Wolf's Honour Part 18

Ragnar slipped silently through a defile of broken stone, and settled onto his haunches near the burned-out sh.e.l.l of a small building. Moving only his eyes, he scanned along the length of the street, first to the left, and then right... and froze.

Just twenty metres away, crouched against a low, broken wall, lurked nearly a score of traitor Guardsmen. Ragnar saw at once that they were not recent converts, like the rebels on Charys. Their armour was very old, and scribed with layers of blasphemous runes, and their bodies bore signs of terrible mutations. They clutched strange-looking autoguns tipped with serrated bayonets, and searched the darkness with cold, calculating stares. For the moment, their attention was directed to the north, towards the writhing column of Chaos energy.

The hackles on the young s.p.a.ce Wolfs neck rose. Faintly, he sensed movement behind him. Ragnar turned his head and saw several of the Wulfen moving across the rubble field towards him, and then Torvald, Gabriella and Volt. He bit back a curse. The rest of the warband had missed his signal in the darkness.

Moving as quickly as he dared, Ragnar slid backwards until his position was hidden by the same low wall that hid the daemon pack. Thinking quickly, he waved to his companions to head for the wrecked building. To his relief, the Wulfen changed course and slipped into cover behind the building's broken walls. Torvald and the others quickly followed suit, and Ragnar motioned for the Wolfblade to join them.

They made their way cautiously across the broken terrain and through a gaping window frame into the ground floor of the building. Part of the second storey's floor was still intact, as well as two of the structure's four walls. The warband crouched in deep shadow. Ragnar could hear the panting breath of the Wulfen, and saw the eerie glow of Gabriella's pineal eye. They watched Ragnar intently as he crouched down and described quietly what lay in their path.

'We can try to work our way further down the street, cross over, and then work our way back towards the palace,' Ragnar said, 'or we can wait and see if the patrol moves on.'

'Can't we just kill them?' Sigurd replied. The Wulfen shifted on their haunches and growled, as though in agreement.

'Not quietly' the young s.p.a.ce Wolf said. 'We're still more than half a kilometre from the objective-'

Then we'll cut our way through them and charge towards the palace,' Sigurd shot back. 'As you said before, we're wasting time.' The priest rose to his feet, and the Wulfen moved with him.

'Don't be a fool!' Ragnar hissed, bolting to his feet and stepping into Sigurd's path. Rage seethed within him as his body responded instinctively to the Wolf Priest's challenge. The Wulfen picked up on the change and bared their fangs. One of them, possibly Harald, took a step towards Ragnar and let out a warning snarl.

The b.e.s.t.i.a.l sound echoed like the roar of a chain-blade in the confines of the ruined building. Sigurd hissed a warning at the Wulfen, but Ragnar waved him to sudden silence. Everyone froze as something sharp sc.r.a.ped along the ferrocrete above them.

Red light washed over the Wolves. Ragnar looked up and found himself staring into a pair of glowing augmetic eyes.

TWENTY.

The Last Battle It was no simple thing to turn a living world to ash.

Cyclonic torpedoes operated on the principle of igniting a planet's atmosphere and creating a self-sustaining firestorm that spread across entire continents. Kindling such a fire was no easy task, however; the warheads had to be seeded in a complex pattern and their detonations synchronised in such a way as to ensure a proper chain reaction.

The calculations began while the Holmgang was still an hour away from Charys. Like pieces of a puzzle, data about the agri-world's magnetic field, rotational speed and atmospheric density were computed, and orbital patterns for the bombardment took shape. This translated to manoeuvring orders for the fleet as the flagship ch.o.r.eographed insertion patterns for her attendant cruisers. Huge warships shifted positions with funereal grace, taking their places for the dreadful dance to come.

Holmgang's master and her command officers watched the green orb of Charys fill the grand viewports along the command deck and listened as the ordnance officers determined landma.s.s ratios and populadon densities, turning over the last pieces of the puzzle and fitting them carefully into place.

