The young Space Wolf gazed defiantly at the blazing eye and hefted the spear in his hands. With a howl of fury he drew his arm back for a murderous throw.
At once the tendrils recoiled, and a disembodied voice roared with thwarted rage. Then there was a thunderclap, and Magnus the Red, Primarch of the Thousand Sons, was gone.
Ragnar felt the echoes of the primarch's retreat reverberate across the surface of the shadow realm.
The red tide began to recede in his mind, flowing back into the deep recesses from whence it had spmng. However, the young Space Wolf wasn't ready to let it go, and he seized it by force of will, stoking the rage once more. The ritual was finally broken, but Madox, its foul architect, still remained.
The sorcerer stood above Haegr's slumped form, still clutching his bloodstained dreadblade. His left hand clenched into a trembling fist. 'Ruined!' he hissed. 'The labour of a hundred years, undone by a pack of fools.' Madox lashed out with a boot and kicked Haegr over, knocking the Wolfblade onto his back. 'But you've doomed yourself as well, Ragnar Blackmane. This world has already begun to unravel. Soon, it will return to the warp, and the things that lurk there will feast upon your soul! I shall savour your agonies like wine,' the sorcerer said, and then lowered his glowing eyes to the Navigator. 'Her, I may choose to keep as a plaything. Her spirit could entertain me for a very long time, I think.'
A chorus of hungry snarls answered Madox as the Wulfen turned from the bodies of their foes and caught the sorcerer's scent. As one, the four beasts charged at the foul sorcerer, their bloody jaws agape.
'No!' Ragnar shouted as the Wulfen charged up the stairs. Too late, the sorcerer sprang his trap.
Madox's left hand opened, and he uttered a string of blasphemous syllables. There was a rushing, wailing sound, like a merciless wind, and then a torrent of unnatural energy poured from the sorcerer's palm. The foul stream engulfed the four Wulfen, shrivelling their massive forms to smoking husks in an instant.
Ragnar was charging up the stairs as the first of the lifeless bodies fell to pieces on the stone steps. He'd sensed that Madox had been trying to bait him, and now that the sorcerer had expended his terrible spell Ragnar was determined to strike before he could ready another.
The Spear of Russ gave the young Space Wolf the advantage of reach, which he used to full effect. Madox fell back from the furious assault, his blade moving in a dark blur as he parried a flurry of lightning-fast jabs and thrusts. Though at a slight disadvantage, Madox had ten thousand years of experience on his side, and he moved with the deadly grace of a viper.
Ragnar pushed Madox relentlessly, driving him steadily backwards. The sorcerer reached the top of the steps and continued to retreat, until the young Space Wolf found himself fighting on level ground. Almost immediately, the sorcerer counter-attacked, knocking the spear aside and darting in to plunge the tip of his blade into Ragnar's thigh. Ragnar felt no pain from the blow, only a spreading coldness that sank deep into the limb.
Madox fell back, a faint hiss of laughter escaping from the depths of his ornate helm. Ragnar knew that he was being lured into playing the sorcerer's game. He remembered the fight back at the Fang when Torin had played upon his aggression and killed him with small, precise blows. Madox was going to do the very same thing and there was little that Ragnar could do about it.
The young Space Wolf darted forward, aiming a series of thrusts at the sorcerer's head and chest. Madox fell back, parrying them with ease. Then he lunged in and stabbed his blade into Ragnar's left hip.
'You're getting slower,' the sorcerer said, 'just a bit, perhaps, but I can tell. It's the cold, yes? You can feel it, sinking into your bones a little at a time, and each time I hit you, the feeling will get worse, until finally you're stumbling like a wounded steer.' Madox chuckled. 'I can make this last a long time, Ragnar, a very long time.'
The young Space Wolf staggered. Then, with a furious bellow, he leapt forward, stabbing at the sorcerer's sword arm. Madox expertly gauged the blow and lunged past the expected second strike, stabbing his hellsword into Ragnar's midsection.
Ragnar felt the icy coldness of the sword spread through his torso, and smiled. Madox looked up, and saw the point of Russ's spear, poised to strike.
There hadn't been a second blow. Instead, Ragnar had paused, letting the sorcerer's blade strike home. He reached out with his left hand and grabbed the sorcerer's wrist, driving the hellblade deeper into his chest and trapping it there.
Ragnar bared his teeth in a cold, wolfish grin. 'This, on the other hand, won't take very long at all.'
Madox's scream was cut short as the young Space Wolf drove the Spear of Russ through the sorcerer's faceplate.
For many years to come the officers aboard the Holmgang would speak with pride of the part they played in the salvation of Charys. It was only in private, after several stiff glasses of amasec, that they would confess their horror at how close they'd come to unleashing their torpedoes on their lord and his men.
Berek's urgent call stopped the countdown with three seconds to spare, leaving the ordnance officers scrambling to transmit the abort code and silence the weapons' hungry spirits. Cheers erupted across the command deck as the Wolf Lord's steely voice barked orders to his fleet. The fight on the agri-world was far from over, and the guns of the great battle-barge were needed to turn the tide.
Within minutes the bombardment cannons were brought into action, unleashing a rain of devastation upon the massed rebel forces outside the planetary capital. Caught by surprise, the traitor regiments were devastated by the onslaught, and the survivors were forced to retreat in confusion back to the ruined streets of the nearby city.
But an even greater reversal was occurring invisibly across the entire world. As Madox's ritual failed and the shadow realm began to pull away from Charys, the daemon packs that had overrun the starport were forced to dissipate, drawn back to the maelstrom from whence they came. The Thousand Sons, faced with the real danger of finding themselves trapped without support on a planet so close to Fenris, chose to retreat too. They faded from sight one last time, leaving the rebel commanders screaming in vain for deliverance. Abandoned, exhausted and under fire from orbit, the rebel offensive became a panicked rout.
