They pushed deeper. Parted from Calignes briefly, Pindor found himself in a wide, featureless vault where enemy assassins leapt out from the shadows. He slew them all with his bolter and his knife, in a frenzied combat that lasted five or six seconds, but which he would remember all his life.
Xander, Kules and Scyllon drove forward into a munitions bunker and butchered forty dark eldar in a straight fight. Kules's spent bolter was glowing white-hot as he used it to cudgel an assailant before throwing it aside and laying in with his blade.
Natus, despite his wounds, kept up position outside with his bolter held in his remaining hand, picking off the dark eldar as they ran, one by one.
Memnes half-carried Illyus forward, and the two of them laid down a crossfire that slaughtered the eldar things in a haze of thermite smoke and blood.
Priad was with Petrok, advancing into the depths of the eastern fortifications. The sergeant's lightning claw, eager for victims, smote dark eldar into smouldering pieces as he advanced. His bolter rattled out its funereal beat. Primuls exploded all around him, fell back and fell down, weeping bloody matter onto the tiled floor.
Petrok's power sword scythed through stone and brick and armour and flesh and left the sliced remains of the enemy as smoking meat debris behind him. He sang the hunting song of the Ithakans as he fought. It was the old lay, the custom-verse of the wyrm-hunters as they rowed out to find their prey. Priad found himself joining in, singing along with the great hero, rejoicing in the slaughter and the blood fog.
At last, Petrok bowed forward, sinking over, his bloodied sword set with its tip on the Eidon City stone. He sighed.
'Master Petrok?' Priad asked, blasting at the last of the scum who flickered and reared out of the stone shadows about them.
'Phobor has taken the wall. Eidon City is ours. The Snakes have won the place.'
Priad faltered. 'Then why do you look so pale, master? Why so anguished?'
Petrok rose again, wiping blood from his cheek and raising the mighty power sword so that it sang in the air over his head.
'Because they are coming. The dark ones are coming. Fleeing in bloody panic, they move this way, abandoning the west of the city. Can Damocles handle a real fight?'
'On my oath, they can!' Priad snarled.
Forty seconds later, Damocles squad got to prove that boast.
Shrieking and fleeing from the city breach, the vast forces of the dark eldar retreated east and met the lone warriors of Damocles squad. The eldar were frenzied and keening, their senses of self-preservation entirely subsumed by their overwhelming need to escape. They gave no quarter, no sign of surrender or submission. They came as a black armoured torrent of thick, spiked evil that rushed out of the city like rats from a fire, or water through a shattered dam.
Overwhelmed, Priad killed and killed again and went over in the tide of barbed fiends until Petrok hauled him up by the collar and set him back on his feet.
Side by side, Petrok and Priad, with blade and claw, levelled the eldar into a pile twenty deep.
Blood was clogging the corridors now: rich, ruddy, stinking. Behind the eldar, the warriors of Damocles squad closed the trap. Andromak was beside his commanders, lancing his plasma beams into the choked confines, slaughtering dozens of the foe as they charged and panicked. Now Xander, his bolter coughing. Now Calignes and Pindor, smashing with their blades. Illyus, his face half gone, his weapon punching into the dark. Scyllon, Memnes, Kules. A slaughterhouse. A killing field. Ten Iron Snakes damming the tide of the dark eldar. And fallen Natus outside, singing the lay, shooting down each and every straggler who got past the deadly blockade.
Priad was washed with blood, and his bolter was dry-firing as Petrok steadied him.
'It is done, Priad. We have slain a thousand over and again.'
Priad pulled off his helmet and cast it to the ground. It floated away a few yards on a stream of enemy blood that gurgled down the hallway. The air was too close, too full of smoke and blood vapour. They had expended virtually all of their ammunition and most of their physical strength, but they had killed infamous numbers. But for the evidence of the bodies around them, the scale of their victory was unimaginable.
'This day will be remembered by Damocles,' Priad whispered in the dampness and the dark. He began a small prayer of thanks to the Emperor.
