Dante Read online

  Luis thought in the deep, intense way of small boys. ‘Maybe the stories are not true,’ he said. ‘Maybe home was always like this.’

  The man hugged his son. ‘An ignorant man says ignorant things. I hope I did not raise you to be ignorant. The stories are true. This world was once a beautiful place. This Great Salt Waste was once a sea, as wide a body of water as you can imagine, and many creatures lived in its depths. You have seen their bones. There is proof there.’

  ‘I am sorry,’ said the boy, worried he had annoyed his father. He was a good, kind man, but his temper was sharp and easily unleashed.

  ‘No need to say sorry,’ said the man, his tone softening. ‘I correct you, not chastise. When you have seen all I have seen, you will understand what once happened here. The Great Angel made it better, though we still suffer for the sins of our forefathers. Even so, the Great Angel’s sons love us of all people especially. This is what I am showing you – that they are out there, watching over us for the Emperor.’

  The cries from the roamer were diminishing in frequency and intensity.

  ‘We are fortunate tonight – a child born under the lights of the angels marshalling is destined for great things. So don’t worry for your mother. This business of making children is fraught, but it will be right, you shall see. Your brother will be thrice-blessed.’

  ‘Was I born on such a night?’ asked Luis.

  His father’s pause was all the answer he needed. ‘You have other blessings,’ he said. ‘But you are not marked for such things.’

  ‘Father?’ said the boy. He turned from the lights cutting their way across the sky.

  ‘Yes, my son?’ said the man. His pale eyes looked earnestly into those of his offspring.

  ‘When I have a brother, will you still love me just as much?’

  The man laughed and gave his boy a fierce squeeze. ‘Love is a bottomless well, my lad. I’ll love you both just the same. And if you ever feel yourself being jealous – and you will, for a new life needs much nurturing – then remember…’ He leaned in close and whispered in the boy’s ear. ‘You were here first, and you and I had this time together. That’ll always be yours.’ He withdrew a touch. ‘I’ll love you so much no matter what, little one, for I am your father.’

  The sky burst with light again as the sun drew past the edge of Baal. Firstnight ended. The sudden input of heat set the winds roaring across the plains, and the boy and man cast their long hoods over their heads and held each other, giggling for the thrill of being out in the scouring storm.

  Abruptly it dropped. Luis’ father shook out their cloaks. The sun set again as Baal Secundus – Baalfora – turned its face away from the light and the sun set a second time.

  A sliver of Baal remained lit. That slice of Baal Primus inching around the mother world was bright still. For a rare moment all three worlds in the planetary subsystem lined up, and the aged sun kissed the foreheads of her sickly children one by one. The void chariots of the angels sailed through the sea of light and dark. Luis held his breath at the sight.

  Then the sun was gone, and truenight draped its cloak over the Great Salt Waste. The wind dropped.

  ‘Arreas! Arreas!’ The shout had the father and son turn around. The life-bringer was framed in the light of the roamer’s open door, her voice wavering on the dying wind.

  Something in the woman’s voice and manner had the boy’s father stumble to his feet violently, spilling his son into the salt.

  ‘Arreas! Come quickly!’

  ‘Father?’ said the boy. His eyes threatened tears. An indescribable dread had him. ‘Father!’

  But the man was running as fast as he could for the roamer and did not reply. The boy watched him recede from him forever, leaving him alone on the cooling salt.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE GREAT DEVOURER

  998.M41

  Phodia City

  Asphodex

  Cryptus System

  Other winds on other worlds blew harder than those on Baal. Fifteen hundred years later, the planet of Asphodex breathed its last violent breaths.

  ‘Forward, to the walls! Let none pass! Here we shall make our stand!’ roared Commander Dante. Gales screamed through the ruins of the world-city of Phodia, buffeting him with their ferocity. His men thundered past him into the wreckage of Port Helos. Ceramite slammed into crumbling walls as the survivors of the Second Company took up their firing positions. The tracks of battle tanks squealed as they passed under the port gate onto the landing fields.

