Now they could go.

'I'm pleased you're alive, Jynn Evvers,' said Scipio upon reaching the command tent.

'So am I.' It was a truthful answer at least. She was about to say more when the low growl emitted by the dormant flayed ones grew into a shrieking cacophony. Several of Jynn's men were sick, some wept openly. It took all of her resolve not to break down too.

'What is it?' she asked, her hands pressed to her ears.

Scipio exchanged a knowing look with Largo and said, 'Time for us to leave.'

He recognised that sound and as they fled back down the mountain, headed for what she a.s.sumed was an army of s.p.a.ce Marines somewhere below, she heard Largo mutter to himself.

'It's not dead.'

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

Fear saturated d.a.m.nos. It permeated its air, its rock and ate away at its people like a cancer. Their screams, their plaintive moaning, their abject grief was an urgent throb at the back of the Librarian's mind.

Tigurius was a supreme psyker, the most accomplished of his Chapter, perhaps of any Chapter. There were others with power, of course: hooded Ezekiel, enigmatic Vel'cona, dreaded Mephiston. All were masters of their art but Tigurius was of the Ultramarines, the purest of all s.p.a.ce Marines, and his abilities were prodigious. Even so, he struggled to find a path through the necron shroud and the fear they propagated.

His mind had touched that of the necrons. It found only infinite darkness and endless hate. There was something buried in that well of nothingness, a warning; he felt certain of it. Without knowing why, he realised it was important and that by not seeking the truth of that vision he would be allowing some heinous evil to pa.s.s. Tigurius had fortified himself, performed the many rituals and psychic mantras designed to steel his mind against any potential aggressors. The Herald was strong, far more potent than he had first realised. Tigurius resolved that this time he would be prepared.

Inscribed in the ice with the pommel of his force staff were three concentric rings. Double-banded, he had also wrought sigils of warding and aversion to bind them together. Tigurius crouched down in the centre, his eyes closed, and tried to ride the darkling waves of his subconscious.

Everlasting night filled his mind, the fearful voices of the humans pushed to the fringes and no longer a distraction. He went deeper and fashioned a psychic beacon that he attached around the Hood of h.e.l.lfire like a halo. Still, the darkness would not yield. Landscapes resolved below him as he soared across d.a.m.nos as a mental projection of himself. It was grey and bland, the life had left it.

Was this a vision of the future? Was he witnessing their ultimate failure?

Something glowed up ahead and Tigurius soared towards it. Psychic winds buffeted him, tried to throw him off course and dash him against the rising mountains on either side. He renewed his efforts, making his body into an arrow that sliced the air apart and cut through the tempest.

For a moment, a tiny light shone below him but it was fleeting and quickly snuffed out. The glow ahead intensified, turning from a phosph.o.r.escent white into a sickly emerald. Too late, Tigurius realised the danger he was in and tried to flee. The light became a blazing green orb that reached for him with the tendrils of its light.

One caressed the Librarian's arm and pain, hot and incandescent, fed into his body. His heart was thundering, a dull ache filled his head and a keening wail deafened his thoughts.

Must return...

All his efforts were focussed on getting back but something was stretching the psychic landscape below, reshaping it so the distance became lightyears instead of leagues. Behind him, the baleful sun rose further and its tendrils grew with its influence.

They lashed at the Librarian like the appendages of some ocean-borne beast, a kraken or leviathan of old. Tigurius was forced to weave and pin wheel and dart as the sparrow eludes the eagle. Though he had not moved from his chosen spot since the vigil began, he still felt the physical exertion of his efforts. Mind and body were concomitant aspects of most beings one affected the other. At that moment as he angled through the mental sky, his mind was being put to the sternest test and it visited that self-same tension upon his body.

Back at his vigil point, Tigurius had blood in his mouth and a tremor in his limbs.

Maintain focus...

Below, grey mountains and cities became monuments of emerald and obelisks of necron devotion and servitude.

Death...

The wind promised a certain end should he let the green light touch him.

Only light can outrun light and in so doing bend the laws of time. That revelation prompted a response. Tigurius fashioned his arrowing form into a beam, pure and focussed and so thin it left the baleful sun in its wake. The crouching form of his physical body loomed before him, solace for his mind at last.

Tigurius came to swathed in a feverish sweat. It took a moment to regulate his breathing, another to ensure he had awakened in the physical world and this reality he inhabited was not merely verisimilitude.

The vision was beyond his grasp. It lay behind the emerald sun and the Herald was preventing him from seeing it. With that obstacle alone, Tigurius might have triumphed but combined with the darkness shroud, it was near impossible. He did witness something, however. The snuffed-out light it was a glimpse of the future. Prescience was guiding him to something, some event yet to transpire. It must be close; otherwise he would not have seen it. Somehow, the keening he had heard was a component of that possible future.

Like the vision, he knew deep down that it was important. That he must act. Though his limbs protested, Tigurius got to his feet and let his instincts pull him. The mountains beckoned. Drifts that had yet to fall upon the lower regions swathed the peaks in a storm. He headed upwards, leaving his battle-brothers behind. They were deep in the valley, monitoring the Thanatos Hills. Urgency governed the Librarian's step there was no time to summon the other Ultramarines, no time at all.

