housing.

The howling wail of the engine fell silent. All Ragnar heard was the whistling wind and the impa.s.sioned prayers of the tech-priest in the few seconds before the a.s.sault ship slammed into the ground.

Another wave of flesh and steel bore down on the Imperial positions at the Angelus Causeway. Clawed feet scrabbling for purchase, a huge mutant heaved itself up the shifting mound of bodies at the foot of the barricade and reached for Mikal Sternmark. Beady red eyes glittered with hate from within thick, pasty folds of fat, and the entire lower half of the creature's doughy face was nothing but a ma.s.sive set of powerful jaws and a lashing, serpentine tongue. One clawed hand gripped a shock maul, of the type that Arbites riot troopers often carried, and its bloodstained tip crackled with lethal energies. A pack of lesser mutants swarmed behind the ma.s.sive creature, armed with a collection of laspistols, slug throwers and gory chain-blades. They howled encouragement to their leader and scrambled along in its wake, eager to sweep over the Imperial defences and slaughter the soldiers on the other side.

Sternmark met them with a bloodthirsty shout, smoke curling from bolter and blade. His bare face and ornate armour were covered in blood and grime, and his fangs shone red in the fading light of day. The traitors had hurled wave after wave of a.s.saults against the barricade over the course of the day. Burning vehicles and the bodies of the dead stretched for almost a full kilometre down the causeway, but each attack had brought the rebels a few hundred metres closer to the Imperial positions. Four times the enemy troops had attempted to scale the barricade, and four times the s.p.a.ce Wolves had driven them back.

The Wolf Guard levelled his storm bolter at the oncoming creature and fired a burst into its chest. Ma.s.s-reactive rounds punched clean through the mutant and felled a pair of gibbering monsters behind it, but the lantern jawed monster only roared in bloodl.u.s.t and kept coming. It swung its shock maul at Sternmark's head, but Redclaw blurred through the air to meet it. There was a sharp crack of electrical discharge and a blue-white flash as the ancient power weapon cut the maul in two. Teeth bared, Sternmark brought the heavy blade down in a diagonal cut, slicing through the mutant's shoulder and deep into its chest. Ichor flowed thickly from the wound. The creature snarled and snapped at the Wolf Guard, still trying to climb onto the top of the barricade, but its strength failed it all at once and it collapsed onto its face just short of its goal. The mound of dead now rose half a metre higher than it had before.

More of the mutants climbed over the corpse of their fallen leader. Las-bolts detonated across Sternmark's chest and shoulders, and a slug left a crease along the side of the Wolf Guard's right cheek. Sternmark tore his sword free of the mutant's corpse and split one of his attackers from groin to chin. Another tried to scramble past him, dragging a grenade from its belt, and he shot it point-blank in the chest. An arm came up, levelling a laspistol at his face. With a backhanded swipe of his blade, he severed the limb, and smashed the screaming foe off the barricade with a blow from the b.u.t.t of his storm bolter.

Sternmark whirled in place, seeking more enemies to slay, but after a few moments he realised that he was alone among the dead and dying. Looking out along the causeway, he saw figures in tattered Guard and PDF uniforms retreating back into the smoke, chased by las-bolts and bolter fire from the Imperial defenders. The last of the mutants who'd tried to challenge him had stumbled back down to the base of the mound and were running for their lives.

The Wolf Guard threw back his head and howled at the red-stained skies. All along the line, a ragged chorus of voices joined his, celebrating the glory of the kill. The enemy had been broken for a fifth time and hurled back in disarray. Watching their fleeing figures, Sternmark felt the blood burn in his veins, and his mouth gaped in a wolfish grin. The urge to give chase, to fall upon the terrified enemy and tear out their throats was almost too much to bear.

He took a step down onto the slippery mound of corpses, then another. Sternmark could almost feel the rushing wind of the chase against his skin.

There was a buzzing in his ears, like the whine of a biting fly. Sternmark frowned, pressing a hand to his ear. Belatedly, he realized that he'd dropped his empty storm bolter, and he was tottering uneasily atop the shifting mound of the dead.

The last of the retreating traitors disappeared into the smoke. Slowly the tide of bloodl.u.s.t ebbed, flowing restlessly into the back of his mind, and the buzzing in his ears resolved into words. 'My lord! What are you doing?'

