Once inside he closed the door. All around him, he could tell by the way his battle-brothers stiffened, that they sensed what was coming — and that they were ready. Ragnar chopped across the throat of one of the orks. The hulking creature let out a long gurgling gasp and collapsed onto the floor. As one, Ragnar’s comrades fell on the other orks. It was over in seconds.
“What are we going to do now?” Sven asked.
“I don’t know,” Ragnar admitted. He noticed that Sergeant Hakon was glaring at him.
“Perhaps, in the future, you’ll let us know what you are going to do in advance, Ragnar,” the sergeant said. The hair had risen on the back of the veteran’s neck. He was like an old wolf being challenged for leadership of the pack by a younger one. Instinctively Ragnar bared his fangs in response. The two of them glared at each other, suddenly locked in confrontation, oblivious to anything else. Despite himself, Ragnar felt the beast rise within him. In that moment, he was ready to leap on the sergeant, to rend and tear.
And he knew that the sergeant felt the same way about him. But Sergeant Hakon was older and wiser and more used to dealing with the beast within himself. He took a deep breath, spread his hands wide in a gesture of peace, and Ragnar could see him relax visibly. Something in the sergeant’s manner calmed him in turn. He felt the fury seep away from him like water running down a drain.
“I- I will do that,” Ragnar said at last.
“Remember that,” said Hakon.
“Now we’re in,” Sternberg cut in, as if what had just happened was of no concern to him. “The talisman must be close at hand.”
He looked over at Karah Isaan hopefully. The woman stared down at the floor, unaware that all eyes were upon. Slowly, like someone coming out of a trance or awakening from a deep sleep, she raised her head. She glanced around with dark, blind-seeming eyes. Ragnar sensed her intelligence return only slowly. It was as if her mind had been somewhere else a long way off. She sighed, and then spoke, “It is here. It is close. The ork-thing that carries it is using its power.
“And he is terrible.”
Ragnar heard the fear in her voice and smelled the terror in her scent. For the first time, he wondered what it was they were really going to face.
Silence fell as they all considered their options. Ragnar realised that none of them had really believed that they would actually get this far. They were winging it, improvising a plan in face of new and unforeseeable circumstances. He considered the obstacles that still lay ahead of them. They were in a vast, unknown building packed full of orks. They were hugely outnumbered. They were facing a foe whose psychic powers frightened a powerful inquisitor. And a foe, moreover, who would probably be surrounded by heavily armed bodyguards.
Their only advantage lay in surprise, in the fact that no one knew they were here. They could strike quickly and unexpectedly. But how were they going to get out again? Assuming, that was, that they got their hands on the talisman in the first place. He could tell from the confused scents that all his companions were thinking along the same lines.
“We can use the teleport to get out,” Sternberg said suddenly. “But someone will have to go to the roof and place the beacon.”
“What if there is no ship within range?” asked Hakon.
“Then we’ll just have to think of something else, won’t we?” said the inquisitor. His voice was steely with determination.
“No, then we’ll bloody well die,” said Sven.
“Everybody dies,” said the inquisitor.
“Yeah, sooner or later,” Sven snapped back. “But personally I’d rather it was later.”
“We all would,” Karah muttered from the corner where she had slumped.
“Sven, Strybjorn, Nils: you’re going to the roof with the beacon,” Sergeant Hakon said decisively. “Ragnar, you and Lars are coming with me and… our guests.”
“I protest,” Strybjorn sneered. Ragnar shot him a murderous glance. “Why should Lars and… and Ragnar have all the glory?”
“Because that is the way it is. Sergeant Hakon, Brother Tethys, you go with them!”
“Yes sir,” the diminutive monk said, almost leaping to obey.
“We should wait a while,” Inquisitor Isaan said. “Once the orks are drank and sleepy it will be easier to move around the building.”
“Logical enough,” said Sergeant Hakon. “Strybjorn, take first watch. Everyone else, get some rest before the action starts.”