  It had been a hard battle, striking out from their strongpoint in the port to the Fabricator’s Tower – one of many battles fought on the system’s once populous worlds to activate the ancient device known as the Magnovitrion. A struggle undertaken in concert with beings Dante would ordinarily consider the most implacable foes, the cold, robotic necrons.

  Against all the odds, they had been successful. The winds that howled through the ruins of the world-city of Phodia were born from the death of Aeros. An entire planet had been consumed by the necrons’ ancient technology. Dante looked upwards through racing clouds. A new star outshone the baleful twin Cryptus suns as the system’s gas giant burned to nothing. The blast of energy from Aeros had vaporised tyranid hive ships throughout the system, dealing Hive Fleet Leviathan a grievous blow. But the cost was high. Already ruined and overrun, the numerous worlds of Cryptus had shared in Aeros’ death throes. Asphodex was protected by a thick atmosphere, but even so the shock wave hit like a hammer blow. The skies were in uproar, and the ground rumbled and swayed with aftershocks. Away in the city the gathering rush of buildings collapsing could be heard.

  ‘General Dhrost!’ voxed Dante, shouting against the wind. ‘Do you live?’ He watched the battle-scarred control centre with hopeful eyes. A pause had him fearing the worst.

  ‘Yes, commander, we yet live. You have returned to us.’ The Cadian general’s steely voice betrayed no weariness or emotion.

  ‘We depart together from this place. We have come to ensure no more brave warriors of the Imperium die in this endeavour. Prepare to evacuate your men.’

  ‘As you command, Lord Dante,’ came the crackling reply. Dhrost masked his surprise well, but Dante had been judging the minds of men for a millennium and a half, and he heard it. The Cadian had not expected to be saved. Many other Chapters would have deemed the risk too great and left the Astra Militarum to their fate.

  The Blood Angels were not other Chapters.

  ‘We shall bring our Stormravens and Thunderhawks down by the control centre.’ Dante looked upwards again. The sky was free of flying tyranid creatures for the time being. Dhrost had made them a priority target during his initial defence, as had Dante when he arrived to relieve the Astra Militarum. What few remained had been cast from the air by racing upper-atmospheric hurricanes. Where monsters were absent, angels still flew. Through the burning remains of falling hive ships, blood-red gunships descended through the gales, slipping sideways in the sky as they fought to maintain their heading and evade the looped coils of blazing feeding tubes slithering groundwards between them. The brief, crackling burst of a datasquirt updated the command systems in Dante’s armour.

  ‘The first shall arrive in one minute, forty-six seconds. Thirty men to a ship. I have but seven craft remaining, so there will need to be several journeys. Choose your order of departure, general. I will leave no one behind.’

  ‘My lord Dante.’ Mephiston’s dry, cold voice cut through the roar of the wind. The Chief Librarian held the further end of the line, and communicated by vox. ‘The enemy stirs. The hive mind recoheres. They will come against us soon. Our respite will last only a few more minutes.’

  Dante pivoted on the broken rockcrete and ignited the jets of his jump pack, lofting himself high over the battlefield, his honour guard leaping skywards with him.

  Towering manufactoria crowded Port Helos on all sides, ragged with battle damage. Fires sent swift streamers of smoke into the sky. Broken digestion tubes la
y across leaning spires, as glistening and flaccid as entrails torn from a man’s belly. Destruction’s grey dust coated every surface, turning the city into a mournful monochrome broken by the bright chemical splashes of tyrannic fluids.

  Outside the port, the broken bodies of weapons beasts formed an oozing carpet three metres deep covering every road and way of the Fabricae district. Shattered tank turrets protruded from the sea of flesh. These islands of plasteel, lapped by waves of bladed chitin, were the sole reminder of the Astra Militarum defence of Asphodex overwhelmed hours before the arrival of the Blood Angels. The Adeptus Astartes had been too late to save these bold men and women; the Chapter Master would let no more fall on his account.

