'Not yet, thank Russ,' the Wolfblade said, glancing up at the empty sky. 'We heard the enemy fighters fly overhead a few times as we were trying to cut our way out of the ship, but they were gone by the time we made it outside.'
'Lady Gabriella?' Ragnar inquired.
Torin indicated a spot off behind Ragnar with a curt nod of his chin. 'Haegr is watching her,' he replied gravely. 'She's not doing too well.'
His pain forgotten, Ragnar clambered quickly to his feet. Gabriella was sitting just a few metres away, her legs drawn up and her head resting on her knees. Haegr loomed protectively over the Navigator, his thunder hammer held at the ready. Inquisitor Volt knelt beside Gabriella, speaking to her in low tones. The rest of Harald's Blood Claw pack formed a security perimeter some way off, diligently scanning the surrounding terrain for signs of danger.
Ragnar approached the Navigator carefully and sank down into a crouch next to Inquisitor Volt. The inquisitor paid the young Space Wolf no mind. His head was bowed and he was reading from a small book resting in his bandaged hands. With a start, Ragnar realised that Volt was praying, reciting a litany in High Gothic that he'd never heard before. He sensed it was being done for Gabriella's benefit, but he could not follow the specifics.
Leaning forward, Ragnar spoke softly to Gabriella. 'Lady? Are you well?'
At the sound of his voice, the Navigator raised her head. Gabriella's pale face was smudged with soot and grime, and her expression was one of pure anguish. Her scarf was gone and her black hair hung loosely about her face. In the centre of her forehead the Navigator's pineal eye burned like a tiny star, stunning Ragnar with its intensity.
'I can feel it,' she said in a stricken voice, 'lines of terrible power stretching into the physical realm, anchored by the suffering of millions. The fabric of space turned inside out, warped by the will of…' A look of horror passed across her face. 'I cannot say it! I dare not say it! Blessed Emperor preserve us!'
'The Emperor is with us,' Volt told her, his voice trembling with conviction. 'His sacred light shields us, and he has set his Wolves to watch over us. Be strong, Gabriella of Bellisarius,' he said, and laid a hand gently on her arm. 'What can you tell us of the ritual our foe is planning?'
'Planning?' Gabriella said. 'No, not planning, performing. It has been going on for some time. I can hear their voices in my head, whispering terrible things. Whatever the ritual portends, it is nearing its culmination.'
Volt squeezed her arm compassionately and glanced at Ragnar. 'It is worse than I feared,' he said quietly, but it was unclear if he was speaking about the ritual or the effect it was having on Gabriella. 'There isn't much time left.'
Ragnar nodded gravely. 'Lady, we need to get moving,' he said, as gently as he could. 'Can you walk? One of us can carry you if need be—'
'I can walk,' Gabriella said forcefully, though the strain of what she was feeling was painfully apparent in her eyes. 'I can do whatever I must.'
'Then rest for a few moments more,' Ragnar replied, and turned to Volt. 'Do you have any idea where we are?'
Volt closed his book of devotions and nodded, surveying the dark plain that surrounded them. 'We're about a hundred kilometres due south of the capital,' he said, and then pointed to the roadway. 'This is one of the main transit routes linking the southern agri-combines. It leads right into the heart of the city.'
Ragnar scowled at the news. Time was of the essence. The Space Wolves could cover a hundred kilometres in less than seven hours at a forced march, but there was no way that Gabriella, Volt or the bondsmen would be able to manage such a pace. 'The roadway is too exposed,' he said to the inquisitor. 'The enemy fighters have gone for now, but I expect that something will arrive to search the wreckage before much longer.'
Volt nodded. 'I fear you're right.' He put away his book and then gestured to the north, where the grey stripe of the roadway bisected a dark green band that stretched across the horizon. 'We'll head for that agri-combine. It's much smaller than most, but the crops will give us some cover for at least twenty kilometres.'
Ragnar shook his head, bemused. 'What does a shadow world deep within the Eye of Terror need with crops and agri-combines?'
'It's the law of correspondence,' Volt said. 'The shadow world has to be an exact geographical copy of Charys for the co-location to work.'
'All right,' Ragnar said. 'What about the mountain range beyond the combine? If we follow it instead of the roadway, how close will it take us to the city?'
Volt pursed his lips thoughtfully. 'We could follow them to within ten kilometres of the city's south-west districts,' he said, 'but it would be rough going.'
Ragnar nodded. 'Then that's what we'll have to do.'
'What's this?'
Ragnar and Volt looked up at the sound of Harald's voice. The pack leader had arrived with his three Blood Claws and the surviving Thunderhawk crew in tow. Two of the warriors carried the heavy bolters stripped from the assault ship on improvised shoulder slings. The tech-priest and the assault ship's gunners were carrying stubby lascarbines in their hands and had bulky survival packs on their shoulders.
Harald glared down at Ragnar. 'You're not in command here, exile,' the pack leader said. 'No one's taking orders from you.'
A shadow fell across Harald as Haegr leaned forward, his hands tightening around the haft of his hammer. 'Shall I thrash some sense into this pup, brother?' he asked.
