Legion of the Damned

The two power-towers reaching out of the back of the Techmarine’s adapted armour crackled and arced with energy. Dancred’s clockwork face whirred to life, the nest of Omnissiah-honouring cogs and pinions working in unison like a mask of gears.

‘Two of the company’s Thunderhawks are lost to us, corpus-captain,’ Dancred told him. ‘During the attack on Ignis Prime, the Inwitian was destroyed on the Chapter house landing pad. The Flagellant returned but has sustained too much damage to be saved. I have conducted the appropriate rites and appeased the fading spirit of the fallen machine. It will live on through the invaluable parts it will provide for ongoing repairs to the Demetrius Katafalque III and the venerable Gauntlet. The Impunitas did not partake in the original operation or the rescue on Ignis Prime.’

‘The Impunitas is our only functioning gunship?’

‘Yes, corpus-captain.’

‘Well, Brother Dancred, that simply will not do,’ Kersh said. ‘The Fifth Company will need all of its weapons of war.’

‘The Gauntlet is our oldest and most decorated Thunderhawk. Her firepower will be yours shortly, my lord.’

‘Make sure it is, brother,’ the Scourge said, and then a little softer, ‘and know your efforts are appreciated.’ The Excoriator turned to Ezrachi. ‘Have you had opportunity to inspect the gene-seed?’

‘Apothecary Philemon gathered the progenoids of the dead and dying at the Chapter house, as his solemn duty demanded,’ Ezrachi reported. ‘He lost his life to the Alpha Legion’s second ambush with Corpus-Captain Thaddeus. Squad Cicatrix had the honour of driving back the Traitor Legionnaires and recovering the bodies.’ The Apothecary nodded respectfully across the table at a smouldering Skase who, disarmed at such diplomacy, managed an almost imperceptible nod back. ‘In doing this Chief Whip Skase and his men saved the harvested gene-seed of their fallen brothers, and the company is rightfully in their debt.’

Kersh would not be drawn into the Apothecary’s placation. ‘The seed itself?’

‘In good condition and stored in the apothecarion frigocombs–’

‘And what of the brothers to whom the seed belonged?’ Skase boiled over. He stood, slamming the palms of his gauntlets into the surface of the table. ‘Who knows the price of their esteem? We taketh away. When do we giveth – that’s what I demand to know.’

Kersh burned into him across the stone. ‘Take your seat, brother.’

‘I will not.’

‘What would you give them, whip?’ Ezrachi cut in. ‘Was not their loss lamented in ritual?’

‘He does not speak of ritual,’ Chaplain Shadrath hissed.

‘He speaks of vengeance,’ Kersh said. ‘He speaks of a battle-brother’s gift to his fallen brethren: avengement.’

‘You have intelligence from the Angels Eradicant of Alpha Legion sightings amongst the petrified hives of Rorschach’s World, yet you do nothing,’ Skase accused.

‘You think I hide upon this cruiser – afraid to engage our enemies?’ Kersh seethed. ‘Filth to whom we have both lost so much?’

Skase considered his words. ‘You are the Scourge. You are victor in the Feast of Blades. You have not a cowardly bone in your body… and yet you have found one.’

Within the blink of an eye Kersh was on his feet and had kicked his chair back behind him. Both Excoriators had their gauntlets to their weapons. Kersh gripped the hilt of his chainsword; Skase had his palm on the haft of his power axe, just below the dormant blade, ready to snatch the weapon from his belt. ‘Found your spine, Scourge? Going to cut me down with my corpus-captain’s sword?’

Kersh’s lip curled.

‘I have lived your pain,’ the Scourge told him honestly. ‘No one wants to face the Alpha Legion more than I. They have the Stigmartyr and I am honourless without it. I have pledged on the primarch’s blade that I shall reclaim it, but until I do the blood of those who lost their lives in its taking, and the attempts to reclaim it since, stains these hands.’ Kersh released his weapon and presented his palms to the squad whip. ‘Know that the loss of the Stigmartyr, for me, is more a punishment than you could ever devise. So be satisfied, loyal whip, for no more blood of the Fifth Company will be spilt here today – by my hand or yours. As corpus-captain, I will not permit it.’

‘That’s not good enough…’

‘Well, it will have to be, Chief Whip Skase.’

Skase looked about him at the frozen masks of alarm and expectation around the table. Releasing his axe, the squad whip slowly presented his own open palm and took his seat. ‘I have my orders,’ Kersh announced to the gathering, but his eyes were still on Skase, ‘and you have yours. The reason we do not make straight for Rorschach’s World to act upon this intelligence is because Chapter Master Ichabod has already designated our present duty. His orders take us to St Ethalberg. These are the chains of command,’ Kersh repeated from his earlier conversation with Ezrachi. ‘And they are binding.’ The Scourge let his words sink in. He detected faint nods about the table.

A bridge serf entered. Bowing before Kersh he delivered a whispered message to Commander Bartimeus.

‘We are about to make the cardinal world system,’ Bartimeus relayed gruffly.

‘Oversee the warp translation,’ Kersh ordered, prompting the Excoriators commander to follow the serf out of the oratorium. When the young Joachim and Squad Whip Ishmael got to their feet the Scourge turned on them. ‘Remain!’ he barked, causing the pair to sink moodily back to their seats. ‘Damned insolence,’ Kersh told them. ‘You will leave when you are dismissed and not a moment before.’ He turned back to Skase. ‘You forget yourselves but you can be forgiven, given the poor example set by your chief whip. Therefore, after due consideration, I have decided his punishment to be a three day cessation of ritual observance. Over this time he should consider himself unfit to don the mantle of Dorn.’

Chaplain Shadrath’s helm turned sharply. Ishmael and Joachim glared. Skase sat enraged but silent.

‘Mortification of the flesh is every Excoriator’s right,’ Squad Whip Ishmael shot back.

‘No, brother,’ Kersh returned, ‘it is not. Union with the primarch is a privilege and should be denied to those whose actions have proved unworthy of his ideals. I’m sure Chaplain Shadrath would agree.’

Shadrath said nothing.

‘Then I too volunteer for punishment,’ Ishmael said.

‘Seconded,’ Joachim echoed.

‘As you wish,’ Kersh told them. ‘Your confessed unworthiness is noted. The Chaplain will oversee the implementation of this punishment.’

The oratorium felt the cold sting of the corpus-captain’s orders. The chamber was silent. ‘Dismissed, brothers.’

As the Excoriators left, Ezrachi held back.

‘That could have gone… smoother,’ the Apothecary said. Kersh wasn’t in the mood, however.

‘Why don’t you devote your talents to the wounded pride of my officers?’ Kersh bit back.

‘I fear they are wounds that are already festering and beyond my abilities,’ Ezrachi admitted.

Kersh nodded, appreciating the Apothecary’s appraisal. The Apothecary went to leave.

‘I want you to accompany me down to the cardinal world,’ Kersh called as he reached the oratorium archway.

‘As you wish, my lord,’ Ezrachi said.

‘I need someone who can cut through the Ecclesiarchy politics and subtlety,’ Kersh admitted. ‘I haven’t the ears for Adeptus Ministorum guile and sermonising. I am not much of a politician.’

‘I think you have already proved that today,’ Ezrachi said, allowing himself a dark chuckle before disappearing through the arch. The bulkhead fell to closing and Kersh was left in the empty oratorium.

Looking down the length of the table, the Scourge found himself staring at the revenant, who had been there all the while, like a macabre ornament. The otherworldly eavesdropper sat still and said nothing.

‘What are you looking at?’ Kersh said irritably.