第 29 页

Tsu’gan’s thoughts, the veteran sergeant of the Firedrakes having followed his gaze.

“So they dragged the bodies back inside after a much earlier battle?” offered N’keln. “They must have been

victorious, though I can see no evidence of enemy dead.”

“The Iron Warriors burn their foes too, brother-captain,” said Praetor, “An anachronism of old Legion

custom that some warbands still adhere to.”

“They are ash,” spat Tsu’gan, struggling to rein in his anger, “as our slain brothers soon will be.”

If N’keln felt the barb, he didn’t show it. Nor did Praetor seem about to reprimand.

“Victory is correct, brother-captain,” said the Firedrake, “but at what cost, and against whom?”

“Those xenos we encountered at the crash site are not foe enough to trouble Astartes,” Tsu’gan asserted. “I

have seen no other encampments, no evidence of vessels or an army’s movements.” He eyed the burning pile

of corpses again: some fifty or so Iron Warriors. Renegades, yes, but still Astartes once fashioned by the

Emperor; still formidable warriors slain up-close and brutally. An enemy like that didn’t simply disappear. It

didn’t lie down and die, either.

Tsu’gan’s voice was low and forbidding. “I think something other than the chitin lurks in the earth beneath

us. It brought death to these traitors.”

Three hundred metres farther into the darkness and the tunnel became a labyrinth. Several corridors

branched off from the main passage like a lattice within a giant hive. It put Dak’ir in mind of the chitin, but

throughout their exploration of the underground network they had yet to encounter the creatures.

Ba’ken scoured each and every opening, the igniter from his heavy flamer casting a weak glow into the

shadows. The Salamanders kept to the central tunnel, Dak’ir reasoning that it must lead to some nexus or

confluence.

Ba’ken moved to the next junction. Panning his heavy flamer slowly and steadily, he started when an object

skipped out of the darkness and rolled towards him.

“Contact!” he snapped smartly, preparing to douse what he thought could be a grenade in roaring

promethium. The appearance of a diminutive figure scurrying into his firing arc stopped him.

It was a boy, and the “grenade” was a rubber ball.

Ba’ken lifted his finger off the release bar of his weapon just in time. A tiny spurt of flame spilled from the

nozzle like a belch, but didn’t ignite fully.

Grinding to an abrupt halt, the boy stared at the green-armoured hulk that brandished fire in his hands. In the

ephemeral spit of flame, Ba’ken saw that the dark-skinned youngster was dressed in coarse grey fatigues.

The clothing was patched, as if amalgamated from several different sources, and the boots strapped to his

feet looked a few sizes too big for him. Terrified, the boy’s eyes widened as Ba’ken came forward, lowering

his heavy flamer.

“Have no fear,” he intoned, his voice deep and resonant in the narrow side-tunnel. Stepping into the darkness

as he extended an open hand, the burning red blaze in the Salamander’s eyes flashed casting his onyx-black

skin in a diabolic lustre.

A whimper escaped from the trembling boy’s mouth and he fled, leaving the ball behind.

Ba’ken’s hand dropped and a tic of consternation afflicted his face.

“A child…” he said, acutely aware of Dak’ir arriving behind him. Ba’ken turned to face the sergeant. The

rest of the squad had gathered at his sudden warning. Emek stood next to Dak’ir, whilst Apion and Romulus

surveyed the shadows behind them. Librarian Pyriel stood a few steps back from the rest, his eyes

smouldering with power.

“Human.” It was a statement not a question, but Ba’ken answered anyway.

“Yes, a boy.”

“Follow,” ordered Dak’ir in a low voice. “Eyes open,” he warned, remembering the last time they’d

encountered a human child in similar circumstances. It was back on Stratos, and the boy had led them into a

trap. Dak’ir still recalled the crump of detonation and the skeins of shrapnel slewing across his visor.

He hoped this would not end the same way.

A vast iron hall was the first room the Salamanders encountered upon demolishing the inner keep’s gate. It

was bare, but much deeper and wider than the outer structure had suggested. Doorway yawning open,

reinforced plasteel slabs hanging off their hinges, a pall of displaced dust rolled across the plated floor as

Praetor entered. The other Firedrakes followed closely behind their sergeant, storm shields raised, a poised

electrical charge rippling across their thunder hammers.

Recently reformed, the three Tactical squads followed in the wake of the Terminators. Issuing clipped

orders, the sergeants dispersed their squads swiftly to reconnoitre. Negative contacts came back from

De’mas and Typhos, who had been tasked to clear the alcoves and immediate anterooms. Brother-Captain

N’keln and the Inferno Guard joined the rest of the Salamanders in the hallway soon after.

