~ List Of Characters ~

The XIII Legion ‘Ultramarines’

Timon Alcaeus, Captain, 10th Company

Nycanor, Honour Guard Standard Bearer

Titus, Honour Guard Veteran Battle-Brother

Glaucio, Honour Guard Veteran Battle-Brother

Solon, Honour Guard Battle-Brother

Zeno, Honour Guard Battle-Brother

Tiberius, Apothecary

The XVII Legion ‘Word Bearers’

Nivalus, Captain

[Message 3314157.883 Authenticated]

[Alcaeus, T.; Captain; XIII Legion]

[Received as narrow-beam datapacket at Veridian Mandeville relay Station Tertius on 785.4.007.M31]

[‘I’ve arrived ahead of schedule. Forward recon elements currently initiating planetfall. Orbital augurs confirm presence of greenskin forces, though numbers are significantly lower than earlier tactical projections. Require confirmation of mission parameters with Ghaslakh campaign and have received no reply to previous transmissions. Awaiting response.’]

[Message end.]

Were his blade sharpened steel and not the dulled iron of a duelling gladius, I would be dead.

‘You have proven yourself a capable swordsman Nivalus.’

‘I do not require your approval Alcaeus. And I will not be damned by faint praise.’

‘I allowed you that first point.’

It had emboldened him and his confidence allowed me to score the next two.

‘But the last one. I won that through skill alone.’

‘Next to score will be the victor.’

‘Aye.’

‘And I am grateful that you have made me earn this triumph.’

Nivalus’ weapon is low, ready to cut up towards my midriff or block my downwards stroke. I focus on the mass of his torso as he closes.

It is an inescapable truth of combat that to defeat, to drive his blade into your heart, your opponent must close. He must come towards you. To triumph, you need only make sure you are ready to exploit his movement.

I see the shift in Nivalus’ stance as he moves his weight onto his front foot; the tightening of his muscles as they prepare for impact. I hear the crack of his knuckles as he grips his weapon and the low rumble in his throat as he summons his strength. I raise my gladius up and back over my right shoulder, extending my free hand outwards for balance.

Nivalus shoots forward.

I throw my blade.

‘I would sooner relinquish my rank and have the service studs pulled from my skull than cede command of this mission to you. The Ghaslakh Empire must end. We cannot advance the Crusade with this scourge at our back. This is our chance to find the warlord and slay him. This mission is too important to fail.’

Humility was for those scared by their own potential. Or the cowl liars use to shroud their intent. It was the gateway through which doubt and indecision cut its way into a warrior. I would not be laid low by such insidious means. I was Captain Timon Alcaeus. An Ultramarine. A chosen son of Guilliman.

‘It is one warlord amongst many, and I would show me more respect, brother.’

‘You misunderstand, cousin.’

I watched the slight tear a furrow in Nivalus’ brow. Yet, I am unrepentant. He is not my brother. The grey of his armour marks him as one of the XVII Legion, a Word Bearer. We are brothers in battle, perhaps. Brothers in cause no doubt. But his blood is not my blood.

‘I offer no disrespect. You are a capable commander, and your victories are many. This is about nothing more than what is true and what is right. I would no sooner assail a citadel armed with only a sling, than I would support a decision that may weaken our chances of success. By the honour of Guilliman, I am the right instrument for this task. The Ultramarines will lead the hunt for the Orks.’

‘Then we are at an impasse. We should petition the other captains for a decision.’

‘Unlike the Word Bearers, the Ultramarines were not bred to settle disagreements with words. You will have to honour your claim in the arena.’

‘Your tongue cuts before your blade can leave its scabbard.’

‘I merely state the facts as I see them. If the truth of them offends you, than I can offer little solace.’

‘Then you believe the two to be the same? Fact and truth?’

‘They are as inseparable as life and death.’

‘The Universe is not shaped by your truth, Alcaeus. Someday you will be forced to accept that.’

Silence.

We’d endured forty-seven days of silence.

It was almost two months since we’d left the muster at Calth and begun this mission of glory and honour.

The Orks of the Ghaslakh Empire were nowhere to be found.

I looked out through the main occulus into the blank stares of dark moons and uninhabitable gas giants. ‘Where are you?’.

I forced myself to sit more upright in my command throne, hoping no one had noticed the slight crease in my posture. The bridge of a strike cruiser was no place for laxity.

The command throne was a circular dais, raised on winding, iron steps above the dozens of crew that manned the primary stations. Below, serfs ran messages between them and the banks of servitors wired into the cogitators in the lower gallery.

Nowhere on the ship was I more visible.

And elsewhere, tens of thousands of indentured warriors lived to enact my word. Braving plasma poisoning, and perishing in the infernal heat of the engine furnaces. Their lives were worth my best.

