Good, thought Ragnar, every little helps.
“I will wring his neck myself,” Hakon said bleakly. Ragnar was not sure whether he meant it or was simply acting out his part in the little drama.
“Just give him to us, sergeant,” he heard Sven say viciously. “We’ll make him suffer.”
“What are your terms?” Ragnar asked once more.
“Put down guns. Give me jewels. That’s it.”
“Do you guarantee our safety?”
“Guarantee you die if you don’t!”
“At least we’ll die fighting, then, and not be tortured and eaten by you ork cannibals.”
“If you want!” The warlord began to gesture to his warriors to attack. Ragnar’s mouth went dry. He thought the game was up and that it was all over. A quick glance told him that Sternberg had not yet got the beacon to work.
“No! Wait a moment!” Ragnar shouted. “Are you really so afraid of us?”
“What you mean?”
“Do you fear to face me in single combat?”
“First you offer surrender. Then you offer fight me! Make up your mind, boy. What is it?”
“Will you fight me one-on-one, or are you afraid?”
“No afraid. No stupid either. Why fight you? Have you killed like this!” The ork snapped his fingers.
“Then you are afraid!”
Gurg turned away, shaking his head in disgust, and barked a quick command to his followers. Ragnar did not have to speak ork to know he was saying: “Kill them.”
Suddenly the orks were raising their guns to fire. From overhead a mass of stick grenades began to fall. Ragnar knew there was no escape, no way out. His last desperate gamble had failed and that it was all too possible that his comrades would take the belief that he was a fool and a coward with them to the grave.
He tried to snap off a shot at Gurg, determined at least to try to kill the warlord, but a seething sea of green faces surged between them. Bolter shells blazed all around him. The sound of thunder filled his ears. Something hit him. Pain tore through him. A blinding flash filled his sight. There was a sensation of coldness, of being torn apart. Eventually it was over.
Slowly Ragnar’s vision cleared. He looked around. The orks were gone. The air smelled different but he almost instantly recognised in what way. It smelled like the inside of the Light of Truth. Then it came to him that it could only mean one thing — that the beacon had worked, and that the teleport had reached down like the hand of the Emperor to sweep them to safety.
He glanced around at his companions to see the same look of shocked surprise on all of their faces. They were all just as amazed as he was to see that they were still alive. Ragnar felt his lips twist into a feral smile. Exultation filled his heart. They had done it. They had walked right into the heart of the ork stronghold, and escaped again, taking the talisman with them. They had succeeded in the first part of their mission.
The others were all staring at him, He wondered if they still thought he was a coward who would betray them, or whether they had realised that it had all been a ruse to buy them the time they needed. They looked worried and pale, and he wondered what was wrong. He opened his mouth to speak but no words would come out. He felt oddly weak, uncertain and dizzy. There was a strange buzzing sound in his ears.
Then he noticed the blood flowing from his side and face, and was aware of the searing pain surging through him. He had been hit, he knew, whether by an ork shell or something else. He raised his hand to his face and felt a great open wound. He felt organs leaking through his sides and looked down to see something long and rope-like protruding from his stomach. He reached down and felt his own innards starting to tumble out. Perhaps he had not been so lucky after all, he thought, and tumbled forward into darkness.
CHAPTER TEN
Ragnar’s eyes snapped open. He felt numb. Part of his body felt frozen. For a moment he was disoriented. He had no idea quite where or who he was. It seemed that he might be in the cold hell of his people after all. Perhaps he really had died with the rest of the Thunderfists when the Grimskulls attacked their village, and all of the other stuff, about going to the Fang and becoming a Space Wolf, was just a hallucination of his dying mind, a trick played by evil spirits. He stared at the unfamiliar metal ceiling and tried to tell himself that it wasn’t true. Sweat beaded his brow, and he could feel his heart racing. He was alive, he told himself. He was not dead. He was not Like a message of confirmation sent by Russ, Karah Isaan’s beautiful brown face came into view above him. He felt more than relief at seeing it. He felt a surge of something else, something he could not quite put his finger on, something he had not felt since Ana had been lost, something that really should have been impossible for him to feel as a Space Marine. He pushed the confused thought aside. He was alive. He was not trapped in some strange pre-death dream. At least he hoped not. It was a nightmare that he had often had since becoming a Space Wolf and it sometimes gave his life a complete sense of unreality. “Where… am I?” he forced himself to ask. The sanctum of the Light of Truth! she replied, reaching down to touch his brow with her long, cool fingers. You were very close to death, for a long time.”
