Salamander

'Stop Nihilan,' he roared, his voice hoarse from being half-choked to death. 'Don't let the bastard escape again.'

Pyriel didn't even pause. The Librarian knew his duty and sped on after Nihilan and his brood.

'Just you and I again,' sneered Dak'ir, scenting the sulphur gas streaming from a craterous hole behind the Dragon Warrior. A sudden idea occurred to him. 'You're not Fire-born, are you renegade…'

T

he idling of

powerful engines throbbed ahead of him as Pyriel thundered down the tunnel after Nihilan and the other Dragon Warrior.

Dak'ir was right - they could not be allowed to escape again. If it had to end here on Scoria then the renegades would die with them. The Librarian could feel peace if he knew that was so.

Too late, Pyriel arrived at the tunnel's terminus. In the expansive cavern before him, a Stormbird was waiting. Its engines were burning with a dull, red glow. The embarkation ramp in the gunship's hold was slammed down. The fang-mouthed Dragon Warrior was ferrying the last of the fyron ore aboard via the six-wheeled loader, his master looking on.

Just before Nihilan turned to see the foe in his midst, Pyriel looked up and realised the roof to the cavern was vaulted. In fact, it tapered several hundred metres up into a narrow chimney that led directly to the surface. Narrow, yes, but wide enough to accommodate the span of a Stormbird if piloted correctly.

A psychic cry ripped from Pyriel's throat as he recognised his chance to stop the Dragon Warriors was already beyond his grasp. He fashioned a bolt of flame from the essence of the warp, channelling it down his force sword to lash at Nihilan. At least he would sear him.

Some fifty metres away, the sorcerer turned and threw up a hasty force barrier against which the fire bolt crashed and dissipated. Behind trailing smoke and eddies of flame, Nihilan emerged unscathed.

The Dragon Warrior then unleashed a psychic riposte. Black smoke boiled across the ground, resolving into tendrils upon reaching the Salamander. The tendrils coiled insidiously around Pyriel's arms and legs, invading the protective aegis of his armour and bypassing the safeguards of his psychic hood. Powerless to prevent it, in a matter of seconds the Librarian was utterly paralysed. Thunderous rage burned in Pyriel's eyes as he regarded his nemesis.

'It's been a long time, Pyriel,' said Nihilan with a voice reminiscent of cracking parchment. 'I missed you on Stratos, brother.'

'A shame,' Pyriel forced a sarcastic reply. He grimaced against the sorcerous hold, trying to unravel it with his mind.

Nihilan walked off the loading ramp almost casually. Despite the raucous engine noise venting around him, his words were strangely clear. 'How long has it been, then? Over four decades for you? I see you have advanced in Master Vel'cona's eyes since then. A mere Codicier, if memory serves, and now a vaunted Epistolary.' Nihilan's burning red gaze swept over the arcane rank sigils emblazoned on Pyriel's armour contemptuously. The sorcerer's mood darkened.

'Still you deny the raw power of the warp,' he breathed, lingering on the flame icon on the Librarian's right pauldron. Enmity, perhaps even jealousy, flared briefly then died like the mirthless smile curling Nihilan's top lip. 'I eclipse your meagre abilities now.'

'Spoken like a true pawn of Chaos,' bit Pyriel, working as much vitriol as he could into the retort. 'You are naught but a plaything for the Ruinous Powers. Once your usefulness has ended they will discard you.'

The amused expression returned.

'I thought it was just the armour of my former brothers that was green. Not so for you of course, Librarian, but then the shade of your eyes make up for it, don't they.'

Pyriel's eyes burned an angry red. He wished dearly he could look upon Nihilan and engulf him within the fire of his wrath.

'If you're going to destroy me, then do it and spare the rhetoric before I expire of boredom.'

That struck a nerve. Nihilan seemed like he was going to give Pyriel his wish. Static blurted from the external vox feed in the hold of the Stormbird, arresting any retaliation.

'Cargo secured, my lord,' came a rasping voice. 'Brother Ekrine is ready to take off.'

Annoyed at the sudden interruption, Nihilan managed to keep his irritation from his voice when he replied. 'Understood, Ramlek. I will be with you momentarily.' He turned his attention back to Pyriel.

'I could smite you where you stand, but that wouldn't be fitting. I want you to suffer before you die, Pyriel. Just like Vel'cona made me suffer when you betrayed my trust.'

Pyriel's jaw hardened - the dark tendrils binding him were weakening. 'Traitors are undeserving of trust.'

Pyriel shook off the sorcerous bonds with a feral shout. Force sword held high, the Librarian launched himself at Nihilan, who merely stepped back into the hold before the ramp was pulled up. Mocking laugher echoed down to Pyriel as the Stormbird lifted and the hold hatch closed with a resounding

clang.

The burst from the gunship's rapidly vented thrusters sent the Librarian sprawling and the Stormbird soaring up the shrinking mouth of the rock chimney, up into the fractious air of Scoria.

Shrugging off the effects of Nihilan's sorcerous attack and mouthing a muttered curse, Pyriel picked himself up and went back down the tunnel to find Dak'ir.

He returned in time only to see the Salamander sergeant and his foe pitching over the edge of a fiery crevice, plummeting down, occluded by smoke and rising ash.

Pyriel gave voice to his pain again. 'Dak'ir!'

T

he black rock

exploded with all the finality and grandeur of a shattered star. At once the blood-red sky flooded with brilliance, a pure white flare that bathed all in its eldritch glow. The flare died but the sun returned with it, weak and yellow but brighter than the forbidding gloom of the eclipse.

Abruptly and violently sundered, the black rock was spread across the firmament. The fragments of its passing became new stars burning in the light of day. Drawn by the gravitational pull of the planet, the stars became larger and larger until they resolved into vast meteorites, swathed in fire and billowing smoke.

The effect of the black rock's destruction on the orks was almost palpable. The horde faltered, its impetus flagging like a ship with its sails abruptly cut. When the jagged balls of fire arcing from the heavens struck, it only compounded the greenskins' despair.

Simultaneous meteor strikes punished the rear of the ork lines stretching back across the dunes. The celestial storm wreaked utter havoc, slaying hundreds beneath the fury of the fallen rocks, and cooking hundreds more in the resultant radiation wave.

Tsu'gan watched this all happen between the ever growing gaps in the fighting. As soon as the beam from the seismic cannon rang out, piercing the sky like a radiant lance, N'keln ordered the Salamanders to stand fast and consolidate. Though stretched and scattered, the Astartes became like green- armoured islands in the orkish sea, turning their bolters outward and brooking no interloper beyond their individual walls of ceramite.

Shoulder-to-shoulder with Praetor and three of his Firedrakes, Tsu'gan couldn't help but stare in awe at the phenomenal display unfolding above. The earth chimed with it, trembling and