And yet, even the weight of that responsibility, the honour of that duty could not fully marshal my optimism.

‘Two months. It has seemed far longer.’

The limited information we’d been given by the Sons of Horus was next to useless. Old orbital surface scans and sensor-array data had done little more than waste our time. Still, we had persevered.

Driving in-system, we had engaged and eradicated small pockets of Orks. Yet, those we encountered were fractured warbands; scattered groups, each warring under a different banner.

Titus and Glaucio approached the dais. Their boltguns held lose across their chests. The polished blue of their armour seeming out of place next to the worn grey of the bulkhead behind them.

‘Captain, if there had been a concentrated force of xenos here, then they have been gone for some time.’

‘Aye, Glaucio. Perhaps Horus already knows this. Perhaps he had summoned us to Calth so that Lord Guilliman might finally repair his bond with Lorgar.’

‘Or, perhaps he has us chasing shadows, simply because he can.’

I crushed Titus’ query before it could take root in my mind. Horus was the Emperor’s chosen Warmaster. Of all of us, his motivations were beyond scrutiny. No. We simply had not found them yet.

The system was large, its planetary bodies cavernous.

‘Orbital scans complete. Zero contacts returned. Atmospheric disturbances negative. Radiation levels within normal tolerances. Planetary scan complete. New coordinates required.

‘Voxmaster. Patch a link to the Sothan orbital.’

‘Link ready, captain.’ The Voxmaster, perhaps thirty Terran standard, swung around in his chair to face me. His uniform was immaculate. It’s regal-blue seams pressed to razors. The man’s eyes were full of the burning surety they had been the day we set off. His dedication was total. His belief in me unwavering. His faith humbled me. Shamed me.

Would it be that I could follow Horus with such blind obedience. Were the question is my mind about his mission weakness or the favourable consequences of an emperor-gifted strategic intellect. I swallowed a sigh of mental exhaustion and picked up the vox-receiver.

‘I’ve arrived ahead of schedule. Forward recon elements currently initiating planetfall. Orbital augurs confirm presence of greenskin forces, though numbers are significantly lower than earlier tactical projections. Require confirmation of mission parameters with Ghaslakh campaign and have received no reply to previous transmissions. Awaiting response.’

Titus’ face creased at the curt nature of my transmission. Though he had it better, I knew Glaucio felt the same.

‘The bridge is no place to let the mask of duty slip.’

I subvocalised my words so that only the two Space Marines could hear me. We had bled together enough, that our bond went beyond rank. But it would have been remiss of me not to remind them of their charge.

‘My apologies, captain.’

‘Speak.’

‘I feel there will soon come a time, when we will need to be more open, brother. There could be space for freer thinking in this Legion.’

‘A debate for another day, perhaps.’

‘The link is still live lord. Shall we sever or retransmit?’

‘Guilliman strengthen me. It is the forty-seventh time I have sent an update and received no word in response. Severe it, my patience is gone.’

‘Then all you can do is hope hat no one above the rank of First Sergeant picks up that message, brother.’

To those that did not know him, Nycanor often seemed too light of nature. Untroubled by even the direst of circumstance, and unconcerned with rank or accolade, many had questioned my decision to have him carry the company banner. Time had taught me better. Nycanor was neither a callous fool, nor trite clown. He simply accepted the truth of our lives to the fullest extent. We were born to die. And despite any action, sooner or later we would fight our last. Until then, we need only do our duty, and pay little heed to anything else.

His was a refreshing, if fatalistic council.

‘Indeed. First Sergeant, I doubt captains are listen–’

‘Multiple subjects. Priority. Density. Signatures determined. Xenos. Classification: Ork.’

‘Surveyor confirm.’

‘Information confirmed, lord.’

‘Validity? Displacement?’

‘Undetermined, lord.’

A ripple of red datastream ran down the cable that connected the base of his skull to the other crew, hunched in serried rows in front of him. They twitched, mouths stuttering as they interpreted the ship’s sensory inputs.

‘A large mountain-range covers almost ninety percent of the planet’s surface. Our augurs cannot penetrate them. There must be something in the ore.’

The long spindles of his fingers indicated a swirling mass on the left-hand side of his display console. ‘There’s some sort of electrical storm that hides in this cloud cover, lord.’

‘Helm, get us to assault range.’

‘At once, lord. Powering reserve drives for swift entry.

The Pride of Panpocro shuddered as the helmsman fed power to its engines.

‘Captain.’

‘We do it the old-fashioned way, brother. Let us go take a look with our own eyes.’

‘I will assemble the remaining recon squads in the launch-bay.’

‘Voxmaster, notify me as soon as we have word from Calth.’

‘Aye, lord.’

‘With me brothers! For Ultramar’s sake, I do hope this is not another fool’s errand.’

