nostrils, and her eyes were swimming in seas of red. Nevertheless, she appeared focused, intensely
so. She stared at Turk, her last anchor in her sea of thoughts. She needed him, he could feel it
pulsing off her skin in waves. Though they wanted to touch one another, embrace each other, they
could not. Instead, they merely exchanged the briefest of smiles, his loving and encouraging, hers a
terrible sadness, contained.
“Sir,” Captain Toria said, returning to Turk. He handed him a satchel and motioned to a wellmuscled
man, his face covered by his kafiya and the occulars over his eyes. “Private First Class
Venakh Mousar will be your scout. You’ll also need this,” he said, handing over a black metal vox.
“It’s keyed to the explosives. Send the signal and they all blow up, including they one you’re
holding… just in case we don’t make it.”
“Understood. Good luck.”
Toria offered a smart snap of a salute before rejoining his squad. The survivors then split into
two groups, with Toria’s squad heading off towards Cavern Cathedral, and the main cluster of
Guardsmen and Nehari’s squad travelling towards Devotion.
5
Jungle or not, alien world or not, the scouts of Toria’s group were good at their job, and right now,
that was to move quickly and quietly. The Guardsmen double-timed it through the clusters of trees,
over root tangles and under nets of hanging vines. They did not speak; they motioned to one another
through hand signals, and the loudest things from their mouths were their breaths. Even the demo
expert, Neshadi, from Nubis’ old platoon, was fitting in like a seasoned pro.
Captain Toria held up a fist, bringing the squad to a quiet halt. On cue, the men ducked behind
trees or went low to the ground. They were less than ten metres away from the Sentinel, which was
hidden near a thick column. By the slant of the ceiling above, Toria had chosen this location,
because the pillar bore the weight of the rocky sky. A large explosion would not only collapse this
section of cave, but the chain reaction would destroy the floor beneath them as well, sending
everything tumbling into the cavern below. Toria hoped that all that shifting rock would cave in this
section of the network.
Unfortunately, the only thing between Toria’s squad and the Sentinel in question was a small
pack of five runners that were crawling over the vehicle. They were smelling the bird and deciding
what to do about it.
Toria designated the targets with both fingers and, after ensuring everyone was ready to fire,
made a low sweeping motion with his hand. The volley of las-shots was relatively quiet, precise and
totally lethal. The tyranids dropped from the Sentinel with hardly a sound.
Toria and Neshadi ran up to the Sentinel to begin setting the explosives, while Lassa and the
others took up defensive positions. “We need to hurry,” Toria whispered. “The tyranids share a
hive-mind. They’ll know something happened to their patrol.”
Neshadi nodded and continued working, rushing to lay the explosive charges without
endangering their lives needlessly.
6
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The pack of four bipedal tyranids with their scythe arms and bone-plated head crests moved
effortlessly through the trees towards the sound of coughing. Nehari wondered if he should admire
their skill and lethal precision, but decided that the appreciation was misplaced. These were not
trained soldiers; they were beasts, their murderous traits a birthright.
The tyranids found the Guardsman sitting with his back against the tree, coughing up a storm.
Blood flecked his lips, and Nehari suppressed the rattling in his own chest. The creatures slouched
low to the ground, and hissed as they approached. The ailing Guardsman saw them, his eyes wide in
terror. He jerked, as if to move, but stopped himself. He lay absolutely still.
Nehari admired his courage, and drew a bead on one of the beasts. Someone else coughed,
however, and the tyranids’ heads snapped up in unison, it was too late. Nehari and the others opened
fire from the surrounding brush, catching the tyranids in their snare of las-shots. The air smelled of
ozone and entrails as the creatures screeched and died.
“It’s getting… getting worse,” the Guardsman said. He was shaking as he stood, and coughing up
blood.
“I know,” Nehari said, spitting his own blood on the dead tyranids. “Whatever we inhaled—” he
coughed, harder than before. It hurt like hell, and it was nestled somewhere deep inside his lungs. It
felt like his joints would fly apart with each gasping rasp. “Better get to that last bird,” he said.
“While we still… can.”
The Guardsmen nodded and, suppressing violent, shaking coughs, headed deeper into the jungle.