  Dante roared up a hundred metres, his battle-brothers becoming small red dots against the riven walls of the eastern landing fields. The flaming moat of promethium that Dhrost had surrounded his last stand with had gone out, those few patches that remained guttering torn flags of fire that ran horizontal to the ground.

  Adjusting his position, Dante leaned into the wind. It was a living thing, the fury of a star system reacting to infection, but it was too late. The Cryptus System was lost. Asphodex was a dead world. That men lived and breathed on it still was misleading; they were the last bacteria on a body already dead, and the agents of consumption had already devoured much. The other worlds of the system were similarly overrun.

  To the west, the Archangel Terminators of the First Company formed a loose cordon along a barricade of shipping containers, knocked-out tanks, port loading vehicles and haulers, and the broke-backed, blackened remains of a surface-to-orbit hauler. Two demi-companies Dante had brought to Asphodex. Two demi-companies to stand against billions of monsters. A thin red line. He brought up the strategic level of his faceplate display. There were many mortis runes glowering at him from its forest of information. The death mask of Sanguinius concealed Dante’s sorrow.

  It was a similar situation elsewhere. Elements of the Second Company under their captain Aphael had been sent to Aeros. Gabriel Seth’s Flesh Tearers fought on Lysios, while that part of the Blood Angels Seventh Company present in the Cryptus System had pressed outwards under Captain Phaeton to intercept and escort the small portion of the system’s civilian populace who had managed to evacuate.

  Switching his vox to the local relay, Dante contacted the Blade of Vengeance. The hubbub of a major ship at war filled his vox-beads, the sounds of cannons rumbling over shouted orders and the mindless confirmation responses of servitors.

  ‘My lord commander. You were successful. Sanguinius smiles on us.’

  ‘Captain Asante, what is the status of the flagship?’ asked Dante as he bounded across the space port in long, powered jumps.

  ‘Good, my lord,’ said the Blood Angel fiercely. The feed was badly disrupted by the aftershocks of Aeros’ destruction and Dante struggled to hear him. ‘Minimal damage. We are clearing the rendezvous area of remaining hive ships. They are not putting up much resistance.’

  ‘Lord Bellerophon,’ Dante said, switching his vox-feed to speak to his fleet commander, also aboard the Blade of Vengeance. ‘The other forces throughout the system, how do they fare?’

  ‘My lord, it is good to hear you,’ said Bellerophon. ‘I have good news. All elements report in. Seth withdraws from Lysios with the Adeptus Sororitas and remaining civilians. Captain Aphael and Lord Corbulo return from Aeros. Captain Phaeton made contact half an hour ago – he has taken refuge in the Castellan Belt and awaits your orders. Chaplain Arophan and the Death Company died fulfilling their duty. I am exloading a full report to you now.’

  ‘Do you have any sign of the necrons? They disappeared from the surface here.’

  ‘Their ships have gone, my lord,’ said Bellerophon. ‘They faded out of visual contact and auspex before the shock wave hit.’

  ‘Was Corbulo successful?’

  ‘I regret not, my lord. The Satryx elixir was destroyed. I am sorry, my lord.’

  Dante let the play of information streaming down his faceplate distract him. Corbulo had been confident the elixir the Cryptosians used to survive the effects of the twin stars would alleviate the flaw, and perhaps offer a cure. He mastered his disappointment before he spoke again.

  ‘Tell all elements to head to the fleet rendezvous over Asphodex. We shall make for thermal tunnel thirteen-alpha and depart this system as soon as able. Our retreat shall be undertaken in force. Prepare for the arrival of evacuated Astra Militarum personnel onto the Blade of Vengeance, many severely wounded. Have the warp engines blessed, and prepare for immediate translation once we are past the Aegis Diamondo – we must make all speed to Baal.’

  ‘As you will it, so shall it be done, commander.’

  Bellerophon cut the vox.

  Dante leapt high and descended on roaring spikes of fire upon the northern part of the western defences, where Mephiston, Chief Librarian of the Blood Angels, and Epistolary Marcello held the line. Marcello radiated weariness, but Mephiston appeared unaffected by his travails. He was one of the few psykers Dante had encountered who could withstand the crushing presence of the hive mind.