“How long?”
“Weeks. We have made another warp jump into a new system while you lay in the healing sarcophagus.”
“What happened?”
“Don’t you remember?”
“Not much.”
“You saved us. You kept Gurg talking just long enough for Inquisitor Sternberg to fix the beacon. It was quick thinking. He will want to thank you himself for it.”
“I meant: how did I come to be here? Was I wounded?”
“In several places. We had to dig bolter shells out of your chest and your head.”
“Was it serious? Will there be long-term damage? Will I be able to walk and fight again?”
“One question at a time, eh? I am supposed to be the inquisitor here.”
“Was that a joke?” he asked, confused.
“Yes, it was. And in answer to your questions, you will heal just fine. You Marines are made very tough, and your body will heal anything that does not kill it, or so our chirurgeon assures me. Says he has never seen anything like it — that the Ancients must have been miracle workers to make such a thing possible.”
“I have no idea what he means by that.”
“Nor I really. The chirurgeons have their own mysteries.” He could tell by her scent that she was not telling the truth but decided it was not his business just now to pry into whatever forbidden knowledge she might possess. After all, there were certainly mysteries about the Space Wolves that he could not reveal to her. “Are all the others well?”
“Yes. A few minor wounds, nothing serious. Except… except for Lars, of course. They have already performed the funeral rites for him.”
“And I missed them.”
“Yes.”
Ragnar felt a strange stab of pain and loss. It was odd to feel such a sensation for someone he had really barely known. Lars had been one of the quiet ones, had kept himself to himself, and now he was gone and Ragnar would never have the chance to know him. It seemed like such a waste. He told himself that it was his sickness and weakness speaking. Lars had died in battle like a true Wolf, and no Space Marine could ask for more.
“He saved my life, you know.”
“I was there. I saw it. He was very brave. But then you all were.”
“He saved my life, but I could not save his.”
“Sometimes these things happen. You did save mine though. And I am grateful.”
“I saved the talisman,” he said, surprised himself by how coldly his voice came out. He was ashamed when he saw the tiny flicker of hurt, quickly concealed, flare in her eyes. He wondered why he had said that, and in such a way. Why did he feel threatened by the closeness that seemed to be developing between them?
“No. You saved my life, and I am grateful. You could have taken the talisman and moved on, but you didn’t it. You came back f
or me.”
He forced a smile. “Maybe.”
“You should get some rest. Sergeant Hakon says he wants to have you back in harness soon. The others have repaired your wargear.”
“That should please them,” he said ironically.
“I don’t think so. Sven told me to tell you that he’s a Space Marine, not a bloody armourer, and that next time you can fix your stuff yourself no matter what Sergeant bloody Hakon says.”
Ragnar laughed in spite of himself. Karah’s mimicry of Sven’s voice was amazingly good. She obviously had a gift for it. “I don’t think he meant it. He has a good heart hidden behind a harsh manner, that one.”
“I know that too. How goes the war on Gait?”
“Imperial forces are moving into the sector. It looks as if there will be a massive spacedrop some time soon. We picked up some odd comm-net reports from the planet’s surface before we made the warp jump. It seems like the ork forces are starting to fall apart and fight with each other. It may be that Gurg is losing his power.”
“Do you think it’s because he lost face when we escaped?”
