The Wolf Guard cast his eyes downward, to the blinking red telltale of the melta charges set beneath the bier. If the starport perimeter was ever breached and the Imperial defenders overrun, then Thorin's last duty was to hit the detonator and ensure that their lord would never become a trophy for the enemy.
A sense of inevitability hung over Sternmark. It was like riding a longship into the teeth of a storm and perching atop a towering wave, waiting for the moment when the prow would start to dip and the terrifying plunge would begin. Death comes for us all, sooner or later, but it was not death that the warrior feared. A part of him welcomed the coming foe and the brutal simplicity of battle. When the swords sang and blood flowed, a man's decisions meant life or death for him alone, not uncounted thousands half a world away.
What Sternmark feared was the stain of failure, and the realisation that he was not worthy of the challenge laid before him.
'Why?' he said softly, his hands tightening on the hilt of his blade. 'Why me?'
'If not you, Mikal Sternmark, then who?'
Sternmark leapt to his feet. For the briefest instant he thought it was Berek's voice that he heard, but then he recognised the smooth, practiced tones of Morgrim the skald. Sternmark felt his cheeks burn with the shame of his confession. He whirled, teeth bared, and saw Morgrim standing silently just within the bunker's entrance. His expression was unreadable as ever, but his eyes were sharp and clear.
Watching me. Marking my every mistake.
White hot rage boiled in Sternmark's breast. The weight of the sword felt good in his hands, and then he saw that the two of them were alone. I could kill him now, he thought wildly. My shame will die with him.
He took a single step forward… and then realised what he was doing. 'Blessed Russ!' he cried, wrestling with his revulsion and rage. He glared at Morgrim, furious at himself and the skald besides. 'No wonder you skalds are called stormcrows,' he growled, 'always sticking your beaks where they don't belong!' With a conscious effort Sternmark slammed Redclaw back into its scabbard. 'What will you say of this moment, I wonder?'
Morgrim cocked his head curiously. 'I will tell of a hero and a dutiful warrior who spent his hour before battle paying homage to his lord,' he said. 'What did you imagine I would say?'
'Don't lie to me!' Sternmark roared, once again feeling the rage claw through him. A vision danced before his eyes of the skald thrashing on the bunker floor, his eyes wide and his hands pressed to the shredded ruin of his throat. The Wolf Guard shook his head savagely, trying to drive the image from his mind. Blessed Russ, he thought, what is wrong with me?
'Do you think I haven't seen you these past few weeks?' Sternmark shouted. 'Dogging my steps and noting every false move I've made? Do you think me blind to the way you judge every decision I make?'
The skald's eyes narrowed. 'It's not my place to judge you,' he said carefully. 'My duty is to bear witness, and remember the deeds of our company.' He spread his hands. 'Do you think I do this out of spite, or for an evening's entertainment? No. I remember all the deeds of our brothers so that when times are desperate and our leaders are in need of advice, I will be able to help.'
'And now you've got a fine tale of a man's failure!' Sternmark shouted. 'If you manage to survive my blunders here on Charys you'll have a cautionary tale for the next lord who comes along.'
'What blunders are those?' Morgrim asked, and the sincere interest in his voice gave Sternmark pause.
The Wolf Guard groped for the right words. 'This… this looming defeat,' he said, clenching his fists. 'Nothing I've done here has stemmed the tide one whit, and you well know it. We're about to be overrun. Berek's great company is about to die, and the blame is mine.'
Morgrim did not answer at once, instead tugging thoughtfully at his beard. Finally, he said, 'Do you imagine Berek could have done any better?'
'Of course!' Sternmark snapped. 'How many battles has he won? How many times has he led us against impossible odds and stood triumphant?'
'Five hundred and thirty-seven.'
Sternmark frowned. 'What?'
'You asked how many battles Berek's won, and I told you, five hundred and thirty-seven. That's major battles, of course. We don't concern ourselves with skirmishes or raids unless they lead to something noteworthy.'
'Are you mocking me, stormcrow?' the Wolf Guard asked, incredulous.
'By the Allfather, I'm not!' Morgrim said with a laugh. 'Think on this: in five hundred and thirty-seven battles, do you not imagine that Berek had occasion to feel the exact same way you do now?'
Sternmark glowered at the skald. 'Why don't you tell me?'
'Morkai's black breath! Of course he did,' Morgrim replied. 'Paxos VI; Manes Primus; the whole of the damned Lucern Suppression,' he said, ticking them off with his fingers. 'And those are just the most recent ones. That's the burden of command, Mikal Sternmark: holding the lives of your brothers in your hands and knowing that no matter what you do, they could still die. Sometimes the enemy is stronger, or more clever, or just luckier. You can only do the best that you can, and the rest is up to fate.' The skald walked past Sternmark and stood next to the bier. 'Berek is a fine lord and a mighty warrior,' he said, 'but he still walked into an ambush in the governor's palace.' He shrugged. 'Perhaps he would have done things differently, perhaps not. Every light fails in time,' the skald said. 'Battles are lost. Heroes die.'
Sternmark looked down upon his stricken lord. 'I failed him, Morgrim.'
