The Burden of Loyalty Read online

  Bulveye staggered away from the portal, wading into a drift of dusty sand as the others followed him through. In the distance he saw dark towers. Multicoloured beams scoured the skies like searchlights, casting strange shadows on the clouds and sand.

  Jurgen scanned the horizon in disbelief. ‘I don’t think we’re in Tizca any more,’ he growled.

  Bulveye examined the portal gate. It was carved from sandstone, though laced with a crystalline structure like the others. ‘We passed back through... How are we here?’

  ‘Wherever “here” is,’ said Halvdan, kicking at the sand. ‘We can’t just head back in, then. There’s no telling where we’ll end up.’

  Jurgen frowned. A deep trail carved in the sand circled behind the portal where he stood. ‘Perhaps... Perhaps if we enter from the other direction?’

  It had not occurred to Bulveye that the portal might have two sides. He shrugged. ‘It’s worth a try.’

  He waited a few more seconds, until his Old Guard had all come through. They stared at the impossible vista, though none said a word.

  ‘Jurgen, you go first this time.’

  Ranulf extended his hand. ‘And hold my wrist. I’ll pull you back through.’

  Jurgen said nothing, and hauled himself up to the dais. He helped Ranulf after him, and they gripped each other’s arms. Jurgen backed into the portal, all but his vambrace and gauntlet disappearing into the semi-solid gold mist.

  Suddenly, a warning chime sounded in Bulveye’s ear as Jurgen’s signal disappeared from the tactical feed.

  ‘Ranulf!’ he roared. ‘Bring him back!’

  Ranulf pulled, but for all his strength he could not haul Jurgen back onto the dais. Golden light lapped at the disembodied forearm, holding him fast like a mire.

  Eirik stepped up to help, and between them they both heaved, feet braced hard against the plinth. Jurgen’s chest and head emerged with a sudden, fizzing lurch, and the trapped warrior bellowed in pain.

  Bulveye leapt up, gripping Ranulf by the shoulders to lend his own weight. ‘Do not lose him!’

  With a flare the portal relinquished its hold and the handful of legionaries crashed down onto the plinth. Jurgen rolled left and right, one arm clasped to the other, snarling and growling.

  ‘By the Allfather,’ he grunted. ‘You nearly pulled my arm off, you kraken-chewed halfwits!’ He surged to his feet and kicked at the portal arch, though his armoured boot left no mark on its surface. ‘Damn these gates!’

  Bulveye picked himself up. ‘Where did it lead?’

  Jurgen’s strained laughter was more in relief than humour.

  ‘Back to the city. Not sure where, but it’s in Tizca. Outside.’

  They turned to see Halvdan pointing towards the towers in the distance behind them, squinting with his single eye. ‘Brothers – what are they?’

  A flock of winged shapes rose up from between the black spires. Though the flat perspective of the desert and the featureless edifices of the city made it hard to judge distance and scale, each creature seemed to be at least the size of a Thunderhawk, some much bigger.

  Halvdan let his gauntlet fall. ‘Are they...’

  ‘Dragons,’ murmured Ranulf. ‘They look like dragons.’

  The Space Wolves formed up around the portal, their weapons directed at the incoming beasts. Bulveye edged back onto the dais. ‘Not our fight,’ he murmured.

  He cocked a glance at Jurgen.

  ‘Back to Tizca, you say?’

  Jurgen nodded. ‘Explosions and all, Old Wolf.’

  ‘Then we go back now. Rapid deployment.’

  It was definitely a plaza somewhere at ground level. Glass and polished steel soared up around Bulveye as he emerged from the gateway. The flicker of plasma jets crossed the darkening skies and the thump of artillery pounded out a regular rhythm.

  A lascannon blast missed the Old Wolf by only a few centimetres. He threw himself behind the plinth of the gate, plasma pistol readied.

  More than thirty traitors were positioned around the plaza, weapons trained on the gate. Bolts and plasma screamed from every angle as more wolf-brothers appeared through the arch.