‘Yes, brother. It will be good to get this out of the way, then rejoin the Legion. Your conversation has gone from bad to worse.’

Glaucio took up at my right. Together with Nycanor, we entered the descender shaft and awaited drop to the lower decks.

‘No more hiding, xeno scum!’

‘We are set to depart, lord.’

‘Understood.’

The serf bowed and hurried back along the gantry.

I was equidistant from the engines below and the command station above. About as quiet a place as could be found. In the coming months, I’d have little time with nought, but my own counsel to consider. The peace was a luxury I planned on indulging a moment longer.

Every turn of the station, I caught a brief sight of the Pride of Panpocro. The strike cruiser was beginning to ease out of dock. A shoal of support craft floated away from it as its engines powered up.

‘How… How faired your preparation this last month Nivalus?’

‘It seems your Legion is destined to humble mine, Alcaeus.’

‘You would find your mind eased, cousin, if you saw not a barrier, but a challenge. An opportunity to rise up in betterment. Let us be examples.’

‘Examples? You Ultramarines have made quite enough of those in your short history.’

‘You speak of Monarchia. I have not forgotten your threats that day, Word Bearer.’

‘Nor would I want you to. I want you to think on them, to heed their warning. We all must carry the burden of our actions. When the day comes for you to face the cost of yours, I would hate for you to feel deceived. I’m right here Ultramarine. As clear and present as your cruelty that day.’

‘Aside from dealing with the Ork threat, this muster here at Calth is designed to heal the rift between our Legions. But if you cannot summon the strength to mend your feelings, then when this is over, we can again see if your skill can backup your zeal.’

‘I will see you again at your mission’s end.’

‘That’s twice you’ve shown me your back Word Bearer. I will not let it stand a third time!’

‘Good fortune, Alcaeus. May the Emperor guide you to the glory you deserve.’

‘And may He keep you on the right path in the coming campaign.’

‘We have been walking the path he chose for us since Monarchia.’

‘Tell our escorts to get an angle on those cannons and destroy them!’

Another near miss and the hold glowed a fractured red. A series of warning lights flickering in frenetic doubts as the xenos guns continue to search for us.

‘Aye tell them we did not come all this way to get killed before we laid eyes on an Ork.’

Glaucio gripped the overhead assault-rail for support. He was a mountain of a warrior, fully head and shoulders taller than the next largest man in the company. Yet, his dislike of aerial insertions seemed to shrink him and inch or two.

‘We can’t march everywhere, brother.’

‘We were reborn to fight, not to trust the machinations of these machines.’

‘We’ll be on the ground soon enough, brother. Perhaps then Zeno can stop twitching.’

Cradling his plasma gun, Solon walked past me to stab at Titus and jerked a thumb back toward to Zeno. The last of my honour guard, Zeno was flexing and unflexing his fingers, his hands hovering near the bolt pistols maglocked to his hips.

‘It’s no worse than the hum of that stasis bomb of yours, Solon.’

‘I didn’t hear you complain when it vapourised that warmachine on Elsar V.’

‘You just weren’t listening hard enough.’

I was glad of the levity. Anything to distract my mind from the thought that this was a fool’s errand. That we’d reach the ground, only to discover another small, isolated Ork force. I committed a full three companies to the assault. The hundred Ultramarines split across six Stormbirds – enough warriors and gunships to cover a continent in a day’s march. If the Ork leader was down there, we’d find him.

If he was down there.

‘Emperor slay my doubt. Reinforce the iron of my resolve.’

I clutched the hilt of my gladius and moved to the front of the formation. Behind us, another thirty of our brothers prepared themselves.

Where the more savage Legions would have indulged in pre-battle rituals – swearing oaths of blood and adorning their armour with fetishes – we marshalled ourselves and stood in silent focus. Our minds fixed on the victory to come.

‘Fifteen seconds to egress.’

I summoned my squad to the assault hatch as an amber chrono-rune flashed on my display.

‘Ten seconds.’

The jarring tug of the mag-clamps in my boots braced me against the sharp deceleration of the lander. The compensators in my armour hissed, absorbing the bone-breaking impact as the gunship touched down. The assault ramp slammed to the ground

‘Egress! Go!’

I was on the ground in a heartbeat. An arching flat of baked riverbed, backed by a dense mountain range spread out before me.

I blinked away all but the closest of targets. A trio of Orks lurched towards me, their monstrous jaws stretched in hateful snarls. My bolt pistol kicked in my grasp as I fired. The first Ork was punched from his feet as three rounds slammed into his chest. The second and third I shot in the head. One stopped running, toppling as its skull blew apart. The other kept coming, too stupid to realise it was already dead. Its body travelled another ten paces before the reality of the situation stole its motion.

