03 - Savage Scars (43 page)

The mighty god-machines of the Legio Thanataris dispersed to form a wide ring
around the star port, their crews vigilant for signs of tau activity. Wherever
they trod, the Titans caused as much damage as an Imperial Guard artillery
bombardment, and they had soon cleared a rubble-strewn killing ground around the
complex, over which they stood silent sentinel with weapon limbs scanning the
horizon.

The Space Marines spread out into the surrounding areas too, coordinating
their actions with the princeps commanders of the Battle Titans. Sarik ordered
his force to ensure that no enemy infantry were lurking in the ruins around the
star port, and the squads soon drove off several groups of carnivores that
attempted to ambush them amongst the shattered habs. These skirmishes were tiny
in comparison to the scale of Operation Hydra, but Sarik ordered the savage
aliens hunted down and slaughtered, so vile was their habit of eating the flesh
of the fallen.

It was as the first of the troop transports were descending on the star port
on boiling pillars of flame, that Lucian, walking towards the Rakarshans’ lines
to take his leave of the bold mountain fighters, received a transmission from
Sergeant Sarik.

“Lucian?” Sarik began, the rogue trader sensing something unusual in the
Space Marine’s tone. “What is your present position?”

Lucian halted, looking around for a landmark. Imperial Guard troopers,
battered and bloody, trudged past him in long files, many fully laden with what
weapons and equipment they could evacuate with them. An entire heavy weapons
company was passing through the breach the Space Marines had made in the bunker
line, which had been widened and made safe by Munitorum pioneers. “I’m at phase
point nine-zero,” he said, using the term the Tacticae planners had coined for
the outer perimeter of the star port. “Why?”

“I’m five hundred metres north east of your position,” said Sarik, ignoring
Lucian’s question. “Get here, now.”

What now, Lucian thought, drawing his plasma pistol and checking the charge.
It was down to ten per cent. His power armour was scratched and scored, much of
its surface black with carbonisation and soot. He was fatigued and thirsty, and
well in need of rest, yet he loosened his power sword in its scabbard as he
pushed through the lines of the Imperial Guard troopers flooding in the opposite
direction. Many cast him irritated glances as he forced his way on, but many
others wore vacant and shell-shocked expressions that spoke of the ferocity of
the battle they had just faced.

Clearing the breach in the bunker line, Lucian located the direction Sarik
had indicated, and hurried towards it as fast as he could manage. His power
armour lent him some strength at least, though not much more than it took to
bear its own weight. The suit had served him well, but it would need much
attention to restore its war spirit to its full vitality once this was over.

He passed along a wide boulevard, its surface caked with a dried paste made
from the blackened remains of the alien carnivores. To one side he saw a pair of
Space Marine Apothecaries, one from the Novamarines, the other from the White
Scars, recovering the scattered body and armour parts of a slain battle-brother.
He could not tell which Chapter the dead warrior was from, for the armour was so
encrusted with gore and ash its colours were entirely obscured.

Lucian gave the two medics a wide birth, leaving them to their sad duty out
of respect.

After another few minutes crunching through the corpse litter, Lucian saw the
white-armoured forms of a group from Sarik’s Chapter gathered up ahead. Around
twenty White Scars were gathered about a ruined, smoking dome, the rubble of its
destruction strewn all about.

As he approached the White Scars, Sarik turned and waved him over.

“Lucian,” said Sarik. “She’ll talk only to you.”

“Who?” said Lucian as the White Scars parted to make way.

The dome had not been ruined by ordnance or the tread of a Battle Titan, but
by the impact of a small craft of tau origin. That craft protruded from the
cracked eggshell structure, and a figure was sat languidly upon its upper
surface, clad in the tattered remains of tau water caste finery.

“I thought you’d never get here, father,” said Brielle.

Lucian approached the downed saviour pod, for that was what he judged the
craft to be, in silence. Sarik clapped Lucian on the shoulder as he walked past,
then the Space Marine led his warriors away a respectful distance.

As Lucian approached the pod, Brielle pushed herself off and slid down its
rounded surface, coming to rest, barefoot, in front of him. Lucian’s eyes
narrowed as he met his daughter’s gaze.

“Well?” he said.

Brielle’s lop-sided grin faded, and she cocked her head, her plaited locks a
dishevelled mess.