Lok’s Devastators maintained guard at the inner keep’s broken gate, whilst Brother-Sergeants Omkar and

Ul’shan patrolled the battlements. Fire Anvil and one of the Rhino APCs blocked the main fortress gate. The

dead from Vargo’s squad and the slain driver were laid reverently in a second personnel carrier, parked

further back in the courtyard. The third Rhino was kept idling. As soon as the Salamanders had ascertained

what the Iron Warriors had been doing, it would go back to collect Argos or one of his Techmarines in the

hope they’d be able to plunder and sanctify some of the traitors’ technology.

“This room is secure, brother-captain,” said Praetor as N’keln entered the hall to stand alongside him, “but

there are further chambers that should be scoured leading off from this main hall—”

Praetor was interrupted by the sudden reappearance of Tsu’gan, back from reconnoitring. “There is more

than that, my lords,” he said, stalking towards them. Tsu’gan’s tone was laced with animus. It suggested the

Iron Warriors burning in the courtyard were not the only ones garrisoning the fortress.

N’keln’s jaw hardened as old enmity surfaced. The Iron Warriors had been at Isstvan. “Show me.”

Keeping pace with the fleeing boy wasn’t easy. He moved nimbly and took the Salamanders on a winding

path through darkened tunnels strafed by their luminators. Grainy white beams criss-crossed, cutting frantic

sweeps through the gloom with the urgent movements of Dak’ir and his squad.

“Stay vigilant,” he warned, voice low over the comm-feed.

Pyriel was on the sergeant’s heels. Emek followed closely with Apion and Romulus keeping a few paces

distant deliberately, in case of an ambush.

Despite his prodigious strength, hefting the heavy flamer rig was slowing Ba’ken down, especially in the

close confines of the tunnel complex. The hulking Salamander brought up Dak’ir’s rearguard.

Dak’ir lost the boy from sight as he emerged from around a tight corner into a much wider cavern. He

slowed to a cautious tread, checking out the debris left either side of a steadily narrowing channel. Piled

rocks, steel-bucketed mining carts, metal crates, discarded lume-lamps and other detritus flanked the

Salamanders as they formed a single file.

Detecting movement to his right, Dak’ir was about to order his squad to repel ambushers, when Pyriel

stopped him.

Let them come, he warned his brothers psychically, and keep your weapons low.

Dak’ir wanted to protest, but this was not the time. He had to trust his squad to the Librarian’s instincts and

hope they weren’t flawed.

“Follow Brother Pyriel’s lead,” he ordered quietly over the comm-feed.

Emek’s voice replied in a whisper.

“Five targets to the left, tracking us.”

Apion chimed in after him…

“Four more, static, in my fire arc.”

…then Romulus…

“I detect another six slowing to envelop.”

…and finally Ba’ken.

“Threats spotted, ten of them to our rear.”

Dak’ir knew there were five more up ahead, lying in wait at the tunnel’s junction. The Salamanders could

have neutralised them in seconds.

Within fifty more metres, the watchers lurking in the shadows sprang their “trap”. Concealed light rigs

blazed into life around the tunnel, throwing off a harsh sodium glare. Groups of men, armed with archaiclooking

lasguns and solid shot rifles, emerged from hiding places behind crates and under dusty tarpaulins.

Each of the Salamanders covered an enemy squad, though the humans’ formation was anything but uniform.

They were organised, their ambush-craft rudimentary though not beneath a well-drilled PDF regiment, but

their movements suggested well-trained amateurs not soldiers. Dressed in coarse grey fatigues that were

patched and worn like the boy’s had been, they were hard-looking men with dark skin, who lived even

harder lives if Scoria’s harsh environs were anything to go by. Some carried anachronistic armour plates

over the rough material: dull steel pauldrons and plastrons. Every man wore a pair of photo-flash goggles,

evidently hoping to disadvantage their opponents by blinding them with the sudden light glare. They had not

reckoned on facing Space Marines, whose occulobes reacted instantly to the shift in conditions.

A pair of what appeared to be mining engines rumbled into position on thick track-beds either side of the

tunnel, effectively blocking it. Tripled-headed drilling apparatus comprised much of the front facing of the

machines, with thick armour-plates and plastek glacis shielding the operators from view.

“Stand down and relinquish your weapons,” a stern voice echoed. “You are surrounded and outnumbered

fivefold.”