  ‘Breakout, on me!’ Bulveye ordered, rising from cover and breaking into a sprint, trusting to his men to follow. He ignored the bolts chipping ceramite from his plate, focusing on a red-armoured warrior a dozen metres ahead using a faceted, abstract crystal statue as a rest for his bolter. The Old Wolf levelled his plasma pistol and fired on the move. The shot seared through the figurine to slam into the legionary’s torso.

  The wounded warrior started to rise, in time for Bulveye’s axe to meet the side of his head. Wrenching the gleaming weapon free, the Old Wolf set upon another enemy, carving a deep furrow through his breastplate.

  ‘We cannot remain here, brothers! We will be trapped!’

  Jurgen caught up with him, howling with fury, his chainsword turning the faceplate of a third Thousand Sons legionary to ceramite shards and blood. Halvdan was there a second later, grappling a son of Magnus to the ground, trying to wrest away his plasma gun.

  ‘The Bale-eye is upon you, traitor!’ he roared, spittle flying from his fangs.

  Pausing for a moment to lever Eldingverfall from the breastbone of a felled enemy, Bulveye saw that the portal he had come through was just one of four, arranged not quite at right angles to each other, about fifty metres apart. The Thousand Sons, their ambush sprung but unsuccessful, retreated through one of the other gates, parting with a few last volleys of bolt-rounds and autocannon shells.

  Bulveye saw a trio of his warriors making after the vanishing foes.

  ‘Wait! Hold ground until we have our strength of numbers!’

  No sooner had he spoken than one of the other portals sprang into life, ejecting several figures burning head to foot. Agonised shrieks filled the air as they stumbled away in trails of flame.

  More staggered after them, their scarred grey armour marking them out as sons of Fenris from the Thirteenth Company.

  Bulveye and the others rushed over to help them, weapons at the ready in case their attackers followed. Aghast, he recognised Hroldir among the wounded. He lowered the packmaster to the ground.

  ‘What happened? Who did this to you?’ he asked.

  ‘We did...’ Hroldir gasped. His visor was broken, charred flesh exposed down to the bone on his right cheek. ‘Damned portals... Took us... to one of the cities... unnnh... being bombarded. Rad-bombs and plasma... unnh... plasma flares...’

  A shadow fell over them, and Bulveye looked up to find Halvdan close by.

  ‘The sorcerer was with them,’ the warrior said, grimly. ‘I saw him go through the portal before the rest.’

  ‘You are sure?’

  ‘By my good eye, I’m sure! That–’

  Ranulf interrupted. ‘Heavy signals converging on this position, Old Wolf. Air and vehicles. Dozens of them.’

  ‘The defenders were bait,’ Halvdan growled. ‘They must have been.’

  ‘They’ve signalled for reinforcements on our position,’ Bulveye guessed. It was all beginning to fall into place.

  Ranulf gestured to the dead warriors that had come through with Hroldir. ‘We cannot just keep chasing after the traitors. We’re back in Tizca. Let us be grateful for that and reform with the rest of the company.’

  ‘It’s not just the traitors,’ said Jurgen. ‘Our wolf-brothers are out there too. Who knows where these accursed portals have taken them...’

  Bulveye glanced at his tactical display.

  ‘The enemy will be on us in no time. Hroldir, can you get into those ruins opposite? Overwatch on the portals, create a rally point for any more of ours that come through.’

  Hroldir struggled to his feet, aided by one of his pack-brothers. He patted the melta charges at his belt and pointed to the heavy weapons of the squads that had
made it through with him.

  ‘We’ll hold the ground, Old Wolf.’

  ‘Then we will go after the sorcerer, and see who else we can gather while we’re at it.’

  Bulveye checked the energy cell of his plasma pistol. Half-charge left. He nodded towards the fallen Space Wolves.

  ‘I don’t know how long it will be until we get back to the city. Take what we need from them, brothers – the dead have no more use for weapons and ammunition.’

  The Old Guard stripped the bodies in silence. Bulveye felt Ranulf staring at him.

  ‘What do you want?’ he muttered.

  ‘This is a mistake, Old Wolf. If we go back into that nightmare then we will not return.’

  ‘Are you refusing to follow me?’

  Ranulf looked at the portals, and then back to Bulveye. ‘Are you ordering me to come?’

  ‘With the Allfather as my witness, you can be sure I am.’

