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More Warhammer 40,000 stories from Black Library

BLACKSTONE FORTRESS
Darius Hinks

VAULTS OF OBSIDIAN
A Blackstone Fortress anthology
by various authors

ROGUE TRADER: THE OMNIBUS
Andy Hoare

CORSAIR: THE FACE OF THE VOID
James Swallow

· DARK IMPERIUM ·
Guy Haley
Book 1: DARK IMPERIUM
Book 2: PLAGUE WAR

WATCHERS OF THE THRONE: THE EMPEROR’S LEGION
Chris Wraight

· THE HORUSIAN WARS ·
John French
Book 1: RESURRECTION
Book 2: INCARNATION
Book 3: DIVINATION

· VAULTS OF TERRA ·
Book 1: THE CARRION THRONE
Book 2: THE HOLLOW MOUNTAIN
Chris Wraight

· RISE OF THE YNNARI ·
Gav Thorpe
Book 1: GHOST WARRIOR
Book 2: WILD RIDER

SPEAR OF THE EMPEROR
Aaron Dembski-Bowden

Contents

Cover

Backlist

Title Page

Warhammer 40,000

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

About the Author

An Extract from ‘Blackstone Fortress’

A Black Library Publication

eBook license

It is the 41st millennium. For more than a hundred centuries the Emperor has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He is the Master of Mankind by the will of the gods, and master of a million worlds by the might of His inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. He is the Carrion Lord of the Imperium for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day, so that He may never truly die.

Yet even in His deathless state, the Emperor continues His eternal vigilance. Mighty battlefleets cross the daemon-infested miasma of the warp, the only route between distant stars, their way lit by the Astronomican, the psychic manifestation of the Emperor’s will. Vast armies give battle in His name on uncounted worlds. Greatest amongst His soldiers are the Adeptus Astartes, the Space Marines, bio-engineered super-warriors. Their comrades in arms are legion: the Astra Militarum and countless planetary defence forces, the ever-vigilant Inquisition and the tech-priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus to name only a few. But for all their multitudes, they are barely enough to hold off the ever-present threat from aliens, heretics, mutants – and worse.

To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruellest and most bloody regime imaginable. These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be re-learned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods.

Chapter 1

The Way Out

The galaxy was vast beyond mortal comprehension. It was common to visualise it as a great spiral of light, but this was an illusion. The stars were only tiny specks scattered across the endless night. To travel between them required risking a still greater darkness, the maddened hell that was the immaterium. The only light in that twisted nether-realm was the Astronomican, the soul-blaze guided by the Emperor Himself. Yet even the divine beacon had limits. In the far reaches it thinned and faded to nothing.

There, at the very edge of where the shadows reigned unchallenged, sat the Blackstone Fortress. It was older than human civilisation. Whatever hands had built it were no longer around to explain its opaque workings. Such a shadowed existence led, unsurprisingly, to superstition. It had borne many names through the slow creep of years. The Dark Star. Old Unfathomable. The Eater of the Dead. Thousands more across hundreds of languages.

That last name was given for a particular oddity of the ancient station. Its gravity obeyed no known rules. Instead, it seemed almost hungry. It pulled in debris and ships, a train of wreckage and ruin that spiralled in from the stars to be consumed into the lightless hull. There in the belly of the beast everything was slowly absorbed. Perhaps that was how it repaired itself. Perhaps it was how it learned. Perhaps it was growing. There was no one to ask.

This particular ship had been absorbed thousands of years ago. It was already half gone, great portions of it converted to the abstract shapes of the fortress. There was no telling what it had seen in that time. It might have known the passage of a thousand species, or been left all that time in darkness and dust. Few would risk coming to such a place, no matter the rewards. Nonetheless there are always the daring and the desperate who walk the twilight lines.

A group of intrepid explorers had stumbled across the derelict. The tread of heavy boots echoed through the inner space of the ship. They worked their way across the outer shell. Then a deep voice called, ‘There’s a rent in the hull over here! I think we can use it to get inside.’

Brakus Andradus dropped to the deck of the ship, kicking up a cloud of dust with the impact. He fell to one knee as he landed and swept the area with the stablight mounted on his rifle. He was a lean, dark-skinned man with a shaved pate and stubbled cheeks. The right side of his face was scarred with old acid burns, narrowly missing his eye. His right arm had not been so lucky: the hand was clearly augmetic where it extended from his sleeve. He was garbed in blacked flak armour that had the weathered look of long use, a bandolier of sizable shells around his torso.

The stablight’s beam reflected off towers marked with crystalline surfaces. This place hadn’t been built by humans, that much was immediately clear. The flow of the lines was too organic. It was as if everything had been poured, or perhaps grown. Then the beam caught a humanoid shape slouched against a wall and Brakus froze. The warning died in his throat, however, as he took in what he was seeing. Whatever it was had been dead for a long time. It was withered away into unrecognisability.

The hunter took a deep breath and finished his sweep. Once he was satisfied he called up, ‘It looks clear in here.’

A woman’s voice called back. ‘All right, step aside. I’ll drop a rope down.’

Brakus obliged and moved aside, though he stayed alert. You never knew what the fortress might try on you next. Assume you were safe, even for a moment, and it could be your last mistake. In all honesty, he loved it. There was no doubting he was alive while he struggled against the dangers of this forbidding place.

The rope tumbled down from above. Before it could reach the ground, a dark shape ignored it entirely and plunged down to land with a heavy crunch. Brakus took an extra step back against his will. Assuming he had made the mistake of feeling secure, the sight of his ‘ally’ would have cured him of that in a heartbeat. The thing, which went by the designation Exactius-ζ94, stood easily a head taller than him, balanced on gaunt mechanical legs. The arms were also augmetic, inhumanly long and slender. Most of it was gunmetal grey, though flecks of red and black paint still clung to its torso and head. The head was a dome mounted with a dozen arcane sensory devices. The only concession to humanity was the great ventilator tube that connected its head to its chest, the steady rasp of its automated breathing as reliable as clockwork. It strode into the darkness without acknowledging him, and he released a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

A moment later the other two members of the expedition came roping down from above. The first was a woman with light hair and eyes, dressed in workman’s coveralls. She wore a heavy-duty backpack and was festooned with both weapons and jewellery of a dozen types. The last was a man dressed in finery befitting a member of the Imperial nobility. An ornate rapier was sheathed at one hip, and a pistol of curious make slung rakishly at the other. His black hair and moustache were immaculate as always, even in this forbidding place.

‘Danira, Captain Draik,’ Brakus greeted them each in turn. ‘Allow me to welcome you to…’ He swept his gaze over the derelict. ‘A ruined ship full of dead people.’

Danira clapped him on the arm as she slipped past him to survey the area. A light was clipped to her shoulder. ‘Don’t sound so down, Brakus. Dead people don’t argue when you take their belongings. It’s about time we got lucky on this trip.’

The rogue trader Janus Draik was looking around as well, his hand resting on the hilt of his rapier with seeming casual calm. ‘This place is old. You can feel it. Who knows what secrets it might hold?’

Brakus gave him a wry smile. ‘Not, I think, the key to the transit system. It’s not that old.’

Draik returned the smile. ‘No, you’re very likely right. But perhaps enough to fund the next expedition. And who knows what that one will find? We must always be thinking of the future, Andradus.’

They spread out through the ship, searching for easily portable items. Brakus found an old chalice in a far corner, rolled there perhaps in whatever cataclysm had killed this ship. It was dusty and the inside was marked with dark stains, but a little polish and it would pull a nice haul of tokens at the market. More if he could identify it and find the right buyer, but enough either way to make it worth bringing back.

A rough series of coughs from nearby interrupted his thoughts. He set off in that direction, calling, ‘All right over there?’

Danira was still hacking a bit, waving a hand to clear the cloud of dust surrounding her. ‘I’m fine,’ she managed to rasp out. At her feet were scattered bits from one of the bodies.

Brakus grimaced. ‘Tell me you didn’t mess with one of the corpses.’

The woman grinned as she got her coughs under control. ‘Gotta admit, I didn’t expect it to crumble like that the second I touched it.’ She held up a jewel-studded bracer. ‘Worth it.’

Brakus shook his head. ‘Debatable.’ He saw Draik standing nearby, tracing a hand along the wall. The rogue trader’s face lacked its usual aplomb. He looked shaken, truth be told. ‘Are you well, Captain Draik?’

The other man shook his head as if coming out of a dream. His expression smoothed and he inclined his head graciously. ‘Of course, Andradus. There’s merely something about this ship. It reminds me of…’ He looked around as his words trailed off. His hand was gripping the hilt of his rapier now, white-knuckled, the only sign of any distress. ‘We should not linger here.’

‘As you say.’ Brakus didn’t mind accommodating him. Truthfully, this place didn’t hold his interest. Old ruins did not fascinate him, and treasures were only useful in what they could buy. ‘Exactius! Danira! It’s time to go.’

The attenuated form of the cyborg loomed up out of the darkness. Its voice was a cold whisper. ‘Null hazards detected.’

Danira chimed in. ‘Yeah, why are we in a rush? There are whole levels we haven’t explored yet.’

‘Captain Draik suggests that we depart. I’m inclined to listen to him,’ Brakus said.

Danira hesitated but nodded. ‘Fair enough. He’s survived more trips in than the rest of us put together. Gotta be a reason for that.’

The cyborg offered no argument. ‘Additional egress located. Transport available.’ It turned and stalked off, on the apparent assumption they would follow.

Brakus shrugged to the others. ‘I guess it has a way out. Let’s go.’

They followed in the wake of the machine-thing into the dark recesses of the derelict. Sure enough, there was another rent in the hull there. Here it melded with the blackstone substrate of the fortress itself, opening out into a platform. At the far end a maglev transport was visible.

Brakus paused as he neared the beginning of the walkway. Something felt off. ‘Anyone else feel that?’

Danira and Janus were both already through the opening and looked back with curiosity. Exactius lingered nearby and slowly tilted its head. ‘Vibration,’ came that dead hiss before it walked off towards the transport.

It was right, Brakus realised. There was a faint tremor travelling through the substance of the ship, as if some ancient system had come to life with their passing. He glanced the way they had come and could almost convince himself he saw the glitter of lights back there. He shook his head and followed the others to the transport.

It was cramped in the maglev chamber once they’d all got in. Danira was eyeing the controls, with their bizarre array of symbols to select from.

‘Time to head back to the aperture, yeah? No reason to push our luck. I’ve got enough to justify this expedition.’

‘Time to be gone,’ agreed Brakus. There was definitely something in the air now. A tension that he’d not felt before. He didn’t care to stay and find out what it meant.

Danira punched in the code that would, hopefully, return them to their entry point. The transport silently blurred into motion. Then she turned her attention to Brakus with a sly grin. ‘You know, sooner or later you’re gonna have to tell me the story of that rifle of yours. What is that charming name you gave it, again?’

Brakus glanced to the weapon in question. It had begun life as a sniper rifle like he might have found in any of a million military forces throughout the galaxy. At some point it had obviously been heavily customised, rebuilt to use the autocannon shells he wore on his bandolier.

‘Memoriam. It’s for carnifexes,’ he said quietly.

‘For the killing thereof, I take it?’ she chuckled. ‘Given your penchant for dangerous game, I can only imagine a carnifex to be a formidable thing indeed.’

‘Be glad if you never find out,’ was all Brakus said in response. Danira appeared willing to let it go at that.

Everyone jumped a little when the cyborg spoke up. ‘Unsanctioned modifications to standard template. Forbidden.’ It lingered on the last word, the closest Brakus had come to hearing emotion from it.

‘Needs must when the Great Devourer comes,’ Brakus replied. He eyed the enigmatic killer. It seemed to be an agent of the Machine-God. At this range he was certain it could kill him before he could react. ‘Is it going to be a problem?’

The dome head turned down to him for several uncomfortable seconds of scrutiny. ‘Negative,’ it said at last and returned to looking straight ahead. Whatever Exactius was, it had not come to the fortress to catch hereteks. That would have been a lifelong task anyway.

There was no time for further discussion, as the maglev pod slid to a halt and the doorway cycled open into a new chamber. The group filed out of the transport, and promptly spotted one major problem.

‘This isn’t the aperture,’ said Danira.

‘No. It is not,’ said Janus grimly. He drew his rapier and pistol with practised smoothness, a crackling blue field springing to life around the sword’s blade.

That was when the first of the monsters came howling in out of the darkness with weapons brandished.

Just as swiftly, Janus shot it in the throat with his pistol. The creature toppled to the ground, frothing as the toxin of the splinter went to work. More charged in to take its place.

This part of the fortress was dark as a moonless night. The only glimpses that Brakus got of the chamber they were in came by flashes of weapons fire and arcing electricity. Scattered impressions of walls that sloped upwards on all sides, as though they were in the centre of some great basin. And from all directions, the contorted, bestial faces of the monsters swarming in.

Brakus unlimbered his rifle with a soldier’s familiarity. There was no need for precise targeting; his old instructors might have called this a ‘mass purging opportunity.’ The first shot boomed out like a thunderclap and kicked his shoulder like a grox. Luckily, the bionic replacement didn’t care. The bullet tore a fist-sized hole through the chest of one of the creatures and punched on through several more behind them with equal lethality. He cleared the case with a smooth working of the bolt and lined up another shot.

The enemy was what the Imperium called ‘beastmen.’ An accursed breed at the best of times, this group took things to new depths. Their already savage mien was further befouled with vile trophies and blasphemous sigils, dedications to whatever dark gods they swore by. They were armed piecemeal with crude weapons, makeshift blades and old stubbers. At the same moment that Brakus took the second shot, counter-fire raked his position. One of the enemy stub shots hit home, slamming into his side with a jackhammer impact. He staggered, coughing, and prayed that the flak protection had held.

A goat-faced brute lunged at him with a rusty sabre and he was forced to continue his off-balance stumbling to avoid the strike. It only pushed harder at the sight of his weakness. At last his feet got entangled and he toppled. The abhuman reared over him, stabbing furiously. He rolled in desperation. One strike cut his thigh, a blazing line of pain. Another turned from the plates of his armour.

Then the beast froze. A thin, sizzling blade protruded through its stomach, then sliced effortlessly through its midsection, spilling its guts in a stomach-turning flood.

It was Draik. The rogue trader offered Brakus a quick hand up, shouting, ‘On your feet, master huntsman! There is dirty work to be done!’ Then Draik whirled to meet another pair of foes rushing towards them. With dazzling blade work he scattered hissing bits of torn flesh in all directions. An explosion roared in the background, sending half a dozen enemies tumbling at a stroke. One of Danira’s curios brought to bear, no doubt.

Brakus slung the rifle across his back again. He was no expert swordsman, but he had survived the close press of battle before. He drew the razor-edged machete from the sheath at his side and his autopistol as well. It would have been a lie to say this did not thrill him. These were the moments of truly living. There was no room for doubt or fear. Only kill or be killed.

Brakus fired a controlled burst into the nearest of the creatures. It spun away in a spray of blood. In the distance he caught a glimpse of Exactius. The cyborg was a blur, moving among the mutants like death incarnate. It wielded a pronged blade and with every solid strike, lightning boiled out to ravage nearby foes. Then another one was charging Brakus with a spear held low, aimed to gut him. He dodged to the side and swung his blade in an arc. It lodged in the creature’s face with a wet thunk. He kicked it in the chest to knock it loose from his weapon and it toppled backwards, gurgling. The beastman hit the ground with a splash.

‘Wait…’ Brakus looked down. Dark liquid was pooling around the soles of his boots. ‘What in the name of the Throne?’ It was clearly rising. Even as he watched it lapped over the toe of his boots, now at the level of his ankle.

Danira was nearby. One of the abhumans rushed her and she pointed a ring on her hand at it. In the blink of an eye a stream of flame roared from the jewellery and engulfed her foe. It stumbled off screaming and thrashing. She noticed his scrutiny and grinned at him. ‘Jokaero make! Nothing like it!’

‘I think we have a problem!’ Brakus shouted back, gesturing down urgently. She followed the gesture and her eyes widened, but there was no time for further discussion as another wave of the bestial cultists swarmed over them. A particularly sizeable brute with bull horns and a great axe snarled as it stormed towards Brakus. He fired a burst into it, the impacts gouging bloody holes in the creature’s hide, but it didn’t seem to notice in its battle fury.

It came on with a sweep of its axe. Brakus hurried to interpose his machete in an attempt to save himself. The impact was hard, and sent him stumbling and sloshing. The next attack was right behind it, and then another. Each ringing hit gouged a new divot from Brakus’ weapon. There was no way to get in and counter-attack. The creature had him outreached by a lethal margin. On the fourth hit the machete’s blade snapped, and the monster followed up immediately with a powerful kick, which caught Brakus in the chest and sent him over onto his back.

For a moment his head went under the dark fluid. He came up gasping and cursing. The monster was right over him, axe held high. He threw the broken machete at its snouted face and it jerked away. Only a fleeting opportunity, but he didn’t waste it. He still had the autopistol, by the grace of the Emperor. He pointed it right at the beast’s knee and held the trigger down. A spray of bullets chewed the joint apart in grisly fashion. The abhuman toppled with a scream of rage and pain. He rolled out of the way of its fall.

Brakus didn’t give it a chance to recover. He lunged at it and drew a knife from his boot. In the blink of an eye he was on its back and stabbing furiously. The creature beat at him with the haft of the axe and its elbow, concussive strikes that rattled his teeth and set stars flashing in his eyes. He didn’t let up until the knife caught and was yanked from his grip. With a surge of furious strength the creature slung him to the side and hurled him away, rolling, kicking up waves as he went.

He was under again, his head hitting the floor. The world blurred. The old nightmares rose. The tiny gnashing mouths boiling through the trenches. Men screaming and falling, lost in the swarms as flesh was flensed from their bones.

Brakus scrambled to his feet howling in a mixture of fear and defiance. The pistol was gone. His knife and machete, gone. His rifle, soaked. He’d go down clawing and biting if that was how it went. Yet the bull-monster was still, face down in the liquid. He looked to and fro to spot his next foe, but the nearest were running into the darkness. A hand caught his sleeve and he whirled, fist raised.

He was staring into the alloy chest of Exactius.

‘Departing immediately,’ rasped the cyborg. ‘Transport located. Ambient conditions deteriorating.’ It pointed its crackling goad off into the distance.

The other two were already wading in that direction, through fluid up around their thighs. Danira shouted, ‘Come on, you two!’

Whatever the dark substance was, it luckily wasn’t terribly thick. Maybe it was just water, he tried to tell himself. They were able to splash on through it. Brakus was practically swimming by the time they reached the transport pod. The maglev was set just a bit lower than the floor, perhaps out of cosmic spite. Exactius vanished under the surface, too heavy to float. The controls weren’t visible, either.

‘Emperor’s bones,’ cursed Brakus. Then he dove under. Some of the fluid got into his mouth, despite his best efforts. It was brackish and warm, more reminiscent of blood than water. He tried not to think about it as he flailed around, searching for the control console. There was no hope of spotting specific controls, but he had no idea what to put in anyway. So he just pounded at it until he felt the vibration of the pod setting off.

He surfaced with a gasp and spat out as much as he could. There was only room for their three heads, and they stared at each other with hollow eyes. The dark liquid kept rising even as the pod sped along. It topped his chin. Brakus gave a bitter laugh. ‘This place hates us.’ Then it was over his mouth and up over his nose. He pressed up against the top, eking in what last desperate breaths he could.

That was when a metal hand grabbed his leg and yanked him down.

He was immediately lost in the darkness. Caught off guard, he was choking and thrashing immediately. He kicked violently at that cruel claw, trying to dislodge it. It was useless; the grip was as unrelenting as iron. It just kept yanking him further down. Another one joined it and shoved him down ever further. He lashed out with blind fists, the flesh one connecting with unfeeling machine carapace. Pain spiked through his hand on impact.

Then he broke through the bottom of the liquid and dropped, choking, to the floor.

He lay there sputtering and wheezing, coughing up dribbles of black liquid. Exactius’ metal talon-feet were in front of him. A moment later Danira erupted from the black layer above and hit the ground next to him, with Janus following right behind.