The red-eyed daemon reared back like a striking cobra, its leathery wings spreading like a black hood around its misshapen skull. A squeal of static issued from the battered vox speaker that pa.s.sed for the creature's mouth, and then it began a high, skirling wail that grew louder and more manic with each pa.s.sing moment. More pairs of crimson eyes blazed to life in the shadows of the building's second storey. By ill luck, the Wolves had sought refuge right underneath the lair of an entire pack of the flying daemons.

Ragnar snarled a curse and brought up his bolt pistol, but the daemons were already in flight, leaping from their roost onto the surprised warriors. They moved with preternatural speed, diving low and lashing at their victims with their barbed steel tails. One of the creatures flashed past Ragnar, striking sparks across his breastplate and left arm with its raking tail. It spread its wings and raced skyward, but the young s.p.a.ce Wolf spun on his heel and shot the daemon in the back of the head. The smoking corpse struck one of the ragged walls and crumpled to the earth.

Unholy wails and the thunderous beating of wings shook the musty air as the daemons pressed their attacks. Haegr let out a wild yell and swept his hammer through the air at the darting figures, blood streaming from a ragged wound along the side of his face. Torin ducked low as a daemon swooped overhead, and sliced away one of its wings with a neat stroke of his sword. Other daemons crashed to earth in a tangle of wings and fur as the Wulfen grappled with their swift moving attackers and ripped them apart. The feral Wolves were every bit as swift as their monstrous foes, and their armour was proof against the creatures' barbed tails.

The surviving daemons fled skyward, circling above the ruined building and spreading the alarm far and wide. Bolt pistols barked, and within moments the last of the flying daemons crumpled and fell to the ground, but the damage had already been done. Ragnar could hear the sounds of armoured boots scrabbling across broken stone and heard the answering cries of other winged daemons approaching from every direction. There was only one thing left for the Wolves to do: fight their way to the palace, or die in the attempt.

Ragnar raised his keening blade. 'Follow me, brothers!' he cried. 'Our course is set, and the foe awaits. Let none stand against us. For Russ and the Allfather!'

Sigurd raised his crozius arcanum and began the Benediction of Iron. Torvald threw back his head and howled at the sky, and the Wulfen joined in, singing a hunting song older and more elemental than mankind.

Lightning raged overhead as the Wolves charged from the concealing shadows of the ruined building and crashed head-on into the oncoming platoon of traitor Guardsmen. Wild shots tore through the air, blasting craters from the rubble or ricocheting off ceramite plate. An indigo beam from Gabriella's pistol burned a hole through one onrushing Guardsman and toppled him to the ground. Inquisitor Volt cried an oath to the Emperor and shot another Guardsman full in the chest. The sanctified bolt pistol sh.e.l.l punched through the traitor's desecrated armour as though it were made of tissue, and the blessings carved onto the round's surface consumed the man in a sheet of silver fire.

Ragnar leapt a boulder-sized chunk of masonry and shot an oncoming Guardsman point-blank. The traitor staggered, and he finished the man off with a sweep of his blade. Another traitor lunged at him from the left, slashing at him with dagger-like claws, but he spun beneath the blow and sliced off the soldier's mutated arm at the elbow. Man-made lightning crackled as Torvald laid a traitor low with his rune axe, and Haegr smashed another apart with a furious blow from his thunder hammer.

'Forward!' Ragnar yelled, orientating himself on the distant palace. 'Don't stop for anything.'

Another Guardsman reared up in front of the young s.p.a.ce Wolf and they both fired point-blank. The traitor fell backwards, his head blown apart, even as the autogun sh.e.l.l ricocheted from Ragnar's ancient armour. He vaulted the Guardsman's b.l.o.o.d.y corpse and slid down a slope of shattered rubble, all but tumbling onto the debris choked street beyond.