It was the middle of the night. They moved quietly through the long dark halls. All around him Ragnar could sense sleeping orks. He could hear their snores; he could smell the alcohol on their breath. The whole party moved with a near-inhuman stealth. Despite their bulky armour, the Space Wolves were all but inaudible even to Ragnar’s keen ears, and he doubted that any but a Space Wolf like himself could have heard the inquisitors as they padded quietly along.
It was dark, but here and there he could see faint lights gleaming. These were places to be avoided, and they all took pains to skirt around them. Ragnar was deeply aware of Karah Isaan walking just ahead of him. He seemed unnaturally sensitive to her movements, but men again, he suspected that they all were. She was the only one of them who truly knew where they were going.
He could sense the deep, dark fear growing within her as they ventured ever further, approaching their goal. A moment later, ahead of them the Wolf sensed rather than heard ork voices. Almost as one the party ducked through a doorway into the concealment of a quiet room. Ragnar held his breath as a clutch of ork sentries marched past. An anxious few moments of held breaths ticked by before any of them dared breathe. They had not been detected.
After ten more heartbeats they re-emerged into the corridor. Proceeding on their way, they entered a more luxurious part of the building. Here tapestries still clung to the walls and statues, though smashed or ridden with bullet holes, still stood guard in alcoves. Judging by the opulence of the fittings, these had obviously been the governor’s apartments.
Up ahead he could hear the sound of shouting in guttural ork voices. They were approaching the warlord’s lair. He felt his heart start to race once more. A prayer to the Emperor restored control and his twin heartbeats to their normal speed.
He noticed that Karah was chanting softly to herself. Her eyes were half-closed and a dim yellow nimbus of light played erratically around her head. He wondered what she was doing. Was she seeking to attract the attention of the great ork sorcerer from her sayings? Was this her long-awaited treachery? By the Great Wolf, what was going on here?
His hand reached for the butt of his pistol, then he suddenly spun around. Four orks, presumably guards, were stood in a shadowy archway. The orks were looking directly at them all, yet they paid no attention. The brutal creatures looked at them as if it were an everyday occurrence to have a group of armed humans creeping discreetly in their midst. Slowly realisation dawned on the Blood Claw. The inquisitor was using her powers to fool the orks, to befuddle their wits. He had no idea what the orks were seeing. Perhaps they saw other orks or perhaps they saw nothing at all. It did not matter; whatever it was, they were effectively shielded from the orks’ sight.
Once more he noticed the sweat beading Karah’s brow, and how drawn and pale she looked. He realised that all this use of her — considerable, there was no doubt about it now — psychic powers was taking a terrible toll on her meagre resources. He wondered how she would fare when they actually met the ork warlord.
They were now only ten strides from the huge entrance which was so obviously their destination. Two immense ork warriors flanked the archway. They were quite possibly the hugest creatures Ragnar had ever seen. They were at least a head taller than he was. Their arms were each as thick as tree trunks. Their leathery fists were the size of most men’s heads. The guns they clutched in their hands were crude constructions of folded steel and wood, but they had the calibre of cannons.
Ragnar flinched warily as the party approached them, but the guards did not seem to no
tice him or the others. Their red eyes stayed focussed on the middle distance. Just ahead of him, Karah weaved on her feet as if she were drunk. Ragnar reached out and steadied her with his free hand. He felt her shiver under his touch. Her skin, midnight dark in the dim light, felt clammy and cold and he could feel the bone-deep weariness in her.
As he supported her, he felt a disturbing tingling in his fingers. He was aware of the flow of power through her, and sensed the huge amount of energy pouring out of her. How were they going to get through the door, he wondered, without the orks noticing? He felt her shiver, a great rippling shudder, and in that moment one of the orks turned. The halo of light around the inquisitor’s head was suddenly so bright it was dazzling. The ork turned and stepped through the archway and they simply followed.
They found themselves in a chamber that was all but overwhelming in its barbaric splendour. It was as if all the loot in the city had been poured into this one place. Piles of jewelled trinkets and silver coins lay everywhere, mixed in with heaps of custom weapons and ammunition. It was all obvious portable wealth, selected for its brightness and ability to attract the eye, rather than any genuine aesthetic merit.
