Helsreach (18 page)

She would not be so easily shackled. No false-soul’s thoughts would conquer her like this.

‘You swore to me,’ the voice said, ‘that you would walk.’

She smiled in the nothingness, rising through it now like an ascending angel.
Stormherald’s
memories assailed her with renewed vigour, but she cast them aside like leaves in the wind.

You are right, Grimaldus,
she told the voice.
I did swear I would walk.

‘Stand,’ he demanded, stern and cold and glowering. ‘Zarha. Stand.’

I will.

The voice came without warning, emerging from the vox-speakers on the coffin.

‘I will.’

Crew members flinched back from the sound, their hands white-knuckled as they clutched the backrests of their thrones. Only Grimaldus remained where he was, face to face with the glass sarcophagus, his blood-smeared skull mask glaring into the milky depths.

The old woman’s body twitched once, and her head rose. She looked around slowly, her augmetic gaze at last coming to rest on the knight before her.

Rubble scattered in an avalanche, and a dust cloud rose again as the wreckage of fallen buildings went tumbling aside. With a thunderous grinding of gears and the clanging-hammering of a multitude of tank-sized pistons in its iron bones,
Stormherald
raised its immense bulk, metre by painful machine-squealing metre.

The avenue shuddered as its bastion of a right foot pounded onto the road. The sound was loud enough that the nearby buildings still untouched by orkish demolition charges lost their windows in a blizzard of breaking glass.

As the crystal rain fell to the scarred streets below, the Imperator raised its weapons, standing – once more – defiant.

‘Shields up,’ the Crone of Invigilata demanded.

‘Void shields active, my princeps,’ responded Valian Carsomir.

‘Make ready the heart.’

‘Plasma reactor reports all systems at viable integrity, my princeps.’

‘Then we move.’

The chamber shuddered with a familiar rhythm as the god-machine took its first step. Then a second. Then a third. Throughout the metal giant’s bones, hundreds of crew members cheered.

‘We walk.’
The ancient woman turned in her tank, looking at the tall knight once more
. ‘I heard you,’
she told him.
‘As I was dying, I heard you calling me.’

Grimaldus removed his filthy helm. Although he didn’t look a day over thirty, his eyes told his true age. Like windows into his thoughts, they showed the weight of his wars.

‘There is a story of my father,’ he said to Zarha.

‘Your father?’

‘Rogal Dorn, the Emperor’s son.’

‘The primarch. I see.’

‘It is a tale of a once-strong brotherhood, broken by Horus the Betrayer. Rogal Dorn and Horus were close before the Great Heresy. None of the Emperor’s sons were bonded as truly in the years before the malignant darkness took hold of Horus and his kin.’

‘I am listening,’
she smiled, knowing how rare this moment was. To hear a warrior of the Adeptus Astartes speak of their gene-sire’s life outside of their Chapter’s secret rituals.

‘It has always been told among the Black Templars that when the two brothers crusaded together, they would compete for the greater glory. Horus was legendarily hungry for triumph, while my father was – it is told – a more reserved and quiet soul. Each time they made war together, they were said to have made an oath in blood. Clasping hands, they would each swear that they would stand until the final day dawned. “Until the end”, they would say.’

‘That is a touching legend.’

‘More than that, princeps. Tradition. It is our most binding oath, spoken only between brothers who know they will never see another war. When a Templar knows he will die, it is the promise he gives to his brothers that he will stand with honour until he can no longer stand at all.’

She said nothing, but she smiled.

‘Yes, I called you back to this war.’ He nodded, his gentle eyes fixed upon her bionic replacements. ‘Because you made a similar oath to me. Promises like that – they matter more than anything else in life. I could not let you die in shame.’

‘Until the end, then.’

‘Until the end, Zarha.’

Knightfall

Chapter XIII

The Thirty-Sixth Day

DARGRAVIAN.

The 5
th
day. Meritorious defence of the Torshav refuelling complex.

Gene-seed:
Recovered.

FARUS.

The 7
th
day. Discovered in the Kurule Junction surrounded by no fewer than twelve of the slain enemy.

Gene-seed:
Recovered.

THALIAR.

The 10
th
day. Lost in the petrochemical explosions at White Star Point.

Gene-seed:
Unfound / Unrecovered.

KORITH.

The 10
th
day. Lost in the petrochemical explosions at White Star Point.

Gene-seed:
Unfound / Unrecovered.

TORAVAN.

The 10
th
day. Lost in the petrochemical explosions at White Star Point.

Gene-seed:
Unfound / Unrecovered.

AMARDES.