Praxor advanced through the ruins slowly and carefully. He crushed something underfoot and looked down.

It was a bent piece of flat metal, frozen solid and cracked down the middle. Frost-edged letters were described on it in Gothic script.

'Arcona City,' said Etrius. His voice was low and sombre as if he were touring a mausoleum.

In many respects, he was.

Praxor a.s.sembled the fractured letters into a more meaningful arrangement and nodded. Kellenport really was the last human bastion on d.a.m.nos.

The Ultramarines line was well dispersed. Each of the cobalt giants kept a wary eye on the way ahead, watching the ruins for hidden threats. According to reports, too many had already fallen to necron ambush. Sicarius led from the front, as he always did, his Lions of Macragge alongside him. The stretched battle line was a deliberate strategy from the captain. Not only did it make it easier for the Ultramarines to pick their way through the rough ground, they'd also present a harder target for the ma.s.s fire of the necrons. Once the storm hit, it would present the illusion that a larger force was arrayed against them too. Engagement would happen soon, but they kept the pace even so Atavian and Tirian could keep up.

The Devastator squads occupied one end of the line. Heavy bolters and plasma cannons were low-slung on their c.u.mbersome rigs. Too weighty for a human to bear alone, the s.p.a.ce Marines hefted them with relative ease. The missile launchers and lascannons, being shoulder-mounted, were pointed down and steadied by the gunner's other hand. Ponderous but implacable, the Dreadnoughts marched with the Devastators. Their cannons were simply a part of their bodies, whirring and auto-targeting as they scanned the immediate area. As soon as battle was joined, these heavy guns would close ranks and present a concentrated volley of fire to hold the necrons' attention.

Just as Sicarius had predicted, the storm was rolling in. It began a half-kilometre back, the incessant ice flurries getting thicker and faster by the minute. There came a sweeping veil of finer snow in their wake, fogging the air and veneering the forlorn ruins still further.

Praxor moved on. 'Tactica briefings suggest there was a garrison here at the start of the war,' he said to Aristaeus down the comm-feed.

'There was... before the city was left to rot in the wake of necron victory. Look at the earth banks around the ruins, brother-sergeant.'

Praxor did. What he had initially mistaken for emplacements and earthworks, he now saw for what they truly were. Fused by ice to the very bulwarks they were sworn to protect were hundreds upon hundreds of Guardsmen, frozen forever in the moments of their deaths.

The necrons had turned this once proud Imperial city into a bombed-out mess. It was a grim place now, inhabited by ghosts and their terrified memories. Had he been anything other than Adeptus Astartes, Praxor might have quailed at this realisation.

'Apparently, Arcona was once a key city on d.a.m.nos,' added Aristaeus.

Praxor's mood was as cold as the weather. 'Looks like every other ruin on this hollow world.'

They were making steady progress across a roadway that had suffered least in the bombardment. Only part of its surface was cratered and it was still navigable. The quiet gave Praxor too much time with his thoughts. Even the thickening snowfall failed to smother them and he railed against the doubts plaguing him.

I am Adeptus Astartes. I am without fear, unaffected by doubt!

His misgivings weren't so easily silenced, though. Captain Sicarius was an incredible warrior, the greatest Praxor had known. In his presence, a warrior of Ultramar felt invincible, became capable of feats even a s.p.a.ce Marine would think impossible. He had... an aura aura about him that was undeniable. Yet he was relentless, even reckless. Heedless of casualties or cost, he would pursue his plans and vendettas until they were achieved or he was dead. In a perverse way, it was this obsessive, mercurial nature that made him the hero he was. It was also why he garnered voices of dissent within the Chapter. about him that was undeniable. Yet he was relentless, even reckless. Heedless of casualties or cost, he would pursue his plans and vendettas until they were achieved or he was dead. In a perverse way, it was this obsessive, mercurial nature that made him the hero he was. It was also why he garnered voices of dissent within the Chapter.

Praxor was torn. He had not believed he'd ever think this way, but here on d.a.m.nos... this was beyond what the Second had ever faced before. He was not superst.i.tious but Praxor couldn't deny the sense of foreboding that was building steadily within him. He didn't like the sensation; it felt almost treasonous.

Less able to pick their way through the denser rubble, the Dreadnoughts had shifted position in the battle line to walk along the roadway. It brought Agrippen close to Praxor and he nodded to the ancient warrior when he joined them.

Ahead, the Lions grew distant as they forged off with their captain. Sicarius was ever eager to be the first to battle and kept a close counsel with his command squad. Save for Argonan, who had died in the landings, he had yet to lose a single one of his chosen Ultramarines.

'They are a breed apart from the rest of us.' It came out more ruefully than Praxor had intended.

'And yet you aspire to join their ranks.'

Praxor glanced at Agrippen but the hulking Dreadnought was unreadable. The words simply emerged from his vox-speakers as fact. 'No. I am proud to serve as the sergeant of the Shieldbearers. It is my honour and oath to the Chapter.'