'No,' the skald replied, 'you never shirked from your duty. What man can do more?'
The Wolf Guard considered this, and found he only had one answer. He bent and picked up his helmet, turning its battered shape over in his hands. 'When the time comes we can fight and die like Wolves,' he said softly.
'And so we shall, brother. So we shall.'
The Fist of Russ limped away from Charys at half power, trailing a glittering stream of leaking air and coolant in her wake. Her augurs swept the void, searching for signs of danger, while the skeleton crew aboard prayed to the Divine Emperor that they would find none. Her shields were weak, only half her guns worked, and all but one of her port thrusters were out. The crippled battle cruiser wouldn't last long against a determined group of raiders, but the young Navigator on board told them not to worry. The voyage, she assured them, would be a short one.
Smoke still stained the bulkheads on the warship's command deck, and the air still smelled of burned wiring and scorched flesh. Tech-priests walked in solemn circles across the deck, swinging censers and intoning damage control catechisms. Shipmaster Wulfgar was alone on the deck, save for a handful of his senior officers. Their faces were grim as they went about their tasks, calling out orders with an almost funereal solemnity. Every one of them had volunteered for the mission. Sailors down to their bones, they had refused to give up the ship.
Shipmaster Wulfgar stood at the command pulpit, his hands gripping the lectern before him as he looked out over the bridge, below. He had been reading passages aloud from the Lexicanum lmperialis as the ship sailed on through the endless night, but he had fallen silent as Gabriella had climbed quietly inside the Navigator's vault. Torin and Haegr took positions at either side of the vault's adamantium hatch, as though their presence could somehow shield the Navigator from harm. Ragnar understood how they felt. The young Space Wolf caught Volt's watchful eye, and the inquisitor gave him a nod. Ragnar took a deep breath and moved quickly to Wulfgar's side.
The ship's master turned slightly at Ragnar's approach. Despite the added height of the pulpit, the bondsman was still a few centimetres shorter than the towering Space Wolf. Ragnar saw a pair of faded picts laid across the illuminated pages of the Lexicanum: a young boy in a bondsman's black tunic, grinning up at the imager, and a woman, tall and severe, wearing the armoured coveralls of an engineer. Wulfgar's right hand settled protectively over them as the young Space Wolf approached.
'The engine decks report ready,' Wulfgar said. 'We are merely awaiting word from the Navigator to commence jump. The Geller field has been shut down.'
Ragnar nodded slowly. 'I understand your concerns, Shipmaster Wulfgar,' he said, 'but I trust the Lady Gabriella with my life. If she and Inquisitor Volt say that there is a world on the other side, then there is.'
Wulfgar began to speak, but thought better of it and simply nodded instead.
'She also says that there is little chance we'll find any hostile forces above the planet's surface,' Ragnar continued, 'so our arrival should go unchallenged.' He looked Wulfgar in the eye. 'So you should have no problem completing the jump cycle and returning back to real space as soon as the strike team is deployed.'
The master of the ship turned fully about to face the young Space Wolf. 'That would be your death warrant,' he said. 'It takes many hours to recharge a warp drive under optimal conditions. You'd be dead before we could return to get you, providing we could even find our way back to the proper time and place.'
Ragnar nodded. 'But the ship – and her Navigator, our solemn charge – would be able to escape.'
Wulfgar studied Ragnar for a long moment. 'You've talked this over with the inquisitor?'
'I have. We are all agreed.'
The ship's master sighed, and then nodded solemnly. 'So be it. May the Allfather protect you all.'
Ragnar nodded solemnly, secretly relieved that he'd at least found a way to place Gabriella out of harm's way. The Thunderhawk carrying the strike team could deploy within minutes of reaching the shadow world. Gabriella wouldn't even need to leave the safety of her heavily armoured vault.
A red telltale began flashing on a screen set into the lectern. Wulfgar knew its meaning with a glance. 'Signal from the Navigator,' he said, turning back to the pulpit. He drew a deep breath and cried out across the bridge. 'All hands, stand by to jump!' As an afterthought, he glanced over his shoulder at Ragnar. 'You'd best find something to hang on to. Russ alone knows what will happen when we engage the drive.'
Ragnar looked dubious. 'And holding on to a stanchion is going to help?'
The ship's master shrugged. A faint grin touched one corner of his mouth. 'It can't hurt.'
Ragnar thought it over and shrugged. It was bad enough that they were going to leap headlong into the warp without protective shielding; there was no sense tempting fate any further. He stepped over to one side and closed his hands around the railing overlooking the ship's bridge.
Moments later the jump siren began its shrill cry. 'Stand by!' Wulfgar shouted. 'Stand by… jump!'
Without warning a howling wind tore across the command deck, cutting deep into Ragnar's bones. The massive battle cruiser pitched and yawed like a long-ship in the teeth of a gale, her massive superstructure groaning against the strain. Lights and strange, reflected shapes flowed like oil through the cathedrallike viewports of the bridge. The air curdled. Men screamed in terror, or ecstasy. Ragnar felt the unbridled desecration of Chaos crash over him like a wave and called out to the Allfather for deliverance.