A storm of sh.e.l.ls criss-crossed over Ragnar's head or dug furrows from the roadway as more enemy patrols fired from either end of the street. Ragnar ducked low and crossed the street at a mn, firing aimed shots at the mob of Guardsmen to his right. Torin and Haegr added their fire moments later as they emerged onto the street and followed the young s.p.a.ce Wolfs lead. Torvald, Gabriella and Volt followed, surrounded by Sigurd and the Wulfen. The inquisitor's armour and robes shone with burning silver runes, and the wards of protection seemed to confound the enemy's aim long enough for the group to reach cover on the far side of the street.

By that point Ragnar was already charging ahead through the lightning shot darkness, stumbling leaping and scrambling over piles of rubble and twisted metal while listening to the sounds of pursuit approaching from the east and west. Shrieks echoed overhead as more of the flying daemons joined the chase. One swept low, angling for Ragnar's back, but a shot from Torin's bolt pistol sent it tumbling to the ground. Shouts, curses and feral howls shook the night. Shots from the traitors' autoguns hissed through the air, but the broken terrain provided ample cover for the running warband. Ragnar couldn't afford a single backward glance. He could only trust that his companions were still behind him.

Ragnar cut the most direct course over the ruins that he could, navigating by the twisting column of Chaos energy rising from the palace roof. The traitors continued to pursue the racing warband, sometimes drawing close enough for a brief exchange of fire with the Wolves. Once Ragnar clearly heard a howl of pain, and he knew that one of the Wulfen had been hit. Steeling himself, the young s.p.a.ce Wolf pressed on.

After several long minutes, the broken walls and piles of debris abruptly ended at the edge of a vast, open square that stretched before the palace gates. The square was pocked with craters and scarred with blackened furrows that were the hallmarks of an orbital bombardment. Ragnar fetched up against the remnants of a shattered wall and cursed under his breath. He ought to have expected a parade ground or marshalling field in front of the palace. This one, near as he could tell, looked to be a kilometre across. Faint signs of movement at the far end revealed mobs of traitor Guardsmen rushing into the square from the west, drawn by the wailing daemons overhead.

Far across the plaza, the palace's tall gates stood open, but for how much longer, Ragnar wondered?

Torin and Haegr pulled up alongside Ragnar, their armoured forms coated in dust and splashes of ichor. Haegr was red-faced and breathing hard from the difficult run, but his expression was set in a determined scowl. Torin peered across the open square and shook his head. 'I don't like the look of that,' he declared. 'We'll be taking fire the whole way across.'

'Best get it over with, then,' Ragnar growled. He peered back over his shoulder, trying to ascertain where the rest of the warband was. He caught a glimpse of Sigurd and a few of the Wulfen, and then saw Torvald, Gabriella and Volt climbing over a pile of rubble just behind him. 'We'll stay dose to the inquisitor and see how well those wards of his work. Let's go!'

Ragnar leapt from cover onto the edge of the square. Moments later Torin and Haegr followed, and then Sigurd, Torvald, Gabriella and Volt. The dark, swift forms of the Wulfen flowed like shadows out of the rubble to either side. They were dose to the southwest corner of the square. Ragnar could see more movement farther north, where a side street emptied into the square, and saw more pursuing mobs approaching from the north and east.

He didn't see the traitors hidden in the rubble to the south until they rose from cover and opened fire.

A storm of sh.e.l.ls tore through the surprised war-band, ringing off the curved surfaces of ceramite plate, and buzzing through the air. Two sh.e.l.ls flattened against Ragnar's armour; another clipped Haegr's right leg, nearly dropping the burly Wolfblade to his knees. One of the Wulfen dropped without a sound, shot through the head.

Gabriella spun, raking the ruins with bursts from her xenotech pistol. Then a sh.e.l.l struck her high in the chest, knocking the Navigator from her feet.

Ragnar roared in anger and opened fire on the ambushers, knocking one traitor backwards with a sh.e.l.l through his helmet. More enemy sh.e.l.ls hissed past the young s.p.a.ce Wolfs head as he leapt for Gabriella. 'Head for the palace,' he cried. 'Go!'

