A rocket made a banshee wail right over the Wolves' heads, nearly close enough for Sven to reach out and touch it. 'There's something strange going on,' the Grey Hunter yelled. 'What's happened to the withdrawal? I thought we were pulling back to the ships?'
'Athelstane was supposed to give the order more than an hour ago,' Silvertongue replied. 'Some of the Guard units have already pulled back—'
'Pulled back?' Gunnar spat. 'They're retreating all along the line! If we don't do something soon this is going to turn into a rout!'
As ill fate would have it, screams and shouts of terror rang out along the Imperial line. In the fiery light of the rebel bombardment Sven caught glimpses of dreadful, sinuous forms rearing up from the trenches and scattering torn pieces of meat that moments before had been men.
'Morkai's teeth!' the Grey Hunter cried. 'The wards! The bloody wards have fallen!'
Battered, reeling figures were scrambling and crawling out of the trenches, firing wildly at the unholy monsters that had appeared in their midst. The Guardsmen had finally reached their breaking point, pushed past the point of endurance after a long day of blood, steel and flame.
Then, a dreadful, rolling drumbeat rattled from the depths of the killing ground. Fleeing soldiers staggered or spun about, torn by precise bursts of mass-reactive shells.
The three Wolves eyed one another grimly. They knew that sound and what it portended.
Sven popped up over the parapet and searched for targets. Down in the killing zone marched a thin line of figures cased in blue and gold.
The Thousand Sons strode like iron gods past the cowering rebel troops. Eldritch fires blazed from the oculars of their ornate helms and leaked from the joins in their ancient armour, and their rune-etched weapons spat streams of death at the fleeing Guardsmen.
Breathing an oath to the Allfather, Sven laid his sights on one of the advancing warriors and fired a quick burst. Detonations crackled along the foe-man's breastplate and blew a fist-sized hole through its helmet. The Chaos Marine staggered, fires licking from the wound, but the warrior brought its weapon around and returned fire in the same motion.
A stream of cursed shells dug craters from the parapet, and burst along Sven's right pauldron. With a blistering curse, he ducked back into cover, absently smearing blood from a shrapnel wound across his cheek with the back of one hand.
Gunnar stole a look over the lip of the trench, and ducked back as another volley of shells tore into the parapet. 'We'll wait until they hit the trench line and give them a taste of our blades,' the Long Fang declared.
Morgrim Silvertongue shook his head. 'We three aren't going to stop this,' he said. 'The Guard regiments are in full retreat and our brothers have been isolated. We need to regain command and control or we're going to be cut off and slaughtered!'
'How?' Sven growled. 'The vox-units are being jammed.'
Silvertongue stared across the smoke wreathed star-port and reached a decision. 'Head for the command bunker!' he declared. 'We can use the long-range vox system to rally as many troops as we can and form a rearguard.'
Sven eyed the distant bunker and nodded grimly. 'Let's go,' he growled. 'It's as good a place for a last stand as any.'
A squadron of Chaos raiders picked up the Holmgang on their scopes halfway to Charys, and swung about on an intercept course. Augur operators studied the unknown contacts, struggling to divine their identities as gun crews raced to their mounts and torpedo crews hauled at the loading chains of their rune-etched missiles. Commanders invoked the blasphemous names of their gods and ordered their ships to flank speed. Vast rewards had been offered to the first crew to find the hated Wolf ships and bring them to bay.
The Chaos ships fanned out in a broad arc across the Holmgang's path, casting a deadly net for the oncoming vessels. Converging at maximum speed, the two forces reached extreme weapons' range within moments. The augur operators muttered desperate incantations and brooded over the icons glimmering on their screens, but they were taken by surprise when the unidentified ships were obscured behind a cloud of flickering energy readings.
Upon command, the remaining Thunderhawks of Holmgang's battle group rammed their throttles forward and streaked from the sensor shadow of their parent ships. By the time the Chaos commanders realised what had happened the strike craft were already starting their attack runs.
Fifteen seconds later the Wolf ships passed through the expanding debris clouds of the Chaos raiders. Hours later the light from the violent explosions would reach the hunter-killer squadrons stalking through the asteroid fields, but by then it would already be too late.
The fate of Charys was sealed.
Another loud blast reverberated down the curving tunnel, stirring the air of the cavern and causing the flames to gutter and spark. The scent of smoke and burned flesh reached the Space Wolves, causing the Wulfen to lower their heads and growl deep in their throats. Sigurd moved among the former Blood Claws, murmuring prayers in a firm, quiet voice.
At a nod from Bulveye, the pack leaders raced from the cavern, teeth bared and weapons ready. The Wolf Lord passed the ale horn back to Haegr and took up his ebon axe. A strange, deadly calm settled like a cloak over the ancient warrior as the sounds of war echoed faintly in the valley beyond. When he turned to the Rune Priest his eyes shone like bale fires. 'Get them as close as you can,' Bulveye said, 'and stay with them until the last.'
'Until the battle's done, lord,' Torvald promised. 'In victory or in death. You have my oath upon it.'
Bulveye nodded and clasped the Rune Priest's arm in farewell. Then he turned to Ragnar. 'Your destiny awaits, little brother,' he said. 'There's no telling how many of the foe we've drawn from the city, but I don't need to cast any mnes to know you've a grim battle ahead of you.' He held out his hand. 'Fight well, Ragnar Blackmane, and hold to your oaths. The honour of our brotherhood, nay, the survival of Fenris itself, rests in your hands.'
