Deathwing (9 page)

He looked into his enemies' eyes.
He felt an almost electric shock
pass through
his
body
as
their
minds
made
contact. The
Librarian
found himself
confronted
by
a
foe
that
was
ancient,
implacable,
deadly.
His
mind
reeled
under
the assault
of its ferocious
will. He felt an urge to kneel. to do homage to this
ardent
being.
He
knew
that
it
was
worthy
of his respect.

With
an
effort,
he
managed
to
restrain
himself.
He
reminded
himself
that
this
was
the
being
that
had
destroyed his people.
He
made
to
throw
himself
at
it,
to
aim
a
killing
blow
with
his
good
arm.
He
sprang,
but
his
legs
gave
way underneath
him,
and
the
Patriarch caught
him
easily,
almost
gently,
and
held
him
at
bay
with
its
claws.
The
long ovipositor
on its tongue
flickered out,
but
did not touch
him.

Suddenly
,
he found
himself engaged
in a bitter, psychic
struggle.
Tendrils of alien
thought
insinuated
themselves
into his mind. He blocked
them, chopping
them
off
with
the
blades
of
his
hatred.
He countered
with a
psychic
bolt
of
his own, but
it was stopped
by an ancient
will that
seemed impervious to outside
influence.

The
Patriarch
exerted
his full
power,
and
Two
Heads
Talking
felt
his defences
begin
to
buckle
under
the
terrible pressure.
The
cold, focused power
of
the
Genestealer
was
enormous.
Even
fresh,
Two
Heads
Talking
doubted
he could
have
matched
it.
Now,
strength
fading because
of
his
wounds,
exhausted because
of
his
earlier struggles, he could
offer no contest
at all.

His outer
screen
fell, and
the
Patriarch
was
within
his
mind,
sorting through
his
memories, absorbing
them
into
itself. For a second,
while it was disoriented,
he
tried
a
psychic
thrust.
The
Stealer countered
easily,
but
for
a
moment,
they met mind to mind.

Strange
alien memories and
emotions
washed
over the
Librarian, threatening
to drown him. He
saw
the
Patriarch's past spread
out
before
him.
He
saw
the
long
trail
that
led through
despoiled
worlds
and past
many
children.
He
saw
the hive world it had
fled from in a fast
ship,
just
before the
virus
bombs
fell.

With
a
shock,
he
realised
that
he
had
been
there
himself
-
on
'Thranx
and
that
the
creature
had
recognised
his
aura from then.
He saw the
ship
crippled by an Imperial battlebarge
and
barely able to make the
jump into warp space.

He experienced the
long
struggle
to
return
to
normal space
and
the
frozen
eternities
it
took
to escape
and
crash-land the
crippled ship
on
a
new,
virgin
world.
He
saw
the
pitifully
few survivors
emerge;
only
a
few purestrains
and
three hybrid
techs.
He saw them make axes from the
wreckage of the
ship
for trade
with
the
tribesmen,
and
he
watched
them start
the
long struggle
to establish
themselves
in a hostile
world.

He was gratified as
the
web of psychic contact
expanded
with each
new brood
member.
He
felt
cold
satisfaction
at
the destruction
of
the
tribes
and
the
knowledge
that
soon
a
new
industrial
base
would
be
built.
The
ship
would
be repaired. New worlds to conquer
would be within reach.

For a bleak moment, despair
filled Two Heads
Talking. He saw the
Stealer planning
to spread
to and
infect
new
worlds. And
he could
do nothing
to stop
this
old, invincible entity.
He almost gave
in.

He could
see
no way out.
Death loomed, and
that
thought
gave
him pause.
He knew what he must do. Part of
him
gave way before the
Patriarch's assault;
another
part willed his spirit towards
oblivion.

He
stood
once
more
in
the
cold
place,
sensed
far-off
the
spirit
of
the
Emperor,
bright
and
shining
as
a
star.
Near
at hand
were the
angry
ghosts.
The Patriarch was a hungry,
ominous
presence,
determined to enslave
him.
Somewhere
in the
distance,
he could
hear the
thunderous
pinions
of Deathwing coming to claim him.

Too
late,
the
Patriarch
realised
what
he
was
doing
and
tried
to
break
the
link.
Two
Heads
Talking focused
all
his hatred,
anger
and
fear
and
held
the
link
open,
a task
made
easier
by
their
earlier
intimate
contact.
The
Patriarch struggled
frantically, but
could
not
free himself.

The wingbeats
came closer, drowning
the
Librarian
in
a
roar
that
might
have
been
a
hurricane
or
his
own
last
breath.

From the
middle of a vortex
of
agony,
he
was
borne
up
into
darkness.
The
maelstrom
sucked
in
the
Patriarch.
It
died, slain by the
Librarian's death
agony.

Briefly
,
Two
Heads
Talking
felt
his
foe
vanish,
felt
the
sense
of
loss
from
its
brood.
As
the
Librarian's
spirit
rose higher, he reached
out
and touched
the
minds of his comrades,
bidding
than
farewell,
telling
them
what
they
must
do. Then
Two Heads
Talking knew no more.