Glaucio and Nycanor were beside me then, their weapons a vengeful chorus as they fired on the greenskins. I advanced as Titus emerged, pushing further forward as Solon and Zeno joined him on the ground. To our flank, a dozen more gunships deployed their cargo to battle. Ultramarines all, they drove deep into the Ork horde. An armoured spear of blue ceramite and roaring bolters.

An Ork at he edge of my peripheral vision drew my attention. The beast was nothing but muscle and sinew. Its shoulders looked like organic pauldrons, its skin an armoured sheath. It stretched its mouth and roared a challenge.

‘My blade will end you bastard breed!’

Rows of teeth – each the size of the gladius locked to my hip – glistened yellow in the sunlight. Its fist-sized eyes bulged as if in protest to being squeezed inside its skull. Everything about the creature screamed death. It rushed towards me, malice etched in its every movement. Its roar was less a battlecry, and more a growl of frustration that it was not already fighting.

I ducked low, as its chainaxe swung out for my head. Dropping to one knee to avoid a backswing that never came, the brute slammed into me. The metal plate welded to its shoulder denting my breastplate as it sent me sprawling. The beast snarled, fouling its blow as the bolt-round tore a chunk from its bicep.

I rolled and sprung to my feet, turning in time to fire into the Ork’s chest as it rounded on me. The meat of its torso shuddered and ruptured from the explosive impact.

Fuelled by rage it rained down blows on me. I drew my gladius, gritting my teeth as I blocked an attack meant to cleave me shoulder to hip.

Our weapons spun as they pressed against one another. It snarled and threw a punch with its full strength. The blow hammered against my helm. A storm of pain spread through my skull. The greenskin struck me again, my vision fogged. The tang of copper filled my mouth as it pooled with blood. Another blow and I toppled.

The first round severed the Ork’s punch arm under the elbow. The beast had just enough time to swivel its head and gawp at the stump, before a second round blew its head off.

‘A little close there, Titus.’

‘There was time enough, just be thankful I had two rounds left.’

I took a moment to reassess. The Ork dead littered the field. Their pulped and mangled bodies like discarded meat on a butcher’s table. Those who could, had peeled off and gone into full retreat heading for the mountain range ahead of us.

‘A pitiful rabble. They lack the courage of an ordered withdrawal. Running will do them little good.’

‘This is not victory, brother. This wasn’t the fight. Not in any sense that matters. This was just posturing. The real fight is still to come. Theoretical – to find the warlord, all we have to do is continue to slaughter the lesser chieftains. Practical – we’d have little opportunity to test such a theory.’

‘Well you’ve certainly shown them the strength of our blades.’

‘Aye, we’ve done more than bloody their noses and crack a few bones.’

‘Target incoming, from our rear.!’

‘And to the west.’ Solon was resting on one knee fifteen meters to my left. Wisps of superheated plasma vapour rose from the barrel of his gun.

‘We’ll fare no better turning east.’ Nycanor was just ahead of me, the company banner flecked with enemy blood.

They were right. A thick cloud of charcoal smoke was obscuring the horizon. The fog – a by-product of the crude engines of Ork warmachines – heralded a sizeable threat.

‘How is it that they have responded to us so quickly? We checked the augurs before insertion. Aside the mob we engaged, they were no more Orks within a day’s march. We should have had ample time to fortify our position.’

‘Emperor knows, but they are here nonetheless.’

‘Form up on my squad, we move in ninety seconds. Pilots, get back to the Panpocro. Rearm and prepare to deploy our reserves. Keep all channels open and clear.’

I checked the mission chronometer at the edge of my display. We’d been on the ground under five minutes.

‘Report.’

‘Two casualties. Brother Ilyus from the 3rd Squad and Sergeant Seneca from 7th.’

‘Guilliman’s steel was with us.’ Glaucio’s words were for my benefit, an attempt to ease any burden of guilt. I knew the other Ultramarines believed that in battle, no outside force could truly sway your fate. You lived or died by your strength. And that of the brother stood next to you. ‘Aye, a tolerable outcome considering the maelstrom we’d dropped into. It could have been worse.’

I nodded and looked again and the death-grey cloud as it rolled towards us. Inside its folds toxic engines pushed Emperor knew how many Ork vehicles to breakneck speed. Two casualties would be far from the final count of the day.

‘We go north.’

‘North?’

‘Yes, Nycanor. I don’t think they are separate warbands. Too coordinated. I think they are reinforcements. The Ork warlord is in those mountains.’

‘There is no guarantee that even up close our auspexes will be able to locate him, and those mountains could have endless caverns and tunnel-systems, and even if we do find him in strength enough to kill him, we’d emerge depleted and faced with a tide of greenskin at our back. We do not have the numbers for this, Alcaeus. We should return to the Panpocro armed with this new information and plan another attack. This was only ever a scouting mission. We should signal the Legion.’