'There is something else.’ Petrok replied curtly, moving ahead. 'We're not done.'
IV
They advanced again through the corridors, clambering over the heaps of the slain, firing their bolters into the heads of anything that twitched. Occasionally, the fierce heat of Brother Andromak's plasma gun seared down the tunnel.
Memnes, old and trusted Memnes, came to Priad's side. 'This is wrong, something is wrong.'
Priad began to shake his head in reassurance, his lightning claw extended into the dark, but a voice echoed back to them.
'Memnes is right. Well felt, brother.' Petrok's voice in that dim place was loud and penetrating.
Priad formed Damocles up behind him and moved towards the voice of the Librarian. He found Petrok looking down over a chasm from which the white heat of the phosphor vents belched up unstintingly.
'Look.’ Petrok said, pointing down with his great sword.
Priad craned and looked.
There were charges below, alien packets of explosives strapped to the vent walls. That was the dark eldar's final legacy. They had mined Eidon City and the phosphor vents. What they could not keep, no one would have.
'That explains the concentration of their strength at the east, and my... suspicion. The Dark Ones knew that we would best them today. They kept us fighting long enough to be able to set this trap.’
'Can we stop it?'
Petrok shrugged. 'Their materials are exotic and strange to us. I cannot guarantee understanding their explosive mechanisms.’
'Then what?' Memnes asked.
'We take them off.’ Priad said directly. 'They've been placed here in order to trigger the phosphor seams. If we can't stop them exploding, we can at least ensure they explode away from their intended target.’
Petrok looked at him with clear, frank eyes. 'You're right. The only way. Even if these things have been made tamper proof or rigged to explode if touched, this is our duty.'
Petrok leaned down into the vent and reached for the nearest charge packet. He had to use the tip of his sword to loosen its metal claws from the rock. He raised it slowly. A spiked black cube with a winking red tell-tale. 'Who's first?'
Memnes took it carefully directly and began to pace steadily down through the body-strewn corridors and out towards the breach in the wall. By the time he had disappeared from sight, another two charges had been pried loose and Xander and Scyllon were also on their way, nursing their deadly burdens.
Another came free and Andromak took it. Then one each for Illyus, Calignes, Pindor and Kules.
Petrok looked back from the open vent at Priad. Sweat coursed down his face, the sweat of stress perhaps, though Priad knew the up-wash of heat from the vent was huge. 'Four left.’ Petrok said. 'Two each, then. We can't wait for any to return.' 'It'll be tricky managing two.' Wll do it.’
Petrok nodded as he reached lower to grab the last few. Priad had to hold onto Petrok's waist and legs so the Librarian could get hold of the lowest-set charges. The four came out one by one.
Priad lifted his two. They were heavy, and he had no desire to treat them roughly. As it was, he was sure the red tell-tales were flashing faster than they had on Memnes's explosive.
Petrok hooked his sword in the loop of his belt and picked up the last two packets. Priad was already walking.
Concentrating on keeping the bombs level and unshaken, it was difficult to remember the route immediately. Confusion had led them there, and the battle-scarred halls all looked the same.
Priad reached a junction and heard Petrok behind him urging him to go left. He did so. At another turn, he nearly slipped on the slick blood covering the floor.
>
The tell-tales were definitely flashing faster now. Light showed ahead through the green gloom. White heat, amber sky. The breach in the eastern wall of Eidon City where they had come in.
Priad and Petrok scrambled outside, trying to remain upright in the sloped rubble and slurry, trying to keep the packets steady. The rest of Damocles had fallen back down the gully approach into the cover of the escarpment, leaving their packets scattered on the hill-slope away from the city wall. They cried out encouragement, urging haste, greater haste!
The sergeant and the Librarian put their packages down alongside the others that the rest of Damocles had borne gently out of the captured city. They looked like a strange crop of dark fruit planted out in the desert dust. The lights were almost strobing a continuous red.
'Run.’ Petrok said.
Priad needed no encouragement. They raced together down the slope, crunching hard on the crystal rock, armour clanking, hydraulics buzzing. Priad heard the great Librarian start to say something.
