Part 13 (1/2)
Pylcrafte mutters under his hood and even Halser clenches his jaw. He has heard this kind of deluded cant before. He feels a growing sense of dread as the pilgrims lead the way down a narrow, stone stair, chuckling merrily to themselves as they go.
Unlike the rest of Ilissus, the land around Madrepore is flat and verdant. For several kilometres in every direction, well-tilled fields and herds of grazing cattle skirt the City of Stars. Cl.u.s.ters of adobe huts run alongside wide, tree-lined tracks, bustling with white-robed figures. After the desolation that preceded it, the Relictors struggle to comprehend the orderly scene spread out below them. Stranger still is the greeting they receive as they reach the valley floor and begin marching towards the city gates. The sound of power-armoured boots crunching down the road should cause a commotion, regardless of the pilgrims' mutilated eyes. But as the Relictors march past, the groups labouring in the fields pay them no attention, as though the arrival of s.p.a.ce Marines is a daily occurrence.
*Do they not wonder who we are?' asks Sergeant Halser, turning to Frater Gortyn.
*They know who you are,' replies the pilgrim. *We are all one with the mind of our father. Everything he sees, we see.'
Halser grimaces. Every minute he spends in the company of the pilgrims confirms his doubts. He looks around at the blind, toiling figures and mutters under his breath, horrified to see how confidently they swing their scythes and leap onto the back of moving carts. He decides to ask Gortyn about the star-shaped crystals in their foreheads but, before he can speak, he feels a tap on his shoulder and turns to see Comus. The Librarian is holding up the xenos device and tapping its screen. The casing is smeared with blood, but he has discerned something in the glyphs pulsing beneath the gla.s.s.
*I was right,' he gasps. *The Zeuxis Scriptorium is here.' As he struggles to speak, energy arcs from the mantle of his power armour and crackles across his furrowed brow. *Whoever this prophet is, he has built his city right over the top of one of the Ecclesiarchy's most ancient reliquaries.'
Halser pauses for a moment to let the pilgrims move ahead. *Then we must gain entry to the scriptorium, by whatever means, and see what it is they're guarding. If the objects stored there are as powerful as they think, we may even find a way to navigate a way back through the storms.' He grabs the Librarian by the shoulder. *Do you still have the strength to contact the others, back at the guns.h.i.+p? Could you summon them to this spot?'
Comus grimaces and nods at the blood-drenched book. *This xenos filth is killing me.' He closes his eyes for a second. *But yes, contacting them should still be possible.'
Sergeant Halser nods. *Good. The repairs to the s.h.i.+p should be complete by now. It would take them minutes to reach us. We might be able to salvage a victory yet. If we can find something to help us see through these wretched storms, we could empty the scriptorium and be out of here before the bombs start falling.' He looks at the chronometer attached to his weapons belt. *Inquisitor Mortmain has promised me another two hours.' He waves at the crowds of eyeless pilgrims shuffling through the fields. *Then these dupes will receive their heavenly reward.'
Comus looks at the glittering walls looming ahead of them. *And what if we are unable to gain access to the scriptorium? What if we can't leave Ilissus before the Exterminatus begins?'
Halser's habitual sneer grows even more p.r.o.nounced. *Then we all burn together.'
CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
Justicar Lyctus crawls along the shattered remains of a girder, clutching his glimmering halberd to his chest while beneath him the hangar disintegrates. As the daemon continues to grow it has begun tearing holes through the s.h.i.+p's hull, its colossal, viscous ma.s.s growing more frenzied with every second. As the rest of Lyctus's squad struggle to hold it in place, the nest of segmented limbs jerk back and forth, wrenching machinery and support struts free from the walls and sending screaming crewmen sailing through the air. As Lyctus clings determinedly onto the girder, the Domitus is spilling its innards to the void, but he keeps his gaze locked on the heaving yellow sack at the centre of the mayhem.
As he nears the daemon, the justicar's armour begins to ripple with light. Countless inscriptions flash and s.h.i.+mmer, straining to protect Lyctus from the unholy power was.h.i.+ng over him.
*Brothers,' he breathes into his vox-bead, *just a few more minutes. Then lend me your faith. I'm almost overhead. I'm going to drop straighta'
Lyctus's words are cut short as a new sound is added to the cacophony: a barking claxon that cuts through the sound of grinding metal. At the same moment, in the areas of the hangar that are still intact, rows of red lights blink into life.
Justicar Lyctus curses as the daemon lurches back towards the gore-splattered hole in the wall.
From the furthest reaches of the Domitus comes the deep rumble of heavy munitions roaring into life.
*Justicar?' crackles a voice in Lyctus's helmet. *Is it withdrawing?'
As the screaming crowds continue to charge past the s.p.a.ce Marines, the daemon heaves its revolting flesh upright and pauses for a moment, like a dog that has caught a scent. The only movement is a slight trembling of its egg-like membrane.
Justicar Lyctus nods his head. *Inquisitor Mortmain must have reached the bridge. He is preparing the Exterminatus.' Then, as the daemon starts to swing its bulk around, Lyctus realises they are about to miss their opportunity.
*Brother Gallus,' he snaps into the vox-bead. *Your incinerator!'
The darkness is torn open by a column of flame. It leaps up from one of the s.p.a.ce Marines and envelops the featureless head of the daemon. The air fills with the smell of burning scented oil as the daemon jerks back, flinging its attackers across the hangar and emitting another high-pitched scream.
