The voices echoed and rang, as though being chanted in the great vaulted spaces of an ancient cathedral. They were pristine and perfect, like points of silver starlight in the dead of the night, guiding travellers home and keeping them away from danger. And they soared, filling Gabriel’s head with spirals of glittering faces as the choir of the Astronomican cycled through his mind, growing louder and louder as though drawing closer with every passing second.
And then the shift: the faces palled into mutation, their flesh running from their skulls as though melted by some immense heat, and their song was transformed into a cacophony of screams. But Gabriel was ready for his vision this time, and held his nerve, letting the abhorrent images spiral and swim, whirling into a cyclone of guilt and doubt. And there, gradually forming from the drips and tears of rendered flesh, swirling into focus in their core, there was the face of his friend. Isador stared back at him from his own consciousness, his face ripped and scarred, with tears of blood cascading down his cheeks.
A gentle pressure landed on his shoulder, and Gabriel flicked open his eyes. Chaplain Prathios stood before him, his hand resting firmly against Gabriel’s armour, and his wise eyes staring down at the captain, filled with compassion.
“I am sorry, Gabriel,” said the Chaplain in barely audible tones.
“He was a finer man than I am, Prathios. A more powerful warrior, and a devoted servant of the Emperor,” confessed Gabriel, unable to hold the Chaplain’s gaze for long.
“We all admired him, Gabriel,” replied Prathios simply, nodding his head towards the other Blood Ravens.
Kneeling in front of the ruins of the Emperor’s altar in the Temple of Dannan, Gabriel looked back over his shoulder. Matiel and Tanthius bowed their heads, each kneeling at the front of their squads, filling the centre of the nave with two brilliant columns of crimson armour, each Marine perched reverently on one knee with their helmets on the ground next to them.
The battle for the temple had not outlasted the death of the Chaos Lord. The Alpha Legionaries in the nave had been rapidly overrun, attacked from the front by the Terminators and Ckrius’ storm troopers, and from behind by Matiel’s Space Marines. In the end, it seemed that the Alpha Legion had left only a small force in the temple to defend their lord-although Mordecai was certain that this was because the bulk of the Chaos Marines had left with the sorcerer, slipping out of the temple through one of the many subterranean tunnels.
Gabriel rose to his feet and turned to face the assembly. Hidden in the shadows of the side aisles, he could see Sergeant Ckrius and his storm troopers-each standing to attention, but with their heads bowed, helmets tucked under their arms. And standing on his own in the opposite aisle was Mordecai, his warhammer slung casually over his shoulder, leaning back against the wall. He was an inquisitor, after all, reflected Gabriel, and not prone to feelings of regret or forgiveness.
“I knew Librarian Akios from the first moments that I donned the sacred armour of the Blood Ravens,” said Gabriel, addressing his men as though his old friend had died in the service of the Emperor. In a manner of speaking, he had died. If only he had died, thought Gabriel. The faces of the assembled Marines looked up to him, waiting for his words. “I knew him before then-as young warriors on the planet of Cyrene. He was a greater soldier than I ever was, and a wiser man. I have seen the powers of Librarians many times over the long decades of my service, but never have I seen a Blood Raven wield the kind of raw power, ability and will that was possessed by Isador. He saved my life many times, and was a guardian of my soul. He will be missed… I will miss him,” said Gabriel, his voice drifting off as his emotions caught up with him.
“But the Emperor’s justice is even-none may escape it. The Adeptus Astartes carry the wrath of the Emperor to all parts of the galaxy, visiting his righteous retribution against all those who turn against him. There can be no exceptions. Not even for a servant as loyal and devoted as Librarian Akios,” and not even for the innocent souls hidden in the midst of a cursed planet, added Gabriel in his mind. “The Blood Ravens prove their worth only in the face of the enemy, and even more so when this enemy is close to our hearts. Isador, my friend, is dead-and I vow here and now to liberate his body to this realisation.”
Throughout the temple, the Blood Ravens touched their right fists to the flagstones, and Gabriel nodded to them in silence. “The battle to come will test us all,” he continued, “and many of us will fall. But we will fall with our blood pure and our souls in the hands of the Emperor. We will die in glory, as the saviours of the burning remains of Tartarus, and as the vanquishers of the cursed Alpha Legion. We will die, but we will kill-and we kill for one reason, and for that reason alone: because we are right.”