An odd grimace passed across her face. “Maybe. But I think it was more than that. I sensed something while we were down there. Gurg was more than just a strong warlord. He was a sort of psychic focus for all the orks. He meant more to them than a mere general. He was sort of their spiritual leader as well, in a very real sense.”
“So?”
“I think he lost that power when we took the amulet. I think we somehow diminished him.”
Ragnar did not really understand. This was psyker talk and he had no experience of this sort of thing to relate to. He found it confusing, but he could see one hole in her argument, much as he wanted to believe it, and heroic as it made their mission seem. “But if what you’re saying is true, he was their leader before ever he got the amulet.”
“Yes, there is that,” she admitted with a nod, “to being a psyker is as much about having belief in yourself as it is about being touched with the power. If we undermined his confidence in his abilities by besting him, it may be that we somehow undid his power as well.” She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just a theory.”
“Still, it means that we may have done some good for the people of Gait and for the Imperium, as well as for our quest.”
“Yes, it does.”
“Then that is a good thing,” he said simply and smiled. She smiled back and opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again. She reached out stroked his brow and suddenly upped and went. Ragnar listened as her footsteps crossed to the door, then heard it whoosh closed behind her. He tried to pull himself upright but it was too much of a struggle. He realised that he must truly have been close to death indeed, for he knew how tough his altered body had been made. Anything that had left him feeling this drained and taken all of its resources to heal must have been all but fatal.
Still, he was alive, that was the main thing. And he had helped his fellows succeed in their mission. That was something too. It left him with a quiet sensation of accomplishment and pride. His thoughts turned back to the girl. What was really going on there? He was still wondering when he drifted off back to sleep.
He woke when he sensed someone in the chamber with him. He came awake slowly for a Space Wolf and thus knew he was still hurt. He relaxed a little when he caught a familiar scent, and opened his eyes to a familiar face.
“Brother Tethys,” he said. “How are you?”
“I’m sorry for disturbing your rest, Ragnar. I merely looked in to see how you were. But it’s good that you are awake. Now I can thank you for saving us. I thought my life was over back there on the roof.”
“Everyone seems to want to thank me for that today,” Ragnar said. “Inquisitor Isaan was just in and she said the same thing.”
“She can’t have been, Ragnar. She has been locked up in her chamber for the past day fasting and purifying herself for the Ritual of Divination once more. I believe she came to see you two days ago.”
“I have been asleep for two days?”
“Yes. The chirurgeons say it was good for you. It gave your body time to heal itself.”
Ragnar considered this. It was not a reassuring thought that he had lain unconscious and helpless for over two days. He must really have been hurt badly. Like a daemon summoned by an ill-considered thought, his pains returned. He was suddenly aware of a bone-deep ache that permeated his entire body.
Brother Tethys must have seen him wince. “Are you hurt?” he asked with concern. “Shall I summon help?”
“It is nothing but a minor ache.”
“Your wounds did not look that way to me. I was surprised that any man could survive them. Yet they say that Space Marines are more than human, so perhaps I should not have been.”
Ragnar wished that people would not dwell on how badly hurt he had been. It was not a comforting thought. It made him think of Lars, who had taken a wound from which no recovery was possible. Or was it? Could they not have been able to take him back to the Fang? The Wolf Priests had overseen his resurrection once, surely they could do it again.
The knowledge that had been placed in his brain by the tutelary engines surfaced in his thoughts. He knew it was not so. Unless the resurrection procedures were accomplished immediately on the field of battle, the lack of oxygen would cause brain damage. Even if resurrected the dead warrior would be little more than a vegetable if he were not helped within minutes.
He tried to push these dark thoughts aside, but he could not do so entirely. He felt them lodging deep in his soul along with something else, something that he knew he did not want to consider. To distract himself he asked Brother Tethys, “Are you coming with us? Don’t you want to go back to Gait?”
“I want to go back very much but I don’t have much choice. The inquisitor is not going to turn his ship around just to take one unimportant monk back to his homeworld. Oh well, I always wanted to see other worlds. I suppose this is my chance. It’s not quite what I expected though.”