‘Do not doubt my clarity in this! My purpose is sure, I will not countenance retreat… Your council is always welcome, but this is how it must be. We have waited long enough. No more. We will find the Ork warlord, we will end the Ork threat, before it can fully manifest. That might not had been our original task, but that is what we must to. For Macragge, we march’.

Monarchia burned and I would see its end.

The Perfect City, the Word Bearers had called it. Perfectly arranged avenues of chapels, statues, and holy structures. A sprawling edifice in honour of the God-Emperor of Mankind. Except, he was not a god.

The inferno that we had wrought was something to be endured. A trial for mind and body. Many of my brothers had already pulled back to the city limits, I had declined to join them. We had to stand by the judgement we had delivered and not shirk in discomfort.

This once-perfect city had been leveled. A lesson of the cost of disobedience given as a humbling example of the Emperor’s wrath.

I looked on as rolling storms of fire rose to meet ash-choked clouds. The Word Bearers watched too; the granite-grey of their Legion – those who had built Monarchia – become the de-facto colour of mourning.

‘You should not look so crestfallen, cousin.’

Nivalus was sat on what remained of a palatial garden wall. The Word Bearer was hunched over, his attention fixed on the slithers of crushed glass slipping between his fingers.

‘You know nothing of what this place was. Of what it could have been.’

‘Lord Guilliman has done this for your own good. For the good of your Legion.’

‘There was no need for this punishment.’

‘If that were true, the Emperor Himself would not have decreed it so. He would not be here with the Sigillite and Lord Guilliman. Only your father, only Lorgar would disagree on this.’

‘And he would have the right to. He is the most devoted of all the Emperor’s sons. All of this was… this…’

‘Perhaps.’ I had not wish of seeing the Word Bearers broken. Humbled, yes. But not broken. Nivalus’ despair brought me no joy. ‘But it is not devotion to heap title where none exists. You should take it as a compliment that the Emperor has gone to this much trouble to set your Legion back on the right path. A lesser leader would not have shown such restraint.’

‘A compliment? Restraint? When you scar a man Ultramarine, when you leave him with a such a remembrance of his misdeed, you leave him to think on two things. His transgression and your transgression against him.’

‘Aurali Squad reports another dead-end to the west.’

‘With respect, this is getting us nowhere.’

‘I agree with Titus. We’ve lost enough warriors chasing down Ork ambushes.’

‘We’re spread to thin. At the very least we should consolidate and reassess our position.’

Titus indicated the trail behind us. It was empty. I had driven us deeper and deeper into the mountain range, splitting off five-man squad after five-man squad in search of the Ork warlord. There was no longer a vast column of Ultramarine blue at our backs. We were alone.

‘I doubt turning back will present us with an easier path. Come on.’ Nycanor picked up his pace in a clear attempt to reinvigorate the others. ‘By now the Orks will have reached the foothills. We will have hordes to cut through.’

‘Better we face them now, before we lose any more of our forces.’

‘No. Victory can only be achieved by those with the strength and the will to pay its price. This axiom should not be unknown to you. It is a truth we live each battle. Our strength is total. Our will unbreakable. We go–’

‘Watch out. It is the warlord. Engaging! Mighty Terra!’

‘Sergeant Thaddeus. Sergeant!’

Anger tightened my chest as the com-link hissed dead in my ear. With a thought, an overlay of Thaddeus and his squads vitals resolved on my display. They were fading fast.

‘This way. In Guilliman’s name move!’

Thaddeus’ squad have been reconnoitring the ridge to our north-east. We moved toward them at a flat-out run. All but heedless of threats emerging from the many trails, blind bends and hidden crevices.

‘Zeno, as soon as we confirm, contact the rest of the battle-force. Have them converge on our location.’

‘Aye, captain.’

Thaddeus’ locator beacon swelled on my tactical display. We were almost there. ‘Pass this next bend, get ready.’ Our pace dropped a fraction as we prepared to round into the clearing.

‘Guilliman’s blade…’

The thing before us was no Ork. It was a nightmare made manifest. It was twice my height and almost twice the width of my shoulders. Void-black smoke drifted from fist-sized holes in its skull that sat in place of its eyes. Its skin rippled like shifting water. Crude glyph-tattoos flowed in the currents, pulsing in a sickly rhythm. At its feet lay Thaddeus and the others. There bodies broken and torn.

‘Alcaeus.’

The creature spoke without moving its mouth. Its distended jaw stayed still, its snarl persistent.

‘Captain.’

I looked again. A brass vox-caster protruded from the things’ throat. Fused into the tissue, it was not dissimilar to the vox-casters mounted on our own armoured vehicles.

‘How do you know of me, scum?’