Berek strode out into the darkness like a vengeful god, calling his warriors to his side. The survivors of his company fell to their knees at their lord's miraculous deliverance, and soon word spread through the battered Guard regiments that the Lord of Wolves had risen from his deathbed to drive the Chaos spawn from Charys. Within hours, an armoured column of recaptured vehicles had been assembled and was making its way up the Angelus Causeway with Berek's Wolves in the lead.
Their objective was the governor's palace, and they slew every living thing that stood in their way.
Ragnar drew a deep breath and wrapped his hands around the hilt of the hellblade. He gritted his teeth and slowly, carefully, he pulled the vile weapon free.
The black blade clattered to the stones beside Madox's lifeless form. Ragnar peered at his bloodstained hands for a moment, noting absently that the claws were no longer there. Then he planted his boot on Madox's chest and pulled the Spear of Russ from the sorcerer's helm. There was no blood upon the adamantine spear tip, just a dark stain of dust.
Ragnar could still feel the cold spreading through his body as he turned and limped carefully down the bloodstained steps. The air felt strange. It was thin and very dry, like ozone, and he heard the ominous rumble of thunder somewhere far away. He remembered what Madox had said about the world returning to the warp.
The young Space Wolf made his way among the shrivelled bodies of the Wulfen and sank to one knee beside his fallen friend. Haegr's face was as pale as alabaster, and blood still ran freely from the terrible wound in his shoulder, staining the steps crimson beneath him. The Wolfblade's eyes fluttered, and he puffed out his singed whiskers with a short breath. 'You look awful,' he said breathlessly.
Ragnar tried to grin. 'So I'm told,' he said. He rested his hand on Haegr's breastplate, amazed that the burly Wolf hadn't already sunk into the Red Dream. 'Save your strength,' he said, looking down to where Sigurd knelt with Torin beside Gabriella's prone form. 'I'll get the Wolf Priest—'
'Are you… are you saying that the mighty Haegr is lacking in strength?' the Wolfblade smiled weakly. 'I should thrash you for that.'
The young Space Wolf felt a terrible ache in his chest that had nothing to do with his wounds. 'Get up and try, then. Torin will take bets, I'm sure.'
Haegr's grin faded. 'Some other time perhaps,' he said softly. 'Is Gabriella safe?'
Ragnar glanced again at the Navigator, and tried to sound dismissive. 'Torin's with her,' he said. 'She's resting I think.'
'That's good,' the Wolfblade said, his voice growing faint. 'Tell her I'm sorry. I didn't want to leave her.'
'She knows, Haegr.' Ragnar said, his heart heavy with grief. 'She knows.'
The Wolfblade's eyes grew unfocused. He blinked once, and smiled. 'Don't take too long getting to the Halls of Russ,' he said, almost too faintly to hear, 'or I'll have drunk all the good ale before you get there.' He tried to laugh, but the breath escaped in a gentle sigh and the mighty warrior grew still.
Ragnar reached down and clasped his friend's broad hand in farewell. As he did, he saw the black gleam of Haegr's ale horn, lying on the steps beside him. Madox's hellblade had severed its carrying strap, but the vessel itself looked unharmed. The young Space Wolf picked it up and tied it to his belt as he stood and made his way down the steps.
A tremor shook the Chaos temple, shifting the stones beneath the young Space Wolfs feet. He slipped on something slick, and realised numbly that there was blood on his boots. But for the terrible ache in his heart, he could feel nothing from his waist to his neck. Using the spear as a walking stick, he made his way to Gabriella's side.
Sigurd was bent over the injured Navigator, pressing a bandage to the wound in her abdomen. Torin looked up as the young Space Wolf approached. His eyes were dark again, and his expression was bleak as he clutched the Navigator's hands in his own. 'She told me she tried to send a warning to Berek,' he said. 'Perhaps she saved Charys.'
Ragnar nodded dumbly. As terrible as Haegr's death had been, the sight of the wounded Navigator was more terrible still. He touched Sigurd on the arm. 'How is she?'
The young Wolf Priest shook his head. 'My unguents and salves are made for Space Wolves, not people,' he said, his voice full of regret. He caught sight of the wound in Ragnar's chest and his eyes widened. 'Your wound is still bleeding,' he said, his voice taut with concern. 'Sit down and let me see to it.'
'It's nothing,' the young Space Wolf replied. 'Save your energy for Lady Gabriella.'
Sigurd started to protest, but saw the look in Ragnar's eyes and thought better of it. He nodded his head in the direction of the steps. 'What of Haegr?'
Ragnar shook his head. Tears stung at the corners of his eyes, and he couldn't bring himself to speak.
Sigurd nodded gravely and rose to his feet. He had one last duty to perform for the burly Wolfblade. Though he had fallen in battle, his gene-seed would need to be returned to the Fang, for implantation in a new initiate. Drawing a short, curved dagger from his belt, the priest made his way to the fallen warrior.
Torin looked up at Ragnar. 'What now?' he asked. 'It sounds like the whole world is coming apart.'
'It is,' the young Space Wolf said bleakly, gazing down at Gabriella's face. Her eyes were closed, as though she were sleeping. The bandage over her chest was already stained red. Gently, he reached down and touched her cheek. 'Forgive me, my lady,' was all he could manage to say.
'Bulveye must know a way off the planet,' Torin said. 'They got here somehow, after all.'