Battle for The Abyss (9 page)

‘Was it necessary to bring them with us at all?’ he asked, his gaze shifting back from his captain to watch the fight. ‘This is the business of the Ultramarines. What has it got to do with our Legion brothers?’

‘Thestor, do not be so narrow-minded as to think we do not need their aid,’ Cestus chastened the heavy-set Astartes, who glanced over at his captain. ‘We are a brotherhood: all of us.

Though we each have our differences, the Emperor has seen fit for us to conquer the galaxy in his name together. The moment we seek our own personal glories, when we abandon solidarity for pride, is the moment when brotherhood will be shattered.’

Thestor regarded the floor when his captain had finished, shamed by his selfish remarks.

‘You may take your leave, Thestor,’ said Cestus. It wasn’t a request.

The big Astartes got to his feet and left the training arena.

‘I agree with you, Cestus, of course I do,’ said Antiges, once Thestor had gone, ‘but they are like savages.’

‘Are they, Antiges?’ Cestus challenged. ‘Are Brynngar and the wolves of Russ not savages, too? Do you hold them in such dis-regard also?’

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‘Of course not,’ Antiges replied. ‘I have fought with the Space Wolves and know of their courage and honour. They are savages in their own way, yes, but the difference is that they are possessed of a noble spirit. These sons of Angron are blood-letters, pure and simple. They kill for the simple joy of it.’

‘We are all warriors,’ Cestus told him. ‘Each of us kills in the Emperor’s name.’

‘Not like them we don’t.’

‘They are Astartes,’ Cestus said, biting out his words, and turning on his battle-brother. ‘I will hear no more of this. You forget your place, Antiges.’

‘I apologise, captain. I spoke out of turn,’ Antiges replied after a moment of stunned silence. ‘I only meant to say that I do not ap-prove of their methods or their deeds.’ At that, the Ultramarine turned back to watch the battle.

Cestus followed his battle-brother’s gaze. The Ultramarine captain did not know either of the World Eaters in the duelling pit.

He knew precious little of their leader, Skraal. This was ritual combat. No slight, no besmirching of honour had occurred to bring it about. Yet it was bladed and deadly.

‘I do not, either,’ Cestus admitted, watching as one of the com-batants nearly lost his arm to a wild swing of his opponent’s chainaxe.

The Ultramarine had heard stories from his fellow Legionnaires about the so called ‘cleansing’ of Ariggata, one of the World Eaters’ more infamous battle actions. The Legion’s assault on the citadel there had reputably left a charnel house in its wake. Cestus knew full well that Guilliman still sought a reckoning with his brother primarch, Angron, concerning the dire events of that mission, but this was no time for recrimination. Necessity had forced Cestus’s hand, and whether he liked it or not, this is what he had been dealt.

Skraal led twenty World Eaters on the
Wrathful
and Cestus was determined to make the best use of them. Brynngar had brought the same number of Blood Claws, and while they were raucous and pugnacious, especially when forced into idleness in the con-60

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fines of the ship, they did not harbour the same homicidal bent as the bloody sons of Angron. Mhotep was the only Astartes not aboard the
Wrathful
. He had his own ship, the
Waning Moon
, but no squads of Thousand Sons, just cohorts of naval arms-men at his command.

Barely fifty Astartes and the vessels of their makeshift fleet, Cestus hoped it would be enough for whatever was in store.

‘What troubles you, brother?’ asked Antiges, their brief altercation swiftly forgotten. The Ultramarine finally turned his back on the battling World Eaters, deciding he had seen enough.

‘The message at Coralis dock sits heavily on me,’ Cestus confessed. ‘The clenched fist, crested by a laurel crown represents Legion... our Legion. The golden book – I don’t know what that means, but I saw something else.’

‘In the reactor flare,’ Antiges realised. ‘I had thought I was hearing things when you asked us if we’d seen anything.’

‘You were not, and yes, I saw it in the reactor flare, so fleeting and indistinct that at first I believed it was my imagination, that my mind was articulating what my heart longed for.’

‘What did you see?’

Cestus looked Antiges directly in the eyes. ‘I saw Macragge.’

Antiges was nonplussed. ‘I don’t—’

‘I saw Macragge and I felt despair, Antiges, as if it presaged something terrible.’

