Salamander

'We found Nocturne.'

Agatone's face betrayed his incredulity.

'Let me introduce you to Sonnar Illiad,' said Dak'ir. 'There is much you should know, brother.'

II Death by Guilt

T

he dull report

of explosions rumbled through the walls of the keep, manifesting physically as dust motes spilling from the ceiling. The siege was in its second phase as the greenskin warboss threw his seemingly inexhaustible forces against the Salamander-held wall. Thus far, the casualties had been few. Brother Catus had needed his neck patching up before he could return to battle and Shen'kar had received several broken bones from his fall, but those had been swiftly righted and the Inferno Guard was back at his captain's side.

There were more severe cases. Two Salamanders were currently laid out, supine, their sus-an membranes having shut their bodies down in response to the grievous wounds they'd received during the first ork assault.

Other more minor injuries - severed hands, gouged eyes, punctured lungs - appeared more frequently. Gauntlets drenched in blood, Fugis was glad of the work, but he was also glad of the solitude of the keep. Ever since Naveem and his much-maligned pact with Iagon, the Apothecary had begun to doubt himself. An excuse to stay behind the lines, away from the thunder of battle, was ready-made with the need for him to monitor the two comatose Astartes.

It was anathema for a Salamander, for any Space Marine, to shirk away from combat like this. Fugis knew it, and it preyed upon his thoughts destructively.

He allowed his gaze to wander out of the open-doored cell, one of many in the keep - this one had been cleansed by Chaplain Elysius and a flamer team, and reappropriated for use as an Apothecarion, though Fugis doubted the Iron Warriors had used it for such a curative purpose - and alight upon the shadowed confines of the torture chamber. It was close by, and the doorway to the cell was concealed by a black curtain of plastek. The traitor prisoner was inside, secured upon'one of the Chaplain's devices, his chirurgeon-interrogators acting as dutiful but deadly lapdogs outside.

It felt odd to Fugis; a place of torture and a place of healing in such close proximity. On reflection, though, perhaps the two were not so disparate.

An internal chrono-icon flashed up on the Apothecary's medi-gauntlet display, reminding him that the monitoring cycle for the stricken warriors in his care was due. Fugis gripped the edges of a mortuary slab and bowed his head.

'Vulkan's fire beats in my breast…' he began, in an effort to steel himself.

Footsteps approaching before him arrested what was next in the catechism. Fugis started to look up slowly and saw first the green of a Salamander's battle-plate.

'Brother…' he started to say, when he noticed the ragged hole in the Salamander's plastron and found the dead eyes of Naveem glaring back at him.

'Brother.' Naveem's words were slurred, but as if there were a second voice laid over the first. His breath was rank with decay and a strong stench of old blood wafted from his wound, as stinging as the irony in Naveem's tone.

His face was set in a rictus sneer.

'You're dead,' Fugis asserted ludicrously. He reached for his bolt pistol, recognising an emanation of the warp. It seemed the Chaplain's blessing had not been stringent enough and the flamers had failed to purify completely.

'Thanks to you,' replied Naveem, in that same dual voice. He didn't move, but just stood there, radiating malice and accusation. 'You killed my legacy and me,

brother.'

Fugis's anger swelled at the apparition's mockery. He felt the reassuring solidity of the bolt pistol in his grasp.

'You cannot kill me twice,

brother,

'

said Naveem.

'You are not my brother, denizen of the warp,' Fugis countered and levelled the pistol.

'I am your guilt and your doubt, Fugis,' it said.

The Apothecary faltered. What good would a bolt pistol do against a figment of his mind? The weapon wavered in his grasp.

'Now,' it said. 'Put the gun to your forehead.'

Fugis's face creased defiantly, but he found himself slowly turning the pistol around. He

did

feel guilty for what had happened to Naveem. It gnawed at his soul, and weighed down his spirit. Fugis wanted to succumb to it, to be drawn down into the darkness there and to never resurface.

He closed his eyes.

The bolt pistol's muzzle was hard pressed against his skull. He hadn't even realised it had got that far.

'Do it now,' the apparition's voice insisted. 'Pull the trigger and sink down, down to where the darkness calls, down to silence and peace.'

Fugis's grip was tightening. He thought of Naveem and the ignominious end he'd condemned him to, and Kadai - he had failed him, too.

A sudden pressure exerted itself on the bolt pistol's barrel, slowly but firmly easing it away from the Apothecary's forehead.

…with it I shall smite the foes of the Emperor…

a familiar voice echoed in Fugis's mind.

'Ko'tan…' he rasped, opening his eyes again.

Naveem, or the thing that wore his image like a ragged cloak, was gone. The sense of something at the very edge of Fugis's vision was dissipating too. He didn't try to find it, for he knew it could not be seen. The remnant of green gauntlets, of a thunder hammer reforged and a captain reborn, stayed with him, though. It was there just long enough for Fugis to activate the comm-feed.

'Brother Praetor,' he said, knowing the 1st Company sergeant was held in reserve at the broken gate. 'I am evacuating the keep at once. All injuries will be treated at the battle front from this point.'

'T

hey're evacuating the

keep,' stated Tiberon.

Iagon nodded absently as he saw Apothecary Fugis emerge through the doors. A pack of servitors followed with a pair of collapsible medi-sleds for the two unconscious battle- brothers.

The chirurgeon-interrogators of Elysius came a few moments later, the captive Iron Warrior in tow. The Chaplain was on hand in the courtyard to survey proceedings keenly. The prisoner would be moved and secured within one of the Rhinos until such a time as Elysius was done with him. Judging by the Chaplain's demeanour, Iagon thought that might be soon.