The Ork took a step towards me. Armour and bone cracked under its bulk as it stepped on our fallen brothers. ‘He said you would come. The Grand Warlord. If I would wait. If I gathered many with my banner. He promised much blood.’

Behind the warlord a throng of Orks. Naked, save the tattoos covering their flesh, stood unmoving. They were oddly silent for Orks. Exhibiting none of the braying jeers their filth race was renowned for. Split into four rough groups, they seemed to serve as an audience for their overlord.

I subvocalised a command to Solon, asking him to contact the rest of the force.

‘I thirsted to kill him! Gork and Mork, they said. No, he was this. His might was worthy. So I – Barak Golgargh – do not kill. I listen. I take his gifts. I wait.’

Solon shook his head a fraction indicating he’d been unable to contact the others.

‘Unknown interference, localised on our position’, Solon subvocalised the update.

‘Your might does not make you worthy. I will crush you!’

It reached around to its back with both hands and drew two heavy chainaxes, thrusting one towards Nycanor.

‘Pretty flag. I will strip it from its pole and hang your flesh in its place.’

‘You are welcome to try, wretch. I plant this banner with the might of Macragge. In its shadow no son of Guilliman shall fall.’ Nycanor drew his gladius.

‘I kill you now. I kill you all. I will be stronger. I will be greatest of all Orks. My waaagh! will be the bloodiest.

‘For Ultramar!’

It shouldered me into the ground as we collided. The blow cracked my breastplate, thrusting sharp ceramite into my chest. The Ork pulled past me, driving towards Nycanor and the others. The greenskin was faster than anything its size had a right to be. I only got to my feet in time to see it tear one of its axes down through Nycanor’s shoulder, severing his armour. His blade fell with it. The Ork kicked Nycanor away and swung an axe towards Glaucio.

‘Step back, brother.’ I lunged, driving my blade into the path of the Ork’s as it angled towards Glaucio’s legs.

Solon was there a heartbeat later, driving Nycanor’s blade through the Ork’s neck. ‘Die, beast!’

For a moment, I felt the Ork’s strength begin to wane. I made to press our advantage.

The moment was too brief. The Ork spun around, knocking back Glaucio, ignorant of my blade as it sliced through its armoured back. The momentum drove the first of its axes into Zeno’s midriff. The weapon’s whirling teeth bit deep, eviscerating him.

The Ork completed its turn, throwing its other axe at Solon. The weapon tore into his pauldron, covering the Ork’s advance as he closed to hammer a fist into Solon’s face. The blow dented the Ultramarine’s helm, mashing armour into bone and beating him to the ground. The Ork raised his foot ready to crush Solon’s skull.

Titus threw himself at the Ork. The thing stumbled, but recovered quickly. Wrapping an arm around his head, it fixed him in place. Drawing a pistol, the Ork pressed it to Titus’s helm and fired.

Its shots smashed into my damaged breastplate, the solid projectiles punching though armour into flesh. I fell. Critical warnings streamed over my display as my body fought to contain the damage. I felt the wash of pain-suppressors flood my system as a lung stopped inflating and my primary heart failed.

It was an effort to keep my eyes open. My grim reward was to see the Ork battering Glaucio. Its monstrous hands ripping him limb from limb.

My gaze drifted to the spectating groups of Orks. It was only then, with the clarity of one who has nothing to focus on but his own death, that I noticed there was much different about the four groups. Their numbers differed: seven, six, nine, eight. I counted each in turn.

They stood arrayed in different formations. One was a series of intersecting circles while another was bisecting lines. And the tattoos too were unique to each group, seeming to mirror the formations they stood in.

‘It’s a ritual… Some sort of rite… It’s drawing its power from the others.’

I jerked an arm towards the groups of Orks who still have neither moved or uttered a word. ‘The other Orks… kill them.’

Nothing.

I looked around. I was a fool. No one was listening. My brothers were dead. I was alone and I was dying. It was over.

I saw the warlord start towards me. ‘Guilliman, forgive my failure.’

‘For Guilliman and Macragge!’

Hope filled me with adrenaline as I heard Nycanor’s voice. I rolled onto my front, pushing up to see him stumble to his feet. He had a pair of grenades clutched in his remaining hand.

The Ork warlord spun to face him.

‘The other Orks, Nycanor. Kill them.’

The warlord broke into a run toward Nycanor.

‘I hope this is more than theory, brother.’ Nycanor threw the grenades.

The detonations flung apart two groups of the Orks, reducing them to bloody smears of viscera. The others began to stagger, shaken from whatever trance in hold of them.

The warlord faltered, Tumbling as its muscles began seizing into angry knots. Nycanor drew his pistol and opened fire on the remaining Orks. Each Ork that fell sent another spasm through the warlord’s body. The warlord’s skin cracked like eons-dried earth.