Sternmark turned, as though in a dream. One of Einar's pack members stood a few metres away atop the barricade, a bolter and a b.l.o.o.d.y chainsword hanging loose in his hands. The warrior's silver-blond hair was braided, as was his bloodstained beard. It took a moment for Sternmark to dredge the young warrior's name from the red surf pounding in his brain. 'Sven?' he asked. 'What are you doing here?'

The young s.p.a.ce Wolf shifted uncomfortably. 'I'm here to report, lord.' He raised his bolter. 'My pack fired off the last of our ammunition in the last wave, even the rounds we gathered from Einar and Karl.'

'Einar? Karl?' Sternmark glared at Sven, trying to make sense of what the Grey Hunter was saying. 'What's happened to them?'

The question took Sven aback. 'Karl was killed during the third attack,' he said. 'A mutant with a meltagun got too close to the barricade.'

'And Einar?'

'Deep in the Red Dream. An eviscerator took his right arm and most of his shoulder, but he b.l.o.o.d.y well killed the traitor that did it.' Sven eyed the Wolf Guard with concern. 'We reported this over the vox. Is your system malfunctioning?'

'You tend to your wargear, brother, and I'll attend to mine,' Sternmark snapped. 'Who is in charge of the pack now that Einar is down?'

Sven paused, unsettled by the vehemence of the Wolf Guard's rebuke. 'By rights, that would be Freyr-'

'But Freyr isn't here making the report, is he? You're acting pack leader now, Sven. Return to your brothers and prepare for the next attack. I'll speak to headquarters about resupply.'

'I...' Sven's eyes widened. 'Lord, are you certain you are well?'

'Well enough,' Sternmark growled. His eyes narrowed in challenge. 'Do you think I've chosen poorly, brother?'

'No, lord!' Sven took a step back, clearly uncertain how to proceed. After a moment, the young Grey Hunter bowed his head in submission and backed away, his expression troubled.

Sternmark turned away, searching for his storm bolter among the dead. He found the weapon atop a trio of fallen grenadiers and bent to retrieve it. It felt clumsy and awkward in his hands. He fumbled with the magazine release for nearly a full second before he managed to drop the empty clips. Only the iron conditioning of many decades of campaigning kept him from hurling the weapon away in frustration.

The temptation stunned the Wolf Guard. Sternmark shook his head fiercely, as though trying to break the grip of a terrible dream. Shadowy forms flitted at the corners of his vision. He whirled, trying to focus on them, but saw only the bodies of the dead, stretching as far as he could see along the length of the barricade. The battle tanks that had supported the defenders were blackened hulls, destroyed by rebel suicide attacks or artillery strikes over the course of the long day.

He realised, dimly, that he had no idea how many of the Guardsmen were still alive, or where their commander was. He'd last spoken to their commander... was it after the second attack, or the third? Sternmark couldn't be certain. The regiment could be on the verge of retreat, leaving him and his battle-brothers to hold the causeway alone.

Sternmark looked left and right, searching for the Wolf Guard who'd accompanied him to the barricade. Rage and shame boiled inside him, making it difficult to think. 'Cursed,' he growled bitterly. 'This d.a.m.ned world has cursed us all.'

Rebel artillery howled overhead, crashing behind the Imperial positions. A chorus of battle cries rose from the rebel lines as the traitors resumed their attack.

Ragnar awoke to the dull ache of broken bones. Lines of pain pulsed across his forehead and down his face, almost as far as his jaw, and he tasted the coppery tang of blood in his mouth.

Lightning flashed beyond his closed eyelids. Ragnar blinked, and then carefully opened his eyes. He was lying on his back, staring up at a dark sky devoid of stars. The air smelled dry and musty as a tomb, tinged with the acrid stink of burning synthetics.

Two shadowy figures loomed over the young s.p.a.ce Wolf. One knelt closer. Lightning flickered across the empty sky, revealing Torin's angular face. The Wolfblade peered with worry at Ragnar's face, and then broke into a wry grin. 'See? I told you he was still alive,' Torin said to the second figure. 'Lucky for us his face absorbed most of the impact.'

With a deep breath, Ragnar pushed up onto his elbows. The fractures across his face and skull caused him to grimace in pain, but he could tell that the bone was starting to knit together already. He glanced up at the second figure and realised it was Harald. The Blood Claw pack leader scowled disdainfully at Ragnar and turned away.