  ‘Then I am not refusing, Old Wolf... but on your honour lies it.’

  Bulveye shook his head and turned away. Hroldir and his warriors were almost in position. The Old Wolf checked the chrono-display. ‘Seventy seconds,’ he called.

  Then he pointed to the portal through which the sorcerer had apparently escaped again.

  ‘Move out!’

  What small hope Bulveye had harboured that the next portal-jump would take him to his prey, or at the least keep them within the limits of Tizca, was dashed the moment he set foot upon the crumbling stone floor.

  The air was thick with dust, and it clung to every surface of his plate. Grit crunched underfoot. Suit lamps burning, he could just about see a rugged cave wall, part of a tunnel receding into the gloom.

  Jurgen blinked, running his fingers along the rock. ‘Under the city, perhaps?’

  The beam of Bulveye’s lamps fell upon a primal-looking painting on the wall, of a three-horned beast being chased by arachnid-looking creatures. ‘I think not. At least, not in the time we left.’

  ‘Do we go back?’

  In answer, Bulveye pressed on, ducking into the uneven tunnel. It had clearly been fashioned by cunning hands, though he did not think them human.

  ‘We’ll scout out the surrounds,’ he said, ‘and see if there’s another way out.’

  A short exploration revealed that the cave was one of many in an underground network that auspex returns suggested stretched for several kilometres. Ranulf ran a sweep of the perimeter.

  ‘Anomalous power sources, Old Wolf. Two more portals. Do we try them all?’

  ‘No, we stay together.’ Bulveye looked to the remaining warriors of his Old Guard. What fates had befallen the others he did not know, and he did not want to dwell on such grim musing. ‘No more scattering. We search as one company.’

  They found more crude paintings, but brief study gave no insight into their makers, or whether they held any clue to the operation of the portals. With no other guidance, Bulveye picked the closest to the one by which they had entered.

  And so began a series of increasingly frustrating and nerve-testing leaps into the unknown.

  The first portal brought them back to the caves from another direction, but passing back into that gate transported Bulveye’s company to a broken wasteland of fallen towers and collapsed bridges that were of obvious eldar origin, lit by a trio of dark red moons.

  Things flapped and shrieked across the night skies, circling closer and closer to the lamps of the Space Marines.

  ‘Hold your fire,’ Bulveye ordered, wearily. ‘Save your ammunition.’

  The next teleportation took them to an old fortress, its ramparts marked with plasma burns and las-scars, its keep broken open to a storm that howled across a granite-grey sky.

  Another portal, another landscape, this time of near-endless identical and empty ferrocrete cubicles all linked by doorways just high and wide enough for the Space Marines to squeeze through.

  As they investigated yet another identical cell, Jurgen glanced at his chronometer.

  ‘Halvdan, how long have we been here?’

  ‘Fourteen minutes and twelve seconds.’

  Bulveye frowned. ‘I have thirteen minutes, eighteen seconds.’

  ‘And I have fifteen minutes exactly...’ Jurgen added.

  Bulveye paused, watching his wolf-brothers in the next chamber. He had not noticed it before, but they seemed to be moving perceptibly slower. Turning around, he stepped back into the previous cell and watched Jurgen closely. The Space Wolf looked to be moving slightly more quickly, like a vid-review set at half a per cent too fast.

  ‘Each chamber is different,’ Bulveye sighed. ‘It’s like they have their own timeframes.’

  Ranulf spat. ‘Then it looks to me that the further we go in, the longer it will take to get out.’

  ‘There’s nothing here,’ said Halvdan. ‘If Izzakar Orr came through at all, it might have been hours ago, or years...’

  Bulveye’s patience was ended. ‘I’ve seen enough. Back to the portal.’

  Only then did Ranulf hesitate. ‘Which one is it? They all look the same.’

  They all looked at each other for a few seconds, each waiting for another to offer a solution.

  It was Halvdan that eventually broke the silence.

  ‘Smell. Gun oil and plate lubricant. We’ll follow our own trail.’

  At first, Bulveye thought it was the sound of wind chimes. After a few more paces he realised it was the sound of his footsteps. He looked down, and immediately wished he hadn’t.