The rogue trader lay there wheezing for a time, before opining, ‘What?’

The ceiling of dark liquid, hovering there impossibly, was rising. They could see Exactius’ backward-facing knees now.

‘It’s draining up,’ Brakus managed. His hand was throbbing. He’d probably broken something in it. He started laughing.

The others stared at him like he was insane. He did his best to force the laughter down, but it just kept bubbling up. Eventually Danira couldn’t help but join him. Even Janus broke a lopsided smile. Within a few minutes they were able to stand up. The cyborg stood there like a statue the whole time, staring into the distance as the fluid slowly unveiled it.

Once it was uncovered completely, Brakus looked up into one sensor. ‘Thanks for saving us.’

The dome head slanted down towards him. ‘Allowances must be made for organic fragility.’

He gave another laugh, weary this time. ‘I’ll take that as a joke.’

The hatch spiralled open, revealing the aperture and their shuttles waiting beyond.

‘Oh, praise the Emperor.’

‘The Emperor protects,’ agreed Janus with a wry smile as they stepped out. Each of the human members of the team was a mess. Bleeding, battered, bruised and bedraggled. They staggered towards the ships and paused in front of the ramps. Exactius didn’t even slow down. It just continued to its own shuttle and disappeared inside, the hatch closing behind it.

‘Those beastmen,’ Janus said. His eyes were serious now. ‘There are more of them all the time. And worse. The Archenemy is growing stronger on the fortress.’

‘Plenty of foes to test our mettle against,’ offered Brakus.

Danira shook her head. ‘You’re both insane. I’m not here to fight a war. I have buyers with specific taste in weaponry, and I am here to–’ she coughed suddenly, a rattling sound that ended in a wheeze, and tapped herself on the chest. ‘I’m here to supply them.’

Brakus snorted. ‘Speaking of, I may need to peruse your wares. I lost everything but my rifle in there.’

Danira gave a mocking bow. ‘At your service, master hunts-man.’

Janus seemed lost in thought. He shook it off for the time being to look to Brakus. ‘Come, sir. I brought you hence and I shall see you returned to Precipice as promised.’

Brakus nodded. ‘Thank you, captain.’ He gave Danira a smile. ‘I’ll see you on Precipice.’

She nodded and walked off with a hand raised in farewell, another rough cough shaking her as she went.

Chapter 2

Precipice

The Dromeplatz was the beating, crimson heart of Precipice. Lit by the lurid red glow of the trio of great furnaces built into it, it was simultaneously the crossroads and the great bazaar of the station. As markets go, it went beyond bustling and plunged right into anarchy. It was constantly sweltering and thronged with humans, abhumans and xenos of all types. Some were merely passing through, others were haggling and hawking at the top of their lungs. The wares themselves were no less varied and bizarre than the occupants. They ran the gamut from the sacred to the profane, with one undeniable commonality: everything had a price.

Brakus was in the midst of arguing with what appeared to be a metal box. A multitude of eyes gleamed at him through a tinted window on the front of it. A horn was connected to the box and he had to hold it to his ear to hear the thing’s guttural voice. He had no idea what it looked like in there, or how many of them were in there for that matter. What he did know was that it was trying to swindle him.

‘Sixty tokens? It’s worth at least twice that, and you know it!’ Brakus shouted into the horn.

‘Seventy,’ it growled. ‘Is best this one can do. It wants this one’s family to starve?’

‘I don’t give a damn about your family, assuming you even have one,’ Brakus snapped. He took a deep breath and rubbed his temples. ‘One hundred. You can do one hundred. Work with me here.’

Three of the eight shining eyes he could currently see narrowed at him. ‘Eighty. Is final offer.’

Brakus gritted his teeth. ‘Fine. Done.’

A slot opened in the top of the crate and a musty smell rolled out. Brakus struggled to keep the revulsion off his face as he placed the chalice near the opening. A trifecta of tiny, scabrous claws darted out and snatched it into the dark. Two more emerged and threw a purse at him that jingled with tokens. He caught it with one hand. It stank just as badly as the insides of the crate.

Brakus counted the coins quickly and walked away, shouldering a path through the crowds. ‘Damnable xenos,’ he grumbled to himself. There was no getting away from them here. Sly, treacherous aeldari. Barbaric bird-men. Mercenaries and bounty hunters and smugglers, the scum of a thousand worlds. Those were the ones with purposes you could even understand. They were worse than the abhumans. At least most of those thought like a human.

The dullness was already eating at him, if he was honest. Precipice had its dangers, to be sure, but it was nothing like the fortress. There was nothing here to test him. No way to keep himself sharp. His non-augmetic hand shook a little and he flexed his fingers irritably. Just stay busy. He would have to go down to the next level to find Danira’s shop and resupply for the next expedition.

He strode past stalls, bombarded constantly with screeches and cries encouraging him to peruse their wares. A creature with a bifurcated torso and two heads called twin sing-song sales pitches to him while waving a giant rainbow tusk. Perhaps that was meant to entice him. There was no telling. He waded through a cluster of ratlings, careful to keep a hand on his money as he did so. They heckled him in barely comprehensible slang and he studiously made no eye contact. One hint of weakness and they’d harass you as far as they could follow you.

He finally found his way to Danira’s shop. It was inside some kind of abandoned cistern. Half a dozen ventilators struggled to keep it from becoming an oven, with only middling success. Laid out on tables and racks were tools of warfare from a dozen cultures. Some he recognised. Stub guns and frag grenades were laid out next to far stranger implements. Here a jawbone studded with black glass teeth. There an elegant pistol of some white substance, marked with smooth jewels and no seams.

Danira sat behind a table off to the side of the shop. She was leaning back with her eyes closed, damp strands of hair laid across her sweaty face. It was no surprise considering the heat of the place, but the pallor of her skin and her wheezing breaths did concern him. He cleared his throat and she jerked upright. That immediately set Danira coughing, one hand clamped to her mouth as the spasms wracked her.

Brakus looked around and saw a water pitcher on her desk next to some battered tin cups. He poured her a cup and set it in front of her. ‘Are you all right?’

Danira accepted the water gratefully and gulped it down. It seemed to clear the cough for now. ‘Fine, fine. Surprised you actually made your way over.’

Brakus shrugged. ‘I wasn’t lying to you. I need new weapons. Something for close quarters and a sidearm.’

She brightened and stood, though he noticed her wobble a little and catch herself on her table. ‘I’ve got a selection available for both requests! Got these nasty little beauties in just recently called glass knives. Made by a people called the Fra’al, apparen–’

His held-up hand cut her off. ‘Human make, Danira. You may not care about your immortal soul, but I do.’

She chuckled good-naturedly. ‘The Emperor and I have a good arrangement. I don’t bother Him and He doesn’t bother me.’

Brakus glanced over his shoulder involuntarily. It was hard to get used to the casual blasphemy a place like this enabled. ‘Just don’t let that mad priest or his wild-eyed sycophant hear you.’

‘Taddeus?’ Danira snorted. ‘He spends more time restricted to his ship than he does free to walk around. Not exactly a favourite of the proctors.’ She was laying out a few options as she spoke, retrieving them from nearby crates. ‘Now, even with your silly restrictions, I have some good possibilities here. For your up-close problem, are you married to the blade?’ She patted a brutal-looking black metal mace. ‘Because I think this would suit you.’

He studied it with interest. ‘I’m nobody’s blademaster. What’s special about this one?’

Danira paused and coughed painfully into her arm for a moment. Then she mustered a grin and turned the mace over, revealing a button above the grip. ‘Electrified head. Delivers a powerful shock on impact when activated. Just in case the wham doesn’t get them, the zap probably will.’

He tilted his head. ‘Reminds me of something an arbitrator would carry. Where did you get it?’

She raised an eloquent eyebrow. ‘Do you want me to answer that?’

He sighed. ‘No, I suppose not. I’ll take it. What about the sidearm?’

She pointed to a heavy pistol next to the mace. ‘They call it “the Carnodon”. Stopping power like you wouldn’t believe. Only six rounds a magazine, but you won’t need more with this one.’

Brakus picked it up, admiring the solid weight of it. He aimed it off to the side and sighted along it before nodding. ‘That will do. What do I owe you?’

Danira contemplated. ‘Call it thirty. Mind you, that’s with the friend discount.’

It was less than he had figured, though it still hurt to carve up his coin like this. He dumped her payment on the table in return for his new weapons. ‘Thanks, Danira.’ He turned to walk out but paused at the doorway. ‘Consider seeing a medicae, would you? You look rough.’

She’d settled into her chair once more but just waved him off. ‘Oh, you flatterer, you. I’ll be fine. Catch you around, huntsman.’ Of all things, her own eyes looked concerned as she gazed at him. ‘Take care of yourself, all right?’

The journey back to the Skeins was a relief in some ways. The crowds died away as you left the busy thoroughfares of the market. Once you were down in the derelict passages, everything was quiet. Nobody came here looking to be noticed. It was the last retreat of the desperate of Precipice, the stragglers of lost crews. Few would choose to live here who had the resources to live elsewhere, but Brakus didn’t mind. The uncomfortable truth was he’d have welcomed a little trouble on the way. Get the heart pumping. Sadly, no one obliged him.

He reached the abandoned cargo container and tapped the code into the door. A few message capsules were laid by the entrance and he collected them as it creaked open. He slipped inside, hitting a control so that it closed and sealed behind him again. Holes had been punched in the roof so that he could breathe in here, making it into a crude but effective living space. He hadn’t come to Blackstone looking for luxury, fortunately.

What he had come for was made clear by one glance around his quarters. Skulls and trophies from more than two dozen kills lined the walls. Giant beaks and ravening mouths full of serrated teeth gaped all around. On the makeshift desk by the bed there was a recent project that he was still cleaning and polishing. It was a pity he hadn’t been able to get the skull off that bull-horned brute on the last trip.

He set his new weapon acquisitions on the desk next to the skull and sat down, opening the message capsules one by one. ‘Full group’, ‘no current plans’, ‘still in recovery.’ He gritted his teeth and shoved them aside. No one he knew was ready to hire him. There was no way to get back into the thick of things for now. He glared into the empty sockets of the skull in front of him. Nothing but time to himself to look forward to.

His left hand was shaking.

It was a hot one. The sun was doing its level best to boil them, as far as Sergeant Brakus Andradus could tell. He was slumped against the wall next to the window, which looked out on the edges of a dying city. The city perimeter was blocked off by crude barricades assembled of collapsed masonry and piled debris. He could see the line infantry down below manning those walls, but he couldn’t hear them.

There was a crunch in the rubble-strewn room behind him and he whirled, rifle at his shoulder. He lowered it immediately upon seeing Raskin, his spotter. ‘Dammit, Ras. I could’ve shot you. You’re supposed to call up when you’re coming.’

Ras waved it off. ‘Sorry, sorry. You’re right. I’ll be more careful next time.’ He sat down on a rotted bed across from Brakus, taking a second to wipe sweat off his brow with his sleeve. Then he tossed a canteen over. ‘I brought water.’

Brakus caught it out of the air. ‘It’s filtered, right?’

The enemy had got into the groundwater a few months ago. Ever since, it had been a struggle just to stay hydrated. Boiling did no good, as killing the tiny beasts made them dissolve into toxins. All you could do was try and filter them out and hope for the best. The alternative was a grisly death of being eaten from the inside.

Ras shrugged with an insouciant grin. ‘It’s the same stuff the officer’s mess has. So, if we die, at least we’ll die like highborn.’

Brakus contemplated the canteen. ‘Might let you drink fir–’

A klaxon tore through the air and the water fell from his hand, forgotten, as both of them lunged to the window.

‘They’re coming again. Emperor damn them,’ cursed Brakus.

Ras was peering through the magnoculars. ‘Pretty sure He already has. We’re supposed to send them to face His Judgment.’ A pause. ‘I can see them. ’Gaunts. A lot of them. There’s a warrior at sector two-delta.’

Brakus could see them through the scope now too. Endless dark waves of the little hooved monsters coming on in a mass of chittering limbs. There was no way to kill them all. You had to find the big ones and kill them, break the charge. He found the one Ras had indicated, a towering monster surrounded by its smaller kin. ‘Warrior’s in my scope. Syncing targeters.’ The auguries displayed on his scope interfaced with the information from Ras’ magnoculars, confirming the aim.

‘Prepare to fire,’ Ras said.

Brakus lined up his first shot and breathed out; slowly squeezed the trigger.

‘Wind left point-five,’ Ras called.

The thunderclap rang out.

‘Got it,’ said Ras tersely as the giant creature staggered with a spray of ichor. ‘Prepare to fire… wind left point-six.’ The second shot put the beast down and sent a ripple of confusion through the smaller bioforms.

Brakus became lost in the rhythm of it. Topple one warrior. On to the next. And the next. In the background the chorus of lasgun whip-cracks rose as the flood of enemies entered engagement range of the line. They could do this. If they worked together, they could–

‘Carnifex, sector one-alpha!’ hissed Ras, and Brakus’ concentration shattered.

Desperately he searched along the lines, spotting it quickly. It was like a living siege tower, roaring in towards their barricades. Las-blasts were already glancing off its thick carapace. ‘No, no, no,’ he muttered to himself and sighted in on it. ‘Got it! Syncing!’

He could hear the strain in Ras’ voice, the struggle to remain calm. ‘Prepare to fire. Wind right point-two.’

The first shot glanced off the beast’s back. ‘No effect. Steady. Prepare to fire. Wind right point-three,’ said Ras.

The second impacted with a spray of slime. It was still coming, unphased.

‘Minimal effect. Prepare to fire. Wind right point-two-five.’

The third shot hit it in the head, erupting through its cranium with a shower of gore.

‘Yes!’ barked Ras. Surely it was dead now. It had to be dead.

Yet driven on by madness, rage or some dark will, the creature did not falter. It hit the barricades like a battering ram, smashing aside debris and sandbags with meteoric impact. It tore on for ten more feet, shredding the troopers on the far side. Then, finally, it fell as mortality caught up with it.

It was too late.

The barricades were broken and the ’gaunts poured through in a nightmarish wave. Screams and explosions echoed up from the street below. Ras grabbed him by the sleeve. ‘C’mon! We have to fall b–’

The window shattered inwards as a dark shape smashed into it. Ras tumbled away as the thing slammed into him. Brakus tried to raise his rifle, but it was too late. The thing fired its weapon and something hit him in the meat of his right arm. It burrowed in, digging and tearing through flesh like a fish through water, and detonated in a blast of caustic chemicals, and all Brakus could do was scream and scream as he fell backwards, clutching the ruin of his arm…

Brakus jerked awake in the darkness of his container-quarters. He was soaked with sweat and his raw throat told him he’d been screaming in his sleep. ‘Ras,’ he said. Even the quiet word seemed loud in the stillness of the room. He shook his head and scrubbed his left hand over his face. He needed something to drink.

The first bottle he picked up was empty. The same for the second and third. The fourth had about three drops in it and he hurled it against the wall with a snarl. How many days had it been since he’d returned from the last expedition? Five? Seven? Brakus couldn’t remember. A coughing spell wracked his body and left him dizzy. A glance out the door revealed no new message cylinders. No work. No chance to get back to it.

There was nothing for it but to go buy another bottle. Soon he was staggering through the corridors headed to the Helmsman. Precipice seemed oddly sedated. Figures huddled and shivered in corners. Whoops and hacks echoed down hallways and sounded dulled through the doors of homes. Brakus was forced to the side of one passage as the massive forms of bullgryns in the livery of the proctors stomped through. He frowned after them and rubbed an arm over his mouth. Unusual to see them just roaming the station looking for trouble.

Even the Helmsman seemed strangely subdued. Gatto was screaming imprecations and obscenities as usual – some things never changed. All the same, there was something off. The bloodbirds weren’t flapping around like they normally did. Instead they were roosted up in the rafters, brooding down on the bar-goers below. Brakus stumbled up to the obsidian slab in the middle of the bar. It was festooned with images of the lost, those who had disappeared in the bowels of the fortress. A melange of faces, all blurring together, human and nonhuman alike. Equal in death.

He recognised one, Raedrus. An old salt as far as this place went, savvier than most. Even he’d run out of time finally, it seemed. Brakus shook his head and continued on his wavy path to the bar itself. He pounded the metal surface. ‘Bottle.’ His voice was raspy with disuse. His tongue felt thick in his dry mouth.

Gatto wheeled over to him with his perpetual sneer on display. You could see the cyborg’s organs, pickling in whatever alchemical concoctions kept him from his rightful death, right through his transparent torso. ‘Bottle of what?’ he snarled.

Brakus tried to focus blurry eyes on the wall behind the bar. He pointed to the first one he could read. ‘Roxxul.’

Gatto rubbed thumb and forefinger of one of his augmetic hands together. ‘Tokens!’

Brakus reached into his pocket and his heart immediately sank. He hadn’t brought any money. Touched his brow with a shaking head. ‘Look, Gatto, spot me this once, I’ll pay you doub–’

‘Spot you? Spot you!’ Gatto’s voice rose quickly to a scream, pounding against Brakus’ aching head. ‘Do you think this is a charity? Is the Helmsman a safehouse for pity cases? Get the frag out!’

‘Wait–’

Gatto was already wheeling away.

Brakus slumped against the bar with a wheeze and a cough. There was someone standing at his elbow and he turned to them with a growl. ‘What?’

It was some arthropoid thing, with bulbous multifaceted eyes and a mouth of twitching mandibles. Somehow that assemblage produced clicking Gothic. ‘Maybe you better get back to your kind,’ it said, and pointed.

‘What?’ Brakus wasn’t faking his confusion. He turned bewildered eyes on the rest of the bar and saw it, finally. The humans were all clustered together, crowded to one side of the bar. The rest belonged to xenos and abhumans. A reversal of the proper order. ‘What in the warp…’

‘Nobody over here wants to smell your stink or catch whatever your filth has spawned,’ the xenos clicked out.

Brakus turned towards it again, unconsciously reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there. Just as well. No guns were allowed. He eyeballed the thing. He could imagine his augmetic fist bursting it like a smashed gourd. ‘If you think you can make me, why don’t you try?’

He could feel the tension in the room spiking as the creature’s mandibles clicked faster. Others were rising throughout the room. Some humans, more xenos. Brakus knew he was grinning like a madman and didn’t care. Finally. A reason to live.

Then it was all gone in an instant, like air out of a punctured balloon. The xenos was looking past him and he followed its gaze. A bullgryn loomed in the doorway, a silent threat staring at them with piggish eyes.

‘You get lucky this time, human,’ the bug chattered at him. ‘Maybe you not get so lucky next time.’ It went off to its table.

Brakus laid his face in his trembling hand. There was only the long walk to his cargo container now, empty-handed. Another cough shook him, made his chest ache. ‘Yeah. Lucky.’

The days had blurred together again. The work had dried up completely. No one even wanted to talk to a ‘human carrier’, much less work with them.

The thud against his doorway yanked him from his reverie. He pushed himself to his feet with a wheeze. Someone looking to hire him? Someone looking to kill him? He wasn’t sure which one he was hoping for when he hit the hatch release without even checking. What he hadn’t expected was the person to collapse into him immediately, obviously only propped up by the door the moment before.

It was Danira. She was coughing uncontrollably, and he saw red spatter his shoulder where she was slumped.

‘Danira, what happened?’ He carried her over to the cot to be laid out. She was hot to the touch, feverish, and the darkness under her eyes stood out like bruises in the pallor of her face. She looked dead already.

She coughed again, her attempts to reply unintelligible even after he brought her water. Finally she wearily pointed to the entrance.

That was when the noise coming in through the open door sank in for him. He stumbled over to the entry and looked out. People were drifting in helpless crowds. Some were weeping, some shouting angrily. Many looked dreadfully ill, and the chorus of coughing was non-stop. A glance towards the nearest passage down into the Skeins confirmed it: bullgryns forcing more groups of humans along, driving them down into the depths of the station.

Quarantine had come to Precipice.

Chapter 3

Quarantine

It was sirens that tore Brakus from his sleep this time. He lunged to his feet, looking around wildly. Danira had woken as well, eyes wide and frightened from the makeshift cot he’d assembled for her.