Torvald took up the cry, leading Sigurd and the Wulfen towards the palace. Still firing, Ragnar knelt beside Gabriella. 'Are you hurt?' he asked.

'Fine... I'm fine,' the Navigator gasped. 'It flattened against my armour. Help me up.'

A sh.e.l.l ricocheted from Ragnar's left pauldron. Volt, Torin and Haegr stood their ground, trading shots with the ambushing Guardsmen. The young s.p.a.ce Wolf got his sword arm around Gabriella's shoulders and lifted her to her feet. 'Run!' he yelled, pushing her after Torvald. Holstering his pistol, Ragnar pulled a grenade from his belt, threw it towards the ambushers, and then loped along in Gabriella's wake.

Sh.e.l.ls hissed through the air from three different directions as the Wolves raced across the square. Traitor Guardsmen were charging at the warband, forming an armoured barrier across the warriors' path. Torvald was. .h.i.t again and again, skipping a single step when one of the sh.e.l.ls found a weak spot in his armour, but the old warrior only redoubled his pace, his axe held high. The Rune Priest began a dreadful battle chant as he charged into the fire, a song of split helms and splintered shields, a merciless song of vengeance and red ruin.

If the traitors meant to bar the path to Madox, they would have to stand their ground before the Wolves of Fenris.

Torvald crashed into the enemy ranks like a battering ram, his axe reaping a terrible harvest among his foes. Armour plates split and smoking corpses were flung skyward with each upward sweep of the warrior-priest's blade. The traitors slashed and stabbed at him with chainswords or jagged talons, but none stmck more than once.

The traitors reeled from the priest's terrible onslaught. Then the Wulfen struck. Having suffered a constant hail of sh.e.l.ls since the battle began, the cursed warriors leapt at their foes with bloodthirsty howls and flashing, razor-edged claws. Sigurd charged alongside them, roaring out the Litany of Detestation and crushing skulls with his glowing crozius. The enemy line recoiled from the impact, its survivors pushed step by step back towards the waiting palace, and the mobs of Guardsmen along the flanks rushed forwards, trying to encircle the Wolves.

'Forward!' Ragnar shouted to his companions. 'Break through and keep going.' As he spoke, he snapped a pair of shots into the swirling melee and brought down another foe. Then he wove past the snarling Wulfen and crashed into the line alongside Torvald. His frost blade howled as the young s.p.a.ce Wolf hacked open a traitor's breastplate, and then severed another's claw arm.

An indigo beam flashed past Ragnar's shoulder and punched through two of the struggling foes. Then Volt appeared, brandishing a glowing silver falchion and shouting a prayer of detestation in a terrible voice. The traitors faltered before the furious inquisitor and his powerful wards. Many threw up their arms and staggered away, hissing curses at Volt and the Wolves.

Haegr rushed forward with a bear-like roar and smashed two Guardsmen aside with a sweep of his hammer. Ragnar saw the opening and shouted to Sigurd. 'Forward, priest!' He pointed to the palace gates, just a few hundred metres away. 'Keep moving!'

Sigurd blocked a traitor's sweeping blade, and then glanced quickly at Ragnar and nodded. The Wolf Priest shouted something at a trio of Wulfen close by, and the warriors surged forwards. In moments they had broken through the encirclement and were racing across the parade field, drawing fire from several of the traitors as they went. More of the Wulfen caught sight of their comrades and broke free as well, and within moments the warband was on the move again, firing at the mob of Guardsmen closing ranks in their wake.

Sh.e.l.ls chased after Ragnar and his companions, but the shots were poorly aimed and flew wide of their mark. The war band was widely scattered in the wake of the melee, with Sigurd and a trio of Wulfen well ahead, followed by Torvald, Volt, Gabriella and the rest of Harald's pack. Ragnar, Torin and Haegr brought up the rear, firing shots at the pursuing traitors as they ran.