Dak’ir followed the source and saw a figure step forward out of the group of men in front of him. The

human was attired like the rest, but he also wore a short, ragged cloak that felt oddly familiar to the

Salamander. Thick, ribbed boots almost went up to knees that sported rounded metal plates. He carried a

lasgun low-slung with the ease of a man who knows his troops are watching his back for him. When he lifted

the goggles from his face, Dak’ir saw the man was in his middling years. Wrinkles eked from his eyes and

gave him a perpetual frown. Rock dust smothered his close-cropped hair, but much of the grey patina was

his own. Despite his age, the human leader possessed undeniable presence and his muscles were still taut, his

body and jaw solid.

“Remove your battle-helms, too,” he added. “I want to see if you all look like this one.” The human leader

gestured towards Ba’ken, who glowered at him.

We could disarm them with minimal casualties, thought Dak’ir, hesitating to consider the next course of

action.

Pyriel intruded on his musings.

Do as he asks, brother-sergeant. Stand down your squad.

Dak’ir heard the grip of his chainsword tighten as he squeezed it impotently.

“You can’t be seriously suggesting we yield to this rabble?” he hissed through the comm-feed.

“That is precisely what I’m suggesting. Do it now, before they start to twitch.” The Librarian turned his head

slightly to regard the brother-sergeant. “We must earn their trust.”

It went against his instincts and his training, but in the end Dak’ir gave the order to stow weapons.

The Salamanders obeyed instantly, despite their obvious misgivings, following suit as their brother-sergeant

removed his battle-helm.

“I am Brother-Sergeant Hazon Dak’ir of the Salamanders Chapter, 3rd Company,” Dak’ir told the human

leader, who smiled without it reaching his eyes.

“Sonnar Illiad,” he replied, gesturing to another of his group, a tall man with a blunt-looking head, facial

scars and a pepper-wash of stubble colonising his broad jaw and pate. “Overseer Akuma and his men will

take possession of your weapons.” The tall man and four others came forwards warily.

Ba’ken bristled behind his sergeant.

“No Astartes relinquishes his weapon unless it is prised from his cold, dead hand,” he snarled through gritted

teeth.

From the demeanour of his battle-brothers, it was clear that they agreed with him. Throne, Dak’ir agreed too.

Pyriel had insisted they stand down, and stand down they had. This he would not accede to.

“You may take my blade and pistol, as a gesture of good faith,” Dak’ir told the one called Illiad. The

overseer stopped at once, looking back to his leader for guidance. A battle of wills was begun, between

Dak’ir and the human. It played across Sonnar Illiad’s face as clear as a plasma flare.

“Very well,” he conceded at last, before motioning to the one called Akuma. “Take them.”

Dak’ir unsheathed and unholstered his weapons, proffering them to the overseer.

“Treat them reverently,” he warned, “For I will be taking them back very soon.”

Akuma tried not to let his fear show, but was obviously intimated by the red-eyed Salamander and was swift

to back away once he had his weapons.

The brother-sergeant then faced the man who called himself Illiad.

“We surrender,” he said. “What now?”

Tsu’gan battle-signed for his squad to surround the trapdoor concealed at the back of the giant hall. Forged

in thick iron, the gate looked sturdy, unashamedly designed to keep things out… or in. Dust-clogged and

veneered in rust, it was invisible to a cursory examination of the area. Empty ammo crates and munitions

tubes had been piled on top of it, draped over with a ragged tarpaulin. The fact that the stores of ammunition

were exhausted revealed much about the Iron Warriors’ desperate defence. They had used up almost

everything they’d had to repel the attackers. Tsu’gan didn’t doubt that the belt feeds and drum mags wedged

in the sentry guns were their last.

He held up a fist, ordering his squad to wait.

Praetor and Brother-Captain N’keln were close by with weapons drawn.

Auspex was wretched with interference, bio-signatures seemingly appearing and disappearing like smoke on

a stiff breeze, so Tsu’gan had ordered Iagon to shut the device off for now. Instead, he used his own senses

to discern the presence of his enemies and found them when he detected the faintest clank of metal on metal

through the iron door.

Pointing to his ear, Tsu’gan indicated that very fact to the others. He made a chop and pull motion with one

hand — the other gripped his bolter. Brothers S’tang and Nor’gan heaved the gate open, its locks sheared by

a plasma-torch from one of the Rhinos’ equipment bays. Scraping back the entrance to the lower level as

silently as possible, the two Salamanders moved aside quickly to allow Tsu’gan and the flamer-wielding

Brother Honorious to cover the now gaping portal.