  The Lord of Death’s hair fluttered in the poisonous wind. The psyker fought bareheaded, his solemn face framed by his psychic hood. His eyes glittered with the power of the warp, matching in coldness the shine of the rubies in the skulls crowning his hood’s twin spines.

  ‘Commander,’ Mephiston greeted Dante as he touched down. The Chapter Master’s honour guard landed with a series of metallic clanks, merging with Mephiston’s own guardians to form a barrier of golden armour and white wings around them.

  ‘The necrons have abandoned us, as we expected. We are perilously few to hold such a wide perimeter.’

  ‘Hold we must,’ said Dante. ‘Ninety minutes, no more. I will not permit another death if it can be helped. We will evacuate the remainder of the Astra Militarum along with us or die in the attempt.’

  Mephiston bowed his head. ‘As you command, my lord. Death is my domain – I will gladly send more of the xenos into its embrace.’

  ‘See to the defence here on the northern edge,’ said Dante. ‘Captain Karlaen holds the landing field. I shall take the south personally.’ He gestured back to the Port Gate with the Axe Mortalis, where the Land Raider Hammer of Angels was manoeuvring to block the way.

  ‘The mind of the Devourer is reeling from the destruction of its fleet, but it recovers. I sense its malevolence sharpening. We have a few minutes, no more,’ Mephiston answered.

  ‘Its thoughts clear and turn towards us,’ said Marcellos, his voice thick with effort. ‘It is angry.’

  ‘No anger can match the rage of the Red Thirst,’ said Dante confidently. ‘We will keep them back. Stand ready. Blood and honour, Lord Librarian, Epistolary.’

  Marcellos bowed his head in acknowledgement.

  ‘The enemy may be numberless, Commander Dante,’ said Mephiston, ‘and we few, but we shall prevail.’

  ‘Long enough to save the Astra Militarum – that is all that is required,’ said Dante. He jetted skywards again. Surrounded by a flurry of white ceramite wings, he rocketed across the port’s cracked landing apron to the southern gate. Great gaps had been clawed into the wall; the four-metre tall rockcrete face was pockmarked with bio-acid burns and studded with embedded flecks of bone and gristle. Three breaches had been opened in its length, hastily patched with twisted metal and lumps of masonry, but the alien dead were banked so high against the ramparts in ramps of bone and flesh that they robbed the wall of any efficacy.

  There were only sufficient Blood Angels for one every ten yards of the wall. Little over one hundred sons of Sanguinius against an infinity of hate. Dante swore it would be enough.

  The glaring red of tanks and Dreadnoughts marked the dull landing aprons like splashes of blood, bolstering weak points or arranged to cover the defended area with intersecting fields of fire should it be breached. Along the armoured ramparts of the control centre, blue-helmeted Devastators wer
e taking up position. The glowing coils of their plasma cannons were green beacons in the last evening of the world. Some hundred yards back from the wall Assault Marines were stationed, their numbers whittled to less than a score, waiting to react to points of crisis. The last few hundred Imperial Guardsmen stood with them, the remaining handful of Astra Militarum tanks arrayed with their weapons facing outwards around the evacuation point near the control centre’s armoured doors.

  Dante had nothing but the highest respect for these mortal warriors. They had fought for days against a horrific foe. They were exhausted, terrified; beaten, by all rational appraisal. And yet still they fought on.

  Dante came down on the gatehouse rampart. The plasteel gates had been torn free, the carnifexes that had done the work lying beneath them, still leaking stinking fluid into the dust. The bright crimson block of Hammer of Angels plugged the gap temporarily. There were four warriors to hold the gate alongside the tank, a combat division of Squad Vorlois. They went to their knees when their leader arrived among them.

  ‘It is an honour to fight with you, my lord,’ said Sergeant Vorlois.

  ‘The honour is mine, sergeant.’ Lifting his hands to bid them stand tall, Dante keyed his vox to speak to every warrior in the strike force.