The charges exploded, an almost simultaneous ripple of air-splitting detonations. A flash of white heat brighter than the vents. A solid wall of shock-force that hurled them both like harpoons.
V
Fingers of black smoke and a huge pall of dust stained the amber sky above Eidon City. Air support and the blocky dark shapes of supply vessels and troop-landers cut low through the haze.
At the staging post above the western approach, the Imperial forces were celebrating their victory, and the massed Iron Snakes were hailing their Captain-Hero Phobor. Great voices were raised in chanting song, gauntlets slapping against armour plate. The Rite of the Sharing of Water had been made, and the Iron Snakes rejoiced in their triumph.
Petrok and the men of Damocles squad returned when the revelries were in full swing. Night was falling, and patterns of stars were winking in the clear sky above the veil of smoke. There were great lights up there too, the running lights of orbiting Imperial battleships and escort vessels. Already, news of the successful reclamation was speeding through the warp to the Chapter House on Ithaka.
Below, in the camps, braziers were lit, and drums were beating. As their men broke camp and headed for the troopships and the next warzone, small groups of pale, fearful Guard officers were being marched away under escort, bound for the punishment ships. Phobor's orders. They had failed. They would pay.
The noise of armoured vehicles and artillery units preparing to disembark filled the smoky evening. On the dark roadways below, lines of torches and vehicle lamps wound in snakes. Above, the clouds thundered as support ships brought technicians and workers back in to re-man the foundries.
'Master! I had become most concerned for your well-being!' began Lexicanium Rodos as Petrok reappeared. He clapped his hands, and the midget things scurried out of the darkness to take Bellus and the Librarian's blackened gauntlets.
Tm well enough,' Petrok said. 'Call up more staff. See to these men.' Priad led Damocles squad into the camp. Andromak and Xander were half-carrying Natus, and Memnes supported Illyus. Before accepting any help or acknowledging anyone else present, Priad formed Damocles into a circle and had Memnes conduct the Rite of the Sharing of Water to mark the end of their fight. Then they could rest, celebrate, be tended to.
Rodos observed the rite, waited until it was over, then barked more orders for surgeons and Chapter servants. Figures darted out of the awning tents, some carrying supplies or medical tools. Illyus and Natus were taken to the healing tents immediately
Petrok watched, making sure the squad was well attended.
'He was looking for you.’ Rodos told the Librarian quietly, from behind.
'Phobor?' Petrok asked, turning.
Rodos nodded. 'He wasn't pleased. It seemed to take the edge off the victory for him that he didn't have you running around, heeding his every order.'
'There were other things to do, more important things.'
Rodos nodded. 'I do not question you, master, but he will. Now it looks...'
Rodos's voice trailed off. Phobor had appeared, powerful and dark against the fires. His scarred face had a grim set to it. The flames flashed off the double-headed snake crest on his shoulder-plates.
'Petrok! I wondered where you had damn well got to. My directions were clear enough, weren't they? I wanted an appraisal of my tactics.'
Petrok took a drink from a goblet one of the midgets offered him before replying. 'Your tactics were perfect. You proved that by taking the city, for the love of the Emperor. You had no need of me.'
Phobor shrugged. He was one of the iron-clad warriors, Petrok knew. Total discipline, total courage. No imagination. No... soul.
You have commended your men for the victory?' Petrok asked.
Aye, all of them.’ Phobor nodded.
'Perhaps not all. Let me tell you about Damocles and what was achieved on the other side of the city today. Let me tell you of another war, of steadfast courage, and of white heat.’
Part Four
Red Rain
Undertaking To Ceres
I
For as far as any of them could see, the place looked like a vast open wound. The soil of Ceres was rich in iron ore, which gave it a deep, red cast. The climate circulated particles of the ore into the atmosphere, so that when it rained, it rained crimson liquid.
It was raining now. It had been for weeks. Drizzle, bright as oxygenated blood, streamed down from low, dark clouds, turning the russet soil into soft, scarlet, wet folds that looked like raw flesh.
