Текст книги "Deliverance Lost"

Автор книги: Гэв Торп

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Текущая страница: 27 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

He drew his pistol. It seemed important that he had a weapon in his hand.

‘Forget that,’ he told his tribune, looking at the vox-unit. ‘Get your lasrifle.’

Calorium pushed the heavy pack aside and dropped the receiver. He flinched as another las-blast tore into the sculpted architrave above them, melting through the relief of a war chariot charging against a horde of barbarians. On his knees, he crawled over the dead Therions and retrieved his weapon before returning to Valerius’s side.

‘You said to trust you,’ Valerius muttered to himself. ‘Weather the storm and trust you. Well, Corax, the storm is upon us.’

THERE WAS LITTLE honour in slaughtering the poorly-armed soldiers. Their lasguns were pitiful against Legiones Astartes armour, their gold-coloured flak vests no defence against boltguns. Luthris could not even enjoy the slaughter: it was too one-sided and little test for his tactical acumen or his physical prowess.

At the head of his squad, he strode up a sweeping staircase leading to the upper floors of a guesthouse. He fired his bolt pistol at the men hunkering down behind the balustrade above, his shots finding their marks between the wooden pillars.

‘Squad Andilor, proceed to the third floor,’ he said, shooting another soldier in the leg. The bolt tore the man’s hip apart, sending him sprawling. Luthris casually drove his sword into the man’s chest as he stalked past. ‘Squad Collonius, fourth floor.’

‘Heavy weapon on the roof opposite, captain,’ reported one of the sergeants. ‘Multi-laser.’

‘Call in a Thunderhawk strike, sergeant,’ Luthris replied. ‘Must I make every decision?’

‘Affirmative, captain. Calling in airstrike.’

With an armoured boot, the Emperor’s Children captain kicked open the door at the end of the landing. He quickly scanned the rooms beyond but they were empty. With a sigh of disappointment he turned back to the stairwell.

‘Captain!’

The shout came from below, not over the vox. Striding to the edge of the landing, Luthris saw Squad Argentius backing into the foyer, bolters aimed towards the outer doors. One of them yelled a warning and they opened fire, but Luthris could not see their target.

‘What’s happening?’ the captain demanded. ‘Speak to me!’

Before he heard the reply his comm-bead crackled into life.

‘Captain, we have detected sub-orbital craft, approaching at speed.’

‘From where? How did they launch?’

‘We do not know, captain. Orbital scan is clear.’

Even as he tried to absorb this information, Luthris watched the squad below. Two of the legionaries were heaved into the air, blood spilling from gaping rents in their armour. The others fired at nothing, though their bolts seemed to deflect from thin air, exploding against emptiness. Sergeant Argentius stepped forwards with his chainsword roaring. A moment later his arm and head flew away, cut clean through by some invisible force.

Luthris could not believe what he was seeing. Within a few seconds, the whole squad were dead: dismembered and decapitated.

‘Sorcery,’ he muttered. There was no Librarian close at hand to help him.

Bringing up his power sword, he took up a guard position at the top of the stairs. He thought he saw something for a moment and fired his pistol. The shot detonated a few steps up from the bottom of the stairs.

A moment later he was looking into two jet-black eyes, centimetres from his face. Stepping back, he realised what it was that confronted him. The warrior was half again as tall as Luthris, armoured in pure black splashed with gore, a winged pack upon his back. His face was bone white, his hair shorn at shoulder length. In one hand the warrior held a crackling whip; the other was sheathed in glowing claws. The apparition bared its teeth in a wordless snarl and raised its talons.

‘For the Emperor!’ it whispered as the claws slashed down.

CORAX MOVED FROM room to room, slaying any Emperor’s Children he came across. His claws cut them to ribbons and his glowing whip sliced through polished armour. Reaching the highest storey of the building, he walked out onto the balcony overlooking the main street. Looking up he saw the dark blur of drop-pods falling from the heavens. Beyond them came the contrails of Thunderhawks and Stormbirds.

It was time to head for the gate.