‘I’ll find out what’s happening,’ he said. Uncertain how much good it would do him, he grabbed his handgun and the shock maul and opened the door to step outside.

Already a crowd was gathering, people milling around through the Skeins. They clustered at various portholes and pict screens, talking animatedly with each other and pointing at whatever they were watching. The siren still blared throughout, cycling endlessly from deafening to quiet.

Brakus strode along the walkways trying to find a good vantage point. At last, he stepped up to a couple of people clustered under a makeshift skylight. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked.

A woman with spiked hair and gang markings glanced at him. ‘Buncha folks got together, stole some shuttles. They’re making a run for the outside.’

Brakus blinked. ‘They broke quarantine?’ He joined them in staring at the opening. He could just see what was happening. Three points of light were racing for the debris forever swirling around the fortress. It was the primary obstacle to coming or going.

Even as they watched, one of the lights, then another, broke up into a scattering of sparks. Catastrophic explosions if you were there, no doubt. Each time there was an outcry from those gathered. Brakus could see the bullgryns moving in around the edges of the crowd. One way or another, he thought, this was likely to dissolve into madness.

Then the third shuttle was through the debris. He could hear the intake of breath all around. Someone nearby whispered, ‘They made it. They’re going t–’

The light disappeared in a brilliant flash.

Everyone froze. A nearby man shook his head slowly. ‘That wasn’t a warp rift. They were destroyed. I’ve served on enough ships to know.’

That was when a holographic image sprang to life over the group, projected by a hovering servo-skull. It spoke in an amplified voice that echoed throughout the Skeins.

‘People of Precipice, hear me well.’

Brakus immediately recognised the man portrayed.

‘I am Captain Janus Draik, rogue trader of the Imperium.’ The normally dapper man looked rough. His eyes were hollow and his cheeks pale. He coughed into a silk handkerchief before continuing.

‘I am also the commander of a grand cruiser called the Draikstar. You have just seen her carry out her current orders. Let me be crystal clear. No one will be allowed to leave Precipice. Whatever plague scourges us, we will confine it here. My ship, and others allied with me, will be patrolling beyond the debris clouds. Any who attempt to violate the quarantine and risk bringing this doom upon the worlds beyond will be summarily destroyed.’ He coughed again, staining the handkerchief with blood as he did so. ‘We will solve this problem here together, or we will die here together.

‘That is all.’ The hologram projection dissolved into static and vanished.

Brakus just felt weary. He had seen a world die. He was no stranger to the hard choices one had to make in the face of terrible threats. At times, to save billions, thousands had to die. That was the way of life in the galaxy.

Others were not so calm. Screams and shoving broke out before the echoes of the announcement had even died away. For some it may have been the panicked realisation that they were going to die down here. For others, pure opportunism. Either way, the situation degraded, the crowd morphing from curious onlookers to full-scale rioting within seconds. For now it was purely fists and thrown debris. A ganger rushed at Brakus with a knife and a snarl. He caught the man in the temple with a swing of the shock maul and the thug’s skull caved in with a squelch.

That bought him a chance to process. Part of him longed to lunge into the fray. The only thing that stopped him was the thought of Danira. She was far sicker than he was. For a moment, the sound of old screams in his head merged with the current ones all around. Too many lost that he’d been unable to protect. With a curse he set off at a run towards the cargo container. There was a way to go before he could reach his home.

The situation was worsening all around him. Gunshots and las-blasts had joined the choir of violence. Now, too, the bullgryns had been unleashed. They waded in, swinging mauls and smashing with shields. There was nothing non-lethal about their approach: bodies were broken left and right. Some, further to the rear, arced canisters of riot gas into the thickest parts of the crowd. Of course, not everything went as the enforcers wished: he watched as a woman ran up to one and hurled a makeshift firebomb into its face, dousing it in liquid flame. The giant brute screeched, a surprisingly shrill sound, and staggered on in a living inferno that spread the blaze to others.

A bullet striped his cheek without warning, a hot line of pain that sent him instinctively diving for cover. A glance out showed a panicky man standing there with wide eyes, firing into the crowds. ‘Stop!’ shouted Brakus. All it got him was another round sent his way, spanging off the rockcrete block he’d crouched behind.

He was safe enough behind cover for the moment, but Danira might not be so lucky. There was nothing for it. He leaned around and sighted in with the Carnodon and fired. A crater blew open in the man’s chest and he crumpled backwards. Brakus was already up and sprinting by the time the shooter hit the ground. The man was still holding the rifle. Brakus drove his head into the ground with the mace. No risk of a bullet in the back.

That was when he looked up and saw the bullgryn watching him. It was breathing hard, bodies strewn behind it, and glaring at him. Guns were forbidden in many parts of Precipice, Brakus knew. The Skeins were often more lawless, but it scarcely mattered now. He was almost certain this was a fight he would lose. His thumb set the maul to crackling and he braced himself.

Then the massive abhuman began to cough. Great gurgling whoops that soon drove it to one knee, all thought of scattering Brakus’ brains across the Skeins apparently forgotten. There was no time now to contemplate the implications. Instead he took this as a gift from the God-Emperor and ran on past. The cargo container was within reach now.

It was blessedly unbreached and he ducked inside and shut the door behind him with haste. Turning around, Brakus found himself face to face with a humming plasma pistol, the blue glow casting shadows that made the whole container eerie. He instantly dropped his weapons and held up his hands.

Immediately the plasma pistol began to shake uncontrollably. Danira’s arm was growing gaunt. It was like the sickness was eating her alive, and the weight of the pistol was clearly too much to hold for any longer. She slumped back onto the bed and deactivated it with a wheeze. ‘You idiot,’ she rasped out. ‘I could have blown you away.’ She contemplated the plasma weapon again. ‘Maybe blown both of us away.’

Brakus took a deep breath. ‘Sorry. We’ll have to figure out some knock to let you know it’s me.’ He collected his weapons and put the mace on its rack, keeping the pistol with him for now.

‘What’s going on out there?’ she asked.

Brakus shook his head. ‘People are realising we’re all going to die here, and that nobody cares.’ He looked over his shoulder, mind working as his heart finally began to slow. ‘And I think the plague has spread to the ogryns.’

She stared at him and wrapped blankets around herself. ‘This whole station is going to tear itself apart.’

He nodded. ‘It’s just a matter of time now.’

Brakus strode up the corridor towards the cargo container. He went armed everywhere now; it paid to be careful. What passed for law and order on Precipice had always been tenuous and was fraying by the day. No one was spared the plague any more. It had come for the ratlings and ogryns as assuredly as the humans. Then, in defiance of all logic, it had spread to the xenos as well. It was as if the Emperor’s judgment had come down on this pernicious place.

He settled the pack on his back and climbed up to the container’s entrance. As the door opened to the code punch, he spoke, ‘I got us some rations, but that was with the last of the tokens. Things are liable to get rough fro–’

Brakus froze. Two cloaked figures stood in the cargo container, with Danira watching them warily. One of them was bulky by human standards, the other lithe and sinuous. Brakus went for the Carnodon but the larger figure held up a hand and said in an oddly harmonised double voice, ‘Please do not do anything you will regret, Master Andradus. We are not here to harm you.’

Brakus thought he recognised that distinctive voice, yet plenty of mysteries remained. He kept his hand on the pistol and hoped they couldn’t see it shaking. ‘How about I see both of your faces, then?’

The bulky one complied immediately. The face revealed confirmed Brakus’ surmise. Its skin was milky translucent, the pink of raw meat underneath. It was surrounded by a fringe of dark eyes on tendrils. Two vertical mouths extended the length of it; they spoke as if slightly off from each other, which had given the being its name on the station: the Echo. It was known to be a major-domo for the proctors, handling business for them throughout the station.

The other didn’t move until the Echo turned to them and cajoled, ‘Please, Lady Amallyn. We are all friends here.’

That earned a soft, contemptuous laugh. Nevertheless the second figure relented and lowered her hood as well.

The face revealed might have been carved to perfection from alabaster. The almond eyes were a vivid, impossible green, the lower face still hidden behind a mask. The ears were long and sharp, stretching back past silver-white hair. Brakus took a step away. An aeldari. Safer to be in close quarters with a swarm of rippers. At least he’d know what they were after.

Amallyn turned to the Echo. ‘You are convinced this one is necessary?’ Her voice was musical and lilting. She glanced scornfully at Brakus. ‘It is not an impressive specimen.’

The Echo spread its hands. ‘There is only one way to find out, no?’

Brakus cleared his throat. It was intended to get their attention but it quickly turned into a real cough. Once it had passed he managed to rasp out, ‘I am standing right here.’

Amallyn sighed expressively. She reached into her cloak and produced a jewelled chalice he recognised immediately. It was the one from the dead ship, the last time he’d gone into the fortress. She must have seen it on his face, as her eyes narrowed. ‘You know this item, then.’

There was no reason to deny it. ‘I do. I sold it in the Dromeplatz a couple of weeks ago. Why?’

She answered with another question. ‘Where did you find it?’

Brakus furrowed his brow. ‘A ship. It was an old one, getting absorbed by the Blackstone. Withered bodies, smooth lines. We looted a few things and left because one of us was getting a bad feeling about the whole thing.’

Danira spoke up, nodding, ‘I was there with him.’

Amallyn cradled the chalice in both hands. There was a sudden deep sorrow in her voice. ‘Isha’s Lament.’

The Echo hummed softly to itself before asking, ‘You became ill how long after this expedition?’

Danira frowned in recollection. ‘I suppose I started coughing not long after. Didn’t realise I was getting proper sick until later, though.’

Brakus thought it over. ‘It must have been a few days after for me.’ He glanced between the two xenos. ‘Does this have something to do with the plague?’

‘It’s not a plague.’ It was an accomplishment to convey a sneer with one’s mouth completely hidden. Amallyn managed it with aplomb. ‘It’s a foryníomhú.’ She paused and looked irritated. ‘This barbaric tongue fails. It’s a scourge. A contagious psychic weapon.’ She looked down at the chalice again. ‘It will not stop until we are all dead, or it is deactivated.’ She turned to the Echo. ‘We must do as I said. Return the artefacts. It is our only chance.’

‘How do you know all this?’ Brakus asked.

She dismissively flicked a hand at him. ‘I did not come here to answer to you, mon-keigh.’

The Echo clucked with something disorientingly like maternal disapproval. ‘Your suppositions do seem to have been confirmed, Lady Amallyn. The proctors will assist in the logistical concerns, as promised.’

‘That is something, at least.’ The aeldari pulled up her hood again. ‘You may contact me when it’s time.’ Then she departed with fluid grace.

The Echo remained. It awkwardly shuffled its feet. ‘She is a proud individual. It does not mean she is wrong.’

Danira laughed but it turned into a paroxysm of coughing. Once it had died down she managed to say weakly, ‘She could have three heads, the table manners of an ambull, and smell like the south side of a northbound grox. If she can stop this… scourge, I’m all for it.’

Brakus understood why Danira felt as she did. She was a vibrant person, clinging to life. He admired that. ‘Anything we can do to help…’ He noticed the Echo was staring at him expectantly as he spoke. Realisation dawned. ‘You didn’t come here to see if I had sold that cup. You already knew. You need me.’

The Echo smiled, both mouths bending outwards. ‘The confirmation was useful, but your further assistance would not be unwelcome.’ The smiles widened. There were no teeth, just hard ridges and swarms of tiny waving cilia. ‘Nor would it go unrewarded. The proctors can be very kind to those who are helpful.’

‘What do you need?’ Brakus asked.

‘A guide. The fortress is ever-changing, of course, but someone familiar with the locale could be beneficial.’ The Echo gestured to Danira. ‘Your compatriot here does not seem to be in any state to aid us, sadly.’

Danira frowned as if she wanted to argue, but it was hard to do when standing might exhaust her. ‘What of Janus or Exactius? They went in with us.’

The Echo nodded. ‘We are aware. Captain Draik is in no better condition than yourself. Exactius-ζ94 has agreed to take part, however it is something of an unknown quantity. To also have someone with clearer motivations would not be disadvantageous.’

Brakus nodded slowly. ‘I see. And what will happen with Danira? She’s quite ill, as you yourself have noted.’

The gunrunner looked affronted. ‘I might not be ready for an expedition, but I am fully capable of–’ Her protest immediately dissolved into new agonised spasms of bloody coughs.

The Echo smiled again. ‘She will be moved to a clinic we have already established, where the most privileged of the station’s inhabitants are being treated.’

Brakus ran a shaking hand along his scalp. ‘Very well. I’m in.’

‘We can of course discuss the particulars of your payment…’ The Echo paused, seemed confused. ‘Ah. You have already agreed.’

Brakus smiled wryly. ‘I’m already dying, right? So let’s stop wasting time.’ He crossed his arms over his chest. ‘Might as well end it doing what I do best.’

It was only a matter of days before the call came. They had already taken Danira to the clinic, so there was nothing left to do but gather his gear. The flak armour, patched from the battering of the last mission. The pistol on one hip, the shock maul on the other. Memoriam was slung over his shoulder. The assorted climbing tools, rope and lights that were necessary for any expedition. He was as ready as he was going to be.

The rendezvous point was up on Celsumgate, one of the three great mooring spires that rose from Precipice’s silhouette. There was no quarantine to worry about any more. It had collapsed once the futility became clear. There was no stopping the spread of the scourge. Most kept to themselves now. It was a strange feeling to pass through Dromeplatz and find the great market still. A few stubborn souls manned stalls here and there, but their wares were sparse. A handful of travellers made their way through to other parts of the station, but they kept their heads down and moved quickly.

Then he was through to Celsumgate itself. The docks, too, were quiet. What people he saw kept their hands on their weapons until he was past. General looting for supplies hadn’t broken out yet, but nobody wanted to be the first victim. He climbed several ladders and walked the ramps until he reached the given dock. There it was: the Steed of Mathurir. It was clearly not of human construction. The lines were too sleek, and no human vessel would have used that great star-sail. The deep green colouring reminded him of the eyes of the ship’s pilot and master.

No sooner had he thought of the aeldari than he spotted her. She was standing in the shadow of her shuttle, an elegant long rifle resting across her arms. A curved blade was sheathed at her back. She wore form-fitting white armour of some alien design, a shimmering cloak whose colours shifted to match her surroundings draped about her shoulders. It was like something out of a painting until she shifted her cold gaze to him on his approach.

‘I see you managed to make it, finally.’

She was not alone. The Echo stood nearby in its dark cloak and robes. Exactius was here as well, the rust-touched bionic warrior standing at the end of the dock and gazing at the stars beyond the field.

Amallyn turned to the Echo. ‘I believe that completes the circus. We should be on our way.’

The Echo shook its head. ‘There is another coming.’

Amallyn frowned. ‘Another? I was not informed…’

‘As I have explained, the proctors believe in the value of a certain redundancy. The fortress is a dangerous place, after all. One never knows who might be lost.’

One of Amallyn’s ears flickered and she turned her head, eyes widening. ‘Drukhari? Shea ctutheach.’

The Echo turned its head a bit and hummed contentedly to itself. ‘Ah, yes indeed. Here she is now.’

The figure strolling up the ramp was an aeldari woman, but there the similarities with Amallyn came to a swift halt. One half of her body was protected by glossy black layers of armour tinged with a toxic green, each edge serrated and sharp as a knife. The other was wrapped in skin-tight black, marked by artistically placed gaps. They revealed pallid flesh corded with ropes of muscle. Gauntlets of obsidian covered her forearms, razor spines jutting out with gleaming lethality. Her eyes were dark as night. It was her hair that brought the shock of colour: blood red and neatly pinned back.

The newcomer inclined her head to Amallyn as she approached. Her voice was vibrant and smoky. ‘Cho fhairyakh thainn, Biel-tani.’ Then she smiled, displaying sharp teeth. ‘Ah, but we are among outsiders, let us be courteous and speak such that they will understand.’ She gave a sweeping bow. ‘Greetings. I am Hekatrix Maugra Vaskadeen. I understand you are to be my stalwart comrades, so you may call me simply Maugra.’

Amallyn radiated cold fury and ignored the greeting to glare at the Echo. ‘I would not have agreed to this, had you shown the wisdom to consult me.’

Looking between them, Brakus was struck by an observation. If there was one thing he knew in all the galaxy, it was an apex predator. Both of these women were exactly that. Killer instincts were written in every move they made. He glanced to the cyborg, knowing the cold death Exactius represented. In this group, trained soldier and expert hunter that he was, he was both outmatched and sick. Not the company he might have chosen to take into the depths of darkness. However, the journey had to be made.

The Echo spread its hands helplessly. ‘You will need all the help you can get, Lady Amallyn. Hekatrix Maugra is a formidable combatant.’

Amallyn snorted eloquently. ‘Of that I have no doubt.’ She shook her head and glanced over the assembled group. ‘Come. We must go.’ She began to enter her shuttle, pausing to glance over her shoulder. ‘None of you will touch anything aboard my ship.’ Then she continued inside.

Maugra clapped her hands with every evidence of glee. ‘This will be a fun journey, I can tell already.’ She smiled broadly again at Exactius and Brakus. ‘Come, mon-keigh. Adventure awaits.’

The lanky form of the deadly cyborg followed Maugra aboard. Brakus glanced to the Echo.

‘Best of luck to you, Master Andradus. What is it you humans always say? Ah, yes. The Emperor protects!’ It gave him a jaunty wave.

With a quiet sigh, Brakus resettled his rifle on his shoulder and headed aboard.

The sweep of the ancient battle station rose before them, a swath cut out of the stars. Brakus realised he was focusing on that as a comforting familiarity in the alien surroundings of the aeldari ship. He had been raised, as most humans were, never to trust in the works of the xenos. Yet here he was on the deck of a ship built by nonhuman hands. The very materials it was crafted from were unknown to him: strange shimmering jewels and prismatic bone. Odd pictographs decorated many surfaces and he wasn’t sure if they were controls or labels. He found it very easy to abide by the ranger’s abjuration that he not touch anything.

Exactius, on the other hand, had never appeared more intrigued. Previously unknown chambers on its head had opened and released additional sensor probes. Its claw-like fingers twitched constantly as if longing to begin collecting samples. Maugra prowled around as restlessly as a great beast in a cage. As for their prideful pilot, she didn’t appear to be piloting at all. She had stridden to the middle of the bridge and now gazed upon the viewscreen attentively. She took no other obvious action. Either the ship was flying itself or she was connected to it on some arcane level. Either possibility made his skin crawl.

He was shaken from his examination by Amallyn calling. ‘Mon-keigh. Come here.’

Brakus looked around uncertainly but the others were staring at him. He walked forwards to stand next to the cloaked aeldari.

She pointed at the viewscreen. ‘Perhaps you could tell me what we are looking at.’

Brakus surveyed the image. All it showed was the slate surface of the fortress itself, slightly glossy in the lights of the ship. ‘The hull of the fortress?’ he ventured.

‘Correct.’ She crossed her arms over her chest. ‘Now what do you not see?’

The huntsman shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t under-stand.’

Amallyn glowered. ‘How surprising. We are at the coordinates you provided. Does that help?’

Brakus looked again and felt his stomach twist. ‘There’s no aperture.’

‘Ah, he catches on.’ She glanced back to the others. ‘Either this is the wrong place, or the fortress has changed.’

It wasn’t unheard of. Many of the smaller apertures were notably unstable.

Exactius stepped forwards unbidden and examined the screen as well. ‘Coordinate accuracy confirmed via astrographic mapping.’

‘That is worse,’ Amallyn said. ‘I would have preferred our situation to be a result of this one’s failure.’ She touched a hand to the crimson stone set in her chestplate. ‘We will have to find another way in.’

‘I wouldn’t know where to start,’ offered Brakus reluctantly. His body ached and the situation was not improving with lost time.

‘Fortunately for us, we need not rely upon you for this.’ Amallyn ran a curiously affectionate hand across the bone-like substance of a nearby column. ‘My beautiful Steed has a certain mapping capability. It is not perfect, but it may be able to get us back onto the right track.’

Exactius swivelled its head to face her. ‘How do you do this?’

