Ragnar was greeted with loud roars of approval from the pack leaders, but Bulveye glowered at the warriors. 'Shut up, for the Allfather's sake!' he bellowed. 'We've been watching the enemy come and go from that city for a long time. It's more than a day's march away, and the streets are guarded by an army of cultists and Thousand Sons.' The Wolf Lord paced in front of the fire. 'If we had the whole company here we could just charge right down their throats and dare the bastards to stand in our way, but there is only us.'
'What can we do, then?' Ragnar asked.
The Wolf Lord studied the faces of his pack leaders, and then stared thoughtfully into the cold flames. 'We must bring the enemy here,' he said.
EIGHTEEN
Wolf's Honour
The first heavy shells began to fall on the Imperial defences as Mikal Sternmark reached the command bunker complex. No barrage siren wailed this time as the earth shaking blasts pounded the fortifications to the east. The augur crews and communications staff were loading all the equipment they could cany on a trio of heavy cargo haulers as Sternmark came charging out of the twilight. Soldiers and technicians scattered out of the Space Wolf's path, intent on making good their escape from the impending rebel assault. The stink of defeat hung heavy in the air, stoking his rage even further.
No sentries remained to challenge Sternmark at the command bunker's entrance, but the narrow passageway beyond was filled with a procession of near-panicked Guardsmen carrying boxes of documents and crates of equipment. They recoiled before the grim, blood-spattered visage of the Space Wolf, flattening themselves against the ferrocrete walls as best they could to allow his armoured bulk to pass.
The burning beneath his skin had turned to a sharp, pulsing ache that reached down into his bones. Sternmark tasted blood on his lips, and a steady, agonising pressure was building behind his eyes. He lashed out like a maddened beast as he lurched down the corridors of the bunker, gouging craters in the reinforced ferrocrete with blows from his armoured fist.
A technician was hurrying out of the war room with a portable logic engine in his arms as Sternmark arrived. The man froze at the sight of the wild-eyed giant, and the Wolf Guard hurled him backwards into the chamber with a brutal shove. He hit the floor with a crash and a shout of pain, his arms still wrapped protectively around the precious machine.
Most of the equipment in the large chamber had already been removed, and a score of soldiers and staff officers were hard at work unhooking and packing up the rest. Heads turned at the sudden commotion, and the frenetic buzz of conversation in the room fell silent. Several of the Guardsmen took one look at Sternmark's horrific appearance and surreptitiously laid their hands on their las-guns.
Lady Commander Athelstane was standing on the stage at the far end of the room, surrounded by half a dozen of her senior officers. The men were carrying despatch cases bulging with maps and data-slates, and looked ready to depart at a moment's notice. They all turned at the Wolf Guard's sudden arrival, hands drifting to the butts of their laspistols.
Athelstane scowled at the blood-stained Wolf. 'Have a care with my equipment,' she said coldly. 'Those logic engines are difficult to come by.'
Sternmark bristled at the general's cynical tone. 'What is the meaning of this?' he demanded.
'I should think the meaning would be obvious!' Athelstane snapped. 'The enemy has driven us from the capital and is preparing for a final assault against the starport. Now, I must concern myself with preserving as much of my command as possible while there is still time. If you'd bothered to answer any of my vox transmissions you would have known about this hours ago.'
'You're fleeing from the enemy!' Sternmark roared. The savagery in his voice stole the colour from the Guardsmen's faces, but Athelstane was made of far sterner stuff.
'Have a care, sir,' she warned. 'I'm not in the mood for insults.'
Sternmark stalked towards the stage, his power blade gripped tightly in his hand. The pain in his head made it hard to think. It felt as though his very skull was being warped by the pressure. He lashed out with a clenched fist and smashed a table to pieces. Startled, the Guardsmen scattered out of his way and raised their weapons.
'Where is your honour?' Sternmark growled. The words were barely intelligible, as the Wolf Guard's lips stretched taut over prominent fangs. 'Our troops are dug-in. We have heavy weapons, and my men are well supplied—'
'How many of your men are left?' the general shot back. 'We haven't been able to contact anyone beyond the capital since mid-afternoon. My men are exhausted, and their vaunted heavy weapons are nearly out of ammunition. There's nothing more we can do here except die,' she said, 'and I won't waste the lives of good soldiers on a lost cause.'
Athelstane nodded curtly to her officers and checked her chronometer. 'It's almost time to check in with Holmgang,' she said. 'I was going to request that they return to Charys and cover our withdrawal, and then they can bombard the starport and the capital with everything they've got. We can at least make the enemy pay for massing so many of their troops in one place.'
She led her officers down off the stage and approached the Wolf Guard. 'Now that you're here, I could use your help convincing the Holmgang to support the withdrawal plan.' As the general drew closer, her eyes narrowed and she studied Sternmark's face closely. 'What's happened to you?' she said with a curious scowl. 'There's something wrong with your eyes—'
'I cannot let you do this.' The Wolf Guard's voice was little more than a deep, liquid growl. Redclaw fell with a discordant clang to the war room floor as a wave of agony swept over Sternmark. 'Better death than this.'
His words gave way to a terrible howl. Sternmark pressed his hands to his face and felt the bones beneath his skin start to shift.