There was no cheer from the Blood Ravens, no rousing cries to bring their souls to a frenzy. Rather, the Marines lifted their fists from the ground in silence, clasping them into their other hands, and offering them forward to Gabriel. Without exception, each Blood Raven bowed his head and offered his oath to his captain, vowing to follow him into the very gates of hell-for that was where they were going.
“Where to next, inquisitor?” asked Gabriel, striding down the steps outside the temple, side by side with Mordecai. “Isador was our best guide to the riddles of this planet. And we have wasted enough time on riddles-so be frank with me, Mordecai,” he continued, using the inquisitor’s personal name for the first time, “do you know where the Chaos Marines have gone?”
“The battle fought between the eldar and the forces of Chaos three thousand years ago took place on the summit of the twin-peaked mountain. It is not far from here-just a few kilometres to the north,” replied Mordecai. “But I cannot guarantee that the Alpha Legion will be there, Gabriel. I know nothing of this ‘Sindri’ of whom the Chaos Lord spoke, and… and I do not know how much your Librarian understood.” The inquisitor chose his words carefully, in an uncharacteristic display of compassion towards the Blood Ravens captain.
“Sindri is not my concern, Isador is. He has fallen… and he will find my blade waiting for him as he hits the ground… You may trust that he understands more than enough, inquisitor-he was a Blood Ravens Librarian, and well schooled in the arts of the scholar.”
“Then we should head for the mountain,” responded Mordecai, hesitating before going on, unsure how to phrase his thoughts. “Gabriel-you must understand now the weight of my original concerns here on Tartarus. I am sorry for your Librarian, but his loss is a potent symbol of the power of the Maledictum. I must admit… I was surprised that it was Isador who succumbed.”
“I know, Mordecai,” said Gabriel in a conciliatory tone. “You suspected me… You were not alone, inquisitor. For a while, I also doubted myself,” continued Gabriel, wincing slightly at the thought of the visions that had plagued him since his arrival on Tartarus.
“It takes either steel or rot to willingly condemn your own home-world, captain. You must understand my concerns-even a captain of the Adeptus Astartes has a breaking point, and putting your home and family to the torch could have been it. I sensed the burgeoning seed of Chaos in the midst of your company, and you seemed all too eager to shed more blood on Tartarus,” explained Mordecai, relieved to finally make his confession to the Blood Raven. “I was so certain, in fact, that I failed to notice its true source in the Librarian. I… I was wrong, captain.”
Gabriel nodded simply; he was unsurprised by the inquisitor’s revelations. Despite the fact that he could see the way that Mordecai was trying to be compassionate, Gabriel had more important things on his mind than the conscience of this inquisitor.
“We will discuss the matter another time, Mordecai. For now, we have an enemy that demands our ministrations,” said Gabriel as the two men reached the great chasm around the Dannan sector once again. The far side was a blaze of crimson armour, as the rest of the Blood Ravens from throughout the city had made their way to this point. Cut off from their captain after the battles with the eldar and hearing the roar of battle around the temple, the Marines had already rebuilt the bridge over the ravine. Now they stood waiting for the return of their captain, with their armour gleaming, and the turrets of their tanks raised in salute.
Gabriel and Mordecai strode over the bridge, with Tanthius and Matiel leading their squads behind them. Alongside the Blood Ravens marched Sergeant Ckrius and his storm troopers, proudly receiving the honour of the Space Marines as they joined the assembled force on the far bank. As they strode across the bridge, the towering Terminator armour of Tanthius leant down towards Ckrius, placing an immense gauntlet on the sergeant’s human shoulders. “You fought well, Ckrius. I will ensure that the captain is not ignorant of that.”
The sun was nearly at its apex, piercing between the clouds that always gathered around the high summit of the twin-peaked mountain. Isador clambered up the steep pass, cresting a rocky rise as he broke through the cloud line. For the first time he saw the ruins of the ancient mountain-city, now barely more than rubble. The city had been destroyed long ago, and the people of Tartarus had never bothered to rebuild it. They were not fond of high places, and, in any case, the sides of the mountain were barren and infertile-Lloovre Marr himself had instructed that the cities should be built down in the fecund valleys, on the alluvial plains.