The ranger glanced at the cyborg with narrowed eyes. ‘It’s begun. Just a matter of time.’

As they waited, Exactius pointed a claw-finger at Brakus’ right arm. ‘You are blessed by the Omnissiah.’ It seemed a statement, not a question.

The huntsman glanced at the bionic appendage. ‘I suppose?’

‘Why?’ enquired the cyborg.

‘I was… wounded. Badly. I lost my arm.’ He shrugged. ‘A one-armed sniper is useless, so they arranged for the replacement. A Red Priest who was on my home world did the work.’ He smiled wryly. ‘He gave me my rifle, too. Spent the whole time I was recovering listening to me complain about how my gun wasn’t up to the job. At the end, he told me he could modify it. Make it better. But that it could cost both of us our heads.’

The cyborg absorbed this and stood in silence briefly. Then it probed, ‘Yet modifications are applied.’

‘Yeah.’ Brakus could only laugh slightly at the memory. ‘He reiterated that it could be the death of both of us, and then he handed me the modified gun. I asked him why, and he told me that his brethren might kill him, but that the tyranids definitely would if we couldn’t stop them.’

‘You were a soldier,’ the cyborg said.

‘Yeah,’ Brakus said, surprised that was the takeaway.

‘This unit was also a soldier,’ Exactius said hesitantly. It was the first time Brakus had heard it be unsure. ‘Skitarius. Alpha. Until...’

‘Does a soldier really ever stop being one?’ asked Brakus philosophically. ‘What are you now?’

There was an extended pause, and he felt certain it wasn’t going to answer. Then all it said was, ‘Unknown.’ It turned away.

Amallyn broke the silence next. ‘The search is complete. There is another aperture nearby. It seems to connect to structures remaining under this point.’ The ship slid into motion, heading for this new entry point.

‘There’s no telling what that path will involve. We’ll know if it brings us back to the right place, but there could be anything between us and the derelict ship,’ Brakus noted.

Amallyn nodded. For once, there was no contempt in her voice as she said, ‘That is truth. Prepare yourself however you must, mon-keigh. Vaul’s mad designs await us.’

Maugra finally looked over, perking up. ‘Does that mean that we are almost done with the interminable boredom of this jaunt?’

‘Yeah,’ Brakus said. On some level his feelings matched those of the Hekatrix, as disturbing as that was. He was eager, even now, to come to grips with the deadly depths of the fortress. He glanced down at his hand. It had stopped shaking. ‘Let’s get down to business.’

Chapter 4

All the Peculiar Ways

They exited the Steed of Mathurir and set foot along the dark pathways of Old Unfathomable once more. The chamber was massive and shaped as the inside of an octahedron. They’d landed ‘up’ into one of the faces and now gazed about the semi-darkness of the place. The face they were on was a great triangle laid out all around them, with others sloping up from the edges. None of the surfaces were smooth: each was corrugated with levels and low walls, their placement oddly artistic, leaving the impression of some intentional message that could not be deciphered.

One thing was definitely missing. ‘That’s strange,’ muttered Brakus. Realising that he’d drawn the attention of the others, he motioned around. ‘Normally at an aperture there are maglev transports available. Sometimes one, sometimes several. But that’s what lets you get into the deeper parts of the fortress. I don’t see any here.’

‘This aperture read as connected to the rest of the fortress. Unless it’s actively rearranging as we speak, then you must be missing something,’ Amallyn said.

‘What is that?’ Maugra asked. The Hekatrix was looking straight upwards, her dark eyes narrowed.

Brakus tried to follow her gaze, squinting as he did. He had been selected for sniper training on his home world, in part for his sharp eyes. He still couldn’t make out what she was looking at thanks to the darkness and the distance. There might have been a smudge on the ceiling far above.

Amallyn merely glanced. ‘There is an opening. That may well be what we have to reach. The only question is… how?’

Exactius interjected, ‘Gravimetric readings anomalous nearby. Investigation required.’

It strode off without waiting for anyone to agree. With no better options the group followed. Once they reached the vertex where four plates conjoined, the cyborg stopped and seemed to be contemplating it.

‘So, what, the gravity is going to shift when we walk across the line?’ Brakus looked over the juncture between the faces. It would be an unpleasant angle to walk up, but this part should be manageable even if it didn’t change over to be the new ‘down’. He went to cross the border.

‘Direct personal experimen–’ the cyborg was hissing.

It was too late.

The next thing he knew he was falling. It was as if the whole chamber had turned around him, and now there was nothing to do but tumble into the sky. He gave a strangled cry that was cut off as the iron grip of a claw seized him by the leg right above his boot. He was dangling at the top of a new octahedron that dropped away beneath him, a fall of hundreds of feet or more. ‘Damn!’ he said, flailing, but there was nothing to grab. There was only the arm of the cyborg keeping him from plunging up – down – whatever it was. It would have been nice if that alloy limb didn’t seem so hauntingly spindly in this moment.

Brakus was brought back over the line and the world reconfigured around him once more. He fell to his feet and toppled down to his knees. Deep breaths dissolved into coughs and he just slumped there for now, trying to let his heart slow.

‘Personal experimentation contraindicated,’ finished the cyborg.

‘Right. Thanks. Noted,’ Brakus gasped out. ‘What in the warp was that?’

‘Entertaining?’ offered Maugra.

‘Further data collection encouraged,’ said Exactius and indicated another one of the adjoining plates. It reached down and snagged a shell from Brakus’ bandolier, and he didn’t resist. Tossed to the other side, it thudded to the ground and simply rested facing them at an impossible angle. At that, the cyborg stepped across. ‘Ah,’ it commented.

The xenos followed immediately. It took Brakus longer to gather his courage. Once he did he was immediately forced to fight a surge of nausea. It wasn’t what he’d expected. There was no sense of a shift in gravity this time. Instead it felt as though he’d simply stepped forwards on the same plane – and in the process everything else had shifted around him.

Maugra laughed as she looked around. ‘Not the sort of trickery you normally encounter in this realm.’

‘Icositetrachoron,’ rasped Exactius.

Brakus shook his head, trying not to vomit. His body certainly hadn’t appreciated the terror followed by this shift. ‘What? I don’t understand.’

The cyborg motioned around. ‘Four-dimensional construct.’

The huntsman sighed and scrubbed a palm over his scalp. His skin was hot even to his own touch, the fever eating at him now. He could feel his hand shaking as well. The strangeness of this place only disturbed and frustrated him. ‘Does this help us reach our goal?’

Exactius inclined its head. ‘Application of polyhedral net allows mapping into three-dimensional terms.’

Amallyn gestured ahead. ‘Lead the way, taibh-meirj.’ It was said with a certain sardonic tone, but the delivery lacked the raw contempt of the earlier epithet. Perhaps the cyborg had distinguished itself in her eyes. Brakus apparently had not, for she followed it up with, ‘Come, mon-keigh. Try to keep up.’

They continued on a path set by Exactius. It seemed oddly wandering, moving from edge to edge with no apparent sense that Brakus could discern. The approach also seemed to be working, however. Each time they crossed a juncture they might as well have remained on a flat plane. Only the attitude and details of the chamber transfigured around them. It was as if each ‘new’ octahedron were a ghost and entirely real at the same time. It made Brakus’ head ache, but he couldn’t argue with results.

That was until Exactius stepped across and immediately lost its balance.

‘Miscalculation,’ it announced flatly, then toppled and began to tumble. It hurt the eyes to look at, but the cyborg appeared to be falling down an upward slope. Brakus lunged to try and grab it but missed by scant inches – a blessing, on reflection, as in his weakened state he’d probably just have been dragged down too. He had to hope that Exactius could save itself. As he watched, it dug the blade-digits on its hands and feet into the material of the slope.

This did the work of slowing Exactius down and finally stopping it. It also kicked up sparks and dug great gouts into the strange material. Brakus took a deep breath of relief and reached for the rope on his belt, but before he could get it loose a terrible keening cut through the air.

Amallyn clapped her hands to her sharp ears. ‘What is that ghastly sound?’

Maugra was visibly in pain as well, but it seemed to drive her to new heights of alertness. She whirled this way and that, then stabbed the razor finger of her gauntlet off to the left. ‘There!’

Brakus followed her direction and couldn’t help but stare. The stone surface was flowing like liquid, pulling back to reveal a tunnel of some kind. A quartet of metallic figures stepped with insectile grace through the opening. They had a curiously aquatic body balanced on thin tripod legs, an amethyst orb shining on their front like a single great eye.

Brakus felt his blood chill. He had not encountered this threat himself, but he had heard of them: spindle drones. The keepers of the fortress and, at times, its cold guardians. Their appearance was seemingly arbitrary – far worse damage than Exactius had inflicted had not drawn them in the past. On other occasions, they would appear to accost intruders simply for setting foot in a place.

‘Are they hostile?’ Amallyn asked warily, forced to endure the continued screech of the alarm to grab her weapon.

She received her answer in the form of a blazing purple bolt of energy. One of the drones had opened fire and that seemed the signal for the others to join. The trio of explorers scattered for cover under the fire. The preternatural speed and grace of the aeldari served them well in avoiding the blasts on the way to protection. Brakus was not so fortunate. One of the shots struck him in the leg with a flash of pain. He was knocked off kilter and tumbled to the ground, crawling as fast as he could to get behind a nearby low wall.

He’d been lucky; it had only been a glancing hit that scorched his shin. Brakus looked over to see Amallyn leaning from behind cover and lining up a shot. ‘Wait!’ he called.

‘We can’t afford to!’ she shouted. ‘We must cover for the construct!’

A glance backwards showed him the truth of what she said. The odd geometry of this place meant Exactius was completely exposed as it dragged itself ‘down’ towards the edge. Amallyn hadn’t tarried for the sake of his agreement. The blast from her long rifle caught the drone right in its eye-orb and shattered it in a small explosion of purple fire. It collapsed, streaming smoke and sparks. In response, however, the keening rose in pitch and volume and the glow of the remaining three brightened.

It was as he’d been told, then. The drones would only grow stronger the more of them were destroyed. Indeed, the pulse blasts were more energetic now. Brakus could hear the thudding impacts as they smashed into the wall he was behind. Then they stopped, and he risked a glance out. Maugra was drawing their fire, sprinting so fast she seemed a black-and-red blur. The pulses kicked up clouds of lavender sparks in her wake as she curved in a great arc.

This was his chance. Brakus rose to one knee and braced his rifle on the wall in front of him, then lowered an eye to the scope. He carefully guided the reticle over the body of one of the drones and began to exhale as his finger squeezed the trigger. The moment stretched to eternity. Then the weapon roared and slammed into his shoulder, rocking his whole body. The drone burst in a spray of alien machinery. It fell to the side, legs kicking uncontrollably, then went still.

Amallyn had not wasted the chance either. Another of the orbs exploded with the perfect accuracy that seemed her hallmark. They had invited attention back to themselves, however, and Brakus dropped behind his cover hastily. It wasn’t enough. The shot fired at him smashed clean through the low wall to his right and sprayed him with chunks of blackstone. He rolled away as quickly as he could. The remaining drone was tracking him along the wall and gaining fast, each blast punching through with that same explosive force. This one wasn’t going to just scorch him. He realised he was laughing as he scrambled along.

Right as he ran out of time he heard a distinct impact from the direction of the drone. Maugra had closed as it focused on him and leapt right onto it. She punched down with the bladed gauntlets she wore, and those razor edges cared nothing for whatever strange alloy the machine was crafted from. The metal skin was carved away as if it weren’t there under lightning-fast strikes, coming apart in shards of metal and sizzles of purple energy.

They’d neutralised the current threat, but the alarm hadn’t stopped. Brakus limped as fast as he could to the edge of the plate, where Exactius was just dragging itself over again.

The huntsman helped the cyborg up. ‘We need to hurry. It’s only a matter of time before more of those things are despatched, and they’re angry now.’

‘Affirmative,’ acknowledged Exactius and set off with purpose.

They reached the edge and crossed over. Once again everything shifted except for them. Only this time it was a return to the ‘first’ octahedron-chamber in which they had landed. The Steed of Mathurir was visible overhead, as though glued to the ceiling. Ahead of them was the opening that the aeldari had spotted, a triangular chute down into the floor.

Amallyn was already heading towards it, but Brakus caught her by the arm, ‘Wait.’ She looked at his hand as though it were made out of sewage and he quickly retracted it, but said firmly, ‘I don’t know anything about extra dimensions or impossible shapes. But I learn my lessons.’ His words were broken up by a painful cough. He pointed at the chute as he struggled to finish the thought, finally managing, ‘And that’s too obvious. It’s a trap.’

Exactius paused, perhaps conducting a scan. ‘Assessment accurate. Gravimetric anomaly detected.’

Brakus nodded. ‘The moment you decide you’re safe in the fortress is the moment you die.’

The cyborg crouched next to the opening and then crawled forwards, the alloy claws of its powerful hands digging into the blackstone itself. You could see the altered gravity take effect, as its legs stretched straight upwards from their point of view. Then it ‘climbed down’ out of sight. The others followed one by one; Brakus used the climbing tools from his kit. Such artifice was unnecessary for the aeldari. They were able to balance themselves with preternatural grace, bounding from one side of the chute to the other to propel themselves into the room beyond.

The howling of the alarm faded behind them. The end of the chute led into a maglev transport, and Brakus felt himself relax just the slightest bit. At least this form of incomprehensibility he was used to. He stepped to the console with its array of bizarre controls. ‘I can try to take us towards where the derelict was located. Breathe while you can. There’s no telling what is along the way.’ The doorway sealed behind them as he set the mechanism into motion.

The weariness of the journey to reach this point was already hitting Brakus more than he wanted to admit. Even this exertion had his chest burning and legs trembling. His vitality was far from its usual condition. Conversation seemed a welcome distraction, even if he had to try to make it with xenos and machines.

‘So why did you all agree to this mission?’

No one answered.

He focused on Exactius with a sigh. ‘Come now. You know why I’m here. I’m going to die if we don’t do something about this scourge. You don’t even seem sick, though. So what’s in it for you?’

‘Knowledge,’ was all the cyborg whispered. Brakus wasn’t sure if that was an admonishment not to pry or the answer. He glanced to Amallyn but she didn’t even look at him, all her attention seemingly focused on tweaking her elegant rifle.

Maugra merely grinned her sharp-toothed grin at him. ‘I’m here for the same reason you are, mon-keigh.’

‘You’re sick?’ the huntsman asked dubiously. Unhealthy wasn’t the word he’d have applied to her. Disturbingly vital, perhaps.

The Hekatrix clucked her tongue disapprovingly. ‘No, no, not that pitiful pretence. I mean what really drives you.’ She stepped closer, and he felt the deep urge to retreat. There was nowhere to go in the close confines of the transport.

Brakus couldn’t bring himself to look away. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Yes you do. You’re a primitive little beast, but I’ll give you credit. You haven’t made self-denial an artform like these two. I heard you laughing in the face of death back there.’ She reached forwards with the claw of the gauntlet and almost touched his forehead. ‘You’re lying to yourself here.’ The finger dropped to hover over his chest. ‘Not here.’

Brakus tried to ignore the bleak certainty that the razor-edge of that claw could go right through him if she stepped forwards. ‘So what drives me – us, then, xenos? Enlighten me.’ He tried to sound scornful.

She chuckled. ‘Living and dying. We want to live, to feel alive, and the only way we know to do that is to end the life of others.’ Maugra’s finger darted up in the blink of an eye and he cursed at a flash of pain. He clapped a hand to his chin. There was a single drop of his blood on the tip of the claw. ‘Blood, mon-keigh. Pumping or spilling. That’s the only truth.’

That was when the hatch cycled open to reveal a new chamber. His hand came away with only drips of red. A shallow cut at worst, and she’d already stepped away towards the exit. Exactius followed her with no evidence of interest in the exchange. Amallyn, however, had a strange emotion in her eyes. Something like sorrow, Brakus thought. Perhaps mourning. Not for him, but for the Hekatrix.

The passage beyond was caught in an evening half-light. It ended in a T-junction, but that wasn’t what immediately captured the eye. Instead, it was the makeup of the walls, floor and ceiling. On one level they were very familiar, still composed of the smooth black stone that gave the fortress its name. Here, however, it had been polished to a mirror sheen.

As they filed out of the deactivated transport, they could see their reflections all around them. The images were darkened and distorted into near-unrecognisability. Brakus stepped up to the wall and peered at his own warped image. It was like looking at his own ghost, he mused, then blew out a sigh at the morbid thought.

With no other choices the group made their way to the junction, whereupon their plight became far clearer. Both choices of direction could be seen branching further as you looked down their extent. One choice became a dozen, and that was assuming there weren’t further deviations beyond what they could see.

‘A labyrinth,’ Amallyn observed. ‘Odd.’

‘It does seem surprisingly straightforward,’ Brakus noted warily. ‘One hand on the left wall and we’ll figure it out.’

The aeldari ranger nodded. ‘If we could navigate the hyper-diamond, how would a mere maze stop us?’

Brakus gave a weary chuckle and suppressed a cough. ‘You speak as though the fortress is actively trying to stop us. As if it thinks.’

She glanced to him. ‘Are you so confident that it doesn’t?’

The huntsman shook his head. ‘I am confident of nothing in this place, aeldari. What can we do but stay alert? The danger will present itself, and we must overcome it.’

Amallyn motioned to the left. ‘Onwards, then.’

They proceeded down the indicated passage. The only sound was the click of their tread against the polished floors. The key was always to stay to the left, Brakus told himself. Down this path to a dead end and back again, but always to the left. Don’t let this place unnerve and distract you. Even so, he couldn’t help a certain growing uneasiness creeping up between his shoulder blades. It was the feeling of being watched. He threw a hasty glance over his shoulder, but there was nothing there but his compatriots.

Maugra whispered something to the right of him.

‘What did you say?’ asked Brakus.

The Hekatrix shot him an annoyed look. ‘I said nothing.’ Nevertheless she seemed uneasy too, her armoured hands flexing and relaxing rhythmically.

They followed the left branch of another T-junction, but it ended. Yet when they turned around Brakus found himself looking at an L shape that went off to the left.

‘Wait,’ the huntsman said with a frown. ‘Am I confused?’

‘Negative,’ Exactius hissed coldly. ‘Configuration altered.’

‘How are we to solve a changing maze?’ Amallyn asked.

Maugra laughed, though there was little humour in the sound. ‘It seems this place knows the oldest rule of all – if you cannot win honestly, then cheat.’

The ranger looked around but shook her head. ‘All we can do is press ahead. Come.’

They moved up the passage and took the only option presented to them. Here it branched again, and again. Brakus heard the whispering again, this time behind him, but merely gritted his teeth. There was nothing there. The strangeness of the fortress did not end on the physical level. It was capable of twisting your mind and turning it against itself. What could he trust when he could not rely on his own senses?

Caught up in his thoughts, Brakus had trailed to the rear of the group. Now, however, a new sound made itself known. He couldn’t place it at first. It was as if there were more of them walking than there should be. There, among the sound of their footsteps. Another set, just behind them. He tried not to focus on it, but now that he’d heard it he couldn’t ignore it. It seemed to be speeding up now. Closing in on them. His hand dropped to the pistol at his hip.

‘Stop.’ It wasn’t him that spoke. It was Maugra. Her eyes were narrowed, fists clenched.

‘You heard it too,’ he said softly. The Hekatrix nodded.

Their pursuer had stopped with them. Brakus started to look back but Maugra stopped him with a gesture.

‘Turn only if you don’t value your life,’ she whispered. The huntsman swallowed hard. He could have sworn he heard soft, mocking laughter.

‘We have to keep going,’ Amallyn was at his side and staring back too. ‘Staying here won’t help.’

Brakus nodded and followed along. The instant they continued, the footsteps returned. The whispers came with them. Just at the edge of hearing. Their tone mocking, barely perceptible. The footsteps accelerated. They couldn’t be more than a dozen feet behind now. He could feel the sweat on his back, the itch. Waiting for the strike.

He couldn’t take it any more.

Whirling, Brakus pulled his pistol and fired without even waiting. The roar of the pistol pounded at him in this confined space, left his ears ringing. There was only the input of his eyes, and he had trouble understanding what he was seeing.