7
Turk fired his pistol straight into the outstretched mouth of the dog-like tyranid. It fell at his feet,
dead, but the other beasts of the pack were certainly alive and unhappy, and they were many… at
least twenty-odd of the small creatures. The branches and leaves rustled as they bounded through on
their six legs, their sleekly armoured heads yelping and howling up a storm. Elsewhere in the tightly
clustered jungle of Cathedral, another pack answered the call.
One of the beasts leapt for a Guardsman, braids of thorny tendrils unravelling from its open
mouth. The tendrils wrapped around the soldier’s throat and tightened, bringing him to the ground
and making him easier prey for five other dogs. Blood flowed in thick rivulets over the thorns, and
the Guardsman gasped for air as the tyranids dug into the soft parts of his body. Quartermaster
Sabaak and Sarish managed to shoot two dogs off the soldier, but he was thrashing around too
much.
Another beast leapt for the commissar, shrieking, and startling him so badly that he forgot to
swing his chainsword. A bolter shot detonated it in mid-leap, spraying Rezail and Tyrell in gore and
body parts. Nisri offered Rezail a shrug, his expression conveying the simple truth… had you killed
me; I couldn’t have saved you.
Kamala also stood her ground, sending out sharp tongues of electricity that fried two of the
galloping dogs.
“Fire in the hole!” someone yelled, and Turk and the others managed to duck before a grenade
detonated in the underbrush and took out half the advancing pack.
More las-shots and bolter fire erupted, and the Guardsmen shot the remaining tyranids that were
reeling from the concussive force of the explosion. Nisri ran to the injured Guardsman, who was still
alive despite his terrible wounds, and kicked one tyranid off him, while shooting the one with its
thorn tongue wrapped around his neck. The booted tyranid landed with a yelp, and was instantly
hammered with las-fire.
Nisri and Turk tried peeling off the creature’s tongue, but when they pulled back one of the
tendrils, they realised the hooked thorns had shredded the Guardsman’s throat. There was nothing
left for him to breathe through. The Guardsman’s eyes rolled up as he continued choking and
110
bleeding. Nisri apologised to the soldier, offering a prayer, before Turk shot the Guardsman through
the head.
“The packs know where we are,” Rezail said, looking at the bodies of three dead soldiers.
“We go,” Turk said. He held the vox detonator in one hand, just in case it came time to send the
signal. They continued their exhausted trudge forward, a handful of hours behind them, and a
handful more ahead of them.
8
“That does it,” Neshadi whispered, jumping down from the cabin of the second Sentinel. “We’re
done.”
“How many explosives do you have left?” Toria asked.
“A few krak charges and plenty of frag grenades.”
“Enough to rig a couple more surprises?”
“Yes, most certainly.”
Toria called his men in. They silently moved through the underbrush, alert for any unusual
sounds, and knelt at the foot of the Sentinel.
“I say we plant the remaining explosives,” Toria said, “finally bury the tyranids for certain. I
know of a good fault-point that the Sentinels couldn’t reach… but we could.”
“We won’t make it out in time, will we?” Lassa asked. The rest of the dirty-faced men were
silent. They waited for Toria’s answer, but he could already read their grim expressions. They didn’t
think they could make it out alive, regardless.
“I don’t think so,” Toria whispered. “The best we can hope for is to plant the explosives and
head as deep as possible. Maybe we could find that lake that someone said they saw. If we’re lucky,
we’ll find a cave with no tyranids, and plenty to eat and drink. Maybe the Emperor will let us retire
there in peace.”
“Stuck in a cave for the rest of our lives,” Neshadi said, sighing. “I knew I should have brought a
book to read.”
The others grinned and patted Neshadi in the shoulder. With a quick glance, Toria tallied their
votes by their nods. It was a unanimous “yes”. As quietly as they had arrived, Toria’s squad
vanished back into the underbrush, and silently wished their compatriots and fallen comrades a safe
journey, wherever that journey ended.
9
Nehari and his men heard the steady stream of crackling las-fire from a kilometre off. As they
approached, wild shots flew high over their heads, scything through tree limbs and branches, and
raining down leaves around them. They could see a smoke column rising in the air through the gaps
in the canopy, and collecting at the ceiling, where it eclipsed the rock and fields of light string
worms. The only other source of light came from the flashes of las-blasts, several trees that had been
set aflame and the dimming glow of the tree bulbs. It was as if the jungle was dying.
