Hellsreach - Aaron Dembski-Bowden [122]
He salutes me, sword sheathed on his back and his gauntlets making the sign of the aquila over his battered breastplate. I return the salute, and rarely in my life has the gesture been so heartfelt. I am finally ready to stand before him, and endure the judging stare of those crimson eyes.
‘Hail, Reclusiarch,’ he says to me.
‘Hail, Bayard,’ I say to the Emperor’s Champion of the Helsreach Crusade.
He watches me, but I know he is not seeing me. He sees Mordred, the knight whose weapon I bear, and whose face I wear.
‘My liege.’ Priamus comes forward, kneeling before Bayard.
‘Priamus,’ Bayard vox-laughs. ‘Still breathing, I see.’
‘Nothing on this world will change that, my liege.’
‘Rise, brother. The day will never come that you must kneel before me.’ Priamus rises, inclining his head in respect once more before returning to my side. ‘Artarion, Bastilan, it is good to see you both. And you, Nero.’
Nerovar makes the sign of the aquila, but says nothing.
‘Cador’s fall tore at my heart, brother. He and I served in the Sword Brethren together, did you know that?’
‘I knew it, my liege. Cador spoke of it often. He was honoured to serve at your side.’
‘The honour was mine. Know that fifty of the enemy died by my blade the day I heard of his passing. Throne, but he was a warrior to quench the fires of the stars themselves. I miss him fiercely, and the Eternal Crusade is poorer without his sword.’
‘You… do great honour to his memory,’ Nero’s voice is choked with emotion.
‘Tell me, brother,’ Bayard’s tone lowers, as if the refugees standing and staring at us outside the great gates have no right to hear of what we speak. ‘I heard his death-wound was in the back. Is this so?’
Nero’s nod comes with reluctance. ‘It is.’
‘I also heard he killed nine of the beasts alone, before succumbing to his wounds.’
‘He did.’
‘Nine. Nine. Then he died facing his enemy, as a knight must. Thank you, Nero. You have brought me comfort this day.’
‘I… I…’
‘Welcome, brothers. It has been too long since we stood united.’ There are general murmurs of assent, and Bayard looks to me.
I smile behind my mask.
They rode in the back compartment of a trundling Chimera armoured personnel transport, their backs thumping against the metal walls with each sharp turn. It had been parked on the highway itself, riddled with bullet holes and las-burns, but still very much fuelled and ready to roll. Andrej and the others had dragged the bodies of dead Legionnaires out onto the road, and the storm-trooper had forced the dockers to say a short prayer over the corpses before he would, as he put it, ‘steal their ride’.
‘Manners cost nothing,’ he told them. ‘And these men died for your city.’
The troop section in the back of the Chimera was a typical slice of Guard life, smelling of blood, oil and rancid sweat. On creaking benches, Maghernus and his dockers, along with Asavan Tortellius recruited to their cause, sat and waited for Andrej to get them all the way down the Hel’s Highway.
He was not a good driver. They had mentioned this to him, and he professed not to know what they were talking about. Besides, he’d added, the left tank tread was damaged. That was why he kept skidding.
Also, he’d amended last of all, they should shut up. So there.
Andrej cycled through vox-channels, still getting no luck on any frequency. Whether every vox-tower in the city was gone or the orks had some intense jamming campaign going on was beside the point at this stage. He couldn’t get in touch with his commanders, and that left him to his own devices. As always, he would go forward. It was the way of the Legion, and the creed of the Guard.
The way he saw it, the Reclusiarch owed him a favour. In this case, going forward meant making a stand with the black knights until he could find someone, anyone, from his command structure.
There’d been a particularly galling