There was a reflection of him standing there, one of the distorted and ghostly darkling echoes that had surrounded them this whole time. A hole had been punched neatly through its midsection, cracks spidering out from the impact point as though the thing were made of glass. As he watched, it shivered apart and hit the ground like a falling pane, shattering into a cascade of shards. They immediately began to melt into the floor like chips of ice in warm water.

More began to step from the walls. The masquerade was broken, it seemed, and now they were coming in earnest. They slid from the substance of the hall like living shadows, leaving no gaps or openings. They didn’t move like living things. Instead the impression was that of marionettes jerking and twitching their way forwards with alarming speed.

Brakus didn’t dare look away to see what the others were doing. He tried to speak but it came out a dry rasp the first time. ‘Out.’ The second time was clearer. ‘Watch out! To arms! They’re coming!’

‘They come from this side as well!’ called Amallyn. ‘Back to back! Stand together, and Khaine còmahlae rynn!’

Seven of the translucent horrors were heading towards Brakus. Exactius stepped up beside him and drew its taser goad, the baroque weapon sizzling to life with blue arcs. The huntsman dropped to one knee and sighted in with his pistol. It spoke a thunderous cadence. Two shots caught the closest one and scattered it into a hundred pieces. The third bullet caught one in the head and broke it away completely, but the body lunged on uncaring of its decapitation. The fourth shot to the leg did the task, however. It fell forwards and broke into chunks that skittered across the floor.

The fifth round blew an arm to bits, but the shadow-thing merely stopped and shoved the stump to the wall. When it drew back the limb was restored as though the damage had never happened. Now the Carnodon clicked empty and there was no time to reload, for the enemy was upon them. The closest came on lashing with its extremities. Then Exactius was there, the taser goad blocking each strike at inhuman speeds. The cyborg’s riposte caught the thing squarely and lightning leapt forth, staggering the other nearby foes while the main target shivered apart.

Exactius had bought enough time for Brakus to draw his maul and lunge into the fray. He bowled right into one of the horrors with a sweeping arc, scattering its fragments in a glittering rain. Another was on him before he could recover. He twisted away from its grasp but wasn’t quite quick enough. The threat they posed became clear as its wicked talons carved through his shoulder plate and the flesh beneath as easily as air. He snarled through the pain and caught it a glancing blow with a hasty backhand swing that sent it staggering.

Unfortunately their foe was incapable of fear or pain. It recouped in an instant and struck at Brakus’ face. He jerked his head out of the way enough that a line of fire on his cheek was the only cost. Without thinking he swiped with his free hand to try and knock the offending limb away. Instead of batting it aside, he caught it on the edge and it cut right through armour and into the meat of his forearm. Gritting his teeth he kicked the flat of its leg and it splintered satisfyingly. He stepped back as it toppled, to avoid any counter-attacks, then seized his chance as it hit the ground. An overhead strike finished it off to the musical tinkling of broken glass.

Exactius had handled the last one in the meantime, but notches in the cyborg’s plated hide showed the enemy had not gone quietly. They whirled to assist the aeldari, but even as they turned Maugra was smashing the last one into slivers with an artful backfist. Amallyn stood with her power blade crackling in her hand. Both women were bleeding from cuts, but all of the mirror-fiends were destroyed.

The quartet stared at each other with wild eyes, then Maugra laughed. ‘Is that all they’ve got?’

Brakus winced. ‘Don’t you xenos know better than to tempt fate?’

‘Some of us do. Too few, it seems.’ Amallyn’s voice was dark and she pointed off to the side. There in the murky reflection they could see a shadow-shape re-forming itself. ‘Run,’ she said.

They set off as fast as they could, sprinting through the shining corridors. Brakus reloaded his pistol as he ran, even as blood ran down over his fingers from his sliced arm. One of the vitreous things stepped out of the wall ahead of them and he fired without slowing. It was a wild shot that only disintegrated the thing’s shoulder and made it stumble. The deadly arc of Amallyn’s power blade finished the job as they passed, however, neatly bisecting it. It fell apart as they ran on.

Their escape came to a swift end only moments later. The hallway was sealed off before them. Brakus slumped against the wall as they pulled up to a halt, coughing uncontrollably as the exertion caught up with him. The others stared about futilely – no easy escape presented itself. If this was a trap, they were well and truly snared.

‘Hostiles inbound,’ rasped Exactius, and assumed a combat stance. Sure enough, the mirror-things could be seen closing in down the hallway with their puppets’ gait. Amallyn gave a low hiss of rage and stowed her blade fin favour of her long rifle. A deadeye shot took one of the creatures apart. Yet if what they’d seen held true, it would re-form and return. Brakus looked around as his coughing finally came under control. There had to be something.

That was when he noticed the hole in the wall next to him. He frowned at it and craned around to look. It must have been from that running shot. To his surprise, a hallway was visible through the gap. The wall itself was thinner than he’d imagined.

‘Look,’ Brakus called to the others.

Amallyn took a shot to topple another foe before risking a look. She seemed to assess the situation in a heartbeat. ‘Can we use it?’

Maugra clapped her gauntlets together with a crunch. ‘Perhaps we could punch through to the hall beyond, stay ahead of them.’

‘Perhaps,’ Brakus agreed. He shook his head frustratedly. ‘Still, there’s no guarantee there’s a way out at all. If only we could…’

‘Could what, mon-keigh?’ Amallyn asked.

Brakus looked up. What if the trick went even deeper? What if the entire maze was as insubstantial as that wall? He grinned fiercely. ‘What was that oldest rule, Maugra? I think it’s time we stopped playing by the rules ourselves.’ He raised his gun and emptied the magazine into the ceiling. The glassy surface shattered under the impacts, raining fragments down and revealing a pitch-black void beyond. The others stared at the opening and then looked to him. ‘Enough labyrinth. Up and out,’ he said.

Maugra snickered. Then she leapt to the wall and sprang away lithely, landing on the roof. Amallyn followed suit just behind.

Brakus stared. ‘I don’t think I can–’

He was cut off as Exactius grabbed hold of him and leapt up with a single spring of its powerful legs.

The labyrinth was laid out before them. From this perspective it was a great plane of blackstone, translucent enough to allow dim light from within. All around them there appeared to be nothing else but a great darkness, as though they stood under a starless night sky.

‘Navigation simplified,’ conceded Exactius.

‘Hopefully now we can find the exit more easily, and stay ahead of those damnable things.’

Brakus took one step.

Then gravity inverted and he was snatched from his feet upwards into the fathomless dark.

Chapter 5

Old Scars

Brakus fell through darkness.

There was no way to know how long he’d been falling. He had screamed in the first eternal second, but that basic fear was unsustainable. There was no frame of reference. No ground rushing up to meet him. No walls hurtling past. After that first heartbeat it was not the fall that terrified him.

It was the helplessness.

That was the thing that explorers couldn’t afford to understand. To survive here, it was necessary to conceptualise the fortress as a series of challenges. Overcome them one by one, and leave here rich. A maze or a monster, mythological in their underpinnings. Here, the truth was laid bare. In a moment of triumph the fortress had snatched him away and hurled him into oblivion. There was no way to overcome the Unfathomable, not really. In the end, his survival depended solely on the sufferance of powers beyond his comprehension.

Brakus had known this terrible truth once before. In the face of the Devourer his people had done everything they could. They had fought tooth and nail. Confronted with the face of annihilation they had spat blood in its eye. Raw defiance. It hadn’t mattered. They had been washed away as surely as grains of sand upon the beach, and his home had died in flame.

He landed hard, slamming into some dark surface.

It drove the air from his lungs and left him wheezing helplessly as he tumbled down a midnight slope. All thought was driven from his head as he rolled to the bottom and landed in a painful jumble. Brakus lay gasping for air. Everything around was pitch-black and silent. The only sign that he hadn’t gone blind was the fact that he could see himself perfectly clearly. It was as if light fell upon him and him alone.

Slowly, painstakingly, he picked himself up. His limbs responded, and though he felt bruised and sore nothing seemed broken. The very fact of his survival seemed like mockery. He couldn’t have survived that fall by virtue of anything but artifice. Would his life ever really belong to him, after this? Or was he nothing but the fortress’ creature from this day forward? He shook the thoughts away furiously.

He had lost the Carnodon and his maul in the fall, but both lay conveniently nearby. He collected them and took advantage of a chance to bind his various wounds. He felt a bit dizzy already, whether from illness or blood loss he couldn’t be sure. Eventually there was nothing left to do but limp into the darkness.

‘Exactius?’ he called into the dark. ‘Amallyn?’ He hesitated on the last name. Was this really the environment to be trapped with such a thing? Yet he found himself calling all the same, more afraid of the solitude. ‘Maugra?’

No one answered. There wasn’t so much as a breath of air against his face to break the stillness. He staggered on for a time, calling and coughing in alternate turns. Surely he hadn’t been spared merely to die of the scourge on this pitch-dark plane? At last he fell to his knees in weariness and got out his canteen. He took a few gulps of precious water as he thought. There had to be something he could do.

That was when Brakus saw it out of the corner of his eye. The glimmer of light in the distance. He turned that way and frowned, blinking. It didn’t vanish. There was something there; perhaps one of his comrades, similarly lost in this place. He gathered himself up again with a wince and set off. Just to be safe he drew his pistol and reloaded it. He never knew what form danger would take in this place.

The distant spark resolved itself into a glow as he approached. He couldn’t stifle an incredulous laugh as he got close enough to make out what it actually was: a maglev transport. It sat incongruously in the darkness all by itself. He leaned against it and glanced inside. Sure enough, it was the same console he’d always seen, with its assortment of mysterious symbology.

This presented a complication. The transports operated according to a scheme no one quite understood. They didn’t activate without passenger input, but you could never be sure where they would take you. Further, once used they deactivated for an indeterminate time. If he used it, he might never meet the others again. Worse, if they were somewhere in the dark too, he might be stranding them here.

‘Anyone!’ he called out. ‘It’s Brakus! I have a way out!’ There wasn’t even an echo. His voice might as well have stopped a hand-breadth from his face. Perhaps it had. The fortress rarely felt the need to play by the rules. He snorted at himself. He had become one of those who treated this place like it was alive, apparently. If it was, it was the greatest predator of them all. How did one slay such a thing?

Coughing overtook him again. Blood sprayed the stony floor with each agonising spasm. It wrung him out and left him panting and slumped against the side of the transport. Was there really any choice? He could not afford to wait here. He would only get weaker. He looked around one last time, but there was nothing save the darkness. If he was to go on, he would do it alone.

Brakus stepped once more into the glow of the transport and programmed the console as best he could. The hatchway closed and he slid to the floor. His chest hurt. Truthfully, every inch of him hurt, but he could feel each breath like a flicker of flame in his lungs. Like breathing hot smoke. It reminded him of that last day. The last day of Nadeshda, his home.

They’d been steadily driven back. Every defence had crumbled. Every hope had failed. Guard regiments from throughout the sector had poured in. A levee of bodies that had washed away all the same. What could you do against such an enemy? They grew stronger with death. If you killed ten of them and died yourself, they took the ground and there were eleven more of them the next day.

By the end there hadn’t even been battle lines. Just small pockets of resistance that shrank with each passing hour, like water drying under a cruel sun. Ships launched constantly in a futile effort to save as many as they could. That was Brakus’ great shame, of course. He had fired every round he carried, and then he had run. Better men had stood with bayonets to buy another second. Better men had died.

We’ll return some day, he had lied to himself. They’ll need every fighting man they can get, then. We’ll return and we’ll retake our world and butcher these monsters like they butchered us. Then he’d sat against the window as they’d risen into orbit. He’d watched as the great ships fired their payloads, and the world below dissolved into all-consuming flame. ‘Exterminatus’, they called it. A last purification when there was nothing that could be saved.

The hatch was open again, he realised. He levered himself to his feet using his rifle. If this was the source of the scourge, what was he going to do? All of the proctor’s careful redundancies had failed after all, it seemed. The sickest, weakest, and least knowledgeable of all of them had reached their destination alone. He walked through the opening into the chamber beyond.

It wasn’t the derelict.

Brakus stood on a platform over which a brisk, cold wind blew. Before him lay a narrow path across a great chasm. It couldn’t have been wider than one of his boots. There was nothing else around.

‘Another hazard,’ he muttered wearily. ‘Another trap. Another trick! I’m exhausted!’ His voice had risen with each word. He was shouting by the end. ‘Let me out! Do you hear me? I’m sick of your games!’ His words were strangled by wheezing and coughing. The only response was the steady flow of the wind, whistling up from the depths and over the platform. The narrow path waited.

‘So be it,’ he said softly.

He limped towards the walkway. The wind seemed to pick up the closer he got, snatching at his weapons and armour. It tugged at the bandages he’d wrapped around his wounds, causing spikes of pain. Brakus took a deep breath and stepped out onto the path. He was forced to edge along sideways over the depths of the abyss. Just don’t look down, he told himself. Just keep moving.

The further he got, however, the more Brakus noticed something strange. The temperature of the wind was changing. It drifted from icy to chill and then on to lukewarm. Within a short span it had become outright sweltering. He had already been sweating from the anxiety of the passage, but now it began in earnest. The humidity was intense, as though he were caught in the breath of some massive thing. Still, he focused and inched onwards. Allowing the fortress to rattle him here could be a fatal mistake.

That was when the screaming started. The sound was indistinct at first, but it sharpened rapidly. Wails of agony and fear echoing up from the depths, as though he stood at the edge of damnation. Mixed in were inhuman sounds. Shrieks and cries he had not heard in over a decade. Yet he still knew them well. The voices of the Devourer. This was not some random cacophony to strike fear into him. It was straight from his memories. It was the day his world died.

‘Andradus,’ a voice said from beside him, and he froze.

‘You’re not real. You can’t be real,’ Brakus whispered to himself. Nevertheless he couldn’t stop himself from turning his head to see. It was Raskin standing on the path back the way he’d come, just as he feared. His old spotter looked none the worse for wear, an impressive feat considering he’d been devoured by the tyranids. ‘You’re dead, Ras.’

The other man grinned. ‘Details, details.’

‘You’re just the fortress messing with my mind. Just like all of this.’ Brakus closed his eyes tightly. It was the hot wind from below, he told himself. That was what was stinging his eyes and drawing tears. ‘I’m sorry.’

The spotter sounded curious. ‘Sorry for what?’

Brakus forced himself to look at the man once more. ‘You did everything. You killed that gargoyle when it had us dead to rights, and you dragged me all the way back to camp. Then when Nadeshda was dying, we got separated. I couldn’t find you.’ The words came out easily, but sat wrong with Ras looking him in the eyes.

‘No.’ That word was strangled. He clenched his fist and forced himself to continue. ‘No, that’s a lie. I didn’t even try. The last attack came, and I just ran.’

‘Is that how you remember it?’ asked Ras.

‘That’s how it was.’ Brakus looked down into the depths. He could almost see them down there, the writhing shapes. Swarms of tyranids. ‘I guess this is your revenge. Maybe that’s for the best.’

‘I haven’t come to punish you, Brakus,’ Ras smiled sadly. ‘I’ve come to save you.’

Brakus stared at him. ‘How?’

The spotter gestured up the path, back the way that Brakus had come. The huntsman saw a glow there in the distance. A transport. ‘I’ll walk you out, old friend. Just like I did with the gargoyle. The transport will take you to an aperture where someone will find you. Everything will be all right.’

Brakus found himself at a loss. A certain sick relief welled up in his gut. ‘I–’

‘Eugh.’ It was a noise of pure disgusted contempt coming from the other side of him. Brakus turned to look so fast that his balance wavered. A disturbingly strong hand caught him by the shoulder, balanced him. ‘Careful there, mon-keigh. Slip here and that’s the end.’

The Hekatrix, Maugra, stood there. Brakus blinked. ‘Is… that actually you, Maugra? Or just more mind games?’

The aeldari grinned her sharp-toothed grin. ‘You’d be surprised how often I get asked that.’ She shrugged. ‘One way or another, I’m here to offer you a choice.’

Brakus glanced to Ras. The man’s face was grim but he was silent, waiting. The huntsman looked back to Maugra. ‘I’m listening.’

Maugra gestured onwards down the path, the way he’d been going. A glow was there as well, another transport. ‘Safety’s not what you crave. You know that. I’ll take you to killing like you’ve never seen. You have no idea the monsters hiding in the dark corners of this place. You could hunt them to your last breath.’

Brakus looked down again briefly, nausea clenching his stomach as vertigo hit. ‘I’m already dying, though. This damn scourge…’

‘Does that really matter?’ asked Maugra.

‘Do you really want to live?’ asked Ras.

Brakus looked to his old friend. ‘Of course I do!’

Ras shook his head. ‘You’ve spent every day since Nadeshda died throwing yourself at killers. That’s not the path of someone who wants to live.’ The spotter smiled sadly. ‘We’re offering you the chance to decide how you die. You get to have what you’ve wanted, however you want it. Most people never get that lucky.’

Brakus closed his eyes again. ‘I didn’t come here alone. The others–’

‘What of them?’ Maugra asked exasperatedly. ‘Do you know if they live? Do you actually care?’ She pointed down. The view had changed. He could see the derelict now, slowly being devoured by the fortress. Three tiny figures were heading towards it from one direction. From the other came a host of dark shapes. Vile things, come to claim the scourge for themselves.

‘They don’t stand a chance,’ whispered Brakus in horror.

‘They never did. Neither do you,’ said Ras sadly.

‘I promised to help. Not just them. The people on Precipice. My friends,’ Brakus said.

‘You don’t have friends,’ sneered Maugra. ‘Friends are companions through life. Death is a path you walk alone.’

‘Besides,’ Ras said, ‘they’re all down there, with the dead and the dying. You don’t want to go down there.’

Brakus could hear them now. Danira’s voice mixed in with the screams. Captain Draik suffering with the damned. Even the broken machine bleating of Exactius. All those lives consigned to the flame. Precipice would go the way of Nadeshda and so many other places before it.

Ras sighed softly. His voice was gentle as he said, ‘You couldn’t have saved anyone on Nadeshda. You can’t save anyone here. You don’t control the outcomes, Brakus. You never did.’

Brakus nodded slowly. ‘I suppose that’s true.’ He looked to Ras again. ‘You said I get to decide how it ends, though.’

Ras nodded. ‘A blessing, surely.’

Brakus looked between the two. ‘And you offer me a final peace, or slaughter until the end? You’re right, I think. I’ve spent all this time chasing self-destruction.’ He swallowed once, hard. ‘I can’t go back.’ Maugra grinned hungrily, but he held up a hand. ‘But I won’t give in to mindless slaughter.’ Brakus sighed. ‘If this is the end, I have to make a stand. Even if it amounts to nothing.’

‘And if you fail?’ they asked simultaneously.

‘Then I’ll die. But I’ll die trying. That’s what I should have done for Nadeshda. That’s what I’m going to do now.’ Brakus closed his eyes one last time and summoned his courage. ‘I choose to fight.’

He fell back into the abyss. The heat and the screams and the howling of the wind rose to a fever pitch. Then darkness claimed him.

Chapter 6

Isha’s Lament

The darkness was warm and comforting. He felt sure that beyond this cocoon pain awaited. It seemed a shame to hurry to face it.

‘Brakus Andradus.’ The voice was a cold rasp. It punched through the pleasant stillness and started to drag him towards the light. Grudgingly, he obliged. There was work to be done, he sensed.

Brakus opened his eyes and gazed up into the alloy cranium of Exactius-ζ94. Several sensor probes were trained on him and the cyborg was crouched over him. The huntsman coughed and winced as the pain in the rest of his body dutifully came rushing back in. Every inch of him throbbed as if he’d been beaten with a stick.

‘Exactius,’ he managed to say. His voice didn’t sound much better than the cyborg’s. ‘I never thought I’d say this, but you’re a sight for sore eyes.’ Brakus levered himself up to a sitting position and saw the two aeldari standing nearby. Maugra watched with evident amusement, while Amallyn looked on ahead. ‘You’re all here.’

‘Affirmative,’ the cyborg responded.

‘What happened?’ Brakus asked.