My fingers found a pistol in the dirt and I joined Nycanor in executing the last of the Orks.

The warlord sunk to its knees as the last of the Orks fell. It turned to look at me, spitting a raft of pained curses as its musculature slid from its body and its bones bent in on themselves snapping and skewering his organs.

According to the chronometer in my display, I had lain unconscious for six hours Terran standard, when Apothecary Tiberius revived me. The stimm injection left a sharp taste of chemicals in my mouth.

‘Welcome back.’

‘You’re alive…’

‘We both are.’

‘Only just.’

I gestured to the wasted mess of my torso, thick scar tissue coiled raw between the rents in my armour.

‘Thank Guilliman for his gifts.’

‘Aye, indeed. It seems that no one explained to the Ork, that if you kill an Ultramarine, you should make sure he is dead.’

‘That thing was an abomination. I have never seen its like, nor heard of such powers‘.

‘Nor I. These Xenos are debased. It is why we kill them. Why we must kill all of them.’

‘What if more of these Orks posses such–’

‘Then they will fail them as sure as it did here. We will trust in our strength and the strength of our primarch. We need nothing else.’

‘Aye, courage and honour brother.’

‘Courage and honour. Now, tell me. what have I missed?’

‘Once the Ork was dead, whatever was suppressing our short range comms seemed to abate. I got a weak signal through to Tiberius, he arrived with the rest of the force about an hour later.’

I cast my eyes over the assembled Ultramarines. Thirty-seven warriors. Another victory bought with too much blood. Another battle…

I stopped mid-thought. We weren’t finished yet. We still had to contact the Panpocro and alert the rest of the muster at Calth. I’d have time to dwell on the dead later.

‘Any word from the Panpocro?’

‘No. The mountains are still scrambling offworld comms.’

I tested my body. Flexing my limbs in easing movement back into my legs.

‘We need to get back on to the plains and summon the dropships.’

‘I’d assumed as much. Sergeants Galus’ and Orthos’ squads are holding the entrance to the foothills.’

‘What of the Ork reinforcements?’

‘That you should probably see for yourself.’

I forced my body into a slow march as we made our way out of the pass. Though every step was painful, every moment a grim reminder of how close I’d came to death, I kept my discomfort hidden. I would not allow the company to see me fragile. The body of an Ultramarine must be as unbreakable as the oaths of duty and honour he swears to primarch and Emperor. I would not violate my rank by showing weakness.

‘There’.

Nycanor gestured to a lose rock formation a few dozen meters downhill. The rocks sat in the narrow gap between two sheer cliffs. It was either the best defensive position or an ideal ambush site.

Between the smooth boulders the blue helms of our brothers called us to refuge. A few dozen Ork bodies choked their flank. Besides these, there was no sign of the hordes of the enemy that had pursued us into the mountains.

‘Where are the Orks?’

‘See for yourself.’

Nycanor passed me his rifle-scope. ‘Emperor of Man…’

The view out in the plains was as welcome as it was unexpected. The Ork dead outnumbered the living. Wrecked vehicles and crippled war engines stood ablaze, totems to the destruction around them. The Orks that remained were still fighting. In some areas, lose mobs seemed to have formed each rallied around a larger or more savage looking Ork.

‘They’ve been slaughtering one another since the warlord was slain.’

‘They are fighting to take its place.’

‘Yes, they seem more interested in killing one another than finding us. At least for the moment.’

‘What about those?’ I gestured to the Ork dead at our flank.

Nycanor shrugged. ‘Stragglers, outliers’.

I took another look with the scope. Despite their casualties, the Orks still outnumbered us at least ten to one.

‘There’s no clear path to the landing sites. We’re going to have to go through them. Would you have it any other way brother?’

‘We’ll head to the weakest part of their line, punch through and make it back to the landing site. Once we’re clear, we’ll contact the Panpocro, dig in and await reinforcements.’

‘We will honour our dead with the blood of the enemies.’ Nycanor unfurled the banner and hoisted it as high as he was able one-handed.

‘Brothers of Ultramar!’

The others stopped tending wounds and checking weapons and turned to look at me. Most were unhelmed, few by choice. ‘I see the strength of Guilliman in each of you. I hear his indomitable will beat in your hearts.’ Their armour was caked in blood and filth. It was chewed and mangled and beaten, yet the chapter symbol remained on every pauldron. Pride swelled my breast. ‘Ultramarines! The enemy are in disarray. We will cut through them and have our vengeance upon their blight-breed! Form up, shoulder to shoulder. Battle discipline is paramount. Hold formation! No one stumbles, no one falls! We advance or we die! We are the speartip of Macragge. No armour, no foe can stand before us. Victory has been etched into our bones by the forgemaster’s blade. Our bodies are tempered steel by his fire!’

