Salamander

our traitorous brothers is functional.'

Elysius exploded at this remark.

'

You

cannot suggest we employ the tools of the enemy!' he raged. 'Heresy lurks down that path, Librarian. I would gladly choose death before compromising my purity with the taint of Perturabo's spawn.'

'You may get your wish, yet,' Pyriel returned, his voice measured. 'But I would not willingly offer my life, or the lives of my brothers or the people of this world, upon the anvil of war for futile pride. Trust in faith and the fortitude of Nocturne bred into us from our very birth and rebirth,' he implored. 'We can activate the cannon, use it to destroy the black rock and the greenskin hordes upon it.'

'And to what end?' the Chaplain countered. 'We risk compromising our purity in the eyes of the Immortal Emperor, and suppose we do so untainted and our enemies are vanquished. What then? Our ship is still mired in the ash, bereft of the engine power to free itself, as this planet is disintegrating from within.'

As if on cue, a tremor rumbled deeply below the earth and fire from the raging volcanoes turned the darkling sky red.

'To abandon a chance for victory here is to abandon hope,' said Pyriel. 'I refuse to believe that Vulkan, through the Tome of Fire, would have sent us to Scoria without reason and to our inevitable destruction. You said yourself, brother, that it was our destiny to be struck from the sky, our eyes opened to the truth.'

Elysius heard his words replayed back to him and found he had no answer. Instead, he looked to N'keln. It was for the captain to decide.

N'keln stood in silence for what seemed a long time before he eventually spoke.

'Though it offends me to my core to dirty my hands with the weapons of traitors, I see no other choice. We cannot use the

Vulkan's Wrath

to destroy the black rock, nor is any weapon we possess here capable of such a feat - the Iron Warriors' seismic cannon is our choice. Practicality must outweigh false glory. My decision is made.'

Pyriel nodded. Elysius echoed him a few moments later, reluctant but relenting to his captain's will and counsel.

'What would you have me do, my lord?' asked the Chaplain.

'After unsealing the keep, Brother Draedius will accompany you to the catacombs where the weapon is kept. Take flamers, take whatever you need and cleanse it, sanctify the cannon and allow our Techmarine to marshal its tainted machine-spirits. Then we bring it into the light of day and remove the dark stain that has so blighted this world's sky.'

'The weapon still requires an amount of fyron, the ore mined by the settlers here, for it to fire,' cautioned Pyriel.

N'keln turned his hard gaze upon the Librarian. To Dak'ir, it seemed the captain was growing in stature with every passing moment.

'You know where this mine is to be found, brother?'

'A guide can be seconded from the human survivors,' he said flatly. Dak'ir thought at once of Illiad, only to realise that he hadn't seen the leader of the settlers since they'd returned to the iron fortress. He also now noticed the fact that a Rhino APC was missing, too.

'Then do so,' N'keln's stern reply interrupted Dak'ir's thoughts. 'Brother- sergeant,' he added, catching Dak'ir's direct attention. 'Gather a combat squad to accompany you and Brother Pyriel. It is paramount you return with enough fyron ore to power at least one blast of the cannon.'

'Yes, my lord.' Dak'ir saluted.

'To your tasks then, brothers,' said N'keln. Brother Shen'kar was waiting patiently at the periphery with schematics and potential combat scenarios for the captain to assess. Even if they were successful in destroying the black rock, a great many orks were already on their way and would soon land upon Scorian soil. Battle with them was inevitable and the rest of the Salamanders would need to be ready.

There was little else to be done for Master Argos and the

Vulkan's Wrath.

N'keln had denied all requests to go and reinforce the ship. Their position was strong at the fortress and the orks would come to them again. If any did find their way to the crash site, the auxiliaries would have to handle them. But N'keln did not think that likely. The Salamanders would not seek shelter behind tainted walls this time. Its effects were too dangerous and unpredictable with the psychic backwash from the greenskins. No, they would face the hordes out in the open and meet them at close arms where the sons of Vulkan excelled. If defeated, then N'keln deemed they were unworthy of the primarch's love anyway and deserved no better a fate. He chose to trust in faith and that salvation for the company would present itself through the fires of war.

Dak'ir wanted to speak with N'keln personally, to discuss the fate of Gravius and the armour suits of the old Legion in more detail, but by now the captain was intent on his battle plans. So far, all he had delivered was a succinct appraisal of the facts: of his and Pyriel's discovery of the ancient Salamander and that the power armour suits were being secured aboard the

Vulkan's Wrath,

in one of the ship's many armoriums.

The captain had taken all of this in with silent inscrutability and not indicated to Dak'ir what his plan might be concerning it.

Destroy the black rock, salvage what they could from the world and hope for a means of escape - those were the Salamanders' priorities now, and in that order. Everything the else was of secondary concern.

'Gather your warriors back here,' said Pyriel once both N'keln and Elysius, gone to find Draedius and his flamers, had departed. 'I will find us some guides.'

Dak'ir nodded, his mind suddenly on other things as he regarded the open embarkation hatch of the

Fire Anvil.

Ba'ken was waiting for him as he approached the Land Raider.

Clutching the hulking warrior's pauldron, Dak'ir leaned in and said: 'We are bound for the mines. I need four battle-brothers, yourself included.'

Ba'ken nodded and went off to gather the troops.

Dak'ir continued on his way and soon found himself at the

Fire Anvil's

embarkation ramp. The internal lighting was kept low but he still made out injured battle-brothers hunched upon the assault bunks, awaiting treatment. Dak'ir also noticed two medi-caskets where comatose Salamanders reclined, preserved by the action of their sus-an membranes, in response to the grievous harm they'd suffered in battle against the orks.

He'd seen other caskets too: these contained the bodies of slain heroes, destined for the pyreum, their progenoids removed to cultivate later generations of Salamanders. The dead amongst the settlers, almost half of those who had gone bravely into battle with the Astartes, would join them as a mark of honour and respect for their sacrifice.

Dak'ir entered and he saw what at first he thought was Fugis tending to a wounded Salamander at the rear of the hold, his back to him. When he saw the green, not white, battle-helm resting on a medi-slab alongside him, Dak'ir realised it was not the Apothecary at all.

'Where is Fugis?' he asked curtly, annoyed at the perceived deception.

Brother Emek turned to face him, but his patient spoke for him.

'N'keln sent him on another mission, as soon as we returned to the iron fortress,' Tsu'gan told him, his spike of beard jutting out like a static, red flame. The sergeant's plastron and a