‘Your guess is as good as ours.’ Maugra shrugged. ‘We made it to the top of the labyrinth and we all got snatched away. Then one way or another we all woke up here.’

Brakus took a second to absorb his surroundings. They were on a winding stony path between high walls. What caught the eye, however, was the profusion of colour. Everything still seemed to be the same blackstone material as always, but strange lights writhed beneath the surface in waves. It was like watching auroras flare and wave in rock. He’d never seen the like.

‘Where is here, exactly?’ Brakus asked.

‘Can’t you feel it?’ Amallyn spoke finally. ‘We’ve reached the source of the scourge. The blackstone is reacting to its growing power.’

Now that she mentioned it, there was a strange heaviness to the air. It was like the calm before a storm. Brakus gathered his legs under him and stood unsteadily. He was forced to balance with a hand on Exactius and gave it an apologetic look, but the cyborg didn’t react. ‘So what happened to all of you after the labyrinth?’

Exactius and Amallyn said nothing. Maugra smirked, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes when he looked at her.

‘Glad we’re all on the same page,’ muttered Brakus. ‘Well, I had… I don’t know. But if what I saw was even marginally correct, we need to hurry and finish our task here.’

‘Why?’ Amallyn asked.

‘Because we might not be the only ones after the derelict.’ Brakus took account of his weapons, relieved they were still intact and with him. ‘The Archenemy may come for it as well.’

Amallyn appeared troubled. ‘That is… possible,’ she conceded. ‘It is radiating enough etheric power at this point that many sensitives might be able to hone in on it.’

‘Chances of repurposing by hostiles?’ enquired Exactius.

The aeldari ranger looked away. ‘Corruption towards foul ends is what the Primordial Annihilator does best.’

Brakus nodded. ‘Then as I said, we should hurry.’

The group set off at a brisk pace along the winding path. Soon they emerged from the odd canyon they’d been in to find themselves before an incredible vista. The ancient ship lay before them. Its nose was still sunk into the blackstone, and great tendrils of the alien material curled in from the roof and the walls to connect to the hulk like the tentacles of some feeding beast. All of the stone burned with the same colours as the canyon, a shimmering display of opalescent light that dazzled the eyes.

‘Isha’s Lament,’ whispered Amallyn. Her voice was thick with emotion. It drew Brakus to glance over his shoulder at her, but her head was tilted so that her hood shadowed her face. ‘Come. Let us do what must be done.’

The sense of power in the air only grew stronger as they got closer. Scintillating motes drifted free from the stone around them and hovered away. One of them floated close to Brakus and he could feel his hair stand on end, drawn towards it. It tingled disturbingly and he navigated around them as carefully as he could from that point. They might be harmless, but he preferred not to find out the hard way.

‘How are we going to get into the ship?’ Brakus asked. ‘Last time we got dropped in from above.’

‘Ingress possible by anomalous mineral formation,’ noted Exactius, indicating one of the stone tendrils. It rose from the ground at what seemed to be a manageable slope, reaching up to a breach in the hull.

‘Simple,’ shrugged Maugra.

Brakus sighed as he eyed the narrow bridge of material. ‘Right. Simple.’

They each made their way up the precarious path. For the aeldari it might as well have been a wide boulevard, and Exactius handled it with its own calculated grace. Brakus edged his way up and over as fast as he could, and tried not to think of the nightmare experience from earlier. By the time he reached the opening into the ship, the others were already looking around.

There was no way to avoid the energy discharges completely here at the source. Humming ribbons of rainbow light darted from surface to surface with mercurial speed. It painted the explorers in a fantastical array of colours. As he arrived on the bridge, he saw that Amallyn’s adaptive camouflage cloak seemed to have given up completely in the face of this resplendence. The aeldari lingered among the consoles and traced her fingers across their smooth surfaces. There was no hiding her face in this luminous storm, but the emotions warring there were complex beyond Brakus’ understanding.

‘What does this place mean to you? Why do you call it Isha’s Lament?’ he couldn’t help but ask.

‘Because that is its name, or the barbaric simplification thereof.’ Perhaps it was the time or the place, but she did not simply brush him aside with contempt. Instead, she elaborated. ‘Isha is – or was – one of our gods. The mother of my people and the bringer of life. We have not always lived up to her example.’ She reached up to brush a single tear from her cheek. ‘No, at times our hands have dripped with blood instead, I am afraid.’

‘Your people made this ship,’ Brakus realised. He could see it now in the lines of the ship, in the jewels that decorated it. They weren’t a perfect match for the ranger or her ship, but they echoed the same source. The colours swarmed around them, etheric energy crackling. The universe drifted. For a heartbeat, he could almost see it.

The crew with all their alien grace moving about their stations. Proud and cruel. As pitiless in their power and glory as a star that burned too bright and scoured the worlds in its orbit. A planet lay below, a pristine marble gleaming in the void. Defiance. Rebellion. The scourge a tool to bring them to their knees.

‘It was a weapon.’ Brakus looked to Amallyn, and she too refracted and drifted in this strange and otherworldly light. The psychic energy that flooded the ancient vessel connected them and offered glimpses of an alien life. He saw a place that she held dear, a ship beyond the scope of any vessel he’d ever heard of. Darkness crawled within it, tore at it, tried to devour it from within. A cure had come, of sorts, but one that destroyed as much as it saved. Her home left broken, perhaps dying. The desperate thought of saving it had brought her to the fortress in the first place. ‘You think the power of this place can help you?’

Then the moment was gone, and he found himself under a fierce glare. Whatever ephemeral vulnerability had struck her fled just as quickly. ‘Do not presume to grasp things that are beyond you, mon-keigh. You would not understand.’

Brakus thought of the weight of sorrow he had seen her carry, and the pain he still felt over the death of his world. He dismissed it just as quickly. She was right, for all the wrong reasons. What could a human ever truly have in common with a perfidious xenos? It would suit the aeldari to have made such a monstrous weapon and lost control of it. Pretending to greater wisdom than they possessed was said to define them.

‘At least tell me you actually know how to disarm it,’ Brakus said.

‘Obviously,’ Amallyn snapped. Then she hesitated. ‘It should be relatively simple.’

‘Should be?’ Brakus asked.

Derisive laughter echoed from Maugra’s direction. ‘Has the asuryani oversold her expertise?’ She was lounging against the wall nearby, watching with a mocking leer. ‘Such a pity to come all this way on false pretenses.’

Brakus looked between them, gritting his teeth. ‘This is an aeldari ship! One of you must know how to control it.’

‘I will manage it,’ Amallyn said fiercely. ‘It will work. The removal of psi-reactive artefacts from the vessel’s continuity activated the psychogenic field. Restoring the artefacts is the clear first step. After that, we just…’ She trailed off and gestured around.

‘What? Destroy it? Wouldn’t that work?’ Brakus demanded.

‘No!’ Amallyn said. ‘No. That wouldn’t work. The weapon is self-sustaining once activated. We need to trigger a counter-pulse that will purify the area.’

‘How do we do that?’ the huntsman asked.

‘The control must be on the bridge somewhere.’ Amallyn reached into her cloak and brought out three items. The chalice, the bracer, and an orb that must have come from Exactius. Draik, it seemed, had taken nothing while they were here. The aeldari ranger carefully placed them each where they had been found. ‘There, the items. They’re back. You see? Only one step remains, and there’s no sign of the enemy. We have plenty of time to activate the countermeasure.’

‘False,’ rasped Exactius. It was standing at a porthole by the far side of the ship where they’d come in.

‘What? Why?’ asked Brakus, his heart sinking.

The cyborg nodded to the porthole. ‘Belligerent force inbound. Estimation of company strength. Tactical assessment – minimal chance of victory.’

Chapter 7

Onslaught

The others hurried to various viewpoints to see for themselves. Exactius had not exaggerated. A dark mass of twisted soldiery was flowing in their direction from the other side of the cavern. They came in measured ranks with colours on display, an ominous show of discipline from the often anarchic forces of the Archenemy. It reminded Brakus of a formation of the Astra Militarum marching to war, and the comparison chilled him.

Brakus looked to Amallyn as he readied his rifle. ‘Whatever you need to do, I suggest you do it quickly. We’re officially running out of time.’ He turned to the other two. ‘We have to buy her time to deactivate the scourge. They’ll be trying for breaches in the hull. I can harass them from up here and slow them down. Can both of you go down to the lower levels and hold them off?’

Exactius simply nodded and turned, stalking off towards the passages down.

Maugra chortled. ‘Now, this? This promises to be a slaughter worth the journey.’ She reached into a pouch at her hip and drew out an elaborately decorated syringe. She immediately plunged the needle into one of the gaps in her bodysuit. There was a soft hiss as the payload discharged into her body. Then she grinned widely. The dark core of her eyes spread like smoke until the whole of the orbs were like windows into the abyss. ‘Care for a tincture, mon-keigh?’

‘I’m not some penal world deadbeat, Maugra. Get to your task.’

‘As you say. I’m off to dance in Hekatii’s honour.’ She chuckled and did a lazy backspring off to disappear into the depths of the ship as well.

Brakus watched her go to be sure she did not linger behind him, and shuddered. Every time he learned about something new that walked the stars, he ended up wishing he knew less. With a shake of his head the huntsman stepped over to one of the rents in the wall facing the oncoming forces. ‘Time to greet our visitors,’ he muttered to himself.

He sighted in on the enemy. His initial impression of corrupt Guardsmen rang true on closer inspection. They wore battered flak and most carried lasguns, though he saw flamers and assorted close-quarters weapons as well. He could even still see the old markings of their devotion, unit insignias and Imperial aquilae, defaced and marked over with tributes to dark powers. Perhaps they had looted the dead and desecrated their spoils, he told himself. It was more comforting to imagine than Imperial forces falling wholesale into such ruin.

The best approach, he resolved, was to treat it like he was back in the war. Thus he used precious seconds to decide on terrain features as range markers and divided the area into sectors. The temptation was to try and target leadership, but it was hard to place who was in charge. Old rank markers had been scratched out in some places or scrawled over with esoteric new symbols in others. Some mounted racks of trophy skulls and other grim totems on their shoulders. Brakus felt as likely to take out a grunt as a commander. He would have to prioritise differently.

The flamethrowers would do deadly work if the enemy was allowed to bring them to bear. That would be a good place to start. Calmly he eased the reticle over the first among them. Slowly exhaling, he squeezed the trigger with gently increasing pressure. That familiar thunder rang out, echoing through the cavern like the first peal of a storm. The shot took the traitor in the chest and punched out through his back in a spray of blood and promethium.

The response was immediate. The hostiles scattered to cover amidst a flurry of shouts. Whoever they were, they were well trained. They didn’t know where the shot had come from, but they didn’t waste any ammunition firing in random directions. None of the other flame troopers were out in the open as easy targets. Brakus didn’t let that stop him. One of their foes up front had a particularly disgusting display of faces stretched on racks mounted on his back. ‘A stand out, wonderful. Thanks for volunteering,’ Brakus whispered to himself.

A moment later his second shot burst that man’s head like a ripe melon. That was enough for them to get a general idea of where the attack was coming from. Their reaction was rapid. The whip-crack of las-fire filled the air in controlled bursts. Sizzling streaks of red laser light began pounding likely spots on the ship. A few scorched the gap Brakus was using, filling the air with a foul stench as the xenos hull burned. Using this suppressive fire as cover, the advance of their units resumed on a squad-by-squad basis.

The incoming fire was sparse enough still that Brakus decided to risk one more shot. Another enemy was kind enough to volunteer: a woman who leapt to the top of her cover and exhorted her fellows on with a wave of her sword. Her promising career of treason was cut short by an oversized shell to the torso that nearly tore her in half. She toppled backwards among her fellows in a cascade of gore. What startled Brakus was that the soldiers barely faltered, gathering themselves and advancing anyway while drenched in the charnel of their compatriot.

Someone must have seen the muzzle flash that time. Shouts rang out among the enemy troops and the suppressing fire narrowed alarmingly to focus on his location. Brakus was forced to duck away as ruby las-light crackled through the opening and left the gap glowing a forge-fire red. He scrambled for a new vantage point, and in the process spotted Amallyn rushing from console to console. That gave him an idea.

‘Aeldari! Your assistance!’ he called as he slid into place beneath a broken porthole.

‘I am somewhat occupied, mon-keigh!’ she snapped.

‘This will only take a second.’ Brakus pointed over to an opening at the far end of the bridge. ‘Go draw their fire, buy me a little room to operate and convince them there are two snipers.’

Amallyn glanced to the indicated site and sighed. ‘Very well.’

She flowed over to the point with alien grace and speed. She was soon choosing her own target and Brakus hastily followed suit. One of the flame soldiers was out in the open, part of a group making the push towards the base of the derelict. That angled his shot nearly straight down. It must have torn through the fuel supply – by the grace of the Emperor the hit ignited the promethium tank and turned the man into a living firework that sprayed blazing fuel over several of his fellow traitors.

Brakus saw some of Amallyn’s work out of the corner of his eye: an energy beam took one of the traitor Guard clean through the eye and he collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. Their combined efforts had the effect that he’d hoped: the enemy was being forced to divide their suppressive fire. One of the corrupt soldiers was rearing back with a grenade to throw when another of her beams cut right through his wrist. The explosive fell to the ground and detonated, scattering chunks of that soldier and a few others in a rain of charnel.

Amallyn ducked away from her vantage point. ‘I have to get back to the controls!’

Brakus waved her on. ‘Do what you have to. You did…’ he coughed and pounded his chest to clear it, ‘well.’

She seemed about to scoff, but finally just gave him a tiny nod and darted off. Brakus turned once more to his work. Truth be told, he was astounded at how little impact they’d had on the enemy’s cohesion. The sense of purpose behind the advance had hardly flagged. He was struck by the strange sense that they were being driven forwards by an even greater threat behind them. Unable to shake the thought, he shifted his gaze to the rear of the enemy formation. He was alarmed by what he saw.

A pair of massive nine-foot brutes were wading forwards, their bellowing and their mass encouraging any stragglers to find their courage. Brakus recognised them immediately as ogryns, much like the bullgryns that the proctors used as enforcers on Precipice. They were known for their simple loyalty, but these had clearly been twisted to dark purpose. Their flesh was corrupted with strange growths, patched with scales and insectile carapace. Each carried a maul as big as a man, which they swung in easy arcs as though they were kindling.

As formidable as those beasts appeared, they were merely the guardians of another foe. Striding between them with an air of domineering power was a figure in a black storm coat. In one hand he carried a bolt pistol. The other was clad in a great gauntlet that sizzled and arced with the energy of a power field. His face was disfigured by dark symbols branded right into the flesh, but it did nothing to stop his dark charisma. His presence struck like a lash and drove the enemy on. Nor did he stop there. Even as Brakus watched, a soldier refused to leave cover. The enemy champion raised a bolt pistol and executed the trooper without hesitation. Nearby foes redoubled their advance, as though trying to leave their master behind.

Brakus had operated alongside the Imperial Guard as his world fell before the Devourer. He had seen the cold-eyed custodians who saw to their morale and zeal. The thought that formed in his mind seemed blasphemous merely to conceive, but he could not help himself. What he saw offered no other explanation.

‘A fallen commissar,’ he whispered. His skin crawled. To imagine such a driven soul twisted into the service of the Ruinous Powers was terrifying. A fearsome champion indeed. An enemy that must be destroyed.

If Brakus could kill the traitor commissar, breaking the enemy’s morale might become a viable option. He lined up the shot with practised ease. The roar of Memoriam echoed out once more. It should have been an easy shot. Instead, with unnatural awareness one of the twisted ogryns leapt in the path of the bullet. It splattered through the meat of the beast’s shoulder and staggered it, but it was still on its feet. The counter-fire was withering and drove Brakus from his position once more.

He scrambled along the floor to find another position to snipe from. Whatever warp trickery bound those ogryn into safeguarding their master was obviously very effective. He might have to kill them before he could take down the commissar. Brakus rose up at the next gap and rested the rifle across it. Luckily the massive brutes did make the enemy leader easy to find. They were closing in on the ship. Distant blasts rocked the floor, marking attempts to force entry.

Someone must have already spotted him down below. Las-fire was raking his position. His heart pounded.

‘Steady. Find them with your scope.’

The voice was only in his head, the echo of a long-ago time. It calmed him just the same. Brakus put his eye to the scope.

‘Prepare to fire.’

He placed the reticle over the head of the first monstrously corrupted abhuman.

Time slowed down and he absorbed a thousand details as he exhaled slowly. Great horns had burst from the creature’s head at some time in the past. Someone had decorated the growths with a razor wire crown. He felt a strange sense of pity for it. Ogryns were moronic at best and childlike in their naivety. They had been misled. Sadly, even rabid hounds must be silenced.

‘No wind,’ whispered that old voice.

Brakus fired. It was a beautiful shot that took the towering mutant right between its eyes. It fell like a toppled tree. Simultaneously, a las-blast caught Brakus in the left shoulder and sprayed burning sparks into his face. He spun away with a cry of pain, desperately slapping at the still-smouldering crater scored into his armour.

The panic died away slowly. He was lucky the flak had taken the worst of the hit. The full energy of the blast could have carved his arm away completely. It hurt, even so. He grimaced and worked his left arm a few times. It still seemed to work, blessedly. Time to get back to–

The entire ship shook and rattled as a heavy crunch echoed through it, chunks of hull and clouds of dust raining down through the shimmering currents of energy in the air. Brakus skidded several feet as the floor canted unexpectedly, and even the sure-footed Amallyn stumbled slightly.

‘Damn,’ Brakus coughed out. ‘They must have blasted a way into the ship!’

Amallyn looked around grimly. ‘They were going to find their way in eventually. The others will have their hands full now.’

Brakus risked a quick glance out of the window again. The commissar and the second ogryn had vanished and more and more of the troops were disappearing from sight below, presumably pouring into the ship. ‘I need to go and help them.’ He looked to Amallyn. ‘We’ll give you as long as we can.’

The aeldari nodded, but her focused gaze did not move from the controls that her hands hovered over. ‘I will find the answer. I must.’

Brakus left her to her task and sprinted on through the ship. The damage the derelict had suffered seemed to have destabilised the energy field. The arcing ribbons of light often fizzled out now and dissolved into a spray of sparks. Strange voices and echoes of days long past floated on the air. Patches of ashy darkness spiralled through the hull with a sound eerily like screams, and the air felt cold. The sorcerous power behind the scourge had been dangerous when carefully focused. There was no telling what would happen if it surged undirected. The huntsman had heard dark tales of places where the warp bled over, unconstrained, into reality. He did not care to be here and witness it first-hand.

The sounds of battle grew up ahead as Brakus ran. The spaces of the ship narrowed into winding corridors, and soon he came upon more clear signs that this was where the others had chosen to make their stand. Here a sprawled-out traitor with his throat sliced by a keen blade. There a pair of them laid out and covered in electrical burns. It was a good decision, tactically – the narrow confines would keep the enemy’s numbers from overwhelming them instantly.

Three of the enemy footsoldiers came howling around the corner, cutting his thoughts short. It was a chilling thing to see them up close. All exposed skin was networked with ritual scars and burns. Their armour was daubed with blood and paint in crude runes that hurt the eyes, and their flesh was twisted in a mockery of human purity. Two carried lasguns while the last carried a laspistol in her left hand and a rust-flecked chainsword in her right.

Brakus didn’t hesitate, firing his rifle from the hip immediately upon seeing them. The bullet pulped the stomach of the frontmost soldier and caught the one in the rear through the left arm. The first folded around the mortal wound and crumpled to the ground, while the latter staggered away with a cry of pain, pistol falling from nerveless hands. The untouched gunman opened fire in a burst of laser light.

Brakus could feel the heat of the beams as he dove to the side, forced to drop his rifle in the scramble. He came up with his pistol drawn and fired two shots. Both tore craters in the gunman’s chest, and that enemy toppled backwards. The last one standing came on with her chainsword roaring for blood. Brakus ducked beneath the first swing and the teeth dug into the wall with a scream and a shower of sparks. The huntsman scrabbled away and fired blindly behind him in a desperate attempt to buy time, a lucky hit punching through the woman’s shin as she wrenched the chainsword loose.