In the very centre of the room, a massive ork even larger than his brutal bodyguards lolled on what had once been the governor’s throne. Its skin was a strange sickly yellowish-green in the half-light Its eyes blazed with their own internal fire and a glow that could only be madness. Huge tusks jutted from its slobbering lower jaws. Around the huge creature hung a palpable aura of power that it wore like a cloak. And on its knees lay a glittering gemstone that Ragnar recognized instantly as the second part of the talisman. He sensed the immediate response from Sternberg and Isaan and he knew from their scents that his battle-brothers had recognised it too. Its pale, sickly fire echoed the one in the ork’s eyes. He could sense that the creature was drawing power from it in some crude way.
As the humans entered the room something bizarre happened. Without warning, a bolt of pure psychic energy flared from each of the two parts of the talisman simultaneously. Each piece suddenly glowed a hundred times brighter, and a complex net of energy sprang up between them. Scattered by the facets of the two gems, their light sprayed around the vast room.
Karah Isaan let out a groan and slumped to her knees. Ragnar sensed a dominating presence which she struggled to fight before it could overcome her spirit. The ork looked up at them almost casually, definitely unafraid, unnervingly like a man who has just had unexpected but not unwelcome guests drop in on him. There was an utter confidence in its manner that was daunting. It looked at them and spoke, using heavily accented and yet comprehensible Gothic.
“Arammm… Greetings, mortals. I am Gurg, speaker for Two Gods. It good you brought Eye of Gork to me. It goes well with Eye of Mork.”
Ragnar glanced at the bestial ork in wonder. Was it possible that the warlord had known they were here all along and had allowed them to come this far? Or was this just some supremely skilful bluff? Or was the creature simply mad? Its appearance certainly suggested that all or any of these wild suppositions could be true — yet there was that palpable aura of daunting power about the thing. Mad or not, this was a being to be feared, of that Ragnar had no doubt whatsoever.
“Give it and I spare your lives. Done me great service bringing it. Saved big trip. Hur! Hur!”
It took Ragnar a moment to realise that the strange barking sound which filled the room was the orks laughter. He did not think he had ever heard anything quite so cruel. It touched the beast within him, and set his hackles rising. A raging fury bubbled into his brain. The stink of ork suddenly made him want to tear and rend. It was the feeling he had when he confronted Sergeant Hakon, but intensified a hundred times.
All around him, he could sense the same savage, bestial rage trying to overwhelm his battle-brothers. He felt their anger and their urge to strike. Only the grizzled old sergeant maintained any semblance of control, but, like the restraint of a wolf pack leader, it was enough to leash his followers, at least until they saw what he was going to do.
“Give us the jewel,” Hakon said, “and we will let you live. Deny us, and you will surely die.”
“Hundred thousand ork warriors, all around? You who die.”
“I don’t see any warriors!” Hakon spat back. “Except these two, and they look useless.”
Gurg raised his hand. Green fire burned suddenly in the depths of his eyes. Green and yellow energies swirled out from his piece of the talisman. The two orks who had guarded the entrance suddenly stood straighter and a new keenness came into their eyes. They looked around at the interlopers and growled with suppressed fury. Had Ragnar been anything else but a Space Marine he might have known fear at that moment. As it was, his hair bristled and he bared his fangs in a gesture of aggression that matched the orks’ own. Next to him, however, Karah Isaan tumbled forward to lie face down on the floor. The interplay of energies seemed too much for her.
Gurg grunted something to his minions in orkish and they stepped smartly to either side of his throne, their weapons held at the ready. Suddenly Ragnar wondered just exactly what he and his brothers were doing? Had they all suddenly become so enthralled by the sight of the talisman that they had lost any semblance of common sense? They should have killed the orks when they had the chance and that would have left the warlord alone in their presence.