THE DROP-POD OPENED up like the petals of an iron flower, metal ramps crashing into the wall rampart. Navar was the first out of his harness, bounding down to the wall with easy strides. Unarmoured soldiers were manning a gun post ahead of him. Slipping a taloned finger into the guard of his bolter, he gunned them down with three shots.

Behind him, Carval growled and hissed. With a glance back at his fellow Raptor, Navar nodded. He had no idea what Carval had tried to say, but he understood his brother legionary’s intent.

‘For the Raven Guard!’ Navar cried as he dashed along the wall, opening fire when a squad of Emperor’s Children burst out of the tower ahead.

Bolt-rounds flickered back and forth between the two squads, ripping chunks of ceramite from armour. A shadow fell over Navar and he glanced up to see Lord Corax soaring over the edge of the wall. The primarch’s whip lashed out, shredding two of the Emperor’s Children from the waist up. Behind Corax came more Raven Guard, dropping down from the top of the tower ahead, their jump packs flaring to slow their descent. Plasma pistols and chainswords ready, the assault squad fell upon the rear of the Emperor’s Children.

There was shooting from inside the wall. Navar glanced down to his left and saw three yellow-armoured squads fighting their way across a narrow courtyard, pushing back the Emperor’s Children. Captain Noriz’s Imperial Fists would not miss out on the victory. On a rooftop further from the wall, two more drop-pods were opening up. Custodian Guard in their gleaming gold armour stormed out, unleashing bursts of energy from their guardian spears, cracking open the power armour of their foes.

Beyond the wall the Therions were advancing again, taking revenge on the Emperor’s Children who had slaughtered their fellows. Though their lasguns were not as powerful as their foes’ bolters, their weight of fire and tenacity was driving the traitors back towards the gates.

Lord Corax circled once, no doubt taking stock of the battle’s progress, before he landed a little ahead of Navar. The primarch pointed towards the centre of the city, to where the central tower of the Perfect Fortress soared more than three hundred metres above the buildings surrounding it. Navar looked to where Corax gestured and saw thousands of Raven Guard pouring out of drop-pods around the tower. He recognised the beak-faced Mark VI armour of the first Raptors as they led a charge against the central citadel, alongside loping and shuffling warriors of the last generation. Bolters, plasma and laser scoured the gardens and porticos of the enemy installation. Other legionaries, from the Hawks and Talons, jumped down from hovering Thunderhawks to set up crossfires on rooftops and inner walls, cutting down the retreating Emperor’s Children. Stormbirds looped slowly, their guns blazing at pockets of resistance, reserves of more Raven Guard inside ready to commit to the fight.

It was a joyous sight, the whole Legion acting in concert, and Navar understood why his primarch was grinning.

‘NOT SO PERFECT,’ said Agapito.

Corax had gathered his command council in the chambers of the garrison commander. It reminded him of the officers’ mess hall on Lycaeus where he had decided to use the atomic charges on Kiavahr. The carpet underfoot was thick, the walls panelled with red lacquered wood. Finely sculpted statues stood on marble plinths around the edge of the room.

‘We certainly can’t hold it,’ said Branne.

An exquisite alabaster bust of Fulgrim toppled to the floor with a dull crash as the commander leaned deliberately against its pedestal. Glancing down at the fragments, Branne dropped a heavy foot onto the remnants, crushing them into the carpet. ‘You know that Horus will respond.’

‘I am counting on it,’ said Corax. ‘We will not be here.’

‘So what was the point?’ demanded Valerius. He looked like a child, sitting in a deep armchair made for one of the Legiones Astartes, his feet off the ground. Behind him, his aide had salvaged a decanter of wine from a cabinet and was hunting for an intact glass amongst the ruin of shattered cupboards and shelves. ‘A lot of Therions died just to hand this world back to the traitors.’

‘We’re leaving, you’re not,’ said Corax. ‘The rest of your Cohort will be arriving, nearly five hundred thousand men. The Legio Vindictus has already departed from Kiavahr with a dozen Titans. Other Imperial Army elements are also on their way, nearly a million more soldiers. Horus will be getting a hot welcome if he does come here.’