'Blessed Emperor!' Athelstane cried. 'He's suffering some kind of attack.' She turned to her men. 'Go and fetch a priest, quickly!'
'It is too late for priests!' the Wolf Guard snarled. Sternmark's head came up, his face distended into a toothy snout. Powerful jaws gaped at the stunned general and her staff. 'Cursed!' he howled. 'I am cursed!'
Guardsmen screamed at Sternmark's bestial transformation and brought up their guns. Bolts of energy detonated harmlessly against the Wolf Guard's Terminator armour.
Sternmark's body moved with pure, animal instinct, surging forward and smashing two of the Guardsmen across the room with blows from his powerful fists. Bones shattered. Men cried in mortal pain, and the scent of blood hung in the air.
Lady Commander Athelstane uttered a blistering curse and reached for the hellpistol at her hip. She fumbled open the holster flap and pulled the weapon free just as the Wulfen's teeth closed around her throat.
Halfway across the Charys star system the Holmgang and her escorts drifted silentiy through the icy void. For weeks the battle-barge had played a deadly game of cat and mouse with Chaos ships in the asteroid field at the system's edge, but Holmgang's wily master reversed his course and slipped unnodced through the enemy cordon. Since then the Space Wolf ships had been gliding on a parabolic course back towards the embattled agri-world, growing closer with every passing day.
The ship's master and his lieutenants gathered at Holmgang's signals room and eyed the minutes ticking away on the chronometer set above the vox station. Tripwire required at least three command officers present to confirm receipt of the scheduled signal. There could be no room for error with the fate of an Imperial world hanging in the balance.
The minutes ticked away. No one spoke. The silence in the signals room was broken only by the quiet hum of the vox-units and the ghostly whisper of stadc. At the appointed time the officers raised their heads to the crackling vox-speaker and listened.
They waited while the seconds passed, and their faces turned cold and grim. A full minute passed, and then another, until finally the ship's master could wait no more. With solemn ceremony he stretched out his hand and pressed a switch. The vox-unit fell silent.
Within the hour the orders were transmitted to the rest of the fleet. Thrusters glowed to angry life, and the Space Wolf ships put on speed. Belowdecks, Iron Priests garbed themselves in leaden robes and began the Rites of Atomic Redemption, unlocking the great seals that would waken the ship's cyclonic torpedoes. There was little time to waste.
The Holmgang would reach Charys in less than four hours.
Bulveye's plan was simple and direct. After issuing a few curt commands to Torvald, the Rune Priest left the cavern to set events in motion. Then there was nothing left to do but wait.
The Wolves passed the time in the same way as their ancestors of old, telling tales of the campaigns they had fought and the foes they had bested. Bulveye and his warriors spoke of the Great Crusade and the battles they had fought alongside Leman Russ. Their stories were told in the old tongue of Fenris, shaped in the chanting cadences of the ancient sagas. Ragnar learned of lost civilisations and long-dead races. Bulveye was a gifted storyteller, and painted vivid tales of fiery combat drops and titanic land battles, of desperate struggles and heroic stands fought for the sake of a young and hopeful Imperium.
They spoke of Russ himself, not the blessed Primarch Russ, but the black haired, flame eyed warrior who was more wolf than man. They spoke of his rough manner and intemperate heart, of his wild oaths and petty rivalries, of his melancholy nature and his merciless rage. 'He drove us all to distraction,' Bulveye said ruefully. 'I remember one time when he'd got Horus so worked up I thought they were going to come to blows. The Allfather got between them, and Leman punched him full in the jaw.'
Ragnar's eyes widened. 'What happened then?'
Bulveye laughed. 'The Allfather hit Leman so hard he was unconscious for a month. Spent the rest of the campaign flat on his back aboard the battle-barge.'
One of Bulveye's pack leaders, a warrior named Dagmar, shook his head and chuckled. 'That was the quietest month we ever had,' he said, and his companions laughed along with him.
'Leman didn't speak to the Allfather for almost a year, but eventually they came around,' the Wolf Lord said with a grin. 'That was how they were, like a jarl and his sons, always squabbling about one thing or another, but they never forgot the ties of blood and kin.' Bulveye paused, and his smile faded. 'Well, not until the end.'
Torin leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His eyes shone yellow in the cold firelight, and there was a troubled look on his face. 'The legends say that Russ sent you into the warp to finish what was begun back on Prospero.'
'Is that so?' Bulveye replied conversationally, but there was a guarded look in his blue eyes. 'That sounds like an interesting story. You will have to tell it to me sometime.'
Silence fell around the fire. Ragnar glanced sidelong at the Wolf Lord. 'You came to this world because Torvald cast the runes and drew the Spear,' he said. 'What were you expecting to find?'
The Wolf Lord considered the young Space Wolf for a long moment. 'You've already answered the question,' he said carefully. 'I came looking for the spear, and now you've helped me find it.'
'It wasn't just the spear, though, was it?' Ragnar said. 'You had no idea that Russ has been lost for ten thousand years, and that he'd left his spear behind on Garm. You expected him to be here.'
Bulveye gave Ragnar a wolfish smile. 'Leman is no more lost than we were,' he replied. 'I don't know where he's gone, but I do know this: he swore an oath to us a very long time ago, and one day he will keep it.'
'How can you be so sure?' Torin asked.