Cloud Runner felt the presence
as
he
stared
into
the
fire.
He
looked
up
and
saw
Two
Heads
Talking standing
before him. The Librarian looked pale. His face was
distorted
by
agony,
his
body
gashed
by
dreadful
wounds.
He
knew
that this
was a spirit vision,
that
the
old Shaman was dead.

For
a
moment,
he
thought
he
heard
the
sound
of
titanic
wingbeats
and
saw
the
mightiest of thunderbirds
soaring toward
the
moon.
The presence
vanished,
leaving
Cloud
Runner
feeling
cold
and
alone.
He
shivered
in
the
sudden chill. He knew he had
been touched
by Deathwing's passing.

He looked toward the others
and
knew that
they
had
seen
the
same thing.
He raised a hand
in a gesture
of
farewell
and then
swept
it down as
a signal for the
Marines
to advance.

Filled with determination, the
white-armoured Terminators marched toward the distant
city.

Cloud
Runner
sat enthroned
and
looked
down
upon
his
visitors.
His
people
were
drawn
up
in
long
ranks,
forming
a corridor along
which the
Marines advanced
warily. They
were led by a Captain and
a
Librarian.
From
the
doorway,
the huge
armoured
form
of
a
dreadnought
performed
overwatch.
Cloud
Runner
found
the
sight
of
that
old,
familiar
form comforting.

He
saw
the uneasy,
worshipful
faces
of
his
people
look
to
him
for reassurance.
He
kept
his
face
grim
and
calm.
He sensed
the
Battle Brothers' unease
at the
strangeness
of
the
folk
within
the
great lodgehouse.
They
held
their
bolters ready,
as
if expecting violence
to erupt
at any
moment.

Cloud Runner was glad to see
them. Since Lame Bear's death,
he
had
felt
very
alone.
He
spotted
several
familiar
faces among
the
oncoming
Imperial
warriors.
Memories
of
the
old days
in
the
Chapter
House
flooded
back.
He
took
three deep
breaths, touched
the
ancient,
white-painted
suit
beside
him, for luck, and
then
spoke.

"Greetings
,
Brother Sky Warriors,"
he said.

'Greetings
, Brother Ezekiel,' said
the
Marine Leader suspiciously.

Cloud
Runner
rubbed
his
facial
scar-tattoos
with
one
gnarled
hand,
then
grinned.
'So
they
made
you
a
Captain.
eh

Broken Knife?"

"Yes
,
Brother
Ezekiel.
They
made
me a
Captain
when
you
failed
to
return."
He paused, obviously
waiting
for
an explanation.

"It took you
ten
years
to come looking for the
Dark Angels'
honour
suits?"
the
old man asked
with a hint of mockery.

"There
has
been
war:
a
great
migration
of
Orks through
the
Segmentum
Obscura.
The
Chapter
was
called
to
serve. During that
time the absence
of our Terminators was felt grievously.
You have
an explanation for this,
of course."

The Marines
stared
at Cloud Runner coldly. It was as
if he was a stranger
to these
grim
youths,
or
worse,
a
traitor.
He remembered
the
first
time
he
had
stood
among
Marines
and, for
the
first time
in
long
years,
became
aware
of
their uncanny
quality. He felt isolated
and uneasy.

"These
are not
our people.
Cloud Runner.
What happened
here?"
asked
a
deep
rolling
voice.
He
recognised
it
as
the dreadnought's.
Suddenly,
he did not
feel so
alone, Hawk Talon was there,
hooked
into
the
life-support systems
of
the

dreadnought
.
There was at least
one person present
who was on
his
side,
who
was
old enough
to
understand.
It
was like their first meeting under
the
shadow
of Deathwing, when he had sighted
that
one
familiar face among strangers.

"No
, honoured
forefather. they
are not.
They
are the untainted survivors
of the
Genestealer conquest."

He heard
the
shocked
murmur
of
the
Marines,
saw
the
way
that
they
instinctively brought
their weapons
to
bear
on the
lodge
people.

"You had
better
explain, Brother Ezekiel,' said
Broken Knife.

Cloud
Runner
found himself
telling
his
tale
to
the
astonished
Marines.
He
told
them
of
the
Terminator
company's landing
and
of
their
discovery
of
the
devastation
that
had
been
wrought
by
the
Genestealers.
He
told
them
of
the Gathering
and
of
the
choice
the
warriors
had
made
-
of
Two
Heads
Talking's
spirit
walk
and
the
Terminators'
final march
on
the
city.
He
spoke
to
them
in
the
intricate
syntax of
the Imperial tongue,
not
the
language
of
the
Plains People.

"We
marched through
the
black gates
and
were
assaulted
by
Stealers.
At
first
they
seemed confused,
as
if
they
had suffered a
great
shock.
They
attacked
in
small groups
with
no
pattern
and
no
guiding
intelligence,
and
we
cut
them down.