‘Signs and visions are the province of witchery, brother-captain,’ Antiges counselled warily. ‘We both know the edicts of Nikaea.’

‘Brothers,’ a voice broke in before Cestus could respond. It was Saphrax, come from the bridge where Cestus had instructed he maintain a watch on proceedings.

Both Saphrax’s fellow Ultramarines turned to him expectantly.

‘We have made visual contact with the ship from the site of the
Fist
’s destruction.’

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‘THAT IS A Legion ship, captain. You are not suggesting that a vessel of the Imperium fired upon one of its own?’ Admiral Kaminska warned the Astartes.

Following Saphrax’s report, Cestus and Antiges had made for the bridge at once. What they saw in the viewscreen when they got there had stunned them both.

The vessel they tracked in the void was of Mechanicum design and clearly made for the Legion. It was bedecked in the icono-graphy of the Word Bearers.

It was the largest ship that Cestus had ever seen. Even at a considerable distance it was massive, easily three times the size of the
Wrathful
, and would have dwarfed an Emperor-class battleship. It bore an impressive array of weapons; tech-adepts aboard the
Wrathful
had suggested port and starboard broadside laser batteries and multiple torpedo tubes to the prow and stern. It was the monolithic statue towering at the vessel’s prow, however, that gave Cestus the most concern: a gigantic golden book, the echo of the fragmented image in the astropathic message on Vangelis.

‘We’re at extreme strike range,’ said Captain Commander Vorlov. ‘What are your orders, admiral?’

‘Hold them back,’ said Cestus, deliberately interrupting Kaminska. ‘They are our Legion brothers. I am certain they will be able to account for themselves. They may have information regarding the
Fist of Macragge
.’

Vorlov was a paunchy man with jowls that wobbled independently of the rest of his body. He had a gnarled red nose that spoke of long nights drinking to keep away the cold of space, and dressed in the heavy furs typical of his Saturnine heritage.

His presence filled the viewscreen through which he was communicating with the bridge of the
Wrathful.
‘Yes, my lord,’ he said.

‘No point rattling the sword without reason,’ Cestus muttered to Antiges, who nodded his assent. ‘Hang back and keep them within range, but do not approach. Admiral Kaminska, bring the
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Wrathful
in at the lead. Keep the
Waning Moon
and the escort fleet in our wake.’

‘As you wish, my lord,’ she said, swallowing her annoyance and her pride. ‘Relaying orders now.’

The tension around the bridge was palpable. Brynngar, having joined them a moment before, growled beneath his breath.

‘What is your plan, Cestus?’ he asked, eyes locked on the viewscreen and the mighty vessel visible beyond it.

‘We draw in close enough to hail them and demand to know their business.’

‘On Fenris, when stalking the horned orca, I would swim the icy depths of the ocean taking care to stay in the beast’s wake,’

Brynngar said with intensity. ‘Once I drew close enough I would slip my baleen spear from my leg and launch it into the orca’s unprotected flank. Then I would swim, long and hard, to reach the beast before it could turn and impale me on its horn. Within its thrashing swell I would seize upon it and with my blade pare its flesh and gut its innards. For the orca is a mighty beast, and this was the only way to be sure of its demise.’

‘We will hail them,’ Cestus affirmed, noting the savagery that played across Brynngar’s features with unease. ‘I won’t commit us to a fight over nothing.’

‘Admiral,’ the Ultramarine added, turning to Kaminska.

‘Helms-mate Kant, open up a channel to the vessel at once,’ she said.

Kant did as ordered and indicated his readiness to his commander.

Kaminska nodded to Cestus.

‘This is Captain Cestus of the Ultramarines Seventh Chapter. In the name of the Emperor of Mankind, I am ordering you to state your designation and business in this subsector.’

Static-fringed silence was the only reply.

‘I repeat: this is Captain Cestus of the Ultramarines Seventh Chapter. Respond,’ he barked into the bridge vox.

More silence.

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‘Why do they not answer?’ asked Antiges, his fists tightly clenched. ‘They are Legionaries, like us. Since when did the sons of Lorgar fail to acknowledge the Ultramarines?’