Nehari, however, instantly realised that the shots belonged to a Chimera-mounted multi-laser.
Nothing else they had carried that firepower.
The squad broke into two groups of three men each. The heavy coughers, including the
demolitions specialist, continued on their way to the last Sentinel. Nehari and two others crept
through the forest, suppressing their coughs and hoping the continued las-fire would mask their
approach. They were weakened by the toxins running through their veins, but their curiosity had
been pinched, and that was enough of a motive.
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The medicae Chimera was half-wedged in a crevice, a fissure that had opened up beneath it. Its
nose was jammed in the crack and rested against the crevice wall, while its rear was angled upward
in clumsy balance. It had shredded its treads trying to dislodge itself, and tyranids were crawling all
over its hull. They were trying to peel away the access points to get to the meal inside, and were
ignoring the futile lascannon that was desperately firing in different directions. The column of
smoke was rising from a wider rip in the fissure, possibly where the command Chimera had fallen
during the mad rush to escape.
Nehari could see the litters still strapped to the top of the vehicle, as well as the ripped bodies of
men who were trapped and gutted when the Chimera fled. Nehari shook his head, and quietly
filtered through the micro-bead’s comm channels. He finally found the one with the panicked voice
screeching for help.
“Hello?” Nehari whispered.
“Thank the Aba Aba Mushira!” the voice cried back. “My vehicle is wedged. We’re trapped in
here. Please, get these things off of us.”
“You’re trapped? Like the way you left those injured men to die on your roof?” Nehari said,
coughing. “Rot in the warp.”
Nehari shut off the screaming pleas for forgiveness, and motioned the squad to move away. The
Chimera crew was earning its just fate.
10
The jungles of Emperor were the thickest any of them had known, or ever seen. The trees seemed to
merge into one another, their trunks braided and their branches intertwined. The loamy soil was
thick and reeked of sodden earth. They followed Sergeant Ballasra’s instructions, keeping to the
cavern walls where the vegetation was thinnest, but even this far removed from Apostle, the sound
of hunting and devouring tyranids seemed ever-present. How they managed to spread so far
remained a mystery. All Turk cared about was staying ahead of them and steering clear of their
appetites.
The scout Mousar swept aside his kafiya for long enough to gulp a drink of water; his lower face
was covered in the thick, ropy scars of a promethium burn. After returning the kafiya to his face, he
consulted the data-slate Ballasra had provided as a way of pathfinding, and motioned the others to
continue following.
Turk stumbled a few more steps, before something pierced his fatigued mind, something he had
seen a minute before, but did not register until now. He looked again to the vox detonator in his
hand, to make sure that he actually saw its blinking light, and then groaned.
Nisri and Rezail noticed Turk standing, staring up at the canopy of jungle and cavern rock, and
shaking his head. They motioned for the others to stop, and approached him as a fit of laughter
overcame him. This was all too perfect, Turk thought. This was the perfect conclusion to their sad
and sordid expedition.
“What’s the matter?” Nisri asked.
Turk said nothing. He merely held up the vox detonator to show them the blinking light. Nisri
straightened and let out a fatigued laugh. Turk shook his head and laughed even harder. Rezail
simply looked confused.
“It’s a warning light,” Turk finally managed to explain. “It means that we’re too deep inside the
caverns. Any further, and the signal to detonate the explosives we already planted won’t reach the
bombs.”
“It means,” Nisri said, his voice soft, “that someone has to stay behind and detonate the
explosives from here.”
112
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Every sun must set.”
—The Accounts of the Tallarn by Remembrancer Tremault
1
Nehari and his two escorts reached the Sentinel as the others were finishing attaching the explosives
to the fuel drums. Nobody was providing them with cover, nobody had the strength left to follow
military procedure or even care. Instead, they finished with the Sentinel, and walked a few dozen
metres away before one by one, they collapsed to their knees or fell on their arses, hacking and
coughing loudly. Nehari tried to pull one man up, but he fell down next to him, completely spent
and afflicted by a deep-seated exhaustion the likes of which he’d never known. His muscles felt like
hard stone, numb and heavy.
The toxins deprived them of strength, leaving them weak and wracked with nausea. No, worse
