The three heavy shells detonated in a single, earth shaking blast that staggered the kneeling Wolves, and pitched Sven onto his back. For a single instant, the slope of the hill was painted in fiery orange. Then a shower of earth and smouldering pieces of flesh fell in a dark rain around the rebel battery.
Sternmark was on his feet before the flash had completely faded, charging among the stunned and wounded artillerymen. Redclaw flashed and hummed, splitting torsos and severing arms. A handful of gunners staggered to their feet and ran, screaming curses. Hell-guns barked, and their smoking bodies tumbled to the ground. Within seconds, the slaughter was complete.
The Wolf Guard studied the guns. One of the mortars had flipped onto its side, but the rest seemed unscathed. 'Sven, you and your brothers right that mortar,' he said. 'Bjorn, Nils and Karl, fetch more shells.' He pointed to the summit of the hill. 'Haakon, you'll spot for targets.'
The Wolves leapt into action at once, realising Sternmark's plan. Haakon strode swiftly up the slope while the other three Terminators pulled apart more crates and hefted mortar shells like oversized boltgun rounds. Within moments, they were being fed into the breeches of the six waiting siege mortars.
'Targets?' Sternmark called.
Haakon peered over the slope. 'A motorised battalion between us and the starport,' he said, raising the targeting surveyor in his hand. 'Range six hundred and fifty to seven hundred metres.'
Sven and his packmates raced between the mortar tubes, dialling in the range. When they were ready he raised his hand to Sternmark. The Wolf Guard smiled coldly.
'Fire.'
The mortars went off in a staggered volley, spitting half-tonne shells high into the air. They screamed like the souls of the damned, and Sternmark threw back his head and howled along with them. By the time the first shells burst among the unsuspecting rebels Sternmark had crested the slope and was charging towards the foe.
Haakon had guided the shells right onto their target. The rebel unit had been assembling behind another line of low hills, their trucks and armoured cars massed in a disorderly knot behind the highest ridge line. Now the vehicles were smashed to pieces or tossed around like children's toys, spraying burning fuel across the blackened earth. Bodies and pieces of bodies lay everywhere, and wounded men tried to crawl or stagger away from the scene of carnage.
The Wolves raced among them, slashing and striking without mercy. Sternmark scythed his way through the screaming traitors, his teeth bared at the smell of hot blood. Las-bolts crackled through the smoky air. Once, an infantryman lurched upright, struggling to aim a meltagun with a pair of charred hands, but Nils blew him apart with the last of his storm bolter shells.
Sternmark found the battalion commander trying to climb out from under a pile of bodies, and struck off his head with a casual swipe of his sword. Enemy return fire was intensifying as the survivors recovered from the shock of the barrage. He spied almost a platoon of soldiers retreating farther south, firing wildly at the warriors of Fenris.
Snarling the Wolf Guard made to pursue the fleeing traitors, but Sven let out a yell. 'The way is clear, lord!' he said, waving his chainblade from the summit of the next hill. 'We're fifteen hundred metres from the starport.'
Sternmark paused. For a moment he couldn't make sense of what Sven was saying. His bodyguard rushed up to surround him, firing well-aimed shots into the retreating traitors. Mikal tasted the blood of his foes upon his lips and eyed the fleeing rebels hungrily.
Somewhere, off in the distance, he felt a tremor, like the fall of a heavy shell or the first drumbeat of a coming storm. It tugged at him, making his veins tremble like plucked wires and catching the breath in his throat.
Mikal turned, seeking the source of the thunder. Haakon gripped his arm. 'What are your orders, lord?' he asked in his rough voice.
Sternmark struggled to focus on Haakon's face. He could sense the rebel troops escaping, drawing further away with every passing moment, and longed to run them down. 'We…' he began, struggling to pull the words from the red tide in his mind. Chase them. Drag them to the earth and tear open their throats.
Haakon frowned, worried. He, too, seemed to feel something strange in the air. 'The men are waiting, lord,' he said.
'The men…' Sternmark echoed. He breathed deeply, and then nodded towards the slope. 'Right. Let's go.'
The Wolves fell in behind their leader as he marched stolidly up the slope. At the summit he saw the broad expanse of the starport spread before him and the killing ground littered with the dead. Energy bolts and tracer fire sped back and forth across the corpse choked field as Imperial troops and rebel forces along the causeway traded volleys.
Sven eyed the field warily. 'A quick and easy run for once,' he said.
The Wolf Guard shook his head savagely. 'I've done enough running for one day,' he growled. 'From here, we walk.' And, raising his ancient blade to the sky, he started forward.
For ten minutes, the Space Wolves strode across the smoking plain, in full view of both sides. Redclaw caught the light of the setting sun and her blade shone like an evening star, drawing the eye of every soldier within sight. Almost at once, rebel gunners opened fire on the slowly marching warriors, but the las-bolts and stubber fire flew wide of their targets. Sternmark did not alter his pace in the slightest, his head straight and his stride measured. A chance shot cracked against his side, but his armour held and he missed not a single step.
By the time they reached the middle ground between the two sides, the Wolves could hear the cheering from the Imperial fortifications. Return fire stabbed out at the rebel troops, providing cover for the heroic Space Marines, and lone voices called out encouragement to Sternmark and his men. More shots flashed through the knot of bloodstained warriors. The rebels were firing grenades at long range, sending hot pieces of shrapnel ringing against the Wolves' flanks. A missile streaked from a rebel position to the south, but its aim was poor and the shot fell short.
