Blood Calm – Guy Haley

	 
	Chapter Master Caedis was dead.

	The call went out. The brethren gathered.
	The Blood Drinkers Chapter entire was in the Arena of Horandor. The thin light of San Guisiga's suns poured through the arena windows, illuminating the sand in bands of weak light. Dark and light, the opposing aspects of life; dark and light, the opposing facets of the Chapter.
	Radin Castor, captain of the First Company, was on the fighting floor. He wore the tabard and loose trousers that were the robes of his Chapter, his torso bare. San Guisiga was a hot world, and its sons were hot-blooded. He carried a simple steel sword. Of great mass and length, a mortal man could not have borne it, but in his giant fist it seemed of natural proportion.
	Opposing him was Captain Sorael of the Fifth Company. Castor snarled. Upstart. Mastery of the Chapter was his right. Who was Sorael to challenge him? He would not have thought so harshly of Sorael, but the blood haze was on him, a subtle filter on his senses, red more pronounced, the smell of iron enticing. Heartbeats rang loudly.
	Reclusiarch Mazrael came between them, robed in black silk from head to foot, his feet bare. Twenty metres to the Reclusiarch, another twenty to the pretender. Castor thought already of attack.
	Mazrael's words to the crowd were indistinct. Castor's ears buzzed. The combatants had been denied the Rite of Holos for weeks. Sorael bore the signs of the Red Thirst as clearly as Castor: flushed skin, pupils dilated so as to crowd out the iris, long canines growing longer. Sorael seemed a monster. Castor did not feel himself to be one, but he knew what he was well enough.
	Mazrael held up a red flag pinched between forefinger and thumb, the chalice and blood drop of their order upon it a nonsense of creases and broken yellow lines. He spoke again, unintelligible men's words. Castor and Sorael were moving away from the realms of men.
	The flag fluttered to the sand. Mazrael withdrew. Castor saw Sanguinary Master Teale stand, nostrils flared in excitement. He was there to treat wounds, but in truth Teale rather more enjoyed inflicting them.
	Horns blared. The crowd roared, many throats, one voice.
	This was the nature of the challenge - martial prowess was not to be tested, but the retention of humanity in the face of the Thirst. The Chapter Master must be able to fight the Thirst under the most testing circumstances. He must be Blood Calm.
	Sorael was direct, leaping halfway across the distance between them, his muscles preternaturally strong because of the Thirst. Sword raised double- handed, he came at Castor, face feral.
	Castor's head reeled. The beast within him snapped, bloody muzzle threatening to burst through. Castor pushed it back. Restraint. Calm. Blood Calm.
	He sidestepped Sorael's wild charge. Sorael checked himself, feet digging a furrow into the sand as he skidded to a halt. Another jump, sword descending. Castor parried it, a clang of steel. He twisted. Sorael landed badly. Castor dropped low, swept a leg out to take the Fifth Captain's feet from under him, but Sorael hopped over them, sending another blow at Castor's head. Castor raised his blade, pushing off on Sorael's with his own to roll away and spring to his feet.
	They circled. Sorael crouched, blade gripped two-handed. Castor had one arm behind his back, sword swept out in front of him, point down. Sorael lunged, blond hair sweat-slicked to his brow. Castor ignored the attack.
	Chapter Master Caedis had been his friend. The mastery was his right as First Captain. To fail would dishonour them both. He would not be drawn. Restraint, calm. Blood Calm.
	The thirst bubbled in him. His veins were on fire. He chased the pain from his body, imprisoned it behind bars of will.
	Calm.
	Sorael lost patience and attacked.
	Castor drew his blade across the other warrior's arm with a deft flick as he pivoted out of the way. Sorael snarled. Both of them were rocked by the bright red that welled up in Sorael's wound and pattered upon the sand.
	Castor's mouth filled with saliva. His gums ached with longing. He spat out a clear mouthful of saliva, surprised that it was not red.
	Sorael came at him again. Castor held his ground, driving his blade down onto Sorael's with all the force he could muster.
	Steel shattered, Sorael jumped back, arms wide, but Castor threw himself forward, shoulder into the other's sternum. The impact collapsed Sorael's lungs. They went down. Castor threw his sword aside, and they were grappling. Their skin was slippery with sweat and blood, fingers skidding from flesh. And then Castor had him. He wrapped his arms around Sorael's neck, choking him in the crook of his left elbow, his right hand applying pressure to the lever of his left arm.
	It takes a long time to choke a Space Marine. Sorael fought like a daemon, all fury and unholy strength, nails raking at Castor's arms, scrabbling futilely for Castor's eyes. But Castor was calm, Blood Calm.
	Sorael's struggles weakened. His head lolled. Castor kept the pressure on for ten seconds longer, wary of trickery.
	He let the unconscious Sorael slide to the floor. He stood.
	The crowd roared their acclamations, but Castor did not hear. He stared at the blood pumping slowly from Sorael's arm.
	Blood.
	His resolve wavered. He imagined it on his tongue. It was all he could do not to fall upon the other and lap at the cut before Sorael's Larraman cells finished their work.
	His calm fractured. He fell forward, sank his teeth into his opponent's neck and drank deep. He closed his eyes with shame as the beast within him exulted. He had failed.
	A hand on his shoulder. Mazrael. Castor had not fallen. He was upright. His brow creased in confusion. Mazrael was speaking. He thrust a chalice at Castor's mouth. The smell of blood was intoxicating. He took it with shaking hands and drained it.
	Sound crashed back on him. The Thirst receded suddenly. The crowd was chanting his name over and over. Sorael was being seen to by the Apothecaries.
	'Blood freely given, blood taken,' said Mazrael.
	'Blood is life, life is duty. I choose blood. I choose life. I choose duty,' said Castor, his tongue thick and voice hoarse.
	Mazrael raised Chapter Master Castor's hand. The assembled Blood Drinkers fell to their knees before their new lord.
	Calm suffused Castor. Blood Calm.