‘Courage and honour!’

‘Forward, Ultramarines. Too glory!’

The fighting had been savage.

Our initial push had caught the Orks off guard, but they soon rallied making us fight for every meter. Fully half our force had fallen. Those that remained were clinging to life by a thread.

My own body had shut down and restarted twice. My skin was lunar-white from blood loss. My flesh lacerated by a hundred wounds. But we had survived. By the grace of the Emperor, we were clear.

‘Captain, we have a signal.’ Nycanor’s words didn’t register and I kept trudging towards the horizon. ‘Captain!’ I stopped walking and turned. ‘It’s the Pride of Panpocro, we have contact.

Exhausted, I took a knee and opened my comms. ‘Alcaeus here, report. Alcaeus to Panpocro, confirm transmition.’

‘It is good to hear from you captain, we thought you lost.’

‘Not this day. Status report.’

‘We’re maintaining mandated orbit. Launch bays are prepped and ready to provide support, lord.’

‘Good. Launch imminent.’

‘One moment, lord.’

‘What? Report.’

‘XVII Legion cruiser has just translated in system.’

‘Ah, the Word Bearers. That is welcome news. Have them join the assault. We’ll form a position here and hold for your arrival.’

‘We’ve requested… Wait. Their engines are still at full thrust. They’ll overshoot our orbit. It looks like they’re about to –’

‘Repeat last vox. Alcaeus to Pride of Panpocro, confirm. The signal’s dead. Get them back.’

‘Captain, there!’ Nycanor gestured to the sky.

I glanced up to see a burning comet plummeting towards us. My helm’s optics recalibrated, adjusting to filter out the halo of fire surrounding the object. I recognised it at once. ‘A drop-pod.’

‘Ours?’

‘The XVII Legion’s. I was already in motion as my helm calculated the drop-pod’s trajectory. ‘Nycanor, with me. The rest of you hold here. Perhaps now we’ll get some answers.’

‘Ten meters clear, standard support and assault deployment. The Word Bearers must have homed in on our locator beacons.’

Nycanor war right. The drop-pod had landed exactly ten meters to our west. More peculiar, was the fact its armoured petals had remained sealed.

‘Why haven’t they deployed? There’s no obvious sign of damage.’

‘I don’t know, but I intend to find out.’

I approached the drop-pod with my pistol drawn and hammered a fist against the emergency release clamp.

‘Remove helm and identify.’

I ignored the automated voice, stepping back to fire a round into the release.

‘Remove helm and identify.’

‘Captain Timon Alcaeus, Ultramarines 10th Company.’

A dagger of light flashed from the panel to scan my features.

‘Retinal, facial and voice confirmation accepted. Alcaeus. Timon. Captain’

I stepped back and leveled my pistol as the door slammed open. Inside, nothing. The drop-pod was empty save a single pict-view bolted and wired into the centre of the space. I edged closer.

‘Hello, brother.’

‘Nivalus?’

The Word Bearer smiled at me from the screen. ‘Did you find your glory, captain? Have you rescued us from the Ork threat?’

‘What is going on Nivalus? Have you made contact with the Panpocro?

‘Do you know why I made you remove your helm, Alcaeus?’

‘My helm?’

‘I wanted to see the look on your face. To remember for all time the horror in your eyes as I told you, that your Legion was gone. They died helpless and burning, tumbling around Calth like cosmic waste.’

The pict-screen shuddered and Nivalus’s face was replaced by images of starships. Ultramarine vessels drifting lifeless in the void. Among the images was the Pride of Panpocro. Its hull broken in two.

‘This cannot be.’

‘And yet it is’.

‘Guilliman himself will kill you for this.’

‘Guilliman is dead. Consider it a compliment that I’m telling you.’

I opened my mouth to argue knowing that my primarch can not be dead. And yet something in Nivalus’s eyes told me I was wrong. I fell to my knees.

‘Despair has you captain. And how far into its clutches you must be sinking. Not for you the glory of dying with your brothers at Calth. Or at the end of a worthy adversary’s blade. But torn limb from limb by the greenskin. Savaged like a piece of meat. How does it feel, son of Guilliman? To have sought greatness, only to have found annihilation.’

Anger. Cold and as unforgiving as the void forced me to my feet. ‘I will kill every last one of you the moment you set foot on this planet. I will–’

‘You will do nothing. War is about honour, brother. It is about winning. We have already won. I have no reason to set foot on that miserable rock. Think of it as restraint.’

I said nothing. My voice strangled by anger and the choking grasp of failure.

‘Ironic, captain, that had you not been so eager to prove your worth; had you not kept voxing, whining updates back to the muster, we might very well have forgotten about you. History certainly will.’