Three hundred metres. Two hundred and fifty. A shot from a heavy stubber smashed into Sternmark's hip, shattering against the armour and sending splinters into his leg. Mortar rounds whistled overhead, smashing into the earth ahead of the Wolves like burning fists.
'Nice day for a walk!' Sven shouted into the din. A las-bolt cracked against his leg, and he brushed irritably at the scorch mark it left. 'Pity about the bugs, though!'
They were climbing the long slope up to the first of the Imperial entrenchments. Sternmark could see the grimy, cheering faces of the troops, calling out to him from their firing positions. They were less than a hundred metres away.
He faintly heard the clatter of treads far off to the west, and a lusty shout went up from the rebel positions. Then, too late, he heard the hollow boom of a battle cannon.
The world seemed to slow to a turgid crawl. Sternmark's senses grew supernaturally sharp. He could feel the rumble of displaced air as the heavy shell arced towards them. Pulverised rock and bits of dirt rang off his armour like tiny chimes as he turned, looking back towards impending doom.
The shell was a dark, thumb-shaped smudge in the air, spinning lazily as it fell. Next to him, Sternmark heard Sven draw in a sharp breath.
'Allfather protect us,' the Grey Hunter said, and the world vanished in an eruption of earth and flame.
SEVENTEEN
The Wolf King's Hall
Shouts and bestial snarls shook the air of the narrow canyon. Fists and blades clashed against ceramite plate as warriors clawed at their breasts in rage and pain. Ragnar howled in helpless fury, his fingers digging deep furrows in the lifeless earth. It felt as though his body was tearing itself apart from the inside out. His muscles writhed like maddened snakes, constricting around his reinforced bones and bending them with the strain. His eyes burned and his teeth ached to their roots, and it felt as though a swarm of stinging insects was crawling hungrily beneath his skin. Ragnar pitched forward and smashed his forehead against the lifeless ground again and again, trying to drive out the awful sensations with jolts of pure, honest pain.
The Wulfen snarled hungrily within him, setting its teeth deep in his bones. Ragnar tore clumsily at his armour, as though he could reach in and rip the beast from his body. The tips of his fingers ached fiercely, and mindless with rage, he tugged at the gauntlets with his teeth, trying to pull them free.
Voices were shouting all around him, but he could not make any sense of the words. Wolves snapped and snarled, clashing their fearsome jaws. The air was thick with the acid reek of anger and the sweet, heady smell of blood.
Something small crashed against him, and soft blows beat at his chest and face. A thin, piping sound reverberated in his ears. Shaking his head savagely, Ragnar gripped the flailing object and heard a gasp of fear. Breath ghosted against his face, and his eyes opened in surprise.
Gabriella's face was centimetres from his, her expression stern, but her eyes shining with fear. His hand was closed tight around her upper arm, hard enough to crack the carapace armour she wore.
She drew back her hand and slapped him hard across the face. The gauntlet came away slick with blood.
'Ragnar!' she cried, her voice sharp and faintly trembling. 'Listen to me! This is dark sorcery, and it feeds on conflict! The more you fight it, the stronger it grows! Don't struggle. Do you hear me? Let it wash over you like a wave, and then it can't affect you!'
The words echoed strangely in Ragnar's ears. He tried to grasp them, but they slipped from his mind like quicksilver. Every nerve was aflame, and he felt as though he was coming out of his skin.
Gabriella struck him again, and he tasted fresh blood on his lips. Ragnar bared his teeth at the blow, and his hands seemed to move of their own accord.
He grabbed the Navigator by the hair and wrenched back her head, stretching the tendons of her pale neck.
'Ragnar, no!' Gabriella cried, her eyes widening in terror.
Fangs glistening, the young Space Wolf lunged for her throat.
A shadow fell over Ragnar at that moment, and an armoured fist closed around his neck like a vice. His lips scarcely brushed Gabriella's skin before he was hauled into the air and shaken like a newborn cub. A powerful voice, deep and sonorous, cut through the cacophony around the young Space Wolf and snapped his tormented mind into focus.
'Forget those soft words little brother, and fight the beast for all you are worth! You must struggle against the wolf in all its forms, as the primarch himself commands. That is the first oath of our brotherhood, and without it we are lost!'
Ragnar twisted his head to see who had seized him. He found himself staring down at a giant of a man, straight from the most ancient tapestries of the Great Wolf's Hall at the Fang. The warrior was tall and lean, cased in ornate armour wrought during the glory days of the Great Crusade. His pauldrons were edged in gold and finely carved with scenes of battle, and the pelt of the largest wolf Ragnar had ever seen was stretched across the man's broad shoulders. Trophies from a hundred campaigns decorated the warrior's breastplate or hung from his wide belt: fearsome skulls and cloven helms, medallions of gold and silver, polished scales and plaques of raw iron. In his left hand the warrior gripped the haft of a fearsome axe, wrought from a metal blacker than the night. Runes glittered like frost across its surface, and it exuded a cold nimbus of dread that chilled Ragnar's very soul. Unlike his kin, the warrior's head was bald, and his blond beard was close-shaven. Fierce blue eyes glittered like chips of polar ice beneath a grim, forbidding brow.