TEXT: By William King
  CHAPTER I
  Cloud Runner gazed on the wreckage of his home 
  and felt like weeping. He closed his eyes and took 
  three breaths, but when he looked again nothing 
  had changed. He turned back towards the dropship 
  Deathwing. Weasel-Fierce had just descended from 
  the ramp. He gazed round ferally at what once had 
  been Cloud Runner's village and brought his storm 
  Bolter into attack position. A grin split his skull-
  White  face.  "Dark  Angels,  be  wary.  Death  has 
  walked  here,"  he  said.  The  sun  glistened  off 
  Weasel-Fierce's black Terminator armour. With his 
  white hair and y-shaped scar-tattoos, he looked like 
  the Eater of Bones come back to claim the world. 
  Cloud Runner shook his head in disbelief. For two 
  hundred years he had held the memory of this place 
  in his mind. Although the Chapter was his home 
  and the Battle Brothers were his family, he had 
  always felt his spirit would return here when the 
  Emperor  granted  him  rest.  He  glanced  in  the 
  direction  of  the  burial  mounds.  They  had  been 
  broken open. He made his way to the entrance. He 
  could  see  that  the  bones  had  been  broken  and 
  mangled. It was a blasphemy that only the bitterest 
  of foes would perform. It marked the ending of his 
  clan.  "The  ghosts  of  my  ancestors  wander 
  homeless." he said. "They will become drinkers of 
  blood  and  eaters  of  excrement.  My  clan  is 
  dishonoured." He felt a heavy, gauntleted hand on 
  his shoulder and turned to see Lame Bear gazing 
  down on him. Two centuries ago Cloud Runner and 
  he had belonged to enemy clans. Now the clansmen 
  who they had fought alongside were dead, and the 
  old rivalry had long ago become fast friendship. 
  "The Dark Angels are your people now." said Lame 
  Bear in his soft voice. 'If necessary we will avenge 
  this  dishonour"  Cloud  Runner  shook  his  head. 
  "That is not the Way. The Warriors From The Sky 
  are above the squabblings of the clans. We choose 
  only the bravest of the mains People. We take no 
  sides."  "Your  words  do  honour  to  the  Chapter. 
  Brother Captain," said Lame Bear. stooping to pick 
  up something that lay in the grass. Cloud Runner 
  saw that it was a metal axe-head. Sorrow warred 
  with  curiosity  and  won.  "This  was  not  the 
  homecoming I had imagined." Cloud Runner said 
  softly. "Where are children gathering flowers for 
  the Autumn  Feast?  Where  are  the young  bucks 
  racing out to count coup on our armour? Where are 
  the spirit-talkers who wish to commune with us? 
  Dead. All dead." Lame Bear limped away leaving 
  Cloud Runner alone with his grief. 
  *****************
  Two Heads Talking studied the desiccated bodies 
  within the lodge. One had been an old warrior. His 
  shrivelled hand still clutched a stone axe inscribed 
  with the thunderbird rune. The other had been a 
  squaw. Between her skeletal fingers was the neck 
  of an infant. "She strangled the child rather than let 
  her fall into the hands of the enemy." said Bloody 
  Moon. The Librarian noticed the undercurrent of 
  horror in the Marine's voice. He took a deep breath, 
  trying to ignore the musty stench that filled the long 
  house. 
  "Something evil happened  here,  but it happened 
  decades ago," Two Heads Talking replied seeking 
  to  relieve  Bloody  Moon's  superstitious  fear.  He 
  wanted time to consider, to probe the events of the 
  past. The aura of old terror almost smothered him. 
  Shadows  lay  over  this  lodge.  Something  was 
  ominously familiar about the psychic aura of the 
  area. 
  "Lord  Shaman...  "  said  Bloody  Moon.  The 
  Librarian almost smiled, the habits of the; ancient 
  former lives had returned in strength now that they 
  once  more  walked  the soil  of their  homeworld. 
  "Brother Librarian is my title, Bloody Moon. You 
  are  no  longer  my  honour  guard.  We  are  both 
  1
  
  Marines." "Lord - Brother Shaman," Bloody Moon 
  continued. "No warriors of the Plains would have 
  wrought such havoc. Do you think…?" 