Ragnar saw that the palace gates were still open, and from what he could see there were no foes waiting on the pockmarked battlements. He turned his attention from the pursuing Guardsmen long enough to try and peer beyond the gateway into the courtyard beyond, but all he caught was a fleeting glimpse of flickering purple flame.

More traitor Guardsmen were racing onto the parade ground from the south and west, but they were too far away to reach the Wolves in time. Once past the gates it would be a short run into the palace, and the confined s.p.a.ces would favour them rather than their foes.

The young s.p.a.ce Wolf turned to shout encouragement to Sigurd, and caught a flash of movement just beyond the palace gates. At first he thought it was a mob of traitors positioning themselves in front of the shifting flames, but then he realised that the flames were in motion, advancing implacably towards the gateway.

Ragnar's eyes widened in realisation. 'Sigurd!' he shouted, but his warning came a moment too late.

Sigurd half-turned, glancing over his shoulder at the young s.p.a.ce Wolf just as the Chaos Dreadnought lumbered through the gateway and opened fire, bathing the Wolf Priest and the trio of Wulfen in a blast of crackling plasma.

The crackle of small-arms fire echoed through the darkness across the Charys starport, punctuated by confused shouts and the cries of dying men. Flames billowed skyward from warehouses or refuelling nodes. .h.i.t by enemy fire, illuminating large sections of the landing field while leaving others plunged into abyssal shadow. Sven and his companions kept to the darkness as they raced back to the command bunker, their preternatural senses alert for signs of danger.

Strange, gibbering howls and blasphemous cries rose from all directions as packs of daemons stalked across the landing field after the fleeing Guardsmen. The regiments had all but ceased to exist. All that remained were isolated platoons fighting for their lives as they searched for some way to escape the slaughter unfolding around them.

Men screamed in the night, calling to the Emperor to deliver them. Sometimes, their plea was answered by a low, savage howl. The sound made Sven's blood run cold. He'd heard it often enough along the mountain slopes and ice fields of home as the Fenrisian wolves hunted their prey. After that there would be terrible, unnatural screams and savage cries as the daemons found themselves fighting a beast every bit as terrible as they were. Sven, Gunnar and Silvertongue shared uneasy looks at every wolf-like howl. Our battle-brothers have gone mad, the Grey Hunter thought dreadfully, feeling his skin crawl. His gaze turned to the north-east, where the company had laid Berek in state on a bier strung with melta charges. Sven pictured Thorin Shieldsplitter kneeling at Berek's feet, his hands trembling as he lifted the access panel to the first charge and awoke its detonation runes. Not long now, Sven thought bleakly.

As they ran the five kilometres to the centre of the landing field, Sven listened for the rising whine of engines, and scanned the dark skies for thruster flames. Nothing had taken off from the doomed star-port as far as he could tell. He feared that when they reached the command bunker they would find a burning, cratered ruin, blown apart by a salvo of powerful Earthshaker artillery sh.e.l.ls.

Instead, the three Wolves arrived to find the low, slope-sided bunkers largely unscathed. Three cargo haulers were parked outside the main entrance, their petrochem engines rumbling. The armoured doors to the bunker were open, but there was no one about.

They surveyed the scene for a moment from the deep shadows beyond the bunker floodlights. 'What do you make of this?' Sven asked, feeling his hackles rise.

Gunnar shook his head. 'No signs of a firefight. Maybe the Guardsmen lost their nerve and ran off?'

'Perhaps,' Silvertongue said, but the skald's voice sounded less than certain. 'Let's check out the back of those trucks.'

The warriors spread out and approached the cargo haulers at a crouching run, their bolters trained and ready. Sven reached the tailgate of the first truck and swung around, aiming into the bed. 'Logic engines, data-slates and a pair of generators,' he declared, lowering his weapon, 'but no soldiers.'

'Same here,' Silvertongue said from the back of the second truck. 'Gunnar? What have you got?'