The 11
th
day. Unable to survive 83% body tissue immolation suffered at White Star Point. Granted the Emperor’s Peace.

Gene-seed:
Ruined / Unrecovered.

HALRIK.

The 13
th
day. Eyewitness reports from Armageddon 101
st
Steel Legion relate intense personal courage and heroism in the face of overwhelming odds. Awarded posthumous Crusade Mark of Valiant Conduct for rallying Guard forces at the fall of Cargo Bridge Thirty.

Gene-seed:
Recovered.

ANGRAD.

The 18
th
day. Single-handedly destroyed five enemy tanks at the Breach of the Amalas Concourse. Brought down by alien treachery and lost beneath enemy tank treads.

Gene-seed:
Ruined / Unrecovered.

VORENTHAR.

The 18
th
day. Fought at the Breach of the Amalas Concourse.

Gene-seed:
Recovered.

ERIAS.

The 18
th
day. Fought at the Breach of the Amalas Concourse.

Gene-seed:
Recovered.

MARKOSIAN.

The 18
th
day. Fought at the Breach of the Amalas Concourse. Notably slew an enemy warlord in single combat, atop the alien’s command tank. Awarded posthumous Crusade Mark of Unbroken Courage. Body was incinerated by the enemy in wrathful response.

Gene-seed:
Ruined / Unrecovered.

It was always going to happen.

That did not make the reality any easier to bear, or the defeat any less bitter. But preparations were in place. When it happened, the Imperials were ready.

It happened first on the eighteenth day, at the Amalas Concourse, Junction Omega-9b-34. That was its assigned identifier according to the Imperial hololithic displays.

Colonel Sarren was watching through heavy, fatigue-dulled eyes as the flickering holo-images moved silently back from the location of their barricade. It was such a small thing – no more than a few marking runes blinking back a few centimetres, moving away from the point of the map marked
Amalas Concourse, Junction Omega-9b-34.

Behind the flickering holo-runes was an illusory ramp, which in turn threaded into a much, much, much wider road. Sarren watched the runes falling back along this ramp, and tried to breathe in. In took four attempts, his breath catching in his throat on the first three.

‘This is Colonel Sarren,’ he spoke into his hand-vox. ‘All units in Omega Sector, Subsector Nine. All units, prepare to retreat. Cancel assigned fallback locations, repeat: cancel withdrawal to assigned fallback locations. When the order comes, you will retreat, retreat, retreat to contingency positions.’

He ignored the storm of demands for confirmation, letting his vox-officers respond on his behalf.

‘We did well,’ he said to himself. ‘We did damn well to keep the bastards away for this long.’ Eighteen days – over half a month of siege warfare. He had every reason to colour his bitterness with that fierce core of pride.

The minutes passed in unblinking slowness. An aide came to his side, and quietly asked for his attention.

‘Sir, your Baneblade stands ready.’

‘Thank you, sergeant.’

She saluted and moved away. Finally, Sarren reached for his vox-mic again.

‘All units in Omega Sector, Subsector Nine. Retreat, retreat, retreat. The enemy has reached Hel’s Highway.’

MALATHIR.

The 19
th
day. Missing in action since the successful enemy siege of the Yangara Installation.

Gene-seed:
Unfound / Unrecovered.

SITHREN.

The 20
th
day. Fell in personal combat with an enemy Dreadnought at the Danab Junction, Titan rearming site.

Gene-seed:
Recovered.

THALHAIDEN.

The 21
st
day. Fell in personal combat with an enemy Dreadnought at the Danab Junction, Titan rearming site. Survival depended on extensive and immediate surgical augmentation. Granted the Emperor’s Peace.

Gene-seed:
Recovered.

DARMERE.

The 22
nd
day. Body discovered with massacred
elements
of the 68
th
Steel Legion at the Mu-15 barricades.

Gene-seed:
Recovered.

IKARION.

The 22
nd
day. Body discovered with massacred
elements
of the 68
th
Steel Legion at the Mu-19 barricades.

Gene-seed:
Recovered.

DEMES.

The 30
th
day. Missing in action since the fall of the Prospering Haven habitation sector. Significant civilian casualties recorded.

Gene-seed:
Unfound / Unrecovered.

GORTHIS.

The 33
rd
day. Led a counterattack after the defences at Bastion IV were overrun. Also lost in the engagement were two Warlord-class Titans of the Legio Invigilata.

Gene-seed:
Recovered.

SULAGON.

The 33
rd
day. Missing in action since the failed defence of Bastion IV. Last sighting reported his honourable conduct in the face of overwhelming enemy numbers.

Gene-seed:
Unfound / Unrecovered.

NACLIDES.