Climbing onto the remains of the old city wall, Isador turned and looked back down the mountain. A few kilometres away, on the rim of the great valley, wherein nestled the city of Lloovre Marr, a cloud of dust barrelled towards the foot of the mountain. As the sun beat down on the movement, Isador could see glints of crimson sparkling through the dust, and he knew immediately that the Blood Ravens were on their way.
Are you looking for me? The familiar whispering voice eased into his head and made him turn away from the vista, turning to look down into the ruins of the old city itself. In the midst of the moss-enshrouded rubble, his dual-pronged staff held vertically in one hand, stood the acid-green figure of a Chaos sorcerer. His bladed helmet glinted in the midday sun, and his visor glowed with a deep red.
Sindri, whispered Isador, returning the voiceless conversation. You are a difficult person to find.
I have been waiting, not hiding, Librarian, slithered the thoughts of the sorcerer, as Isador leapt down from the wall, crunching the uneven ground under his boots.
“You allowed me to take this stone,” said Isador, producing the Maledictum and holding it out in front of him. “You were true to your word-which makes you a fool.”
“It remains to be seen whether you will be true to yours,” replied Sindri, holding out his hand, as though expecting the Blood Raven to surrender the stone voluntarily. “Will you use it to slay me, as you promised… or will you simply hand it over, like a good little puppet.”
“I think that I will keep the stone with me, sorcerer. You are too weak to stomach its gifts, otherwise you would have taken it yourself,” said Isador, pacing in a circle around Sindri at a careful distance. “And now, I will keep my promise-to you and to the Emperor. Now, I will destroy you and end your delusional scheme here on Tartarus.”
Isador took another couple of strides, prowling around his victim. Stopping abruptly, Isador set his back foot into the ground and pushed off towards Sindri, the Maledictum held clasped against his staff, pushed out like a lance in front of him. As he dived forward, his force staff burst into life, a field of coruscating energy erupting along its length.
The Chaos sorcerer turned to face the thrust, but made no attempt to evade it. Instead, he held out one gauntleted finger and a tiny thread of purple jetted out of it, striking the Maledictum. With a sudden flare of warp energy, the stone burst into life, magnifying the power of Isador’s staff immeasurably, and surrounding the Librarian in a crackling, pulsing field of purple light.
As he lunged towards the sorcerer, Isador felt his feet lift off the ground, but he pushed on, focussing his will and driving forward with sheer determination. But his lunge was never completed. The field of warp energy stopped him in his tracks and lifted him into the air, suspended on a thin thread of power that flowed out of Sindri’s forefinger.
A flood of whispers and slices of pain cut into Isador’s mind, taunting him and attacking the very fabric of his soul. His body spasmed, racked with agony as the daemonic force of the Maledictum fought against his grip. Chaotic voices cried into his ears, and his body went suddenly rigid, as though shot through with electricity. Then his force staff erupted into flames, burning his hands until the flesh in his gauntlets started to blister and melt. With a sudden explosion, the staff shattered, spraying fragments and shards of the ancient weapon into Isador’s face and lacerating his skin.
As suddenly as it had begun, it ended, and Isador collapsed to the ground, broken and bleeding, the Maledictum glowing faintly in his ruined hands.
“Lord Bale was likewise foolish in believing that I was defenceless, Librarian. He also thought that he was in control of his own destiny. Like you, he was wrong,” said Sindri, peering down into the face of Isador with mock concern as the stone flared again and the Librarian writhed in agony.
“The orks also thought rather more of their own abilities than of mine. And their simple arrogance was very useful to me,” continued Sindri, apparently compelled to share the details of his machinations with his fallen adversary. “And now it seems that even the great Blood Ravens have played their part, exactly as planned.”
The stone pulsed again, and Isador cried out as its energies riddled his body with pain. He looked up at Sindri and spat. “You have not seen the last of the Blood Ravens, sorcerer. I am their worst, not their best.”
“Ah, such humility, Librarian,” replied Sindri, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I think that you hold much promise-much promise, indeed. And for that I should kill you, in case your abilities prove too great a threat to my plans-your honoured battle-brothers are far too narrow-minded to appreciate them.”