'Crates and more crates,' the Long Fang said from the third cargo hauler. 'Looks like they were emptying out the bunker. Except...'

The skald looked back at the old Wolf. 'Except what?'

Gunnar nodded towards the bunker entrance, just a few metres away. 'I smell blood,' he replied, 'and it's fresh.'

Silvertongue looked over at Sven and indicated the bunker entrance. The Grey Hunter nodded and edged towards the open doorway, bolter at the ready.

When he was within three metres, he could smell the blood as well, along with the stink of scorched ferrocrete and overheated power cells. Sven crouched low and tried to peer into the tunnel beyond the threshold. Most of the lights in the pa.s.sageway were out, but the Wolfs keen sight picked out a body slumped on the floor just beyond the doorway.

Another savage howl rose into the darkness off to the south. Sven took a deep breath and edged closer.

The body was clearly that of a Guardsman, collapsed against the right wall of the tunnel and sitting in a pool of blood. The soldier's left arm was flung out to the side. In the faint light Sven could see that it had been torn open from shoulder to elbow. More worrying, the soldier had been facing into the bunker when he'd been killed.

Moving carefully, Sven stepped around the body and entered the tunnel. The Guardsman's lasgun lay in his lap, covered in gore. A faintly blinking light on the weapon's power cell showed that it was completely empty. Scorch marks from wild lasgun fire marked the reinforced walls all the way down the narrow pa.s.sageway.

Sven crouched low, aiming down the pa.s.sageway. There was another faint scent in the tunnel, something savage and wild that set his nerves on edge. He was so intent on the strange smell that he didn't hear Gunnar and Silvertongue creep up to the bunker entrance behind him.

'What happened here?' the skald asked.

The Grey Hunter started, his finger tightening on the trigger of his boltgun. Heart racing, he half-turned to his battle-brothers. There's something in here,' he said quietly. 'I don't know what it is, but I can smell it.'

Gunnar looked down at the dead soldier. 'Looks like daemon's work,' he said grimly.

Silvertongue nodded thoughtfully. 'If so, they're between us and the vox-units,' he said. 'Sven, you've got point.'

The Grey Hunter nodded, checking his bolter. Six rounds left, he thought. If there's more than one of them in here, this is going to be a short fight.

Weapons ready, the Wolves made their way into the bunker. Outside, a chorus of hunting howls rose into the fire-lit sky.

The Chaos Dreadnought's armoured hide bore the marks of ten thousand years of battle. Gruesome trophies from dozens of unholy campaigns hung from corroded spikes across its wide shoulders, and its scarred front hull was daubed with evil runes painted in the blood of the innocent. The war machine's sarcophagus was wrapped in black iron chains, and strange charms had been affixed to its metal surface.

Wreathed in a nimbus of multicoloured fire, the oculars of the Dreadnought's pitted helm were as black as the depths of the abyss. Ragnar looked into those depths and knew that no living thing lay within that adamantine sh.e.l.l. The warrior within had been turned to dust by the sorceries of the Rubric of Ahriman, thousands of years past. All that remained was a hateful spirit that longed for nothing but slaughter.

In the middle ground between Ragnar and the Dreadnought, an armoured figure staggered amid three blackened and melted corpses. Smoke rose from Sigurd's armour, and the ceramite plates shimmered with heat, but the power of the iron wolf amulet had saved the priest from a gruesome death. The blast had left the Wolf Priest stunned, and for a moment he seemed unable to comprehend the peril looming before him.

With a groan of ancient servo-motors the war machine took a ponderous step forward. An inhuman growl issued from the Dreadnought's vox-unit as it reached for Sigurd with a huge, saw toothed power claw.

'For Russ and the Allfather!' Ragnar cried, charging between Sigurd and the war machine, and leaping at the Dreadnought's head. Purple and gold flames licked at him like deadly whips as he drew near, leaving long scorch marks across his shoulders and chest. His frost blade struck sparks as it rang from the war machine's heavy armour, but with all his strength he could not penetrate the thick adamantine plates.