The thing thrashes in pain and Justicar Lyctus spots his chance, charging across the girder and leaping off the end, diving headlong at the daemon with his halberd held before him like a lance.
There is an explosion of pus, flame and psychic energy as he bursts through the wall of membrane and disappears from view.
Down below, on the blood-slick floor of the hangar, the rest of the s.p.a.ce Marines climb awkwardly to their feet. Some of them have wide, b.l.o.o.d.y gashes in their power armour and some topple back onto the mounds of corpses, gasping in pain, but one of them, Brother Gallus, swings his heavy, two-handed weapon around for a second shot, lighting up the vast chamber with another dripping arch of fire.
Justicar Lyctus sinks through the daemon's flesh, feeling its ancient malice clawing at his soul. Every liturgy and prayer inscribed into his armour burns with the strain of upholding his sanity. The Emperor preserves, thinks Lyctus, drawing on his bottomless, inviolable well of faith. Three centuries of devotion s.h.i.+eld him, even as he feels his armour warp and crack. *I rebuke you, Cerbalus,' he whispers, knowing that the daemon can hear. *I forbid you to exist.'
As Gallus struggles to hold his bucking, thras.h.i.+ng incinerator, he senses his injured battle-brothers lining up beside him. As the column of flame forces the daemon back into a corner of the hangar, the other s.p.a.ce Marines begin firing their own psychically-charged weapons. A blinding volley of fire, metal and faith tears into the lurching daemon.
*Advance!' orders Brother Gallus, his voice calm and sure.
As they approach the daemon, its head begins to pulse with light, becoming a kaleidoscope of different colours as it jerks from side to side. At the heart of the display is a silvery core: Justicar Lyctus's shape is recognisable as he spins in the daemon's mind. Then, with another explosion of energy and gunk, the justicar's halberd bursts from the flame-shrouded sack.
The daemon's head begins to split open, vomiting brains across its hideous legs and changing its piercing cry to a moist, popping gurgle.
The daemon's head collapses and Justicar Lyctus tumbles into view, spewed out on a virulent, yellow wave. He clatters to the hangar floor, shrouded in smoke and sparks and then lurches to his feet, stepping clear seconds before a tree-sized limb slams down where he landed.
There is no victory cry from Lyctus's men as they surround the collapsing daemon. They simply maintain their unrelenting volley of blessed promethium and bolter sh.e.l.ls, forcing it back into the corner.
Justicar Lyctus staggers drunkenly towards his men, still clutching his blazing halberd. His armour has been scorched and wrenched out of shape and his b.l.o.o.d.y chin is visible through a rent in his helmet, but as he joins the other ranks of s.p.a.ce Marines he raises his fist and fires a screaming volley of sh.e.l.ls from the storm bolter mounted on his wrist. As he shoots he repeats his cry: *I rebuke you, Cerbalus!'
The daemon collapses into a wall of billowing flames and disappears from view.
After firing a few more rounds, Justicar Lyctus opens his raised fist, signalling for his men to hold their fire.
For a second the daemon falls quiet, but the hangar is still a riot of noise and colour: the claxons are blaring; crowds of crewmen and servitors are crushed against the various exits, screaming desperately as others are sucked out into the void. Banks of blue flame are still gus.h.i.+ng from the severed fuel pipes and the Domitus itself is howling as its infrastructure gives way, wrenched out of the holes torn by the daemon's violence.
Lyctus keeps his hand raised as he edges closer to the rolling flames.
There is a flash of light and a shape flies towards him. A lean, red, humanoid figure that towers over the s.p.a.ce Marines as it crashes through them and bolts towards one of the exits.
Lyctus and the others fire wildly after it, but the blood-red figure carves straight through the crowds and dashes through the exit, disappearing from view.
Justicar Lyctus rises painfully to his feet. His armour is ruined and b.l.o.o.d.y, and half his men are dead. He nods calmly as he surveys the carnage. Then he speaks, not to his groaning men but to Inquisitor Mortmain, on the far side of the s.h.i.+p. *You were right. It will be with you in minutes. We will attempt to pursue.' He pauses and kneels, trying to stem the blood rus.h.i.+ng from one of his men's throats. *Our prayers are with you, inquisitor.'
The reply that crackles in his helmet is just as composed. *Thank you, Justicar Lyctus. It has been an honour serving with you. The Emperor protects.'
CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
Two vast, etched iron gates loom over Sergeant Halser as he reaches the city walls. He looks up at the strange designs and sees stars, planets and galaxies whirling in a stylised storm. Far above, at the top of the walls he sees rows of pilgrims surveying the valley as it sinks into darkness, as uninterested in the Relictors as all the other pilgrims they have pa.s.sed.
Frater Gortyn and their other guides reach the foot of the gate and wait without knocking. After a few seconds, the doors begin to swing slowly inwards, revealing a glimpse of bustling crowds and a wide, sweeping road.
The rest of the squad are still half a kilometre away. Sergeant Halser curses under his breath as he sees how slowly they are moving. Only the hunched, cowled figure of Pylcrafte has managed to keep up with him and he is staring at the city in abject horror. Brother Librarian Comus can barely walk and the others are matching their pace to his agonised steps. In an attempt to distract himself, Halser steps to the side of the road to examine Madrepore's soaring, rippling walls. The dusk is reflected in the countless rows of gems, embedded in the contorted rock. It is these crystals that give Madrepore its sparkle and, as he waits for the rest of the squad to arrive, Halser leans closer to examine one of them.
*By the Throne!' he grunts, turning to Pylcrafte. *What is this?'