The Thunderhawk was a twisted pile of wreckage a few dozen metres away, half-buried in a furrow of scorched earth that stretched for nearly three-quarters of a kilometre behind the mangled wreck. Somehow, the pilot had managed to crash-land the a.s.sault ship along the grey ribbon of roadway that he'd spotted during their descent. Twisting columns of black smoke rose from the wreckage. The c.o.c.kpit of the Thunderhawk was burst open, its viewports shattered and the metal bracings peeled apart. The a.s.sault ship's port wing had been torn away during the crash, and the starboard wing jutted crookedly from the wreckage. Three warriors from Harald's pack were attempting to disa.s.semble the remaining wing's heavy bolter hardpoint under the watchful gaze of the Thunderhawk's tech-priest. Four other figures in heavy flight suits were unloading a number of small packs and other survival gear from an open hatch on the a.s.sault ship's fuselage.

Torin followed Ragnar's gaze. 'We had to tear open the c.o.c.kpit with Harald's fist to get you out,' he said.

'The pilot and co-pilot died in the crash, and the augur operator was dead by the time we pulled him out.'

Ragnar nodded painfully, realising sadly that he'd never learned the heroic pilot's name. 'Any other casualties?' he asked.

'Not yet, thank Russ,' the Wolfblade said, glancing up at the empty sky. 'We heard the enemy fighters fly overhead a few times as we were trying to cut our way out of the ship, but they were gone by the time we made it outside.'

'Lady Gabriella?' Ragnar inquired.

Torin indicated a spot off behind Ragnar with a curt nod of his chin. 'Haegr is watching her,' he replied gravely. 'She's not doing too well.'

His pain forgotten, Ragnar clambered quickly to his feet. Gabriella was sitting just a few metres away, her legs drawn up and her head resting on her knees. Haegr loomed protectively over the Navigator, his thunder hammer held at the ready. Inquisitor Volt knelt beside Gabriella, speaking to her in low tones. The rest of Harald's Blood Claw pack formed a security perimeter some way off, diligently scanning the surrounding terrain for signs of danger.

Ragnar approached the Navigator carefully and sank down into a crouch next to Inquisitor Volt. The inquisitor paid the young s.p.a.ce Wolf no mind. His head was bowed and he was reading from a small book resting in his bandaged hands. With a start, Ragnar realised that Volt was praying, reciting a litany in High Gothic that he'd never heard before. He sensed it was being done for Gabriella's benefit, but he could not follow the specifics.

Leaning forward, Ragnar spoke softly to Gabriella. 'Lady? Are you well?'

At the sound of his voice, the Navigator raised her head. Gabriella's pale face was smudged with soot and grime, and her expression was one of pure anguish. Her scarf was gone and her black hair hung loosely about her face. In the centre of her forehead the Navigator's pineal eye burned like a tiny star, stunning Ragnar with its intensity.

'I can feel it,' she said in a stricken voice, 'lines of terrible power stretching into the physical realm, anch.o.r.ed by the suffering of millions. The fabric of s.p.a.ce turned inside out, warped by the will of...' A look of horror pa.s.sed across her face. 'I cannot say it! I dare not say it! Blessed Emperor preserve us!'

'The Emperor is with us,' Volt told her, his voice trembling with conviction. 'His sacred light shields us, and he has set his Wolves to watch over us. Be strong, Gabriella of Bellisarius,' he said, and laid a hand gently on her arm. 'What can you tell us of the ritual our foe is planning?'

'Planning?' Gabriella said. 'No, not planning, performing. It has been going on for some time. I can hear their voices in my head, whispering terrible things. Whatever the ritual portends, it is nearing its culmination.'

Volt squeezed her arm compa.s.sionately and glanced at Ragnar. 'It is worse than I feared,' he said quietly, but it was unclear if he was speaking about the ritual or the effect it was having on Gabriella. 'There isn't much time left.'

Ragnar nodded gravely. 'Lady, we need to get moving,' he said, as gently as he could. 'Can you walk? One of us can carry you if need be-'

'I can walk,' Gabriella said forcefully, though the strain of what she was feeling was painfully apparent in her eyes. 'I can do whatever I must,'

'Then rest for a few moments more,' Ragnar replied, and turned to Volt. 'Do you have any idea where we are?'

Volt closed his book of devotions and nodded, surveying the dark plain that surrounded them. 'We're about a hundred kilometres due south of the capital,' he said, and then pointed to the roadway. 'This is one of the main transit routes linking the southern agri-combines. It leads right into the heart of the city.'

