Ghostmaker (36 page)

Gaunt drew her to one side, out of Gilbear’s earshot. “My men are the best scouts in the Guard, but they’re coming up blind. If this storm is psyker like you say, it’s foxing us. I’m not sure we can find our way to the last recorded position of the Third.”

“And so you suggest?”

“I don’t know,” Gaunt said, meeting her grim eyes. “But if we move much further in, I’m not sure we’ll be able to find our way back…”

“Sir! Commissar!” It was Raglon, the vox-officer. He scrambled back down the muddy slope to Gaunt and held out his headset.

“Third, sir! I’ve got them! Indistinct, broken, but it’s Major Rawne and the others all right. I copy micro-bead traffic, trooper to trooper. Sounds like they’re in a fight.”

Gaunt took the headset and listened. “Can you get a fix?”

Raglon shook his head. “The storm’s fething everything, sir. I can’t get the vox signals to jibe with anything. It’s like… like they’re nowhere and everywhere.”

“Nonsense!” Gilbear barked, snatching the headset from Gaunt and adjusting the dials on Raglon’s caster set. After a moment, he gave up with a curse.

“Try sending to them,” Gaunt told Raglon. “Repeat signal, wide-beam.”

“Message?” Raglon asked.

“Gaunt to Tanith Third platoon. Give status and position signal.”

Raglon dialled it in. “Nothing sir, repeating… Wait! A response! Sir, it reads: ‘Position: Elector’s Palace, Tanith Magna. Rearguard’.”

“What?” Gaunt grabbed the headset again. “Rawne! Rawne! Respond!”

The third were holed up at a bend in the hallway, las-rounds blistering back and forth from a ferocious firefight. Over his micro-bead, Rawne could hear Gaunt’s signal.

“Try them again,” he urged Wheln, who was fumbling with the dials on the vox-caster backpack.

Rawne hated this Gaunt already, this new commander brought from oil-world to lead them. Where was he? What did he care for Tanith?

Wheln interrupted Rawne’s thoughts. “Gaunt signals, sir! He says to withdraw and pull out. Instructs us to rally with him at the following co-ordinates.”

Rawne eyed the print out and threw it aside. It made no sense.

Gaunt was ordering them to abandon the palace and Tanith Magna itself.

“Give me that!” he shouted to Wheln, taking the headset.

“Sir?” Ragon held out his headset to Gaunt. “I don’t understand…” Gaunt took it and listened.

“…won’t give up now… won’t let Tanith fall! Damn you, Gaunt, if you think we’ll give up on the planet now!” Gaunt lowered his hand, letting the headset droop. “Crazy,” Gaunt murmured. “He’s crazy…”

Mkoll shouldered on through the rain. He focussed his mind on reality and shut up the yearnings in his head. Home, the lines… he would make it…

Las-shots scorched at his heels, exploding trees. He glanced backwards and began to run.

An enemy warrior loomed ahead of him and Mkoll blasted with one of his pistols, taking the head clean off.

All around him, in the rain, Chaos warriors were closing.

He ducked into cover as laser blasts puffed up leaf-mould and weed. Two shots to the left. Two to the right. A hit, and body falling and twisting in the grime. Then Mkoll was up and running again.

A shot clipped his head and he went down, full length, into the mud. He tried to rise, but his body was slow and dazed. The mud sucked at him.

A powerful hand took him by the shoulder and yanked him over, the mud sucking as it kissed him goodbye.

Mkoll looked up into the face of Death, the raddled face of an enemy trooper. He shot him point blank and then rose, cutting the knees off the next foe who advanced with a double spit of las-fire from his guns.

Mkoll started shooting wholesale, picking off shadows that loomed between the trees through the storm, and fired on him.

Another shot kissed his flank and burned a scar that would never leave him. Mkoll dropped to one knee, firing with both pistols. He killed left and right. Maximum firepower. Then he realised his captured laspistol was coughing inert gas. He threw it aside.

As he went to reload his issue pistol, a huge form barrelled into him and knocked him down. The Chaos trooper had his bayonet raised to rip Mkoll’s life out of his body.

They wrestled in the mud for a few moments, until Mkoll was able to use his trained skill to roll the other off him.

The sprawling warrior threw his bayonet and it impaled Mkoll’s left knee with a clack of metal on bone and a ripping of tendons. Mkoll faltered and fell.

the enemy was back on him, hands outstretched and a murderous howl on his sutured lips.