Harald bristled at the threat. 'I'd like to see you try,' he said, baring his fangs.
'That's enough,' Volt snapped, rising to his feet between the two warriors. The Wolves stood head and shoulders above the old man, but the inquisitor's tone was hard and unyielding. 'Ragnar isn't in command of this expedition, but I am, and we're heading for the agri-combine. Harald, assemble your men. I want two of your Wolves on point and one covering each flank, understood?'
The pack leader stared down at Volt for a long moment, and Ragnar thought for an instant that Harald was going to challenge the inquisitor. Then, just as suddenly, he nodded an acknowledgement and began calling out orders to his men.
Volt began to gather up his gear without comment, as though nothing had happened. Haegr held out a hand to Gabriella and helped the Navigator to her feet. Torin appeared quietly out of the gloom. Only Ragnar noticed the older Wolfblade sliding his pistol back into its holster. The two warriors shared apprehensive looks.
'Not a good beginning,' Torin said softly, as the band prepared to move out. 'Harald's only barely holding it together.'
Ragnar glanced thoughtfully to the north. 'Aren't we all,' he replied.
FOURTEEN
The Lost
Distances were deceiving on the vast, dark plains of the shadow world. When they'd set out from the crash site, Ragnar had reckoned they were only a few dozen kilometres from the edge of the agri-combine, but an hour later they still seemed no closer to their objective. The Space Wolves loped along at a tireless, ground-eating pace, their eyes restlessly scanning the horizon for signs of enemy activity. The bondsmen, accustomed as they were to the physical regimens of the Fang, kept up the pace without complaint. Inquisitor Volt and Lady Gabriella did the same, but Ragnar could tell that they were beginning to tire. Their scents were bitter, laced with crippling fatigue poisons. Gabriella in particular was suffering greatly after the difficulty of the warp transit, yet she held her head high and never slowed. Ragnar followed along in her wake, waiting for her to ask for help or to catch her up in case she should stumble.
He could hear the labouring beats of her heart, drumming a desperate counterpoint to the rhythmic cadence of her feet. When he breathed, he could taste the warmth of her skin and feel the heat of her blood on the tip of his tongue. Since he'd set foot on the shadow world his senses had become incredibly sharp. An almost electrical charge galvanised his blood and banished the weariness from his limbs. It felt as though he could run forever under this starless sky, pacing along in Gabriella's wake and listening to the beat of her heart, waiting for her to stumble.
The surge of pure, soulless hunger that gripped him nearly took Ragnar's breath away. For a fleeting instant he could imagine her throat within his jaws and taste the hot rush of her blood. He staggered, bile rising in his throat, and fell out of step with his brothers.
The rest of the pack loped past Ragnar, all except for Torin, who slowed his pace and came up alongside the young Space Wolf. The older Wolfblade's expression was full of concern, but Ragnar waved him away with a savage sweep of his hand. 'Keep your distance brother,' he said hoarsely. 'I… am not myself.'
'I know, brother,' Torin replied quietly. 'I can smell it. Your scent is changing as the Wulfen grows in strength.'
'Russ preserve me,' Ragnar said, his hearts clenching in horror. He looked out across the featureless plain and for a fleeting instant he was tempted to run as fast and as far from his brethren as he could. 'I can't believe Harald or the others haven't noticed.'
'The reason is simple,' Torin replied, his voice grim. 'They can't tell the difference because it's happening to all of us.'
Ragnar scowled at Torin, thinking for a moment that he was being mocked, but then he saw the look in the older Wolfblade's eyes. Behind the concern there was a cold, desperate glint, hinting at the inner struggle going on inside the warrior. Ragnar suddenly noticed the tension gripping Torin's lean frame and caught the older Wolfs scent. There was a musky undercurrent that immediately set the young Space Wolf's teeth on edge. Instead of his battle-brother, Ragnar saw only another predator and a potential rival.
The sudden realisation struck Ragnar like a physical blow. He reeled away from Torin, his lips pulling back in a feral snarl.
Before he could react further, Torin's voice pulled Ragnar back from the brink. 'Peace, brother!' he said quickly, stepping forward and gripping Ragnar's wrist. 'Master yourself, or all of us are lost.'
Ragnar clenched his jaws and fought against the beast that threatened to suborn him. He focused on Torin's unwavering gaze and the steadying grip of his hand, and after a moment the fire in his blood subsided. When he could speak again he asked, 'How can this be, Torin? How is this possible?'
The older Wolfblade could only shake his head helplessly. 'I do not know,' he said. 'I've sensed the changes ever since we landed here. Even Haegr is being affected to some degree.' Torin grinned fleet-ingly. 'If we're not careful he might try to eat us all.'
The attempt at humour was lost on Ragnar. 'I've never heard of so many Wolves succumbing at once,' he said.
'Nor I,' Torin replied. 'At first I thought that the planet was affecting us – we are somewhere in the Eye of Terror, after all – but you were feeling the curse when we were still on Fenris.' The older warrior's shoulders slumped. 'I should have seen it then and brought it to Ranek's attention, but you can be so damned melancholy sometimes.' He sighed. 'Forgive me brother. I failed you.'