  But for the feedback of his armour telling him he was standing upon a solid surface, he would have sworn he stood in the gulfs of space over the blazing fire of a sun. Looking around, he could see nothing else. No walls or ceiling. He tentatively reached out a hand but touched nothing. An endless expanse of stars stretched before him.

  The curses and gasps of his wolf-brothers echoed as they arrived through the gateway. Bulveye let out a growl in answer to their questions and exclamations.

  ‘Hold, brothers,’ he whispered. ‘Steady yourselves. We’ll just turn around, careful, and head back. Wherever we end up, it cannot be worse than here.’

  The Space Wolves did as commanded, edging back through the portal. Bulveye resisted the urge for one final glance, and quickly plunged into the shimmering gold of the teleportation field.

  He let out a long, steadying breath when he found himself on solid land. Brick, to be precise, with mortared walls and a slightly arched ceiling just a few inches above his head. It stank like a sewer, and thick effluent trickled beneath his boots.

  A clattering echoed up ahead and lights moved from a side tunnel. Ranulf raised his auspex.

  ‘War-plate signatures!’ he hissed, dropping into a crouch.

  The Space Wolves silently took up positions as best they could against the brick walls, some kneeling to allow others to fire over their heads and past their shoulders.

  The intruders stopped just out of sight. The vox crackled in Bulveye’s ear.

  ‘Valaskjalf.’

  Recognising the countersign, the name of the Thirteenth’s hall in the Fang, Bulveye replied with the name of its first lord.

  ‘Vali Thunderbrow.’

  Laughter rang out ahead. ‘Well met, Old Wolf!’

  The warrior that showed himself was Packmaster Vangun. A dozen others crammed into the tunnel after him, exchanging relieved greetings with the rest of the Old Guard. Vangun gestured to the portal.

  ‘We came through a while ago, an hour and more. The tunnels lead nowhere, as far as we can tell. We were just heading back.’

  Bulveye noted that there were at least three different squads amongst the men following the packmaster. ‘You’ve been picking up strays?’

  ‘A few. We’ve had some run-ins with the Thousand Sons, too.’

  Halvdan bristled. ‘Any
sign of that damned sorcerer?’

  ‘Once, but we didn’t get close. We lost three in that exchange.’

  Bulveye said nothing as they all returned to the portal together, but Ranulf fell into step beside him.

  ‘How many more will we lose, before we are done?’ the warrior asked in a low voice.

  ‘This is battle, brother. Casualties happen. We’re committed now. Right or wrong, we have to finish this, or it has been for nothing. We are here to destroy the Thousand Sons. The Wolf King and the Allfather demand nothing less. But I would not have counted you a pessimist before today, Ranulf.’

  ‘The wise man’s heart is seldom cheerful, Old Wolf.’

  Beyond the next jump they discovered a dazzling construction of crystal and mirrors. When all were through, assembling in half-packs across a cavernous space of glassy facets and reflective ceilings, Bulveye called the packmasters for conference. When they spoke, their voices echoed back bizarrely, as though from a space even more vast than the one it seemed they occupied.

  ‘I see at least three possible routes,’ he said. ‘A short recon, five minutes, and then we reconvene here.’

  He was going to continue when he noticed Jurgen was looking past him, back towards the portal. ‘That bodes ill...’

  Looking back, Bulveye saw that the energy gate had disappeared, leaving only a simple plinth of metal and stone. He could see the angled crystal of the far wall through it.

  Halvdan stepped behind the gate and waved his arm, perfectly visible the whole time. ‘Perhaps it is a good thing. We have reached the end of the line, the centre of this wretched maze of portals.’

  ‘Aye, with nowhere else to run,’ Bulveye replied, his mind set. ‘The plan does not change. We investigate and report back. Three forces.’

  He indicated the largest archway a few dozen metres ahead, and set off with his veterans. Their boots rang loudly on the hard floor, made of glassaic patterns almost black in their darkness, flecked with grey and red.

  Reaching the passageway he found the walls were of a thick, semi-opaque crystalline substance that took no mark even when Bulveye rapped his axe hard against it.

  Halvdan leaned close to peer through. ‘I can see something... distant...’