Ragnar gripped Bulveye's wrist. 'The spear will be ours again, lord,' he said fiercely, 'regardless of the cost.'
The Wolf Lord's eyes narrowed at Ragnar's grave oath. 'Even at the cost of all you hold dear?' he asked. 'Even unto your very soul?'
Bulveye's words chilled the young Space Wolf, but he answered without hesitation. 'Even so, lord.'
With a rattle and a wheeze of hydraulics, a servitor limped from the shadows, bearing a polished silver helmet fashioned in the shape of a snarling wolfs head. Bulveye took up the helm and studied its scarred face for a moment. 'Remember all that I told you,' he said to Ragnar. 'War within. War without.'
Then the Wolf Lord's face disappeared behind the snarling mask, and he was gone, striding swiftly from the cavern towards the sound of the guns.
'War unending,' Ragnar answered softly, and felt the Wulfen swell within his breast.
As soon as Bulveye was gone, the Rune Priest turned to the assembled Wolves. 'It is time,' he said, raising his axe. 'Gather round, brothers.'
Ragnar turned to Torin and Haegr. The older Wolfblade was already on his feet, weapons ready, while his burly companion stared disconsolately into the depths of his empty ale horn. Murmured verses echoed across the cavern as Sigurd summoned the Wulfen with the stern tones of the Benediction of Iron.
Inquisitor Volt touched Gabriella on the arm, and the Navigator's eyes blinked open. They spoke softly to one another, and then climbed slowly to their feet. Ragnar watched them approach, concern etched deeply upon his face. 'Are you well?' he asked as they approached.
Gabriella looked up at the young Space Wolf and summoned a resolute smile. 'Of course,' she said coolly. 'Don't concern yourself about me.'
The distant tone in the Navigator's voice struck Ragnar like a blow. A bewildered frown darkened the young Space Wolf's face, but before he could reply the old inquisitor spoke. 'I asked Lady Gabriella to try and contact Lady Commander Athelstane or Lord Sternmark and warn them of Madox's plan, but with no success. Though Charys and the shadow world are extensions of one another, the turbulence in the aether is too great for her mind to penetrate.'
'I need a physical link to them that I can focus upon,' Gabriella said. 'That would make all the difference.'
The young Space Wolf thought it over, but finally shook his head. 'I can't think of anything here that would help,' he growled, irritated at the idea of failing Gabriella yet again. 'I'm sorry.'
Volt sighed. 'No matter,' he said, although there was a look of concern in the old inquisitor's eyes. 'We will have to trust that they will endure until we can set things right.'
Ragnar nodded gravely. With a last glance at Gabriella, he turned to the Rune Priest. 'We stand ready, Torvald,' he said. 'Tell us what we must do.'
The old Rune Priest surveyed the assembled warriors and drew a deep breath. Pale blue arcs of power crackled along the length of his axe, and Torvald's bearded face split in a fearsome grin. 'Hearken to my voice, brothers,' he said in a booming voice. 'Hearken well, and follow me.'
Then the priest threw back his head and began to chant, the words ringing like hammer blows in the echoing space. Arcs of psychic power leapt from axe to priest and back again, growing more intense with each passing moment. Ragnar felt unseen energies crawl across his skin. The Wulfen snarled and snapped at the charged atmosphere, their yellow eyes narrowed in fear.
Lightning radiated outward from the Rune Priest, the arcs merging into a blue-white haze that surrounded the warriors in a nimbus of near-blinding light. Ragnar heard Gabriella let out a startled cry, and then the cavern floor seemed to tilt, propelling the young Space Wolf into the building storm.
Ragnar felt a dry, desert wind on his face and heard the cries of his companions echoing through the haze. He felt the first stirrings of panic as he tried to comprehend what has happening. His mind struggled to keep a mental image of the Wolf Lord's cavern, but his steps didn't match what he remembered. The faster he walked, the more the ground beneath him seemed to tilt, until it felt as though he were running downhill. Through it all, Torvald's voice rolled like thunder. Ragnar focused on the Rune Priest's chant and kept running, hoping that the old warrior's imposing form would take shape out of the whirling maelstrom at any moment.
Then, just as it seemed that the storm would go on forever, the white haze parted like mist and Ragnar found himself reeling like a drunkard down a rubble-choked street. The open sky stretched above him, dark and empty, hemmed by the jagged bones of burned-out buildings. His boot struck a large chunk of broken masonry and he went down on one knee, cursing fiercely under his breath. Wisps of grey smoke curled from the surface of his armour.
More cursing and startled shouts rang out behind the young Space Wolf. Ragnar heard Torvald let out a warning hiss. 'Quiet!' the Rune Priest warned. 'Not a sound.'
The young Space Wolf leapt to his feet, weapons ready, his eyes scanning his surroundings. Ruins stretched away from him as far as he could see. The road ahead of him was cratered by shell holes, but there were no vehicles or bodies that he could see. Off in the distance, Ragnar could see a broad, fortress-like structure brooding over the kilometres of devastation.
A column of shifting, pulsing energy rose from the dark palace, apparently woven like a burning thread into the night. Even from such a great distance the sight of it filled Ragnar with dread.