Howling in fury, the Dreadnought turned at the waist and swiped its claw at the offending Wolf. Ragnar leapt backwards, just out of reach, but was struck with a hail of sh.e.l.ls as a twin bolter in the war machine's shoulder opened fire. Ma.s.s-reactive rounds smashed against the young s.p.a.ce Wolf's breastplate, driving him to his knees.

More of the Wolves rushed forwards. The Wulfen swept around the Dreadnought's flanks, risking the deadly flames to leap in and rake their claws against the war machine's armour. Enraged, the Dreadnought lashed out wildly against its antagonists, catching one of the Wulfen in its claw and cutting him in two.

Then came a booming laugh, and Haegr strode towards the towering war machine with a berserker grin on his broad face. 'Curse your false G.o.ds for your ill fortune, traitor,' he called, hefting his thunder hammer. 'Mighty Haegr has been looking to give someone a good thrashing and he's chosen you!'

The Dreadnought let out another savage roar and pivoted again, bringing its plasma cannon to bear, but Haegr saw the move and rushed forward with surprising speed. His hammer crackled with power as he swung it in a brutal arc, smashing the cannon's projector to pieces. Sorcerous flames lashed at the burly Wolfblade, but Haegr kept moving, spinning on one heel and smashing his hammer into the war machine's right hip. There was an earth-shaking detonation that sent pieces of torn metal spinning through the air, and the Dreadnought's right leg bent at an awkward angle. The war machine was immobilised.

However, the Dreadnought was far from finished. Howling in rage, it swung at Haegr with its power claw, striking the Wolfblade a glancing blow that hurled him through the air. Haegr hit the ground five metres away, his thunder hammer spinning across the paving stones.

'Haegr!' Ragnar shouted. The big Wolfblade slowly rose to his hands and knees, shaking his head in a daze. A burst of bolter sh.e.l.ls blazed across Haegr's flank as the Dreadnought opened fire again. Other sh.e.l.ls tore into the paving stones and buzzed through the air around the rest of the Wolves. The traitor Guardsmen and their daemon packs were drawing near, pressing in on the warriors from three sides. Ragnar looked back and saw Torvald, Torin, Volt and Gabriella standing back to back, blazing away at the oncoming foes.

The young s.p.a.ce Wolf staggered to his feet, trying to think of some way to stop the daemon-possessed war machine. Suddenly, he caught sight of a swift figure charging the Dreadnought from the right. A Wulfen dashed beneath the daemon's swinging power claw and leapt onto the machine's left leg. Flames enveloped the warrior, burning away his blond fur as the former Blood Claw climbed nimbly onto the Dreadnought's back. The war machine bellowed in fury, groping clumsily with its power claw at the bold warrior on its back, but the Wulfen crouched between the Dreadnought's twin exhaust towers and tore at the engine's power couplings with his charred hands.

Burning like a torch, Harald turned and met Ragnar's eyes. White teeth shone in a wolfish grin, framed by a blackened face. Then the Wulfen threw back his broad shoulders and heaved. Ensorcelled metal tore with a chilling shriek, and the Dreadnought's power plant exploded in a dazzling white flash.

The concussion flattened everyone within ten metres. Molten shrapnel rained down on the Wolves. The Dreadnought's power claw spun end over end across the paving stones less than a metre from where Ragnar lay.

The war machine was gone from the waist up, standing in a shallow crater melted in the stone. Beyond, the palace gates lay undefended. The young s.p.a.ce Wolf leapt to his feet. Sh.e.l.ls buzzed past him as the traitor Guardsmen resumed their fire. 'Let's go!' he shouted to his stunned companions. 'Follow me!'

Ragnar charged past Haegr and the Wulfen and ran beneath the tall gateway. Beyond lay a long, rectangular courtyard, empty of life, and cloaked in deep shadow. The entrance to the palace was at the far end.