Hellsreach - Aaron Dembski-Bowden [100]
‘Few messages reach the ears of our allies elsewhere in the world. Few messages from them reach us.’
‘The Salamanders were not blind to your plight, honoured Reclusiarch. Master Tu’Shan heard. We are his blade, his will, to ensure the survival of the city’s most innocent souls.’
‘And then you will leave.’
‘And then we will leave. Our fight is along the banks of the Hemlock. Our glory is there.’
This gesture alone is enough to earn my eternal gratitude. For the first time in decades, emotion steals the words I wish to voice. This is all we needed. This is salvation.
We can hurt them now.
I remove my own helm, breathing in the first taste of Helsreach’s sulphuric air in… weeks. Months.
V’reth inhales deeply, doing the same.
‘This city,’ he smiles, teeth white against his onyx features, ‘it smells like home.’
The heated wind feels good on my skin. I offer my hand to V’reth, and he grips my wrist – an alliance between warriors.
‘Thank you,’ I tell him, meeting his inhuman eyes.
‘If you are needed elsewhere,’ V’reth matches my gaze with his own, ‘then go to your duty, honoured Reclusiarch. We stand with you, for now. And together, we will not let these docks fall.’
‘First, tell me of the orbital war. What news of the Crusader?’
‘The deadlock remains. It grieves me to say this, but it is so. We are shattering the enemy, battle by battle, but it is like hurling fire at stone. Little is achieved against such an overwhelming foe. It will take weeks before your High Marshal dares a full assault to reclaim the heavens. He is a shrewd warrior. My brothers and I were honoured to serve with him in the fleet.’
To hear his words is like a lifeline. A connection to existence beyond the broken walls of this accursed city. I press him for more.
‘What of Tempestus Hive? They suffered as we did.’
‘Fallen. Lost to the enemy, its forces in retreat. The last word from any remnant of command structure was that the city was being abandoned, and its retreating survivors were making their way overland to connect with the Guard regiments serving alongside my lord and master.’
Scattered defence forces and Guard units, crossing hundreds of kilometres of wasteland. Such tenacity was to be admired.
This world will never recover, that much is clear. Fatalism may not be bred into my bones, but there is no valour in living a lie. What we do here is defiance – the selling of life as dearly as possible. We are not fighting to win, but waging war out of spite.
This Salamander, brother though he may be, has a destiny beyond this city. I relent to it.
‘Coordinate the dispersal of squads with Sergeant Bastilan. Focus your efforts on the westernmost districts, where the bulk of storm shelters are to be found. Bastilan will provide you with the required vox frequencies to connect with the storm-troopers leading the civilian defences. Do not expect clarity in communications. Many of the city’s vox-relay towers have fallen.’
‘It will be done, Reclusiarch.’
‘For the Emperor.’ I release V’reth’s wrist. His reply is a curious one, betraying his Chapter’s unique focus.
‘For the Emperor,’ he says, ‘and His people.’
Jurisian, Master of the Forge and knight of the Emperor, threw his head back and laughed. He had not laughed in many years, for he was not a soul given to humour. What he was seeing now however struck him as immensely funny. So he laughed, without meaning to.
The sound echoed throughout the immense chamber, resounding off metal-reinforced walls of stone and the hulking adamantium shape that stretched for fifty metres into the darkness.
The Ordinatus Armageddon. Oberon.
Jurisian’s armour had been the only sound in the chamber for hours, the overlaid ceramite plating clacking and whirring as he moved around the great weapon. He’d circled it several dozen times, staring, scanning, taking in every detail with his own eyes and his war plate’s auspex sensors.
It was,