'I don't doubt it, brother. But I know your service record. You and the Shieldbearers are almost always leading the line, the first into any engagement, always at the forefront of our a.s.saults. Some of a more cynical nature might suggest you were trying to prove something.'

Insulted, Praxor's voice took on a hard edge that he was careful to monitor in the face of the venerable Agrippen. 'Only my unswerving loyalty and dedication to the Ultramarines.'

'Do you think that is in question, brother?'

'Is this really the time for such a conversation, on the cusp of battle as we are?'

'Tell me of a better time to discuss honour and courage than before going into war against our enemies,' said Agrippen. 'But you are avoiding my question.'

Praxor left a long pause. He did not find the answer easy. 'Perhaps. There are times when I have questioned.'

'At Ghospora, a campaign over a century old.' It was a statement, not a suggestion.

'You of all of us, venerable one, should know that time is immaterial when concerning matters of honour.'

'Aye, I do. It displeased you that your captain left you behind?'

'It stunned and humbled me,' Praxor admitted. 'It felt as if I were being punished, though I did not know why.'

'Humility is as important a lesson as learning how to wield a gladius properly or fight in squad with your brothers.'

Praxor nodded and saw the wisdom in the Dreadnought's words.

The roadway was coming to an end. They were deep into Arcona City now and the drifts were coming down in swathes. Even through the blizzard, Praxor could see the necron phalanxes manoeuvring to intercept them. It wouldn't be long.

'Before we go to battle, I must ask you something, Agrippen,' Praxor said, voicing his mind as he had wanted to since they'd made planetfall.

'Speak. I shall answer if I can, brother.'

'Are you here to watch for Agemman's interests? Is what they say in the senate true?'

'As all should do, I serve the Chapter alone and my Lord Calgar.' Agrippen was stern but there was no hint of reproach in his modulated diction. 'I possess the wisdom of centuries and all I see are two great heroes, dissimilar in method but equal in courage and honour.'

'In the senate, I have heard talk from Agemman's amba.s.sadors of Sicarius overreaching himself.'

'He is daring and innovative,' Agrippen conceded.

'But there is concern that this will go too far and of the consequences when it does.'

'And how does our Lord Calgar respond to such concerns?'

'He is not present. His voice is absent from proceedings.'

'And what does that tell you, brother?'

Humbled again in the time it takes to field-strip a bolter, Praxor decided he would speak less to Dreadnoughts in future. Their logic was as redoubtable as their armoured bodies. 'That I should not listen to Chapter politics.'

'And what do you think, Praxor Manorian? Do you think Cato Sicarius, your captain, overreaches himself?'

Praxor's gaze went to the Lions out of reflex. Sicarius was as fine a warrior and a captain as there was in the Chapter. Perhaps he was even the best they had.

'Until now, no.'

'And now?'

'He does things, formulates tactics and executes plans that I could never even conceive of.'

'That is why he is captain of the Second. It's why his legend will endure long after he is dust. But you haven't answered my question again.'

Praxor bowed his head. His answer was forestalled by Sicarius's voice blasting over the comm-feed.

'Ultramarines! We are engaging!'

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

Sporadic gauss-fire erupted across the ruins, forcing the s.p.a.ce Marines to hunch over. It kicked up snow and fragmented rubble but missed the Ultramarines who advanced steadily, returning fire. Bolter flashes lit up the icy gloom in retaliatory bursts and spread the necrons' aim across the line so that no one part of it was ever under heavy barrage.

A blanket of snow and ice rolled over the battlefield, carried by a biting wind. Neither necron nor Ultramarine felt it, their metal bodies and their armour protecting them, but it made targeting more difficult.

'Holding positions!' shouted Praxor, prompted by a rune-signal on his retinal display. The Shieldbearers adopted firing postures. Farther up the roadway, the Lions had slowed to allow the rest of the company to catch up.

Sustained bolter fire came from the more advanced tactical squads, punctuated by plasma bursts and missile expulsions. At the end of the line, the Devastators unleashed their guns. A heavy bolter salvo filled the air with the dense chug-chank chug-chank of high-velocity sh.e.l.ls. Missiles boomed from their tubes. Plasma and lascannons spat incandescent death in a series of bright lances. The storm made it difficult to tell easily, but the necron frontliners were being torn apart by the fusillade. of high-velocity sh.e.l.ls. Missiles boomed from their tubes. Plasma and lascannons spat incandescent death in a series of bright lances. The storm made it difficult to tell easily, but the necron frontliners were being torn apart by the fusillade.

'Keep it up,' ordered Daceus, shouting between bolter bursts. 'Make them pay for every d.a.m.ned step.'

It was as intense as any battlefield Praxor had fought on. His warrior-spirit soared. The line was dug in well, spread thin and hurting the necron phalanxes. But they were not like most enemies and could absorb a lot of punishment. Even obscured by the fog, their numbers were staggering too.

'Seems we have poked the nest,' offered Krixous.

'And they respond to the threat,' Praxor replied, pointing. He opened the comm-feed. 'Captain, monolith rerouting on our position.'

He saw Sicarius turn towards the floating pyramid of living metal moving slowly into a flanking position.