They fell back, thrashing, fighting. Mkoll couldn’t reach the Tanith blade in his waistband, but he found the enemy bayonet sticking out of his knee and wrenched it free.

Cursing his life and mourning Eiloni, Mkoll plunged the dagger two, three, four times into the side of his aggressor’s neck, until the bestial warrior shuddered and died.

Mkoll pulled himself free of the corpse, blood jetting from his knee with a force too great for the downpour to diminish.

He stumbled on, armed only with the enemy knife now. He was getting weaker as he lost blood. The foot of his wounded leg was hot with blood, yet cool. His knee didn’t work properly. More fire came his way, cutting the limbs of trees and bursting ripe fruit-flowers.

A deflecting laser round took him in the small of the back, and dropped him, face down, in the mire. Stunned, he writhed, no breath coming, mud sucking into his nose and mouth.

Something made him pull himself up. Something, some urge.

Eiloni. She stood over him, as pale and as beautiful as she had been at twenty.

“What are you doing down there? What will the boys do for supper? Husband?”

She was gone as quickly as she had appeared, but Mkoll was already on his feet when the first of the Chaos spawn closed in on him. On his feet and seared with passion.

Despite the burn, agonising, on his back, Mkoll took the first down with his hands, breaking his neck and ribs and crushing his skull. Capturing the lasgun, he turned, setting it to full auto and cutting down a wave of Chaos infantry as they pressed in on his heels.

He was still shooting, blindly into the night, his lasgun’s power cell almost exhausted and three dozen slain foe about him, when Corbec found him.

Gaunt established a picket perimeter in the sloping forest to guard them as the field medics treated Mkoll. The storm continued to lacerate the sky above and sway the trees with the sheering force of wind and nearly horizontal rain.

Lilith, Gilbear and Gaunt stood by as Trooper Lesp opened his field narthecium and dressed Mkoll’s many cuts and las-burns. The scout’s head was bandaged and his pierced knee had been strapped.

“He’s a tough old dog,” Corbec murmured to Gaunt, sidling up to the commissar.

“He never ceases to impress me,” Gaunt whispered back.

Lilith looked over at them, a question in her face. Gaunt knew what it was: how had this man survived?

“We’re wasting time,” Gilbear said abruptly. “What are we doing?”

Gaunt turned on him, angry, but Lilith stepped between them.

“Major Gilbear. Are you still my bodyguard commander?”

“Yes, lady.”

“No new duties have fallen to you since you were given that task?”

“No, lady.”

“Then shut up and leave this to the commissar and myself, if you don’t mind.”

Gilbear swung around and made off to check the pickets.

Corbec poked his tongue out at the major’s back and made a vulgar noise. Gaunt was about to reprimand him when he saw Lilith was laughing.

“He’s a pompous ass,” Lilith said.

“Indeed,” the commissar nodded.

“I meant no disrespect, inquisitor,” Corbec said hurriedly. “Yes, you did,” Lilith smiled.

“Well, yes, but not really,” Corbec stammered.

“Check the picket, colonel, if you please,” Gaunt said quietly.

“But the major’s gone to—”

“And you trust him to do a good job?” Gaunt asked.

“Not on his current form, no,” Corbec grinned, saluting Gaunt and making an over-lavish bow to the inquisitor before hurrying off.

“You’ll have to excuse my second-in-command. His style of leadership is casual and spirited.”

“But it works?” asked Lilith.

“Yes, but… yes. Corbec is the soundest officer I’ve ever worked with. The men love him.”

“I can see why. He has charisma, courage. Just the right amount of healthy disrespect. Colm is a very attractive man.”

Gaunt paused and looked off into the night where Corbec had vanished.

“He is?”

“Oh yes. Trust me on that.” Lilith turned her attention back to Mkoll. “So, we have your best scout, beaten and shot to hell, come to us out of the maelstrom?”

“Yes.” Gaunt cleared his throat. “Mkoll’s the best I have, all in all. Looks like he’s been through fething hell and back.”

“Feth… nice word. Good weight. I’ll be using that if you don’t mind.”

Gaunt was puzzled. “Mind? I—”

“What does it mean?”

Gaunt suddenly got a very clear and vivid mental picture of what it literally meant. He and Lilith were acting it out. “I — I’m not sure…”

“Yes you are.”

Lightning struck a tree nearby, causing Bluebloods to run yelping for cover. The detonation was like a slap in the face for Gaunt. His mind cleared, sober.