‘So we stay here and keep fighting?’ said Valerius. ‘You have levelled half of the defences.’

‘It won’t come to that, sub-Caesari,’ said the primarch. He stared out of the window, watching smoke drift over the ornate towers and gardens. ‘The Raven Guard are leaving, but not for Deliverance. Khalghorst is our next target. There is a Word Bearers garrison there. We’ll have hit them before Horus even has word of what has happened here.’

Corax turned and looked at his commanders.

‘This is not the Great Crusade. There is no compliance, no garrisons. We fight as the Raven Guard always have. We fight and we withdraw. We hit hard and elude the counter-blow. There are others that will stand and take the brunt of the traitors’ fury, and they have my sympathy, but this war will not be won with kind regards. And we will rebuild our numbers, slowly as before, but growing stronger as our enemies are weakened. The traitors allowed the Raven Guard to survive, and that will prove a costly mistake.

‘We will take this war to Horus wherever and whenever we can and we will bleed his forces dry. We cannot win this war alone, but we will ensure he wins no quick victory.’

EPILOGUE

ABOARD THE ALPHA, Omegon walked to his shared chamber without thought, his feet guiding him through the corridors and levels without conscious effort. He knew that Horus had accepted the gene-data, which left him with just one more loose end to tie up.

Entering the quarters, Omegon was immediately confronted by Athithirtir, the alien’s enviro-globe bobbing around in agitation.

+I sense that you are being duplicitous.+

‘Your sense is annoyingly correct,’ said Omegon, sitting on the bunk so that his face was level with the gas-filled sphere.

+It is unwise to pass on the primarch genetic material to Horus. It will alter the balance of power in his favour. You risk giving victory to the Primordial Annihilator.+

‘Then it is fortunate that the data we handed over is flawed,’ said Omegon. ‘Fabius will never perfect the technology. The servants of the Primordial Annihilator will expend countless lives and endless hours in the pursuit of the impossible.’

+I sense that you are feeling proud of this conclusion. You are hiding something from me.+

‘Your empathic ability is becoming tiresome,’ said Omegon. ‘We no longer need an envoy from the Cabal. We are capable of determining our own fate from now on.’

+That is not an option. The Cabal must steer this war to the correct conclusion. To do otherwise risks victory for the Primordial Annihilator. You are being disobedient.+

‘We do that a lot,’ said Omegon. He stood up and grabbed the globe in one gauntleted hand. Anti-grav motors gave out a high-pitched whine as the sphere struggled against the primarch’s grip.

+This vessel is impervious to you and your weapons. Your attempt to harm or threaten me is pointless.+

‘I am not going to hurt you at all, my gas-filled friend,’ said Omegon.

He walked to the doorway and keyed open the lock. Leaving his quarters, the primarch headed for the closest conveyor. Athithirtir screeched all the way as they rode the elevator down to the docking levels, but Omegon had already issued orders to ensure there was no other soul along their route. The area around dock four was empty. Passing through the armoured door, Omegon walked between the secured Thunderhawks lined up on each side of the flight deck.

+I do not understand your intent. Your behaviour is unacceptable.+

‘I am simply taking you to your ship,’ said Omegon, letting go of the globe. Athithirtir floated up out of reach, ranting unintelligible curses at the primarch.

+I do not detect my ship.+

‘I am sure it will be here,’ said Omegon. He walked back towards the doors. ‘Maybe in a century or two.’

Sealing the doorway behind him, Omegon opened a communications frequency.

‘Dock four control, this is your primarch. Open inner and outer doors immediately, full atmospheric cleanse.’

‘Affirmative, lord,’ came the reply.

Warning sirens blared while Omegon imagined the huge armoured portal shielding the flight deck opening, revealing the field of stars outside. The air would blow out like a hurricane, taking the intrusive little alien with it. Content that his task was complete, he headed back to his quarters. There was still a lot more to be done. With the gene-tech secured in the Alpha’svaults, in time his warriors would truly be legion.