‘I don’t know. Perhaps their long-range vox is out.’ Cestus was reaching for answers, trying to deny what he had known in his heart ever since Vangelis, that something was wrong, terribly, terribly wrong.

‘Signal one of the frigates to make approach,’ Cestus ordered after a brief silence, eyes fixed on the viewscreen like every other soul on the bridge. ‘I don’t want to come in with our cruisers,’ he reasoned. ‘It might be perceived as a threat.’

Kaminska relayed the order in curt fashion and the
Fearless
closed on the unknown vessel.

‘I shall follow them in,’ said Mhotep from a second viewscreen on the bridge. ‘I have half a regiment of Prospero Spireguard standing by to board.’

‘Very well, captain, but keep your distance,’ Cestus warned.

‘As you wish.’ The viewscreen went blank as Mhotep took active command of the
Waning Moon
.

A tactical array abruptly activated, depicting the closing vessels that were virtually lost from sight in the viewport. The Word Bearers ship was a red icon on the display surrounded by sensor readings of the approaching frigates, little more than green blips in its presence.

‘This reeks,’ snarled Brynngar, who had begun prowling the bridge with impatience, ‘and my nose never lies.’

Cestus kept his eyes on the tactical array.

Macragge. The image of his Macragge, seen as part of the astropathic warning in the reactor core, came to mind once more.

How were the fates of this vessel and his home world entwined?

The Word Bearers were his brothers; surely they had nothing to do with the destruction of the
Fist of Macragge
? Such a thing was unconscionable.

Cestus would have his answers soon enough.

The
Fearless
had reached its destination.

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FIVE

A line is drawn

Silver Three down

Open book

‘YOUR ORDERS, CAPTAIN?’ came the vox from the ordnance deck.

Zadkiel sat back on his throne. The feeling of power was intoxicating. The battleship was his to command, like an extension of his body, as if the torpedo tubes and gun turrets were his hands.

He could simply spread his fingers and will destruction on the enemy.

‘Hold,’ said Zadkiel.

The central viewscreen showed the closing vessels: a frigate with a strike cruiser in its wake. The frigate did not interest the Word Bearer captain, but the cruiser was an entirely different prospect: fast, well-armed and designed for precision attacks and boarding actions. It was painted in the livery of the Thousand Sons.

‘Magnus’s brood,’ said Zadkiel, idly. Astride his command throne, he glanced at a supplementary screen that depicted a tactical readout of the ship. The
Furious Abyss
’s archive had identified it as the
Waning Moon
. It had many battle honours, and had followed the Thousand Sons Legion across half the galaxy prosecuting the Great Crusade. ‘I have always admired their imagination.’

Assault-Captain Baelanos was standing behind the command throne. ‘They’re within range, sire.’

‘There is no hurry, captain,’ said Zadkiel. ‘We should savour this moment.’ Additional readings flicked up on the viewscreen.

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The
Waning Moon
was showing life-signs equivalent to a full regiment of troops gathering at the boarding muster points.

‘Helms-mate Sarkorov, open up a clandestine channel to the
Waning Moon
,’ Zadkiel ordered.

‘At once, my lord,’ came the reply from deep inside the dark city of the bridge.

After a moment, Sarkorov added.

‘Channel is secure.’

‘On screen.’

The central image was replaced with a view of the
Waning
Moon
’s gilded bridge. The Astartes in the command throne, which was massively ornate and inset with numerous jewels and engraved runes, looked up in mild surprise. He had light brown skin and hooded eyes, with a face that spoke of discipline and resolve.

‘This is Captain Zadkiel, addressing you from the
Furious Abyss
.

Am I speaking to the captain of the
Waning Moon
?’ asked Zadkiel.

‘You are. I am Captain Mhotep of the Thousand Sons. Why have you not responded to our hails?’

‘No, captain, I demand to know what this display of force means,’ Zadkiel said, unwilling to be interrogated by his brother Astartes. ‘You have no authority here. Disengage at once.’

‘I repeat, why have you not responded to our hails and what do you know of the
Fist of Macragge
and its fate?’ Mhotep was relentless and would not be cowed.

‘I do not appreciate your tone, brother. I know nothing of the vessel you speak of,’ Zadkiel replied. ‘Now, disengage.’