With a slow gesture, Sindri pushed his hand down towards the fallen Librarian, his fist crackling with energy, and Isador braced himself for the death blow. But it never came. Instead, the Maledictum flashed out of his grasp and darted up into the outstretched hand of the sorcerer. Isador slumped back against the ground as the agony left his body.
“But I have already invested so much in you. And, to be honest, even if you had a century to prepare, you would still be too late to prevent me from achieving my glory tonight. Now, I must see to my own preparations, and you… you must attend to your dear captain’s demise, if you are capable,” said Sindri, taunting the broken Librarian.
“I will not serve you, sorcerer,” moaned Isador, hardly able to move.
“It does not matter what you want to do, Librarian-you have already ensured that the valiant Captain Angelos will hunt you down. You will either kill him, or you will die. The choice is yours, but it is not much of choice, is it…?” said Sindri, turning away from the crumpled figure of Isador and striding away into the ruined city.
As he disappeared behind the remains of a stone building, his thoughts washed back into Isador’s mind: You have already served me, Librarian-I forgot to thank you for delivering the Maledictum.
In the distance a bolt of lightning flashed out of the sky, striking the forest off to the east of the huge mountain. A brood of dark clouds was gathering on the horizon, and distant thunder rumbled with foreboding. The landscape was cast into two, with half lit under the brilliant afternoon sun and the other half shrouded in the advancing shadow of the storm.
The faint rattle of gunfire and the distant, erratic thud of explosives sent little Shockwaves pulsing down the mountainside, but Gabriel could not yet see the site of the battle, as he looked out of the roof hatch of the leading Rhino in the column of Blood Ravens.
As the convoy roared up the mountain, grinding over the barren, rocky terrain, Gabriel started to see signs that combat had been joined along that route. It started with the broken body of an Alpha Legionary, riddled with holes and his back broken as he lay slumped backwards over a large boulder. But then, as they made their way higher up the slope, there were more bodies. Not only the shattered, bulky forms of Alpha Legionaries, but also the hacked and mutilated bodies of the graceful eldar. Gabriel took all of this as a sign that he was on the right track. More worrying, however, was the occasional bloodied body of an Imperial Guardsman, perforated by shuriken fire.
“It looks like we are the last to join the party,” said Gabriel, his face taut against the wind as the Rhino rushed up the mountainside.
“No, captain,” replied Mordecai, his mouth cracking into a smile for the first time. “The party can’t start without us.”
Gabriel laughed weakly, straining his eyes against the wind, trying to distinguish individual shapes amongst the flashes and confusion at the summit of the mountain. But they were still too far away, not even the Space Marine’s enhanced ocular system could resolve the images. He thumped down on the roof of the Rhino, willing the machine to move faster.
Behind him, the full force of the Third Company was arrayed in a glorious convoy. He had lost too many Marines on Tartarus already, but this was the moment for which they had all fought and died. The remnants of the Assault Bike squadrons bounced along the flanks of the column, and the remaining tanks rumbled along in the middle, interspersed with Rhinos. On either side of Gabriel’s Rhino skimmed the Typhoons, and immediately behind came the Land Raider, which contained Tanthius’ surviving Terminators. Visible through the open side-doors was Tanthius himself and, dwarfed by the immense size of the Blood Raven, Sergeant Ckrius rode alongside him-his storm troopers having been loaded into the spaces left by fallen Marines in the various Rhinos.
“Sergeant Ckrius is a fine soldier,” said Mordecai, flicking his head back towards the Razorback.
“Yes, Tanthius has spoken highly of him,” replied Gabriel without looking round. “But look at his brethren,” he added, casting an arm out to indicate the bodies of the Guardsmen on the mountainside. “They are cowards and traitors, tainted by Chaos.”
“There are some pure souls on Tartarus, Gabriel,” countered Mordecai. “Not all of them have succumbed. It is a testament to his character that he has remained so resolute.”
“Perhaps,” said Gabriel, “but we are not here to recruit new Marines, inquisitor.”
“So many have fallen, captain. You must look to the future-not even the mighty Blood Ravens live forever,” said Mordecai, hesitating as he wondered whether he was overstepping the mark. “Even Cyrene had some souls worth saving,” he added, aware of the ambiguity of his words.
