Legion of the Damned

‘This flesh needs purification. I must find myself and the presence of the primarch within me.’

‘You have been one with the Darkness,’ Ezrachi countered. ‘You have walked in Dorn’s plate, seen the galaxy through his eyes, known the emptiness of his grieving heart. Some may say that no living Excoriator has known his father as well.’

‘Where is the Stigmartyr?’ Kersh asked. ‘Where is the Chapter’s sacred standard now?’

‘It is lost…’ a voice rumbled from behind Ezrachi. ‘Like you.’

Another Excoriator entered the penitorium. He was stripped to the waist, like Kersh, and accompanied by his own trio of Chapter serfs. His flesh was that of a veteran, leathery and lined from a lifetime spent in battle. His brow bore a neat row of service studs and a necklace of chainsword teeth jangled about his taut neck. ‘And now… like us.’

‘Tiberias,’ Ezrachi warned.

As his seneschal, lictor and absterge filed past, the Space Marine turned to hang a towel from a hook set into the wall. The word Vanguard was tattooed across his broad shoulders, identifying him as an honoured brother of the First Company. As he turned again his baleful gaze drove the Scourge’s eyes to the deck. The sting of shame kept them there for a moment, but before Kersh knew he had done it, he was staring back at the Excoriator in defiance.

‘Kersh,’ the Apothecary said.

‘Do not spare me, brother,’ the Scourge called at Tiberias. Fresh blood pitter-pattered the deck about the Space Marine, falling from the torn flesh on his back. Bethesda approached with Kersh’s own towel. ‘Back…’ the Scourge growled, causing the absterge to drop the item where she stood and retreat. Ezrachi watched, uncertain, as Tiberias approached. Kersh took several steps also, scooping up the towel and wiping the glistening sweat from a knotted brow. ‘Where is it?’

‘What would you do with such information?’ Tiberias teased through a sneer. ‘Reclaim it?’

‘I would.’

‘And I would check your instruments, Apothecary,’ the veteran said to Ezrachi, ‘for your patient here seems still to dream.’

‘You’ll wish I was dreaming, brother,’ Kersh told him.

‘I am no brother of yours, Scourge…’

‘Must I beat it out of you?’

‘Desist. The both of–’ Ezrachi began.

‘I’ll fight you for less than that,’ Tiberias informed him as the two of them closed. ‘The Alpha Legion has the Stigmartyr now.’ The two Excoriators began to circle. ‘You and the Santiarch are all that remain of the Chapter Master’s inner circle. And I am all that’s left of the Honoured First.’

Kersh looked from Ezrachi to Tiberias, then back to the Apothecary.

‘Chapter Master Ichabod?’

‘The Chapter Master lives,’ Ezrachi confirmed, ‘but the rumours are that he is waning.’

‘Rumours!’ Kersh spat. ‘You are Ezrachi, of the Helix – what does your Lord Apothecary say?’

‘My lord is dead,’ Ezrachi admitted, more harshly than he intended. Taking his helmet from under his arm, he hugged it to his chestplate. ‘Like Tiberias says, the circle is broken. Chapter Master Ichabod is strong, but his wounds are grievous. The Alpha Legion’s assassination failed, but they employed a virulent toxin for which we have no record, nor antidote. It is only a matter of time.’

‘How long?’

‘Weeks. Perhaps years. In truth we do not know.’

‘We must search for the source of this toxin.’

‘Already begun – that is the Fourth Company’s honour. They suspect it to be a naturally occurring substance, since it betrays no evidence of engineering. They have been despatched to every known death world in the segmentum. That is why I have been attached to this venture. Apothecary Absalom of the Second was due to travel with you to the Feast, but he is needed to coordinate the search and to formulate an antidote. He is Lord Apothecary now.’

‘Then where are the Alpha Legion?’ Kersh demanded.

‘They have slithered away like the serpents they are,’ Tiberias said.

‘The Fourth waste their time,’ Kersh said to Ezrachi. ‘We must find the Traitors and recover both the banner and intelligence of the toxin’s origin.’

‘You think we have not all thought on that?’ Tiberias goaded.

‘They are everywhere and nowhere,’ Ezrachi said with sadness. ‘They have played with us. Even the most promising leads have thus far turned out to be no more than shadows and whispers. That was until Veiglehaven.’

‘Veiglehaven?’

‘The Fifth Company were lured there,’ Ezrachi told the Scourge.

‘Looking for the Chapter standard,’ Tiberias added, jabbing a meaty finger at Kersh. ‘Your standard.’

‘A trap?’

The Apothecary nodded sadly.

‘How many?’

‘Over half the company was lost,’ Tiberias said. Kersh’s gaze fell to the deck. ‘Brothers, sent to suffer an ignoble death, while you live and breathe before me. The Scourge? More like a scourge. A scourge on this Chapter. Your hearts beat only to expound your dishonour. How do you suffer the insufferable? Our blood – on your hands.’

‘It’s Dorn’s way,’ Kersh said finally, his eyes rising once again to meet his accuser’s. ‘We are for the Emperor, to the point of death. Devotion at any cost – even that of my soul, Brother Tiberias. We talk of your blood and its whereabouts. My understanding is that you will find it in ample quantity on the blade of the White Templar you fought in the Cage.’

The Excoriator’s sneer split into an ugly snarl. His bruised fist came at Kersh with a furious desire. Tiberias was fast but his movements were those of a close combat veteran: precise, measured and committed. Predictably so. Kersh had spent a lifetime at his Chapter Master’s side, fighting experienced warriors of all creeds and species. The enemy would always send their best at him and it had been the Scourge’s simple honour to end them before they could end his master.

Kersh held his ground, craning and stretching. Tiberias’s fists were everywhere: punching, back-handing, swinging. Each failed to find its mark – the fury of each strike lost on air. The Scourge angled his shoulders, swooping and bobbing his head just out of the veteran’s considerable reach. A bare foot struck out at Kersh, forcing him to pivot. He slapped the knee aside and flung his towel into Tiberias’s contorted face. The honoured brother tore it away, only to find that Kersh had pivoted back.

A gobbet of blood and teeth erupted from the veteran’s mouth as his head was smashed to one side. The Excoriator’s mighty body followed, his feet thrown up into the air and his tattooed shoulders hammering into the hard deck with a metallic boom.

Kersh stood with Ezrachi’s helmet clutched in one hand. The Apothecary had tried to get between the two warriors in his ceremonial plate, but Kersh had snatched his bone-white helm from his hands. It sat snug in his fist as he’d spun around, like a moon in rapid orbit around a serene gas giant, until it crashed into Tiberias’s face.

Ezrachi knelt down beside the felled Space Marine to check his ruined features. A broken nose and shattered jaw fountained a further spray of blood as Tiberias coughed up more teeth. Kersh looked down at the gore-smear across the white of the helm’s faceplate.

‘I’ve found more of your blood, Brother Tiberias,’ the Scourge spat, prompting the veteran to shove the aged Ezrachi aside and scramble, half blood-blind to his feet.

‘Come on, meat,’ Kersh dared.

‘Enough!’ Corpus-Captain Gideon called, striding into the penitorium. ‘Save it for the damned arena,’ he said in disgust. ‘Get him out of here. Clear the chamber.’

Chapter serfs hurried past, while Ezrachi angled the unsteady Tiberias’s shoulders towards the exit. The Apothecary gave the Scourge a sullen scowl.

‘I will see you planetside,’ Ezrachi told him. Kersh threw Ezrachi back his besmirched helm.

The Apothecary looked back at Kersh and then left. The corpus-captain hit a vox-stud in the wall.