The traitor lost her balance and staggered into the wall, narrowly avoiding being eaten into by her own deadly blade. She forced herself up with her wounded left hand, but by that time Brakus had his shock maul out. He came on in a blaze of desperate aggression. The corrupted soldier parried the first strike, but Brakus took that opportunity to kick her in her mangled shin. She screamed and crumpled and he brought the maul up and swung it down with all his might in an overhead strike. The blow struck home with a meaty thud and the fight was over.

Brakus slumped against the wall, panting for breath. Blood had sprayed across his face and he wiped it away with a shudder. Give him a sniper rifle any day. This close-in work was better left to the butchers. Still, there was nothing for it but to forge on. These enemy troopers had got past the others, and that might mean they were being overrun. He was retrieving his rifle when a new spasm of coughing seized him. It drove him to his knees, and his own blood mixed with that of the slain traitor. His weary arms couldn’t hold him up and he slid to the floor, wheezing and rattling.

Finally it ended and he took a shaky breath. Time was running out for him. Wearily he dragged himself to his feet and grabbed Memoriam and slung it, then reloaded his pistol and hurried on.

The sounds of strife grew louder as he hastened through the winding corridors, yet the inhuman nature of the ship made it unnervingly hard to place them. There were no right angles in the corridors, only flowing lines and rounded hatchways. The sounds echoed in strange ways and mixed with the warp-spawned sounds of other times and places. Thus it came as a surprise when he burst from a narrow corridor into a juncture for several, only to find a battle ongoing.

Exactius was locked in conflict with half a dozen assailants. An equal number of dead foes were strewn about already. The teeth-aching whine of its taser goad sounded to the accompaniment of screams and sizzling. Scorch marks and scrapes showed where the cyborg’s alloy hide had turned away blows. A limp, and a rent on its leg leaking black fluid, revealed where it hadn’t.

If Brakus was surprised to see them, they were too preoccupied to even notice him. He took the chance to shoot two in the back. The next had started to realise the danger and turn, but only did so in time to catch a maul to the face and get spun around in a burst of teeth and blood. Exactius was sweeping the legs out from another as Brakus moved in, stomping with a blade-clawed foot to finish the job. A traitor with a face covered in obscene tattoos lunged at Exactius with a sword, but the blade rebounded from the metal of the cyborg’s back with a clang.

Brakus returned the favour, smashing the traitor in the side with his maul. The blunt weapon’s capacitors crackled amidst the snapping of ribs and the man collapsed to the floor in a spasming heap. The last of the enemy, driven by terror or madness, went for a grenade. Right as she pulled the pin, Exactius caught her by the face and lifted her off the ground, hurling her bodily down a tunnel with hydraulic strength. The blast of the detonation washed over them seconds later, staggering them both.

Exactius turned to Brakus and made a strange interlaced knuckles gesture with its hands. ‘Assistance timing – optimal,’ it rasped.

‘Glad to be of service,’ wheezed Brakus. ‘Have you seen Maugra?’

‘Location unknown. Enemy presence has demanded full processing capacity.’

Brakus nodded. ‘There’s more on the way, I’m betting. We need to find–’

His sentence was cut short by the bellow of a behemoth. The rapid, thudding footsteps that followed made clear the danger they were in. It was storming up a corridor towards them, face twisted into a snarl of mindless rage. Brakus emptied the magazine of his pistol at it, but the impacts didn’t even slow it down. Desperate, he dove away, shouting, ‘Ogryn, beware!’ to Exactius.

The mighty abhuman burst out of the tunnel into the room. The smaller confines of the ship forced it to hunch, but that didn’t make the crushing sweep of its bludgeon any less deadly. Brakus’ terrified dive carried him beneath the murderous impact of the blow, but Exactius’ damaged leg slowed it down too much. Instead, the cyborg raised its taser goad in a last-ditch guard, and machine durability met mutant power in a titanic impact.

Lightning arced in all directions as the goad shattered into a hundred fragments. The force of the blow lifted Exactius off its bionic feet and hurled it into the wall with a metallic crunch. Before the cyborg had any chance to recover, the massive claw that made up the ogryn’s right arm had slammed into place and pinned it against the hull. The club reared back for a finishing blow against the helpless cyborg.

This was likely his only chance to run, Brakus knew. He bared his teeth in grim defiance. Not this time. He would not abandon his comrade to face this bitter fate alone. Instead he drove himself to his feet, lunged forwards with the shock maul and swung with all the force he could muster, aiming for the back of the ogryn’s knee. It felt like striking a stone wall, rattling the weapon from his grip. Still, the force of the blow and the electrocution was enough to buckle the giant’s leg.

The ogryn fell to its knee with a roar of pain and rage and whirled on Brakus, forgetting Exactius in its fury. The backhanded strike lacked anything like the force of the earlier clash. Thus it only had enough strength behind it to break Brakus’ left arm with a crisp crunch. His world dissolved into unthinking agony, a single crystalline moment of horrifying pain. It tore a scream from the huntsman as the impact sent him tumbling along the floor to fetch up against the wall. He hit hard and lay there wheezing, dazed and unable to do anything but watch.

The ogryn’s hold on Exactius had loosened while the creature was busy, letting the cyborg fall to the ground. That was all the opportunity the Mechanicus warrior needed. It produced a weapon from a compartment in its leg, raising it in the blink of an eye. It was a gun of curious artifice, nothing like Brakus had ever seen before. It fired and a stream of metal darts erupted forth. This flood of razors caught the corrupted abhuman full in the face. In an eyeblink they had chewed flesh and bone to carrion.

The great brute gave a single wet gurgle and slid backwards to the ground. Exactius kept the weapon aimed at it for a long moment, ready, before lowering it to step over the brute’s body and head towards Brakus.

‘What?’ the huntsman managed to choke out.

‘Flechette blaster. Ammunition limited, potentially irreplaceable in this location. Use restricted to tactical necessity,’ the cyborg rasped flatly.

‘Ah,’ Brakus said as it helped pull him to his feet. ‘I’m glad this met the criteria.’

His arm pulsed with agony and he could see the shock maul where it had fallen over by the monster’s corpse. He took a limping step in that direction. Then a bolter shell punched into Exactius’ side and detonated, disintegrating most of the cyborg’s torso.

Idiot was all Brakus could think as his comrade fell against him and they both collapsed to the floor. He had known the traitor commissar was with the ogryn earlier. In his fear and pain he had forgotten to be wary.

Pinned to the ground under the weight of his devastated ally, Brakus desperately struggled to free himself. Heavy boots trod closer, clearly in no hurry. With his arm broken, there was no way the huntsman would ever be able to shift Exactius in time, and even if he had, his pistol was empty and his shock maul lay across the chamber. There was nothing to do but face his fate.

‘Emperor flense your traitor’s soul,’ he spat weakly at the dark figure as it stepped over him. It paused only briefly at his imprecation and gave a low, cruel laugh. He could make out the little nightmare details, now. The brand across its face was no old scar; the edges were blistered and boiled as if just burned. The slit pupils of its inhuman gaze. The tooth-filled maw on the back of the hand that held the bolt pistol, as it rose to point at his face.

That was when a shadow struck with inhuman speed. Obsidian blades slashed and the commissar’s arm abruptly terminated at the wrist, a gout of foul blood spraying over Brakus’ face.

‘Forgive me for interrupting,’ Maugra noted. ‘But this,’ she waved a hand at the collapsed pair, ‘was simply too pathetic a display to endure any longer.’

The corrupt champion had fallen back with a hiss of surprise and pain, but recovered with the speed of the damned. It came on with a mighty swing of its power fist. Yet the Hekatrix leapt out of the way with casual contempt, backflipping out of reach and grinning. More troopers were arriving in the commissar’s wake, yet it waved them on with cold rage. ‘Find the bridge. I will show this xenos the fury of the gods.’

‘You have some mettle. Good.’ She spread her arms wide, an invitation. ‘Let us dance.’

The power fist was a mighty weapon, and the commissar was a formidable combatant. Maugra, however, had battled in alien arenas for centuries. She ducked one swing and took as her price a slice on the traitor’s arm. She spun aside from another and drew a gash down its leg in recompense. The commissar snarled in frustration and struck again and again, tiny bleeding cuts paid out in slow death for each failure.

‘Damn it, Maugra, stop playing with it and kill it!’ coughed out Brakus. She gave him what seemed a genuinely confused look, and in that moment the champion of the Archenemy lashed out with all the speed it could muster.

The power fist closed around her left gauntlet and squeezed, the disruption field tearing the alien cestus to shreds. Yet the Hekatrix’s flesh was no longer there. She was moving, so fast that Brakus’ eye could not follow. Suddenly, the commissar gurgled and blood poured out from its mouth and flooded down over its carapace chestplate. Maugra stood there with tilted head and a bored expression, her left hand covered in mutant blood. She had snatched her hand free of her gauntlet even as it was destroyed and reached into the opening created, tearing out its throat before an eye could blink.

She came over and crouched next to Brakus, frowning. ‘I have been very forgiving on this journey, mon-keigh. But to cut short a wych’s sport is… boorish.’

Brakus swallowed hard. ‘Forgive me, Hekatrix. The pain of my arm robbed me of good sense.’

Maugra pursed her lips. ‘I see. Well, perhaps we’ll find time to have a close conversation on etiquette at a later date.’ She reached out and pulled the ruined cyborg off him. ‘Come. We must fall back to the bridge.’

Brakus painfully pulled himself to his feet and collected his weapons with his good hand. Then he grabbed Exactius’ arm and began to pull it towards the corridor.

Maugra arched an eyebrow. ‘You cannot be serious.’

Brakus hesitated. ‘It doesn’t live the same way that you or I do. Exactius may still be salvageable if we can get it back to Precipice.’

Maugra sighed and rubbed her temple with her now-bare hand, muttering something liquid and dark to herself. Then she stepped over and grabbed the cyborg as well, helping to pull it. It seemed safer to Brakus to say nothing, so they worked together in silence. As they reached the passage to the next level up, Maugra paused and stepped to the wall by the door.

‘I am not familiar with this ship, but it should be possible to… ah, yes.’ She tapped a part of the wall and the hatch cycled shut behind them. ‘It will not buy us long.’

They resumed pulling and continued on as quickly as they could.

At last they reached the bridge. Bodies were scattered across the floor, perhaps eight dead traitors. Some were dead by precisely placed energy blasts, the others carved apart with a power weapon. They found themselves facing the barrel of Amallyn’s rifle as they entered. The aeldari ranger relaxed, if only marginally, when she saw it was them.

‘You live,’ she noted.

‘In a manner of speaking,’ Brakus responded, gesturing to his wounded arm and the ravaged cyborg. ‘Any luck on ending the scourge?’

Amallyn stowed her rifle and looked around, hands flexing. ‘I believe so.’

Maugra shook her head and laughed. ‘You believe, do you?’

The ranger shot her a furious look. ‘It takes time for the counter-pulse to do its worst. If we had an hour, we could observe the mon-keigh for the passing of his illness and be certain.’

‘We do not have an hour,’ Brakus said wearily.

The cyborg’s body gave a grating mechanical blurt, and all of them stared at it.

‘Does it yet live?’ asked Amallyn.

The voice came out of Exactius distorted and broken. ‘F-function minimal. Team survival prognosis – zero. Withdrawal of operative units from combat zone suggested.’

‘We can’t,’ Brakus said, leaning against a column and shutting his eyes. ‘We’ve bloodied them, but there are plenty more left to take this position and claim the scourge for themselves. Even if this cleansing pulse has been turned on, we can’t let the Archenemy have this weapon.’

‘Speak for yourself, mon-keigh,’ interjected Maugra. ‘I am not eager to die here in some hopeless last stand.’

‘Un-un-unnecessary,’ commented Exactius. ‘This frame is equip-equipped with self-destruction ch-charges. Derelict is already unstable. Detonation will suffice for complete structural failure.’

‘If the scourge isn’t cleared, that will leave us unable to keep it from destroying Precipice.’ Amallyn seemed reluctant to admit the possibility, but forced it out.

‘The Archenemy must never control this weapon. We aren’t going to get a second chance at this anyway,’ Brakus noted. He looked to where Exactius lay. ‘The charges will kill you, won’t they?’

‘Aff-aff-affirmative. Life support failure imm-imminent regardless.’ It turned its head slightly towards Brakus. ‘You must take data module and ensure its safe transfer to successor missions.’

Brakus stared at it. ‘I… wouldn’t know where to start. Where is your data module? How would I know who to give it to?’

Slowly, the cyborg raised an arm and tapped a single claw against its dome. ‘Removal of cranial unit will be req-req-required. Successor will find you.’

Brakus went and crouched next to the cyborg. ‘We’ll find another way. You don’t have to die.’

‘Life insig-insignificant. Data high value.’ It reached out with a claw-hand and gripped his arm with surprising strength. ‘Your oath.’

The huntsman nodded slowly. ‘You have it. I swear I will keep your data module safe and ensure it is passed on to your successor.’

The claw relaxed and fell to the floor. There was a pause and the cyborg said. ‘Self-destruct charges activated on five-minute counter.’ It looked to Amallyn. ‘Removal of cranial unit requested.’

The ranger hesitated only briefly before drawing her power blade, its field crackling to life. ‘Stand aside, mon-keigh.’

Reluctantly, Brakus stood and got out of her way. He looked back to Exactius one last time. ‘I can’t tell how you’ve lived, but this is how a soldier dies.’

Then the blade came down with a flash and the head toppled loose. The lights on it died and the aeldari ranger picked it up and with surprising gentleness handed it to Brakus. ‘It’s time to go,’ she said.

Brakus looked down at the dome and tucked it under his good arm. ‘I know a way out. We used it last time we were here. With the Emperor’s grace, it will be working this time as well.’

They hurried to the passage that had carried Brakus and the others out on their first trip to the derelict. It was still there, though the cant of the ship required them to leap across a short way to get to the path of stone that stretched from it. Then they sped on to where the maglev transport awaited.

‘Wait,’ Brakus said and held up his good hand, looking back.

They didn’t have to wait long before an explosion tore through the ancient ship. The blast shredded the rear portion and shifted it even further, beyond what its structure could support. It tipped and fell, landing with an apocalyptic crash that shook the entire chamber and kicked up a tremendous cloud of dust and debris. Within that cloud shimmered bolts of prismatic soul-fire and whorls of howling impossibilities.

The power the vessel had channelled was being released, Brakus realised. The others must have reached the same conclusion, for all three of them dove into the transport at the same time. In his last glimpse, Brakus saw the chamber itself coming apart, stripping away and folding in on itself, as though the fortress were acting to seal off and contain the power unleashed. Then the transport pod sealed with finality.

‘Let’s get out of this place,’ Brakus said.

Amallyn nodded and stepped to the controls to guide them back to the aperture.

Chapter 8

The Path Ahead

Precipice was returning to life.

Brakus strode through the Dromeplatz. It had only been a day since they’d returned from the expedition to Isha’s Lament, but already the crowds and shouting had resumed. The warships had ceased patrolling the edges of the debris clouds, and new vessels dared the journey in. Strange wares were hawked from every corner, and every type of outcast and renegade the galaxy could produce gathered to do business. There was a time he had been repulsed by this bizarre assemblage of beings constantly on the move. Now it was oddly comforting.

Perhaps this place was becoming home, even with all its foulness. He wasn’t sure if that thought should encourage or horrify him. Most of those he’d known in his life in the Imperium wouldn’t have understood, for certain. They would have seen the destruction of this station as not just a necessity, but a holy duty. Only time would tell if these changes in his own views were for the best. Until then all he could do was put his faith in the Emperor and keep his weapons ready. For now, Brakus had to get to the ceremony.

He found his way to Orbisgate. It was another of the great mooring spars that defined the structure of Precipice. Bullgryn enforcers patrolled here in great numbers, limiting the normal flow of traffic. Only those with special dispensation from the proctors were currently being allowed through. Fortunately, Brakus was on that list. His arm might have been healed, but he’d had his fill and then some of trying to kill ogryns.

There was quite the gathering once you got past the brute squad holding back the crowds. Many were a who’s who of the powerful on Precipice. Others, however, might as well have been random detritus. ‘Interested parties’, he supposed, like himself. Yet the power brokers kept to themselves, as did the outsiders. It was funny how quickly societies developed their haves and their have-nots. Even here at the edge of nowhere, on a station peopled solely by the desperate and the damned, there was an upper crust ready to look down on the rest.

There was no sign of Amallyn or Maugra among those gathered. That didn’t shock him. Everyone was a have-not to an aeldari. An observance like this must have seemed laughable to them. The ranger would have her own rituals to see to, much too precious for the eyes of some mon-keigh. Maugra… was probably just off killing someone to see what colour their blood was. To his surprise, however, one of those among the powerful did make their way over to him.

It was the Echo. The xenos clasped its hands in greeting and offered a bow.

‘Master Andradus. So delightful to see you looking so well.’

Brakus nodded and patted a hand to his chest. ‘Breathing easily, thankfully. The chirurgeons say all it will take is a little time to heal and I’ll be good as new.’ He hesitated. ‘It doesn’t seem quite fair, to be honest.’

The Echo glanced to the far end of the platform, where the white shrouds were. It hummed softly to itself, a sad little tune. ‘No, I suppose it doesn’t. The universe can be quite cruel and arbitrary sometimes.’

Brakus nodded. ‘Your masters must be pleased with you. The mission you arranged was a success. The station is saved.’

‘Oh, indeed. Business may resume, and that is what’s most important. Of course, they are pleased with you as well. You will find their gratitude quite rewarding. Nor need this be the end of a profitable partnership. We always have need of capable sorts.’ The creature smiled its uncanny double smile.

Brakus chuckled drily. ‘How delightful. Well, you know where to find me.’

‘We do,’ the Echo agreed. Then it turned. ‘Ah, yes, the service begins.’

The two of them joined all the others gathered in walking over to the far end of the dock. The stars waited beyond, the void held back only by a flickering field. At the edge of the pier were the shrouds. Dozens of them. The scourge was gone, but it had been too late for some. The damage done had been too deep, bodies unable to heal. Now they were gone. One by one they were pushed off, out of the reach of gravity. They drifted on and through the force screen, disappearing into the darkness.

There were no words spoken. What could have been said? There was only one true faith in the galaxy, of course, but those gathered had lived and died under a hundred or more. Instead, each who had come to see them off saw them go in their private way. The eighth body consigned to the deep, in particular, was one that Brakus watched go with sad eyes.

‘I do not know if the Emperor will welcome you, Danira,’ he said softly. ‘All I know is that only the dead have seen the end of war. May you find peace in the darkness.’

Then it was over. Brakus turned away and began to walk back towards the centre of the station. There would be drinks to have at the Helmsman and work to find. Life would go on.

A hand caught him by the shoulder and he turned to look. The carefully styled facial hair and rugged-yet-stylish garb were unmistakable. It was Janus Draik, still a bit pale and thin but recovering, and the man offered him a slight smile.

‘I hear you did good work, Andradus.’

Brakus chuckled and offered a shrug. ‘I did what had to be done. I’m glad you were spared, though.’ They stepped to the side, out of the way of others departing. ‘It’s strange. Of the four of us who found it, you and I are the only ones to live, for our sins. Do you ever wonder why that is?’

Draik tilted his head. ‘Some live and some die, that is the way of things. You could go mad wondering on the whys.’ Yet the rogue trader’s organic eye gleamed.

‘That’s true,’ Brakus agreed easily. ‘And a few weeks ago I would have said that’s all there is to it. Still, I confess the longer I stay here, the more it seems… guided.’ He paused, searching for words. ‘Perhaps by the Emperor, perhaps by something else. I had an experience on the fortress. I was forced to confront the darkness that chased me here. Have you heard of such a thing?’

‘Oh,’ Janus said softly. ‘I might know a thing or two about such, yes.’ He crossed his arms and looked down thoughtfully. ‘The danger here grows. The Archenemy becomes stronger. And those of us who have found our way here, seemingly by random chance, are forced through the crucible. We are tested and must rise to the occasion – or else be broken.’