Ragnar scowled at the news. Time was of the essence. The s.p.a.ce Wolves could cover a hundred kilometres in less than seven hours at a forced march, but there was no way that Gabriella, Volt or the bondsmen would be able to manage such a pace. 'The roadway is too exposed,' he said to the inquisitor. 'The enemy fighters have gone for now, but I expect that something will arrive to search the wreckage before much longer.'

Volt nodded. 'I fear you're right.' He put away his book and then gestured to the north, where the grey stripe of the roadway bisected a dark green band that stretched across the horizon. 'We'll head for that agri-combine. It's much smaller than most, but the crops will give us some cover for at least twenty kilometres.'

Ragnar shook his head, bemused. 'What does a shadow world deep within the Eye of Terror need with crops and agri-combines?'

'It's the law of correspondence,' Volt said. 'The shadow world has to be an exact geographical copy of Charys for the co-location to work,'

'All right,' Ragnar said. 'What about the mountain range beyond the combine? If we follow it instead of the roadway, how close will it take us to the city?'

Volt pursed his lips thoughtfully. 'We could follow them to within ten kilometres of the city's south-west districts,' he said, 'but it would be rough going.'

Ragnar nodded. 'Then that's what we'll have to do.'

'What's this?'

Ragnar and Volt looked up at the sound of Harald's voice. The pack leader had arrived with his three Blood Claws and the surviving Thunderhawk crew in tow. Two of the warriors carried the heavy bolters stripped from the a.s.sault ship on improvised shoulder slings. The tech-priest and the a.s.sault ship's gunners were carrying stubby lascarbines in their hands and had bulky survival packs on their shoulders.

Harald glared down at Ragnar. 'You're not in command here, exile,' the pack leader said. 'No one's taking orders from you.'

A shadow fell across Harald as Haegr leaned forward, his hands tightening around the haft of his hammer. 'Shall I thrash some sense into this pup, brother?' he asked.

Harald bristled at the threat. 'I'd like to see you try,' he said, baring his fangs.

'That's enough,' Volt snapped, rising to his feet between the two warriors. The Wolves stood head and shoulders above the old man, but the inquisitor's tone was hard and unyielding. 'Ragnar isn't in command of this expedition, but I am, and we're heading for the agri-combine. Harald, a.s.semble your men. I want two of your Wolves on point and one covering each flank, understood?'

The pack leader stared down at Volt for a long moment, and Ragnar thought for an instant that Harald was going to challenge the inquisitor. Then, just as suddenly, he nodded an acknowledgement and began calling out orders to his men.

Volt began to gather up his gear without comment, as though nothing had happened. Haegr held out a hand to Gabriella and helped the Navigator to her feet. Torin appeared quietly out of the gloom. Only Ragnar noticed the older Wolfblade sliding his pistol back into its holster. The two warriors shared apprehensive looks.

'Not a good beginning,' Torin said softly, as the band prepared to move out. 'Harald's only barely holding it together.'

Ragnar glanced thoughtfully to the north. 'Aren't we all,' he replied.

FOURTEEN.

The Lost Distances were deceiving on the vast, dark plains of the shadow world. When they'd set out from the crash site, Ragnar had reckoned they were only a few dozen kilometres from the edge of the agri-combine, but an hour later they still seemed no closer to their objective. The s.p.a.ce Wolves loped along at a tireless, ground-eating pace, their eyes restlessly scanning the horizon for signs of enemy activity. The bondsmen, accustomed as they were to the physical regimens of the Fang, kept up the pace without complaint. Inquisitor Volt and Lady Gabriella did the same, but Ragnar could tell that they were beginning to tire. Their scents were bitter, laced with crippling fatigue poisons. Gabriella in particular was suffering greatly after the difficulty of the warp transit, yet she held her head high and never slowed. Ragnar followed along in her wake, waiting for her to ask for help or to catch her up in case she should stumble.

He could hear the labouring beats of her heart, drumming a desperate counterpoint to the rhythmic cadence of her feet. When he breathed, he could taste the warmth of her skin and feel the heat of her blood on the tip of his tongue. Since he'd set foot on the shadow world his senses had become incredibly sharp. An almost electrical charge galvanised his blood and banished the weariness from his limbs. It felt as though he could run forever under this starless sky, pacing along in Gabriella's wake and listening to the beat of her heart, waiting for her to stumble.