  "We shall have to investigate, old friend. We must 
  visit  the  other  lodgetowns  and  speak  with  their 
  chieftains. If someone has returned to the customs 
  of the Reaving Time. we will put an end to it." 
  It was rumoured that some of the Hill Clans still 
  kept to the old daemon-worshipping practices from 
  the time before the Emperor's people came. If that 
  were true, it was up to the Marines to take action. 
  Somehow  Two  Heads  Talking  did  not  think  it 
  would come to that. This did not have the feel of 
  demon worshippers, although there was a taint in 
  the air that was akin to it. An almost recognisable 
  horror clawed at his mind. He fought it down and 
  hoped that his suspicions were not true.
  *****************
  The city reared above the plain like a soot-grimed 
  leviathan. Cloud Runner spotted it before the others 
  and ordered Lame Bear to land the dropship in a 
  valley. out of sight of its walls. From the brow of 
  the hill. he studied it through magnoculars. It was 
  an ugly place that reminded him of the hiveworlds 
  he had  visited.  It  covered  many  miles  and  was 
  enclosed by monolithic walls. Great smokestacks 
  loomed  in  the  distance,  belching  acrid  chemical 
  clouds into the greyish sky. 
  Outside the walls, the river ran black with poisons. 
  As Cloud Runner watched. he saw herd elk being 
  driven squealing from barges toward great abattoirs 
  within the walls. From huge stone barracks, people 
  swarmed  through  the  streets  towards  enormous, 
  brick  factories.  Smog  drifted  everywhere, 
  occasionally  obscuring  the  grimy  city  and  its 
  teeming inhabitants. "That is where Lame Bear's 
  metal axe came from." Said Two Heads Talking, 
  lowering  himself  to  the  ground  beside  Cloud 
  Runner. "I wonder who built it?" 
  "It's a nightmare," murmured Cloud Runner. "We 
  return home to find our lodges ravaged and this ... 
  abomination in its place." "That city must hold all 
  the clans of all the peoples of the Plains and ten 
  times  more  besides.  Could  our  folk  have  been 
  enslaved and taken there, Brother Captain?" Cloud 
  Runner remained silent, considering. "If they have 
  been, then we will go down with flamer and storm 
  bolter and free them." "We must know more before 
  we act. We could be outnumbered and trapped," 
  replied the Shaman. "I say we go in with weapons 
  armed," said Weasel-Fierce from behind them. "If 
  we find foes, we burn them." "Suppose they think 
  the same? The soot and filth give the place an 
  Orkish  look."  said  Lame  Bear.  He  had  been 
  scouting further along the crest. "No Ork ever put 
  stone on stone like that." countered  Two  Heads 
  Talking. "That is human workmanship." "It is not 
  the work of the People." said Cloud Runner. "Those 
  barracks  are  a  hundred  times  the  size  of  a 
  lodgehouse and built of brick." "There is only one 
  way to find out anything." said Two Heads Talking. 
  "One of us must visit the city." 
  *****************
  The warriors nodded assent. Each tapped a scar-
  tattoo to indicate that he volunteered. Two Heads 
  Talking shook his head. "I must go. The spirits will 
  shield  me."  Cloud  Runner  saw  the  rest  of  the 
  warriors look at him to see what his decision would 
  be. As Captain. he could overrule the Librarian. He 
  looked at the city, then at the Shaman standing 
  quiet  and  proud  before  him.  A  sensation  of 
  emptiness, of futility came over him. His people, 
  his village had gone. 
  "As you wish. Lord Shaman. Speak to the spirits 
  and seek their aid." he said, giving the ancient ritual 
  answer. "Bloody Moon's squad will remain here to 
  watch over you. The rest of us will take Deathwing 
  and seek out any surviving lodgetowns." 
  *****************
  Night fell as Two Heads Talking completed his 
  preparations. He laid the four rune etched skulls of 
  his predecessors on the ground about him. Each 
  faced one of the cardinal points of the compass and 
  watched over an approach from the spirit realm. 
  He lit a small bonfire in the deep hollow, cast a 
  handful of herbs on the fire and breathed in deeply. 
  He touched  the ceremonial  winged  skull  on his 
  chest-piece and then the death's head inlaid on his 
  belt. Lastly, he prayed to the Emperor, tamer of 
  thunderbirds and beacon of the soul path, to watch 
  2
  
  over him as he made magic. Then he began to 
  chant. 