But hardly defenceless, Ragnar told himself. A creature like Gurg, even without the mystic power of the artefact he had stolen, would never be that. He held his bolt pistol tightly, determined to fire if the orks made the slightest threatening gesture, despite any restraint Sergeant Hakon might show. A slight undercurrent in the pack leader’s scent told him that Hakon had sensed this, and did not disapprove. Not for the first time, Ragnar was glad of the near telepathic sensory link he shared with his battle-brothers. This wordless communication was a huge advantage in situations like this. As were the heightened senses which told him that even now other orks were coming closer to the chamber, and that the jaws of a trap were closing. Hakon seemed to sense it too.
“Give me the talisman,” he said, “This is your last warning.”
“You come take it, wolf boy,” the ork warlord sneered.
“With pleasure,” Hakon shot back, a low growl rambling deep within his chest. The sergeant moved quickly but, fast as he was, the ork was faster. Even as Hakon’s pistol rose to fire, Gurg had stepped aside from his throne. Moving with incredible agility for one of such huge bulk, he bent to snatch up a power axe lying nearby as he moved and returned to his full height as, all the while, a stream of tracer fire from the sergeant’s bolt pistol traced around his movements.
Suddenly and shockingly, Gurg simply stopped moving and raised his hands. He howled a chant to his brutish gods. A green aura sprang up all around him and suddenly the sergeant’s bolter shells were halted in the air, frozen mere inches from the warleader’s leathery green flesh. The talisman’s glow grew ever brighter to Ragnar’s eyes. He sensed the huge forces the ork was drawing on. Using such energy for these purposes, he thought to himself, was like using a chainsword to chop twigs. The power of the talisman was obviously intended to fulfil a greater purpose although what that purpose might be Ragnar had no idea.
An evil smile twisted the orks lips and revealed his yellowish tusks. He gestured and the shells reversed themselves and went hurtling back towards the Space Wolves. Had it not been for their lightning quickness in throwing themselves flat, they might have been hit. But all of them had senses of superhuman keenness, and reflexes to match. As one they took evasive action and thankfully the bullets passed over them.
As he twisted to watch, Ragnar saw one of them ricochet off Sternberg’s armour, and several others buried themselves in the wall. Then all hell broke loose as Gurg’s bodyguards opened fire, and the Imperial warriors responded. Ragnar knew it would be a short battle. With so much firepower being deployed and so little cover available, it was bound to be. More than that, the Space
Marines and their allies needed it to be for he sensed the presence of a horde of approaching orks. He rolled across the floor and snapped off a shot at one of the bodyguards. The bolter shell smashed through its heavy armour and embedded itself in the ork’s flesh before exploding.
The ork was thrown back off its feet but, incredibly, started to rise again. Ragnar was amazed — he could see a massive hole in the creature’s armour and internal organs gaping from its open chest, yet the ork was still moving, and not only that, still fighting. It swung its weapon towards Ragnar and he dived to avoid the hail of bullets flashing from its blazing muzzle.
Ragnar did not flinch, even though he momentarily expected to be greeting his ancestors in Hell. Instead he kept moving, knowing he was not quick enough to avoid the storm of lead if the ork kept firing and yet determined to try. The shooting ceased. Ragnar glanced over to see that the ork’s head had been smashed to pulp by a well-placed shot. He was not sure which of his comrades had saved him, but he was determined to thank them later… if there was a later. Right now that did not look so certain.
Gurg strode towards him, his skin seeming to repel bullets as Ragnar’s armour might repel rain. He looked ultimately fierce and determined and the massive power axe roared like thunder in his hands. He took a mighty swipe at Ragnar and the Blood Claw was only just able to leap clear. By Russ, the creature was fast! Ragnar wondered whether it was naturally so quick or whether its speed had been augmented by the awesome power of the talisman. The ork was by far and away the most formidable close combat opponent Ragnar had ever faced. Almost as soon as the fight began, he knew he was hugely overmatched and he was fighting for his life — but he was determined not to give up without a struggle. Leaping backwards and away from the warlord, he snatched up his chainsword and thumbed the ignition rune. The sacred weapon, though many centuries old, roared to life in his hand and he raised it to parry the ork’s next blow.