03 - Savage Scars (9 page)

The anti-grav fields deactivated, contingents of tech-priests and their
servitors emerged from dozens of hatches and busied themselves around the heavy
landers. Prayers and chants filled the air as the tech-priests supplicated
themselves before the vessels, which in themselves were a manifestation of their
Machine-God, the Omnissiah. The cloying scent of holy lubricant and incense oil
drifted across the desert, mixing unpleasantly with the scent of burning resin
blowing in from the ruined sensor pylon.

Finally, the sides of each lander lowered downwards like the petals of a
titanic ceramite flower, accompanied by the grinding of metal gears and the thud
of the huge ramps striking the earth. Vast clouds of dust were thrown up as the
ramps hit the ground, and through them emerged a group of loping Warhound Titans
of the Legio Thanataris. Each was a towering war machine bearing weapons of the
scale normally only seen on starships. Though far from the heaviest of the
Titans the Legio could field, these had the speed to range ahead of the
crusade’s ground forces, moving swiftly with a characteristic stooped gait, to
engage anything the tau might be able to field. As they formed up into a
predatory pack on the blackened earth of the landing zone, the Warhounds’ heads,
each sculpted to resemble a mighty wolf-like face, tracked back and forth across
their new hunting ground. It almost appeared as if the Titans sniffed the air as
they sought the spoor of their prey.

Sarik mouthed a prayer to the spirits of his ancestors, thanking them for the
part he would enact in the coming battles as his heart yearned to begin the
fight. Limbering his boltgun, Sarik turned to make his way from the mesa, filled
with anticipation for the glory the coming battles would surely bring.

Deep in the bowels of the heavy cruiser
Oceanid
, Lucian and his son
Korvane approached the mighty armoured portal of the vessel’s armoury. This was
no conventional store of arms and munitions, but the inner sanctum of the rogue
trader dynasty, the holy of holies that kept safe some of the most prized of
Lucian’s possessions. Only the ancestral stasis tomb beneath the blasted surface
of sacred Terra held more valued treasures, such as the Arcadius Warrant of
Trade and the holy banner of the line’s founding.

Lucian’s mind was made up; he had decided to travel to the surface of Dal’yth
Prime. He would lead a battle group of Imperial Guard units against the tau
defenders, and in so doing bolster his position on the crusade council whilst
continuing the glorious traditions of his line.

“Father,” said Korvane, the inheritor of the clan, as the pair halted before
the armoured portal. Though a handsome man, Korvane’s features lent him a shrewd
aspect many found disquieting. Lucian’s son wore the same style of clothes as
his father, a dress coat styled after that of the Imperial Navy officer classes,
though he had always eschewed the more overt forms of finery and naval
affectation. While Brielle had been raised at Lucian’s side, literally standing
beside him on the bridge of the
Oceanid
as soon as she was able to walk,
Korvane had been brought up in the refined surroundings of the Court of Nankirk,
learning his trade in the cutthroat circles of the upper echelons of Imperial
aristocracy. His experiences had taught him to conceal his passions and his
thoughts, to shield them from potential rivals lest he reveal some exploitable
weakness. Lucian knew that Korvane would disapprove of his plan.

“I really must—”

“I know, son,” Lucian interrupted, as hidden gears engaged and the portal
ground slowly upwards. “I know. But this is something I have to do.”

“Something you
want
to do,” said Korvane, as the pair stepped through
the open portal and into the darkness beyond. As they passed over the threshold,
hidden mechanisms detected their presence, confirmed their identity, and
activated the lumens. The darkness fled as row upon row of arms and armour were
illuminated.

“And what if I do?” Lucian countered, crossing to a row of armoured suits as
he spoke. “You were raised in the court, son, and I’m glad of it, for the skills
you amassed there have served us well. Many of our battles of late have been
fought with words, and others with lance battery and broadside. But sometimes,
our battles must be fought in the traditional manner. Up close, and personal.”

“And General Gauge,” said Korvane. “He agrees to this?”

“That he does, Korvane,” said Lucian. “Gauge is a veteran of more battles
even than Sergeant Sarik. He understands the value of one of our faction getting
involved, of being
seen
to get involved, at the front line. I think he
may be a little jealous, actually…”

“But what will it actually achieve?” Korvane replied. “What good will this do
our cause on the council?”

“Much,” said Lucian, selecting a suit of ancient power armour. Its scarred
and pitted surface was polished to a sheen that reflected the overhead lights.
“Grand and his lap dog cardinal would have us exterminate the tau out of hand.
They even state they have the means to do so, though I have yet to see evidence
that any of the crusade’s vessels is carrying anything like a virus bomb. If the
landings go well, that position will become less tenable, and we can steer
events to our own ends.”

“Which are?” Korvane pressed.

“You know as well as I, son,” said Lucian. “Whatever happens, however the
crusade is concluded, we must come out of it in the ascendant. The concessions
we could win, the charters we could earn… Emperor, if we play this right,
Korvane, we could end up as viceroys of this entire region!”

When Korvane did not respond, Lucian turned from his examination of the suit
of power armour to face his son. “What?” he said.

“Has it not occurred to you, father,” Korvane said darkly, “that you might
not return from this grand adventure?”

Lucian sighed, placing a hand upon his son’s shoulder. It certainly had
occurred to him.

“Son,” said Lucian. “Before I depart for the surface, I have something for
you. Just in case.”

Korvane turned his back on his father, but Lucian pressed on regardless. He
raised his hand, palm upwards, to reveal a simple ring in its centre.

“You must take this,” said Lucian.

Korvane looked at the glinting ring held out before him. “What is it?”

“It is the most valuable thing on this ship.”

When Korvane appeared not to understand, Lucian continued. “It’s a gene-keyed
cipher bearer. The crystal contains the access codes for the Clan Arcadius
stasis vaults.”

