Salamander

N'keln drove his sword deeper, searching for organs and grisly ways to ruin this monster from within. The beast lifted its power claw, a heavy burden, in attempted retaliation. Praetor smashed it down again with a blow from his thunder hammer, the sergeant and his warriors having joined the battle at last. One of his Firedrakes, Brother Ma'nubian, rammed the edge of his storm shield into the ork's screaming maw.

Still it refused to die, its tiny eyes like malevolent red suns making false promises of retribution. The warboss bowed, the weight of its body dragging it downwards. A plasma blast seared its shoulder, Dak'ir shooting through a gap in the melee.

A dark figure loomed before the near-dead ork.

It was Elysius. He was bent-backed too, agony creasing his features behind the skull-faced grimace of his battle-helm. The cleaved forearm had clotted almost, the Larraman cells working hard to staunch the wound. A fine drizzle of blood issued from the ragged stump where at first there had been a torrent, and the Chaplain cradled it close to his body protectively. Despite his passing out, he had maintained his grip on his crozius arcanum.

'Death to the ork!' he rasped, bringing the crackling mace down and staving in the beast's skull.

It was to prove the final blow in the greenskins' defeat. Without their warboss to unify them, the clans broke apart fully. Ill-disciplined, fighting amongst themselves, the orks were soon destroyed. Many fled across the dunes into oblivion in the face of the Salamanders' victory.

The beast's own clan fought to the end, but the Firedrakes and the newly arrived squads of Dak'ir and Tsu'gan, together with other reinforcements, quickly vanquished them. The Inferno Guard went to their lord's side. Brother Malicant passed the company banner to N'keln who thrust it into the gloaming sky and roared.

'Glory to Prometheus! Glory to Vulkan and the Emperor!'

The Salamanders cheered, as did the human settlers, though they didn't know what they were cheering about, only that they were alive and the swine-tusks were dead.

Ba'ken caught up to Dak'ir and the rest, the slumped carcass of the ork warboss cooling slowly in front of them.

'The greenskins have broken,' he announced.

Dak'ir saw Illiad following behind him and was glad the human had survived. Seventeen other settlers accompanied him.

'They gave their lives for their home,' said Illiad as he approached, guessing the Salamander sergeant's thoughts. 'It is what they and their families would have wanted.' His mood was defiant, but sombre and grim too. The grief would come later.

'Akuma?' Dak'ir asked of the only other settler he knew the name of that had fought in the battle.

'He died with honour,' Ba'ken told him, and was struck by the sadness in his voice. 'He is resting now, before I take him to the pyreum to join the other heroes who fell today.'

A sombre quietude followed, broken by the arrival of the captain.

'Well met, brothers,' said N'keln, handing the banner back to Malicant and going to stand amongst them.

The assembled Salamanders bowed slightly, humbled by their captain's courage and prowess.

Dak'ir felt emboldened by it and was gladdened that N'keln had found his strength through the fires of battle. The anvil had tested him and he had emerged reforged. His optimism was abruptly crushed when he caught the baleful gaze of Tsu'gan regarding him. The glow in the brother-sergeant's eyes was dimmed as he moved awkwardly. Fresh scars crosshatched his face, the honour markings of a battle well fought. Others would be added in recognition of this day by the brander-priests. Tsu'gan's look of ire was fleeting as he passed from Dak'ir to N'keln. Dak'ir was heartened to see respect there and surprised to admit to himself that perhaps Tsu'gan's concerns were legitimate at first, that he desired what was best for the company and not some grab for glory. If his brother-sergeant could acknowledge his mistake in hasty judgement, then perhaps Dak'ir should do so also concerning Tsu'gan's motives. It didn't mean the enmity between them had lessened, though.

'Apothecary Fugis will tend to that,' N'keln told Elysius, his tone brooking no argument from the Chaplain.

Dak'ir was astounded the Chaplain was still standing given the severity of the wound, even for one as robust as an Astartes.

Elysius merely nodded. The adrenaline was leaving his body now, and he had to focus all of his efforts on staying on his feet and conscious.

'What now, my lord?' asked Praetor, carrying scars of his own. His gaze flicked briefly to the distance where Namor and Clyten had fallen. Two of their battle-brothers had dragged them together in readiness for Fugis's reductor. Sadness shadowed Praetor's face for a moment before the sternness returned. 'The orks are defeated, but the

Vulkan's Wrath

is grounded still and we are no closer to discovering why the Tome of Fire led us here.'

'And the tremors worsen by the hour,' said Tsu'gan, his voice a strained rasp. 'How much longer before this world cracks apart and is sundered to galactic dust?'

A nerve trembled in Illiad's cheek, just below his left eye, at Tsu'gan's callous remark. The brother-sergeant neither appreciated or noticed the effect his referral to the imminent demise of Scoria had upon the human native.

Dak'ir stepped forward humbly, bowing his head in respect to Praetor and N'keln.

'I may have an answer to the second question,' he said.

'For now, it must wait,' Elysius interrupted. Fugis was now at his side and attending to the Chaplain's severed arm.

With his other hand, Elysius gestured to the sky.

The Salamanders around N'keln followed his gaze to where the black rock throbbed like a malignant tumour. It seemed larger than before. The sun was now totally engulfed by it. Not even a ring of light remained, just blackness, empty and consumptive. Splinters were breaking off from it, like jagged, purposeful hail homing in on the planet.

Ork ships. Many more than before.

Despite the victory, the Salamanders were weakened. Though united, they had fought and paid much to defeat the greenskins. There were no further reinforcements, no way to replenish their numbers. All that they had was there before them, tired and battered upon the bloodied ash dunes.

'How long?' asked N'keln, his voice was deep and forbidding.

'A few hours,' answered Elysius. 'That is all the time we have left.'

CHAPTER TWELVE

I Doomed