“And yet we saved none-and some who survived have betrayed the memory of those who should have been saved,” responded Gabriel bitterly, snapping his head round to face Mordecai, his eyes burning with a confusion of pain-Cyrene, Tartarus, and Isador spiralled through his mind. “I know nothing of the soul of this Ckrius-how can I know that he will not crack under the responsibilities of a Blood Raven?”
“You cannot know, captain. You must have faith,” said Mordecai gently. “Just as Chaplain Prathios once showed such faith in you.”
Gabriel looked off into the distance, watching the storm gathering on the horizon. Then he nodded, reaching a decision. “Very well, inquisitor-you are right. If the young sergeant survives this day, he will take the Blood Trials. The loss of Isador warrants a new birth in the Blood Ravens.”
A scout bike came bouncing down the mountainside towards the convoy, followed by two more bikes, struggling to keep pace with their speeding sergeant. The lead biker hit the brakes as he drew alongside the Rhino and slid his back wheel round 180 degrees, spinning it in the dust as he drew level with Gabriel. The sergeant tugged at his helmet, casting it aside, and Gabriel smiled broadly, dropping down to the side-hatch to talk to the veteran sergeant.
“Corallis! It is good to see you, old friend,” called Gabriel through the wind.
“Thank you, captain,” he answered, waving his new arm for his friend to see. “The Apothecaries on the Litany of Fury patched me up and packed me off again-it is good to be back, Gabriel.”
Gabriel just nodded, this was not the time for reunions, and Corallis knew that he was pleased to have him back. “What news?” he said, indicating the area of the mountain from whence Corallis had come.
“A ruined city lies around to the west. It appears deserted. To the east there is a mob of orks lumbering towards the summit. On the summit are the Alpha Legion and a few eldar-the aliens are badly outgunned, captain. Their numbers are small,” reported Corallis.
“Lend me your bike, sergeant,” said Gabriel, reaching his hand out to clasp that of Corallis. “I have a feeling that destiny is calling me from that old city-and I don’t want to keep it waiting.”
In a smooth movement, Gabriel lifted Corallis off the bike and leapt across onto it, taking the sergeant’s place before the bike unbalanced. From the hatch of the Rhino, Corallis looked over at his captain: “I hope that you find him, Gabriel.”
“He will be waiting, I know it… Keep the Blood Ravens on course-I will see you on the summit,” said Gabriel, revving the bike’s engine into a great growl and spinning the back wheel as he peeled away from the convoy and roared off to the west.
A cloud of dust kicked up off the ground as Gabriel slid the rear of his bike round, bring it parallel to the ruins of the old city wall and killing the engine. He stood on the bike and then vaulted up onto the crumbling wall. On the other side was a small clearing, strewn with rubble and cracked masonry, some of it overgrown with moss and creeping plants. Once, it must have been a courtyard or a marketplace, but now it was just a mess of stone fragments and wreckage.
On the far side of the clearing, between two ruined buildings, stood the blue-armoured figure of a Space Marine. His back was turned and his arms were outstretched to the sides, his palms pressed against the walls as though he were holding them up.
Gabriel saw Isador at once and stood for a moment, motionless on the top of the city walls, staring at the back of this old friend. He had never thought that it would come to this, and his soul rebelled against the very ethical imperative that gave his life direction-perhaps Isador could be an exception?
No exceptions, Gabriel, came the voice of Isador, slipping into Gabriel’s mind as though whispered lovingly in his ear.
The Blood Ravens captain vaulted off the wall and crunched down into the old marketplace, landing with one knee touched to the ground and his fist driven into the flagstones, while his other hand rested on the hilt of his chainsword.
“No exceptions, old friend,” said Gabriel in a whisper that Isador could not have heard.
As Gabriel rose to his feet, his hand still poised over the hilt on his chainsword, Isador’s feet lifted off the ground. The Librarian rose about a metre off the flagstones, with his arms still stretched out by his sides, and then he started to revolve slowly. After a few seconds, his body faced directly towards Gabriel, but his head was bowed to the floor, hiding his face in shadows.
You are a fool, Gabriel, came Isador’s thoughts. You were always shortsighted-your mind closed to the very powers that could make you great. I have seen you struggling with yourself. Why struggle, when the power is there just waiting to be released?
“Because it is wrong, Isador. Because there are some things more important than power,” said Gabriel, stalking slowly towards the levitating figure.