Ragnar smiled at the little man’s cheerful acceptance of his fate. “You’ll get back eventually, I’m sure. The Emperor looks after his own.”
“I hope so. Certainly the way you arrived to save me from the orks leads me to believe this is so.”
Ragnar found himself wishing that he could share this belief — but he could not.
“I am tired now,” he said. “I must sleep.”
“I understand,” Tethys said. He bowed from the waist and left him to his thoughts.
“The sleeper has bloody well awoken,” said Sven, as Ragnar walked gingerly back into the stateroom. He still felt weak but he was far better than he had been two days before. He had fallen into a healing coma as his body repaired itself. Now he had some energy he was sick of lying in the hospital bay and had decided to visit his comrades. It was an odd feeling, moving around without most of his carapace armour. He had grown accustomed to it, and now he felt almost naked.
Sven looked up at him and grinned.
“Good to have you back in the land of the living. The others thought for a while that you might not make it — but I told them you would live just to be contrary and annoy me. See who was right.”
Sven’s tone was joshing but Ragnar could scent the concern behind it and was grateful. “The witch helped too, when she wasn’t casting her spells to see where this mad journey would take us next.”
“She helped?” Ragnar was perplexed.
“She used her powers to help heal you. Must have cost her a lot too. She always looked pretty pale and drained afterwards although I suspect it was from the strain of looking at your ugly face for all that time. We can’t all be as good-looking as me, I suppose.”
Sven was one of the ugliest men Ragnar had ever seen. “Thank the Emperor for that,” he said.
“No need for bloody blasphemy!” Sven said.
“Anything else new?”
“Not really. Not that anyone is telling us Blood Claws anyway. Ha
kon has been closeted with the inquisitors and Gul, doubtless trying to come up with new ways of endangering our lives. The crew still treat us like we were corpse-eaters. I wish I knew what was bloody well going on there Why do they hate us so much? We’re supposed to be the Emperor’s finest, after all.”
“Maybe that’s why.”
“You mean they envy me my distinction as well as my astounding good looks.”
“No, I mean that many of those men were impressed into the Emperor’s service. You can’t expect them to look with favour on his representatives.”
“No. But I can make them look on us with fear, and I have. I’ve knocked a few heads together.”
“That will increase your popularity for sure,” Ragnar said. Sven grinned his cheerfully ugly grin.
“You know I think all this time spent closeted with psykers has affected you, Ragnar. I think you’re going soft. I mean you were always soft in the head, but now…”
“Care to try that theory out?”
“I don’t beat up sick fools.” Ragnar sensed some menace in Sven now despite his jovial tone. It was a pack thing. They were like wolf cubs playfully testing each other, but testing each other nonetheless. Remembering how proficient Sven had been during their unarmed combat training, he wasn’t sure he felt up to fighting him, just yet. Not unless he did something sneaky.
“Give me a couple of days, then I’ll make you the sick one. A fool you are already.”
“I must be to waste my time in company like yours.”
“Any ale around here?”
“Some. And lots of other stuff too. Nils says the inquisitor has the booze of a hundred worlds on this ship. And the vittles are pretty good too, after what we had in the jungle.”
“Then let’s go get some.”
“Fair enough,” Sven agreed. “I’m starving hungry.”
“So what’s new?”
As they sat down to eat in Sven’s stateroom, Nils and Strybjorn entered. They looked at the piled table and sat down and began helping themselves without asking. Nils gave Ragnar an encouraging smile as he chewed. Strybjorn, however, looked as dour and surly as ever. Ragnar didn’t mind; it was good to see them all well. But sitting there, Ragnar felt there was something missing — then realised with a cold sensation that it was Lars. The Wolf had always been quiet but he had been there. Now he was gone, and his absence was tangible. The others sensed the change in his mood and responded. He could tell that they had done some of their share of grieving but he had missed out on it, being unconscious at the time.