The 33
rd
day. Orchestrated and inspired the last stand defence at Bastion IV, seeking to hold the militia fortress until reinforcements could arrive.

Gene-seed:
Recovered.

KALEB.

The 33
rd
day. Part of the counterattack at Bastion IV. Body suffered extreme mutilation and dismemberment at the hands of the enemy.

Gene-seed:
Ruined / Unrecovered.

THORIAS.

The 33
rd
day. Pilot of the Thunderhawk
Avenged –
vehicle destroyed by gargant anti-air fire on routine patrol.

Gene-seed:
Unfound / Unrecovered.

AVANDAR.

The 33
rd
day. Co-pilot of the Thunderhawk
Avenged –
vehicle destroyed by gargant anti-air fire on routine patrol.

Gene-seed:
Unfound / Unrecovered.

VANRICH.

The 35
th
day. Lost in an action to mine the road before an enemy armour division.

Gene-seed:
Recovered.

Nerovar lowers his arm, his attention drifting from his narthecium bracer-gauntlet.

Cador lies on the cracked road, the old warrior’s armour broken and split.

‘Brother,’ I tell Nero, ‘now is not the time to grieve.’

‘Yes, Reclusiarch,’ he says, though I know he does not hear me. Not really. With mechanical dullness, his movements are leaden as he lowers his hand to Cador’s chest.

Around us, the shattered highway is deserted but for the bodies of our latest hunt. The war here is a distant thing, and though the sound of battle in other sectors reaches our ears, this far behind enemy lines, all is quiet and still. The skies are calm and untroubled – unbroken by wrathful turrets.

The sharp
crack!
of the reductor doing its work splits the silence. First once, then again. The meaty, wet sound of flesh being pulled open follows.

Nero lifts his arm, the surgical gauntlet’s armour-piercing flesh drills buzzing, spraying dark, rich Astartes blood against his armour. In his hand, with great care, he holds the glistening purplish organs that had rested within Cador’s chest and throat. They drip and quiver, as if still trying to feed their host with strength. Nero slides them into a cylinder of preserving fluids, which is in turn retracted into his gauntlet’s protective housing.

I have seen him perform this ritual too many times in the past month.

‘It is done,’ he says, dead-voiced, rising to his feet.

He ignores me as I approach the corpse, occupying himself with entering information on his narthecium’s screen.

CADOR.

The 36
th
day. Ambush along enemy-controlled portions of Hel’s Highway.

Gene-seed:
Recovered.

The thirty-sixth day.

Thirty-six days of gruelling siege. Thirty-six days of retreat, of falling back, of holding positions for as long as we are able until inevitably overwhelmed by the insane, impossible numbers arrayed against us.

The entire city smells of blood. The coppery, stinging scent of human life, and the sickening fungal reek of the foulness purged from orkish veins. Beneath the blood-scent is the stench of burning wood, melted metal, and blasted stone – a city’s death in smells. At the last gathering of commanders in the shadow of Colonel Sarren’s Baneblade, the
Grey Warrior,
it was estimated that the foe controlled forty-six per cent of the city. That was four nights ago.

Almost half of Helsreach, gone. Lost to smoke and flame in bitter, galling defeat.

I am told we lack the force to take anything back. Reinforcements are not coming from the other hives, and the majority of the Guard and militia that still fight are exhausted remnants of the regiments, forever falling back, time and again, road by road. Hold a junction for a few nights, then withdraw to the next position when it finally falls.

Truly, we are fated to die in the most uninspired crusade ever to blight the name of the Black Templars.

‘Reclusiarch,’ the vox calls me.

‘Not now.’ I kneel by Cador’s defiled body, seeing the holes in his armour and flesh – some from alien gunfire, two from the ritual surgery of Nerovar’s flesh-boring tools.

‘Reclusiarch,’ the voice comes again. The rune blinking at the edge of my retinal display signifies it as from the
Grey Warrior.
I suspect I am to be begged, again, to fall back to Imperial lines and help in the defence of some meaningless roadway junction.

‘I am administering the rites of the fallen to a slain knight. Now is not the time, colonel.’

At first, the colonel had replied to such words with the worthless, polite insistence that he was sorry for my loss. Sarren no longer says such things. The tens of thousands of lives lost in the last four weeks have utterly numbed him to such personal sentiment. That, too, is almost admirable. I see the strength in the way he has changed.

‘Reclusiarch,’ Sarren’s voice betrays how ruined by exhaustion he is. Were I in the room with him, I know I would feel the weariness in his bones like an aura around where he stands. ‘When you return from your scouting run, your presence is required in the Forthright Five district.’