There was no movement from Isador-he just seemed to hang in the air, as though suspended on an invisible cross. You are wrong, old friend. There is nothing more important than power: how ridiculous that you, a Space Marine, can still believe that power is not the goal of all our efforts. We crave it-and without it we would be nothing more than primitives. Without it, Cyrene would still be a seething pool of mutation and heresy. Power makes us right, Gabriel. And you are wrong-for you and your faith are no match for me.
“Of all my brothers, why you? You, out of all of us, you were always the strongest,” said Gabriel, taking another cautious step towards the Librarian, his voice rich with emotion.
That is why, foolish Gabriel. That is why. Can you imagine being forced to serve the weak and the fumbling? Could you be commanded by that nauseating wretch Brom? Strength should command, not some pathetic notion of justice. The thoughts were bitter and dripping with venom, making Gabriel’s mind recoil.
“You are not yourself, old friend. I have heard these words before-the cursed Warmaster Horus said as much to the Emperor himself as he unleashed bloody civil war on the galaxy. These sentiments would have found no place in the heart of Isador Akios, Librarian of the Blood Ravens,” said Gabriel, reaching his hand to his head in a reflex response to the pain. “These are not the words of my friend.”
A crack of lightning arced across the sky and thunder crashed as the storm drew closer to the mountain. Isador finally raised his face from the ground and stared at Gabriel, his eyes ablaze with red and golden flames, and his face a ruined mess of cuts, scars and streams of blood. Then I am not your friend.
The words wracked Gabriel with pain, and he slumped to the ground clutching his head. Isador was weak-willed, but his body is strong. He resisted a little, but I broke him easily. This form will be enough to smite you, captain-an entertainment while I await the coming storm.
The voice in his head had lost its aura of Isador; it hissed and cackled, burning Gabriel’s mind and licking at it with blades, slicing at his soul to the point of submission. Gabriel writhed on the ground, his body spasming as his mind played cruel tricks on his nervous system.
I am stronger than you could ever imagine-the daemons and the gods tremble before me, fearing my wrath, fearing my power, fearing the coming of the storm.
Gabriel staggered back to his feet, swaying uneasily and gripping his head in the gauntlet of one hand.
This could have been you, Gabriel. You showed such promise on Cyrene-slaughtering the innocent with the guilty in one stroke. Such power. Such glory. There was a part of you that thrilled when you ordered the strikes, I know it. Part of you thrilled when you betrayed your own people-because you had the power to do it.
Roaring with the release of pent-up rage, Gabriel lurched forward towards the husk of Isador. “I betrayed no one!” he cried as his chainsword flashed from its scabbard, spun once in the air, and then plunged deeply into the Librarian’s chest. “Not even you, Isador.”
The fires in his eyes flared suddenly and his mouth fell open in shock, then Isador fell out of the sky and collapsed to the ground. Immediately, the daemonic whisperings in Gabriel’s head subsided, and he could hear the faint chorus of the Astronomican echoing around his soul once again, giving direction to his faith.
“Innocents die so that humanity may live, Isador,” said Gabriel, pulling his blade out of his friend’s primary heart, “not because we prove our power by killing them. I ended their suffering and saved their souls-and I will do the same for you… not because I can, but because I must.”
The Librarian’s eyes flickered back into blue, and he gazed up at his old friend with his own eyes for the last time. “I was wrong, Gabriel,” he coughed, trails of blood seeping out of the corner of his mouth. “I thought that I was strong enough to control it. I thought that I could use its power for the good of the Imperium… you must see that.”
“I believe you, old friend,” said Gabriel, smiling faintly as he saw the familiar light return to Isador’s eyes. It flickered weakly, on the point of extinction. “That is why I bring you redemption myself.”
Gabriel dropped his chainsword to the ground and drew his bolt pistol. He knelt for a moment at the side of the dying Librarian, and reached out his gauntleted hand, grasping Isador’s wrist firmly. “Goodbye, Isador. May the Emperor shelter your soul from the storm.”
Standing slowly, Gabriel fired a single shot from his boltpistol and turned away. He strode to the ruined city wall without looking back, and vaulted over it, landing smoothly on his bike on the other side. Kicking the bike’s engine into life, Gabriel spun the rear wheel and left the old city in the dust.
C.S. Goto (ebook by Undead)
01 – Dawn of War