Through the wounded land, the Rhino crawled, heavy tracks slipping and thrashing in the red mire. Its grey, white and red livery was washed a watery pink from the rain, and the Chapter banners hanging from the rear frame were as dark as soaked bandages.
Ahead, lay Hekat, and death as bright and bloody as the rain.
Detachments of phratry warriors from the Chapter, beloved of the Emperor himself, had arrived on Ceres two weeks before to prosecute the sudden uprising of a Chaos cult. Ceres was an agricultural world with a sparse population that accreted around small farm townships, each one separated from its neighbour by thousands of square kilometres of arable land. The uprising had engulfed Nybana, the main township and landing field, a dejected place of shanty habs, grain hoppers, threshing mills and freight yards. That had been the Chapter's first port of call. Four full squads of towering armoured forms, forty warriors, had disembarked from their drop-ships at dawn and scoured the township, incinerating the cultists without question or quarter. The fighting had been intense but brief, lasting only until noon. Armed with autoguns, crop-scythes and fanatical zeal, the cultists were ruthless and formidable, but no match for the boltguns and superhuman power of the infamous Space Marines. By noon, the Iron Snakes' banner and the Imperial eagle had been fluttering over the main guildhall of Nybana.
Captain Phobor, the venerable and much-decorated commander of the Iron Snake mission, along with his squad officers, had then met with Inquisitor Mabuse, who had spent some months on Ceres uncovering the cult before contacting the Chapter for aid.
In the atrium of the guildhall, the phalanx of giant warriors stood in a semi-circle around the robed, white-haired inquisitor in dutiful silence as he appraised them of the situation. Mabuse began by praising their work in liberating Nybana. From outside came the thump of bolters as the assault squad finished its cleansing. The bodies of the fallen cultists, some six hundred or more, had been stacked in an outlying granary and torched with flamers. The pungent scents of burning filled the air, despite the heavy rain.
'They call themselves the Children of Khorne.’ Mabuse had said, his lofty voice faltering just slightly as he was forced to pronounce the dark name. 'We can presume the pun is lost on them. My investigation has shown that the taint was brought in from off-world. Nybana is the main lift-port, and a large proportion of the population are indigent freight handlers and cargo-men from a dozen other planets. Some vermin coven, practising the foul ways secretly in their midst, carried the
poison here and set it loose into the population.'
'Is it restricted to the main habitation?' Phobor asked, his voice metallic and expressionless as it filtered through his helmet speakers.
'No, captain, I don't believe it is.' Mabuse got to his feet and wandered over to an ornate side table.
Standing to the left of Phobor, Brother-Sergeant Priad of Damocles squad watched the inquisitor with curious eyes. He had served with the Iron Snakes for nine years, and for the last four had commanded that decorated detail. He had seen things of such horror and such wonder in that time that no amount of training in the Chapter Hall of Karybdis could have fully prepared him. But he had never seen an Imperial inquisitor close up before. He knew that no two were alike, and he knew that all were feared, perhaps as feared as the Space Marines themselves. Inquisitors were singular beings, braving both the physical dangers of the galaxy and the mental torments of limitless evil as they struggled and probed to uncover the taints of the Great Foulness.
Mabuse was a tall, lean man in his forties with a shock of white hair and a face angled and sculptural, as if the pale skin clung tightly to his skull. His robes were black and edged with golden braid, and his right hand, now Priad saw it, was a mechanical prosthetic of intricate golden callipers and gears.
Mabuse lifted an object from the table in his artificial hand. It was a figurine, about thirty centimetres high, woven from straw.
'A corn-doll.’ Mabuse told them, holding it up for them to see. 'A votive object, common on so many rustic and agricultural worlds. Here on Ceres, they weave them at harvest time, one to represent each of the outlying harvest towns, and they are displayed here in the main guildhall during the Time of Celebration.’
He lifted another from the table. There was something hideous and twisted about this one, even though it was only a doll woven from straw.