“Don’t play your mind tricks with me, inquisitor,” he snarled.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do. Twisting a feeling of jealousy in me against Corbec. And the images you were broadcasting, feth is one of the Tanith tree-gods. Not some barbaric euphemism. I’ll work with you, but not
for
you.”

Lilith smiled solemnly and held up her hands. “Fair point I’m sorry, Gaunt. I’m used to making allies where I can’t find them, using my powers to twist wills to my purpose. I suppose it’s strange for me to have a willing comrade.”

“Such is the way of the inquisitor. And I thought the commissar’s path was lonely.”

She stared into his eyes and another smile lit her pale face. Gaunt wondered if this was another of her guiles, but it seemed genuine.

“We both need to find and conquer the source of this,” Gaunt told her, gesturing up at the storm. “We both want victory here. You’ll find me a much more able ally if I am in full command of my powers, rather then spellbound by you.”

She nodded. “We both want victory here,” she said, repeating him. “But that’s not all I want,” she added, mysteriously.

Gaunt was about to pick her up on it when she shivered, pushing back her cowl and running a hand through her fine hair. The commissar-colonel realised how strained she looked.

“This storm… it’s really hard for you, isn’t it?”

“I’m at my limit, Ibram. The warp is all around me, tugging at my mind. I’m sorry about before. Desperation.”

Gaunt stepped towards her, ushering her towards Mkoll. “You said you liked to make allies where you couldn’t find them. Why so hard on Gilbear?”

She grinned. “He loves it. Are you kidding? A powerful woman ordering him around. He wants me so bad he’d die for me.”

Now Gaunt grinned. “You’re a scary woman, Inquisitor Lilith.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Just promise you won’t use such base tactics on me.”

“I promise,” she said. “I don’t think I need to.” Gaunt suddenly became aware of how long he had been looking into her eyes. He broke the gaze. “Let’s talk to Mkoll.”

“Let me.”

“No,” he corrected. “Let us.”

Gilbear walked the picket in the slicing rain. Invisible amphibians croaked and rattled in the wet gloom. By a fold of trees, watching the left flank, he found two Tanith Ghosts occupied in trying to light smokes from a damp tinder box.

Gilbear pounced at them, kicking one in the gut and punching the other over onto his back.

“What is this?” He seethed. “Are you watching the flank? No? You’re too busy lighting up and joking!”

One of the men protested and Gilbear kicked him again. In the face, the ribs, the kidneys as he went down. He kept kicking.

“There’s a universe of hate out there, and you can’t be bothered to watch for it!”

The other Ghost had risen to defend his fallen, balled-up comrade, and Gilbear turned on him, punching him out, then laying in with the boot.

A big hand caught the Blueblood major by the shoulder.

“There’s a universe of hate waiting in here too,” Corbec said.

He dropped Gilbear with a headbutt that split the Blueblood’s forehead. Then Corbec whaled in with two hard punches to the mouth and chest. The latter was deflected by the carapace segments.

Gilbear sprawled in the mud, pulling Corbec down on him in a threshing frenzy.

“You want me, Ghost? You got me!” he growled.

“Not before time,” Corbec agreed, snapping Gilbear’s head backwards with his fist. “It’s been a long while coming. That was for Cluggan, rest his soul.”

Gilbear folded his legs up and propelled Corbec headlong over him with a kick. The big Ghost slammed down against a tree stump, upside down, the sharp stump-ends raking his back.

Now Gilbear was on his feet, fists balled. Corbec leapt up to meet him, throwing off his cape, fury in his eyes. They edged around the muddy clearing in the slanting rain, water washing off them and sluicing the blood from their wounds. Punch and counter-punch, followed by bellow and charge. The two beaten Ghosts were up on their feet, cheering and jeering. Others, Ghosts and Bluebloods both, congregated in a ring as the two officers battled by lightning flash.

Gilbear was a boxer, a heavyweight champion back on Volpone, with a stinging right hook and a terrifying capacity to take punishment. Corbec was a wrestler, Pryze County victor three years running, at the Logging Show. Gilbear bounced on spread legs, throwing humiliating punches. Corbec came in low, soaking them up, clawing his hands around Gilbear’s throat.

With a roar, Corbec drove in under the whistling fists and slammed Gilbear backwards through a break of trees. They tumbled together down a short incline into a creek bed swollen with storm water. The Ghost and Volpone audience hovered at the rim of the creek, looking down and chanting.