Brakus looked out to the stars beyond the dock. ‘You think something is coming.’

Janus smiled and patted the hilt of his rapier. ‘I think one tempers a blade to be sure of its strength in the hour of need. The Blackstone Fortress is a mighty prize, master huntsman. The one who controls it will wield a terrible power. The power, perhaps, to decide the fate of the galaxy.’ He looked out to the stars as well for a moment, then clapped Brakus on the shoulder again. ‘Come. That is enough brooding talk for one day. Let us adjourn to the Helmsman.’

The rogue trader stepped away, leaving Brakus to contemplate the stars alone. He had found out monsters were real when they came for his home. When his world had died, he had hunted them. It had been his way of chasing death. Yet the monsters remained. There, in the midst of those sparks of light, was the dark shape of the fortress, the greatest monster of them all. A blot against the sweep of the galaxy, a shape carved of darkness. It seemed small from here, as if you could scoop it up in your grasp. The huntsman reached out and covered it under his palm.

His hand didn’t shake.

About the Author

Thomas Parrott is the kind of person who reads RPG rule books for fun. He fell in love with Warhammer 40,000 when he was fifteen and read the short story ‘Apothecary’s Honour’ in the Dark Imperium anthology, and has never looked back. ‘Spiritus In Machina’ was his first story for Black Library, and he has since written ‘Salvage Rites’, ‘Fates and Fortunes’ and the novella Isha’s Lament.

An extract from Blackstone Fortress.

A void ship cut through the night, painting artless, lazy spirals through a tide of shattered hulls – looping and falling, reeling like a drunk, spilling fire from its prow. Again and again it battled to find a route. Breaking against the swell. Dancing through the wrecks. Refusing to die.

Draik watched the display for several minutes, leaning casually against a twisted girder and taking long, languid drags from his lho-holder. Such hope, he thought. He knew the ship’s odds but willed her on all the same. She was a rogue trader by her colours, skimming through the skeleton frames of dead leviathans, burning a furious path towards him.

Draik climbed through an access hatch and up onto a gantry. He could see most of Precipice from here. It looked like just another ugly wreck, drifting through the wandering stars, but this collision of mooring spars and walkways had drawn a feeding frenzy. Ships from every corner of the galaxy were huddled at its anchorage points, scorched and hungry, their captains all busy chasing the same alluring nightmare. Looming over the ships was the Dromeplatz, a mangled, bloody eye glaring down at its congregation of landers and skiffs.

Lights flared overhead as the rogue trader’s ship clipped a drifting fuselage. It maintained its trajectory for a few more seconds, then dissolved into a thunderhead, embers and smoke raining down on Precipice, howling over the void screen like a ghost.

‘We are a voracious breed, Isola,’ he said, shaking his head in wonder. His attaché was on one of the lower gantries, dragging herself up towards him with a string of darkly muttered oaths. He reached down, offering her his hand.

Further down, beneath Isola’s scrambling limbs, was the main route through the Skeins – a jury-rigged transitway, welded together from the superstructures of flayed ships. The road was crowded with debris, mechanical and human, all robed in darkness. The glow-globes and lumen-strips had been smashed long ago, so the only light came from the distant glare of the Dromeplatz, a ceaseless sunset, rippling on the horizon and turning the Skeins into a carmine hell. The air beneath the void screen was tormented by engine fumes and recycling turbines. It stung the eyes, burned the throat and drowned everything in a thick, toxic fug. Precipice was a forest of salvaged spires, smouldering and ephemeral, like a half-remembered fire.

‘Thank you,’ said Isola, climbing up beside him on the gantry. Once she had caught her breath she shook her head and said, ‘Captain, we’ve been here for seven hours. Is this the best use of your remaining time? We’re scheduled to leave within the week – unless there is some concrete progress.’ She studied the sweltering scene below. Isola had a broad, boyish face, wide-set eyes and neat, slicked-back black hair. She wore a meticulously pressed uniform and a habitual frown of disapproval.

Draik removed one of his gauntlets and massaged his long, lean snarl of a face. He looked out through the void screen, staring at the phantasm responsible for all this avarice. Beyond Precipice’s jumble of crooked walkways and brume-shrouded ships, the revolutions of the heavens had ceased, consumed by a wall of nothing. There were few who could hold its gaze. The Unfathomable. The Abyss. The Deep. The Blackstone Fortress.

Draik stared into the monolithic dark, trying to discern something solid – something real. His eyes slipped across angles and shadows, unable to find purchase, glimpsing hints and suggestions but nothing he could recall for more than an instant. The Blackstone glared back, malign and unknowable. Mocking him. The star fort was the size of a small planet, with Precipice as its ramshackle moon, but even those brave souls clinging to Precipice would never claim to understand the Blackstone. Countless rumours had crossed the Western Reaches – enticing tales of the treasures to be found in its depths. But those reckless few who survived its mantle of debris clouds soon found that the mystery only deepened. The Blackstone guarded its secrets well.

Draik put his gauntlet back on and slapped the girder, sending up clouds of rust. ‘Gaulon said to look here, in the Skeins.’

‘Gaulon was a drunk and a liar.’

‘But not a fool. He knew I’d come looking for him if he lied.’

Isola shook her head. There was a small cogitator slung under her arm – a copper box covered in rows of teeth-like keys. She rattled her fingers over them and the device hummed into life. Needles trembled over luminous dials, valves hummed and mechanisms chittered. She stared at the displays. ‘We’ve covered the whole district, captain. Twice.’

Draik waved his lho-holder at the Skeins, gilding the dark with embers. ‘People don’t come here to be found.’

‘Captain, we’ve been on Precipice for three months. We have far exceeded our remit.’ Isola’s expression softened a little. ‘I admit, it seemed as though you were getting close to something, but what do you really have to show? We’ve pushed too much into this venture. His lordship’s instructions were clear – return to the Curensis Cluster and finish our negotiations with the Tann-Karr. There’s a fortune waiting for us in that system. It’s time to go. We can forget about Precipice. The Blackstone Fortress is not the only prize in the galaxy.’

Draik said nothing, staring out through the operculum again, his human eye reflecting the void screen’s warps and eddies while his augmetic eye flashed red, catching the glow of the Dromeplatz.

Isola looked exasperated. ‘Even if you could solve this mystery, there’s no guarantee it would change your situation.’

Draik looked at Isola as he took another drag from his lho-stick. Officially, she was his attaché, but they both understood her role: she was there to keep him on track, and to report to the family if he strayed. Her loyalty was to House Draik first, its errant son second. She was rigid, punctilious and unswervingly honest. Draik liked her.

‘I’m on to something, Isola.’

‘You found a name. That’s not the same as finding an answer.’

‘The Ascuris Vault. All we need is a way in.’

Isola sighed and turned off the cogitator. ‘We have our orders, captain. I sent missives to his lordship explaining that we’re already preparing to head back to the Draikstar.’

Draik gripped a girder until his knuckles were white.

‘We lost five men in that last attempt,’ said Isola. ‘And left empty-handed. There was no sign we were getting close to the vault.’

He stared at her. ‘This time I have something, Isola, I know it.’

She closed her eyes in despair. ‘How many times have you said that?’

Draik was about to reply when he heard an unexpected sound. He held up a hand for silence.

Raucous laughter echoed up from the shadows.

‘Not everyone is hiding,’ said Draik.

He gripped a handrail and slid down it onto a lower gantry, dropping into a crouch and staring through the pipework, drawing the rapier that hung at his belt.

There were men swaggering down the transitway, kicking rubbish and bellowing with laughter. Even through the rolling smog, Draik could see how dishevelled and filthy they were. They were shouting and belching as they approached, waving machetes and pistols.

He grabbed a dangling cable and slid down to street level for a better view. A long, rangy shape was scrabbling ahead of them, limping and low to the ground. Some kind of injured animal. They were hurling junk at it, jeering and snorting as it tried to drag itself away.

‘Captain,’ warned Isola from up on the gantry, but she was too late. Draik had already walked out to face them.

The gang halted. Their laughter faded and they backed away, weapons raised, as Draik strode towards them through the crimson gloom.

‘What’s this?’ growled a man with a mohawk, frowning and swinging his head from side to side, like a dog on a scent.

Despite the gruffness of the man’s voice, it was clear Draik had unnerved him. Draik marched through the rubble, imperious and grim, examining the men down the length of his long, regal nose. He grimaced at their filthy rags, as though studying a grub that had crawled from his breakfast. The lights of the Dromeplatz flashed along his rapier and glinted in his augmetic eye. Draik was clearly not from the Skeins. He was dressed in a luxurious military dress coat trimmed with gold piping. His starched breeches were immaculate, and his cuffs were embroidered with fine silver thread. But Draik would have cut an aristocratic figure even in rags. He had the face of an Imperial statue: leonine, flinty and proud, with a hard, sword-slash mouth and a thick waxed moustache.

‘Captain Draik,’ he said with a stiff bow.

The gang stared at him for a moment, surprised by his clipped, formal manner of speech. Then they burst into laughter.

‘It’s Guilliman ’is bloody self,’ snorted the man with the mohawk, marching across the road and squaring up to Draik. He was massive; a round-shouldered ape, a foot taller than Draik and clutching a ratchet as long as his arm that he had sharpened into a mace.

‘Don’t let that clicker go,’ the brute snapped, waving his weapon at the animal that was still trying to crawl down the transitway. His men leapt to obey, kicking it into a burnt-out cargo crate.

‘Captain Draik, you say?’ He stepped closer, pressing his oil-splattered chest against the Imperial eagle on Draik’s cuirass, staining the gleaming plate.

Draik stepped back and wiped the cuirass clean. ‘I didn’t catch your name.’

‘The Emperor,’ grinned the man, eliciting a round of sniggers from the rest of the gang.

‘Delighted. I’m after a pilot. Someone who knows how to reach the Dragon’s Teeth.’

‘Dragon’s Teeth? There ain’t no Dragon’s Teeth.’

The man looked at his lackeys and they stopped tormenting the animal to grin back at him. ‘Which idiot told you they was real? No one’s ever seen ’em. They ain’t a thing.’

The animal in the cargo hold snarled and lunged forwards, trying to break free, clicking and snorting until the gang attacked it with renewed violence, driving it back with a flurry of kicks.

‘What have you got there?’ asked Draik, peering through the gloom. The thermocoupling in his ocular implant clicked, focusing on the crate. The animal was thrashing from side to side and its heat signature was hard to discern. It was larger than a man, though; he could see that much. And it looked to be bipedal, but with backwards jointed legs and claws in place of feet.

‘A man-eater,’ said the brute with the mohawk. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll kill it. Just having some fun. It’s a hunt.’

The other men sniggered and Draik’s distaste grew. They looked like a manifestation of every disreputable sight he had witnessed over the last seven hours. His hand slipped involuntarily to the handle of his power sword.

‘Captain,’ said Isola behind him, sensing the approach of trouble.

Draik was not in the habit of displaying emotion in front of the lower orders, but he was tired and frustrated. He could not entirely keep his disdain from his voice. ‘Do your hunts often involve outnumbered, wounded, unarmed prey?’

The man’s expression hardened as he saw Draik’s hand resting on the sword. ‘We hunt whatever we like.’ He gripped his mace in both hands and drew back his shoulders. His face was a mess: scarred, misshapen and clogged with filth, but his eyes glittered as he studied the gilded pistol at Draik’s belt.

Draik raised an eyebrow and lifted his sword, adopting a loose-limbed en garde position. He knew he should leave these low-lives to their vile amusement, but Isola’s words were still echoing round his head. It’s time to go. Anger and frustration quickened his pulse. A wolfish snarl spread across his face.

‘Grax,’ said the man. ‘Put a hole in ’im.’

A man with a laspistol backed away from the thrashing animal and pointed his gun at Draik.

Draik shook his head, turned lightly on his heel and ran down the transitway towards him.

Grax fired, lighting up the junkyard with a las-blast.

Draik dodged the shot and it burned through the air, hitting nothing.

Grax whirled around, cursing, training his gun on the shadows.

Draik swung back into view, clutching the same cable that he had used to reach the transitway. His rapier flashed cobalt as it slid through Grax’s shoulder, causing the man to drop the pistol and stagger backwards, howling in pain and clutching his wound.

More shots blazed through the shadows, surrounding Draik in a cloud of shrapnel as he looped through the air. He loosed the cable and somersaulted over their heads, slicing his rapier back and forth and landing in the centre of the mob, filling the air with blue contrails.

The men staggered, clutching wounds, spouting blood and crying out in confusion.

The man with the mohawk charged, bellowing and drawing back his mace.

Draik waited calmly, sword arm raised, his rapier hanging loosely from his grip. At the last minute, he threw a feint. The man fell for the ruse, lunging in one direction as Draik sidestepped the other way and jabbed his sword in and out of his throat.

The man whirled around, preparing to attack again, unaware of his wound. He marched towards Draik and tried to speak, but his words emerged as a bloody cough. He staggered, confused, trying to catch the blood rushing down his chest.

Draik lowered his sword and stepped back, giving another stiff bow as the man dropped heavily to his knees, gasping for breath.

Draik sensed movement to his left and leapt back, dodging another shot. He twisted and pounced, rounding on his attacker with a graceful twirl, thrusting his rapier into the man’s chest with a flash of blue sparks.

There was another howl of gunfire, but this time it was Isola. She had followed Draik out into the centre of the transitway and silenced another man with a shot to the head.

Draik strode back towards their leader. He was supine, sprawled on his back with an ashen face, surrounded by blood. Draik put an end to his hunting days. He looked around for any other attackers. Everyone was either dead or dragging themselves away, stifling groans as they slipped back into the darkness. Draik cleaned his blade and slid it back into its scabbard, surveying his handiwork.

His blood cooled as he met Isola’s eye. She did not have to say anything. Her expression was enough: this was beneath him.

‘Take me back to the Vanguard,’ he said, frustrated with himself. ‘I need some clean air and good brandy.’

‘Wait!’

The voice came from behind them and they whirled around, pistols raised.

The animal had emerged from the crate and stepped out into the light.

The alien was humanoid, but taller and leaner than a man. His head was long, tapered and avian, with a tall crest of spines and a wide, beak-like jaw. His skin was barbed and as thick as flak armour, but it had been slashed by dozens of blows.

‘A kroot?’ asked Isola, squinting through the gloom.

Draik nodded. He kept his pistol raised but did not fire, allowing the alien to approach.

‘You saved me,’ the alien said. He spoke good Gothic, enunciating the words more clearly than the men Draik had just killed. His throat could not entirely abandon his racial heritage though, accompanying the words with a musical jumble of clicks and whistles.

‘Still to be decided,’ said Draik, keeping his gun pointed at the creature’s head.

The kroot staggered to one side then leant across the crate to steady himself.

Draik stepped closer, keeping his gun raised.

The alien clacked his beak a few times, as though crunching food. ‘You seek the Dragon’s Teeth. I heard you. Over near the crossvault. You came to Precipice to raid the Blackstone, like everyone else. But you need a pilot. You want to reach the Ascuris Vault.’

Draik lowered his gun in surprise. ‘How do you know I’m looking for the Ascuris Vault? I didn’t mention that to anyone out here.’

‘Why else choose that route? The Dragon’s Teeth are impassable. Only a fool would try. Or someone who needs the Ascuris Vault. You do not look like a fool.’

‘You seem very knowledgeable on the subject.’

‘I have been through the Dragon’s Teeth.’

Draik frowned. Perhaps he was not the only one who had guessed the importance of the Ascuris Vault. ‘Why?’

‘I was employed. By a priest called Taddeus. The vault is holy.’

The kroot crouched down and opened the mouth of one the corpses. As Draik watched in disgust, the alien plucked something from his jacket and placed it in the corpse’s mouth, whispering as he did so.

‘You sought the vault for religious reasons,’ prompted Draik.

The kroot shook his head, looking around for another corpse. ‘Not me. I did not know of it.’

The creature was frustratingly distracted, but Draik persevered. ‘The priests, then, they sought the vault for religious reasons?’

‘Taddeus has visions.’ The kroot hurried over to another dead body and placed something in its mouth, whispering again.

‘You saw the vault?’

The kroot shook his head, still fiddling with the thing he had placed in the corpse’s mouth, prodding it then licking his claws, like a chef testing seasoning. ‘The priests became odd. Then died. They found no vault. Taddeus got back. But he was insane to begin with.’

The kroot finished his ritual and walked back over to Draik. He stared at the dead bodies and let out another burst of clicking sounds. ‘They do not eat kroot meat and yet they would kill me. It makes no sense.’ He looked directly at Draik. ‘I will help. I can help you reach the vault. And keep you alive.’

‘You’re the pilot who passed through the Teeth?’

‘No, but I can lead you to her.’

‘And what will you want in return?’ Survival on Precipice meant dealing with species Draik would usually kill on sight. Precipice’s brutal, frontiersman law had created a strange, fragile egality that Draik had not witnessed anywhere else. But, whatever the rules of Precipice, Draik could barely hide his distaste at talking to the alien. The creature was barbaric. His hide was covered in ritual scars and tattoos, and rattled with bone fetishes. As he looked closer, Draik saw dozens of tiny cages dangling from the kroot’s arms. They were filled with mutilated insects – beetles and flies that had legs and wings removed but were still alive, whirring angrily in their cages as he moved. These were the things he had been putting in the corpses.

‘I must repay the debt.’ The kroot glanced at the shadow hanging over them. ‘The Blackstone brought us together. Do not question its plans.’

Draik looked out into the blackness. ‘There are many things in there, kroot, but a plan is not one of them.’

‘My name is Grekh.’

‘Grekh,’ said Draik, lowering his pistol. ‘I’m Captain Janus Draik. This is my attaché, Isola.’

Grekh did not reply. He leant against an outlet pipe, trying to catch his breath, seeming to be in pain.

‘Isola,’ said Draik. ‘Pain suppressors.’

Grekh shook his head and waved Isola away. He rattled through the cages strapped to his arms and removed one of the struggling insects. Then he popped it in his beak and closed his eyes for a moment.

After few deep breaths, Grekh stood upright. He looked down at Draik and Isola, teetering on long, gangly bird legs. His eyes were blank and unreadable.

‘No one has reached the Ascuris Vault,’ said Grekh. ‘It is madness to try. But the priest believes in it. He has waking dreams. And if madness is what you seek, I can get you there. I can take you to the pilot.’

‘My trade contact, Tor Gaulon, told us the pilot was somewhere here, in the Skeins.’

Grekh shook his head. ‘The pilot is a deserter. Audus. She’s not here. Your Navy has a price on her head. Her crime was serious. The Skeins aren’t safe for her now. But I can find her. We must to go to the Helmsman.’

‘A deserter?’ Draik frowned. ‘We were headed to the Helmsman anyway, I suppose. A short interview can’t do much harm. You may accompany us as far as the Helmsman, Grekh. And if you can back up your claims with an actual pilot, I’ll pay you a reward.’

Grekh shook his head. ‘My reward is to come with you.’

‘Where?’

‘Through the Teeth. Into the Unfathomable. To the Ascuris Vault.’

Draik laughed, shocked by the creature’s presumption.

Grekh retained the same earnest, confident tone. ‘There is a debt. Swear to take me. I will lead you to the pilot and I will save your life.’

Isola could not hide her outrage. ‘Are you trying to give Captain Draik an order?’

Draik dismissed her concerns with a wave. ‘If he fails to give us anything of value in the Helmsman, we can part company then.’

‘Swear the oath,’ said Grekh in the same flat, abrupt tone.

Draik ignored the creature’s crude manners and considered the offer. It was extremely unlikely that the alien would get him to the Ascuris Vault. And if Grekh really could achieve such a feat, enduring the alien’s company would be a small price to pay. He nodded.

‘Very well. If you find us passage to the Ascuris Vault, I swear, as a scion of the most venerable House Draik, that you will accompany me as my personal retainer.’

Grekh grunted and led the way back down the transitway, walking in a strange, swaying gait.

As they followed, Isola saw a gleam in Draik’s eye and shook her head. ‘Voracious indeed,’ she muttered.

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A Black Library Publication

First published in Great Britain in 2019.
This eBook edition published in 2019 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd, Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

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