“On Terra?” Korvane said, the full import of Lucian’s words slowly dawning on
him. “The warrant?”

“Indeed, son,” said Lucian. “Should I fall upon Dal’yth Prime, it’s yours,
all of it. But not,” he raised his hand to Korvane, “without this.”

For a long moment, Lucian thought his son would refuse the ring. After a
pause, Korvane reached out and with obvious trepidation, gently took it.

“It was to be Brielle’s,” said Lucian. “But when I married your mother you
become my son.” He nodded towards the ring in Korvane’s hand. “And that became
your birthright.”

Korvane’s expression darkened at the mention of his stepsister’s name.
Korvane’s entering the clan had displaced Brielle, who was Lucian’s child from
his first marriage, from her position as heir, and she had hated him ever since.
Korvane still bore painful scars from a nigh catastrophic accident that had
befallen his vessel, an accident which he, if not Lucian, believed to have been
her last deed before she disappeared at the outset of the Damocles Gulf Crusade.
As Lucian regarded his son’s face, a new resolve appeared in his eyes, and he
placed the ring upon a finger.

“While I’m gone, you will watch my seat on the council,” said Lucian. “Do you
understand?”

Korvane nodded, and Lucian continued. “There are three empty seats that must
be filled. They must be filled with men sympathetic to our cause, not to Grand
and Gurney’s. This is your battle, which you must fight here, while I fight
below. Are we agreed?”

“We are agreed,” Korvane replied solemnly. “I shall not let you down,
father.”

“Good,” said Lucian, relieved that he had done what he must. “Now, you can
help me into this power armour.”

Sarik’s command Rhino ground forwards as he led the Space Marine
assault column across the inland plain west of the landing zone. Having boarded
transports landed from orbit, the crusade’s Space Marines had divided themselves
into several groups, each approximately the size of a conventional company. Each
group had then linked up with a pair of Warhounds. The spearheads would each
advance along a separate axis, pushing hard and fast into enemy territory, and
engaging and destroying any tau forces they encountered. In the unlikely event
that the spearheads encountered resistance they could not simply smash aside,
they would bypass it, leaving it for the heavier units behind them to deal with.

Throwing back the hatch of the Rhino armoured carrier, Sarik’s ears were
assaulted by the deafening tread of the nearby Warhound Titan. The huge bulk of
the mighty war machine blocked out much of the dawn sky above. Sarik reminded
himself that the Warhounds were but the lightest of Titans, and that their
compatriots were at least twice as large again.

Shaking the tail of his long topknot out of his eyes, Sarik scanned the vista
ahead. The land was still arid, but the column had left the majority of the
towering rock mesas behind them. The column was following the tau road network,
which led west directly towards their target, the city of Gel’bryn. The air was
fresh, and Sarik’s genetically enhanced senses could taste in it the underlying
taint of pollutants unleashed into the atmosphere by the huge landing operation.

“Driver!” Sarik bellowed over the noise of the nearby Titan and the rush of
wind. “Loosen formation. That beast won’t even notice if he treads on us.”

If the driver gave any response, Sarik did not hear it, but the Rhino soon
veered off to the war machine’s right. The going here was good due to the wide,
smooth roads. Sarik’s spearhead was advancing quickly as the roads allowed them
to avoid the rougher terrain.

“Sergeant Sarik,” a voice said over the command channel. “This is Princeps
Auclid of the
Animus Ferrox,
do you receive?” Sarik glanced upwards at
the Titan his transport had just passed, knowing it was the commander of that
mighty iron beast that spoke.

“Go ahead,
Animus Ferrox
,” Sarik replied.

“Sergeant,” the princeps began. “Augurs are reading a concentration of enemy
armour a kilometre ahead. Be advised, we are adopting battle stance. I suggest
you give us some room. Out.”

Fully aware of the dangers posed by remaining too close to a Titan engaged in
battle, Sarik relayed the order to his squads. Titan weapons were capable of
unleashing fearsome energies, which could prove lethal to nearby units. They
tended to attract a lot of return fire too, which the Titans might be able to
withstand, but that its friends almost certainly would not.

Sarik scanned the arid landscape, his warrior’s eye ever alert for signs of
trouble. The advance continued, the units of the spearhead adopting a loose
formation in order to allow the huge Warhounds space to fight when the time
came. The land rose as the spearhead came upon a range of low hills, and soon
the Warhounds were cresting a shallow rise, each around a hundred metres ahead
of the Rhino-borne Space Marine squads.

“Alert!” Princeps Auclid’s voice came over the vox-net. “Enemy missiles
launched, source unknown.”

A dart-like missile streaked directly downwards from the sky and impacted on
the invisible void shield projected around the Warhound.

The missile exploded ten metres above the Titan, erupting in a flash of white
light, a roiling cloud of black smoke billowing outwards. The Warhound ploughed
through the bank of smoke, its head, fashioned after the war machine’s namesake,
scanning left and right as it crested the rise.

Cursing the alien trickery, Sarik sent the dozen Rhinos of his force forwards
with a curt order, whilst allowing the Scout Titans to continue at the front.
The missile that had struck Princeps Auclid’s war machine would have torn a
Rhino wide open.

“Second missile inbound,” said Princeps Auclid. “Still no source…”

The second missile struck the
Animus Ferrox
in the right flank, from a
high angle, yet once again the void shield held firm and the iron beast strode
on.

As Sarik’s Rhinos reached the crest of the rise, the pair of Scout Titans
were already stalking down the opposite slope. The land ahead was different to
the terrain the spearhead had passed through. The arid desert gave way to a belt
of scrubland, which ten kilometres ahead became arable land scattered with
cultivated fields and stands of regular, planted trees. There was still no sign
of the enemy that had fired the missiles.