“Well what…?” she muttered petulantly.

“You are dead,” Lucian said flatly. “You assaulted an agent of the Holy
Orders of the Emperor’s Inquisition and disappeared.”

“I never
said
I was dead…” she started.

“You never said
anything
!” Lucian bellowed. For some reason he could
not begin to fathom, he was not the slightest bit surprised to find his
daughter, who he had every reason to believe dead, standing here, in a burning
tau city, light years away from where he had last seen her. He fought back the
urge to strike her, so maddening was her manner.

“I didn’t get the chance,” said Brielle. “And I’m sorry, father. I’m really
sorry.”

“What happened?” said Lucian. “Why all this?” he gestured to the downed
saviour pod, but both knew he meant a whole lot more.

“I’ll tell you everything, father,” Brielle stepped closer as she spoke. “But
first, I have to tell you about the tau fleet…”

“The tau fleet in orbit on the far side of this world?” Lucian cut in. “We’re
not stupid, Brielle.”

Her expression darkening, Brielle ploughed on. “The tau intend to demand the
crusade’s surrender,” she said. “They wanted me to be their envoy, and that’s
how I got out. I tricked them, I…”

Lucian raised an eyebrow, well aware that his daughter was only telling him
part of the truth, the part that suited her the most.

“…but they have no idea of the crusade’s true strengths,” Brielle continued.
“They don’t know about the reinforcements.”

Lucian barked out a bitter laugh, and his daughter assumed a crestfallen
expression.

“There aren’t any reinforcements,” she said, a statement rather than a
question.

“We’re pulling out,” said Lucian flatly. “But I imagine you guessed that. If
you’d left it any later to enact your cunning plan,” Lucian smirked, “you’d have
had to stay behind.”

“I didn’t want to go in the first place,” Brielle said, her pout making
Lucian laugh despite himself. “Grand attacked
me
. I didn’t mean to kill
him…”

“Well, you can apologise in person,” said Lucian.

Brielle stopped dead in her tracks. “He’s alive?”

“No thanks to you, yes,” said Lucian. “Though he sustained serious wounds.”

“If he’s still alive,” she stammered, “he’ll—”

“Grand has lost it, Brielle,” Lucian interjected. “He’s insane and he’ll kill
us all if he can.

“You’re hardly the top of his list.”

“All will rise!” the convenor bellowed, his metal-shod staff of office
striking the deck of the council chamber with a resounding thud. Korvane Gerrit
rose from the council seat normally occupied by his father, and the remainder of
the gathered councillors rose from theirs.

The chamber seemed empty, with several seats around the circular, black
marble table unoccupied. Korvane’s father, as well as Veteran Sergeant Sarik,
was still on the surface, while Captain Rumann was engaged on the
Fist of
Light
. Those not present in person would nonetheless witness the session, by
way of the images transmitted by a score of servo skull spy-drones hovering
discreetly in the shadows, their multiple lenses whirring and clicking as they
tracked the scene. General Gauge had not yet arrived either.

Inquisitor Grand sat across the table from Korvane, his black robes seeming
to draw him into the shadows, or perhaps to gather the darkness towards him.
What little of the inquisitor’s flesh was visible was covered in a chaotic mass
of scar tissue, the result of the flamer attack unleashed by Korvane’s sister
months before. Thinking about Brielle made Korvane’s skin crawl, for he too had
suffered at her hands. While he could never prove it, he harboured the suspicion
that the accident aboard his vessel had been caused by her. Korvane had drawn on
the resources of the Clan Arcadius to ensure his wounds were treated, and while
they had largely healed, they still pained him greatly.

It appeared to Korvane that the inquisitor wore his wounds proudly and
overtly, allowing the scar tissue to enshroud his limbs as nature intended.
Perhaps he was making some point about the ascendancy of the human form and the
purity of its function, Korvane thought, for the Inquisition was riven with
hundreds of different doctrines and philosophies that sometimes set its members
violently at odds with one another.

Cardinal Gurney sat to Grand’s right, glowering at Korvane. No doubt word of
Lucian’s rallying of the troops following Gurney’s untimely departure had
spread. It was now obvious to all gathered that the cardinal had left the
surface having been forewarned of Grand’s intention to bring forward the
Exterminatus, but something had happened to forestall the devastation that
hovered over Dal’yth Prime like the executioner’s axe.

No one knew why the disbanded council had been reconvened, or why Grand had
not overridden the convocation. The atmosphere was tense, and the council
chamber noticeably colder than usual.

“Admiral Jellaqua, of the Imperial Navy,” the convenor intoned, “and…”

Jellaqua leaned in to whisper into the convenor’s ear, then the man
announced, “…Interrogator Armelle Rayne, of the Holy Ordos of the Emperor’s
Inquisition.”

The air in the council chamber grew colder still. Another figure appeared at
the door behind the admiral and his companion.

“General Gauge,” announced the convenor, striking the deck once more.
“Admiral Jellaqua has the chair. Let the council convene.”

General Gauge took his seat three places to Korvane’s right, nodding to him
as he did so. The portly Admiral Jellaqua sat himself next to Gauge, gifting
Korvane a surreptitious wink as he settled into his chair. The individual who
had been introduced as Interrogator Rayne took the seat between Jellaqua and
Korvane, and as she sat, she pulled back the hood of her outer robe.

The interrogator was a striking woman, her head bald and her skull subtly
elongated, as if nature or augmentation had sculpted her into a new form. Her
eyes too were ever so slightly altered and the irises were mirrored. Her
features were sharp, almost angular, and her lips full. The side of her bald
cranium was tattooed with an intricate tracery of arcane symbols: the aquila,
the “I” of the Inquisition, and many other glyphs worked into dazzling patterns.

Rayne noted Korvane’s scrutiny, and turned towards him. She inclined her head
in greeting. “Korvane Gerrit of the Clan Arcadius,” she said, her voice like the
purr of a felid. Korvane realised she must have been casting some psyker’s
glamour to subtly manipulate the councillors’ perceptions, and forced his
attentions towards the gatherings.

Rayne caught Korvane’s eye the instant that thought crossed his mind, the
ghost of a wry smile touching her lips.

“Fellow councillors,” said Admiral Jellaqua. “I have called this
extraordinary session of the crusade council…”

“This council is dissolved,” Inquisitor Grand growled, his voice low and
threatening. “By the authority of the Seal.”

Jellaqua’s eyes narrowed as he dared meet those of Inquisitor Grand.
“Nonetheless,” the admiral matched Grand’s tone, “there is much to discuss.”

“There is nothing to discuss!” Cardinal Gurney growled as he rose to his
feet. Jellaqua smirked slightly at the spectacle of the firebrand preacher
performing the role of the inquisitor’s attack hound, but otherwise kept his
gaze fixed squarely on Inquisitor Grand.

“As I said, there is much to discuss,” said Jellaqua, then inclined his head
towards the interrogator at his side. “I present Mamzel Rayne,” he paused, the
air growing colder as he spoke. “Envoy of Lord Inquisitor Kryptman.”

Korvane’s breath formed a cold, billowing cloud as he breathed out. Mere days
had passed since the astropathic communication informing the council that
Kryptman’s envoy would be joining them. None had expected the envoy to arrive so
quickly, for the crusade itself had taken long weeks to cross the Damocles Gulf.
Korvane had heard the whispered spacer’s tales of the archeotech vessels the
highest servants of the Inquisition had access to—perhaps they were not mere
tales at all.

Interrogator Rayne stood, her black outer robe sliding from her bare shoulder
to fall across the chair behind her. She was adorned in a long, flowing,
off-the-shoulder gown made of the finest black void-silk Korvane had ever seen.
She appeared more a noble of a high court than an agent of one of the most
feared institutions in the Imperium.

“My thanks,” Rayne nodded to the admiral, before her gaze swept over the
gathered councillors. Gurney was lowering himself back into his seat, his face a
mask of righteous, yet impotent fury, while Inquisitor Grand had visibly
stiffened in his chair, his spindly body coiled as if ready to strike at any
moment. Logistician-General Stempf would clearly rather have been anywhere else
than at the council table, and he studiously avoided the interrogator’s gaze as
it swept over him.

The three new councillors, who Korvane had recruited, seemingly futilely for
the council had been disbanded by Grand straight after, met Rayne’s gaze
confidently. Korvane knew that he had chosen the three well, that they were men
of principle who had nothing to hide from the interrogator’s scrutiny.