  The  fumes  from  the  herbs  filled  his  lungs.  He 
  seemed to rise above his body and look down upon 
  it. The other Terminators backed away from the 
  spirit circle. A chill stole over him, and life leeched 
  away until he was close to the edge of death. Great 
  sobs wracked his body. but he mastered himself and 
  continued with the ritual. 
  He stood in a cold shadowy place. He sensed chill 
  white  presences  at  the  edge  of  his  perception, 
  clammy  as  mist  and  cold  as  the  gravemound. 
  Above him he could hear the beating of mighty 
  pinions from where Deathwing. the Emperor's steed 
  and bearer of the souls of the slain, hovered. 
  The Shaman talked with the presences, made pacts 
  that bound them to his service and rewarded them 
  with a portion of his strength. He sensed the hungry 
  spirits surge around him. ready to shield him from 
  sight, to cloud the eyes of any who might look upon 
  him, causing them to see only a friendly being. 
  He  walked  from  the  circle,  past  the  watching 
  Marines. As he crested the brow of the hill. he saw 
  the distant  city.  Even  at  night,  its  fires  burned, 
  lighting the sky and turning the metropolis into a 
  giant shadow cast upon the land. 
  *****************
  Above  them.  through  the  gloom.  loomed  the 
  Mountains of Storm. Cloud Runner wondered how 
  Lame Bear was taking it. The big man's face was a 
  blank mask. He was not allowing himself to think 
  about what might have happened to his people. 
  The Hunting Bear village was the last they had 
  visited:  the most remote,  built in  caves  beneath 
  Cloud-Girt Peak. Lame Bear limped up the narrow 
  pathway in the cliff-face. 
  Cloud  Runner  tried  not  to  think  of  the  other 
  lodgetowns they had seen. They had found nothing 
  but  desolation  and  desecrated  graves.  No  living 
  soul except the Marines walked among the fallen 
  totems. They had buried the bodies they had found 
  and offered prayers to the Emperor for the safety of 
  their slain kin. 
  Cloud Runner could see Weasel-Fierce pause. The 
  gaunt man's hand played with the feathered hilt of 
  his ceremonial dagger. He studied the ledges above 
  the paths and seemed to sniff the air. 
  "No sentries." he said. "As a buck. I raided these 
  mountains.  The  Hunting  Bear  always  had  the 
  keenest watchers. If anyone was alive, we would 
  have been challenged by now." 
  "No!"  Lame  Bear  shouted  and  ran  across  the 
  lodgetown's threshold and into the caverns. "Squad 
  Paulo.  overwatch!"  Cloud  Runner  ordered.  Five 
  Terminators  froze  in  position.  guarding  the 
  entrance. 
  "The rest of you, follow me. Helmets on. Keep your 
  eyes peeled. Weasel-Fierce, establish a fix on Lame 
  Bear. Don't lose him." 
  Night-lights cut in as they entered the cave mouth. 
  Dozens of tunnels led from the place. Chittering 
  things  flapped  away  from  their  lights.  For  a 
  moment,  Cloud  Runner  allowed  himself  to  feel 
  hopeful. If they were to find any survivors of the 
  Plains People, it would be here. In this huge night-
  black maze Lame Bear's people could have hidden 
  out for years, dodging any pursuit. 
  As  they  followed  Lame  Bear's  locator  signal 
  through the warren of tunnels, despair filled Cloud 
  Runner. They passed hallways where the dead lay. 
  Sometimes the bodies were marred by the mark of 
  spear and axe; sometimes they were crushed and 
  mangled by inhuman force. Some had been ripped 
  asunder. Cloud Runner had seen bodies butchered 
  like that before but told himself that it was not 
  possible here. Such a thing could not happen on his 
  homeworld - in vast hulks that lay cold in space, 
  perhaps, but not here. 
  3
  
  They found Lame Bear standing in the largest cave 
  of all. Bones littered the floor. Scuttlers fled from 
  their lights. Lame Bear sobbed and pointed to the 
  walls.  Paintings  dating  from  the  earliest  times 
  covered  the  caveside,  but  it  was  the  last  and 
  highest-situated  representation  that  drew  Cloud 
  Runner's  attention.  There  was  no  mistaking  the 
  four-armed.  malevolent  form.  Hatred  and  fear 
  chased each other through his mind. 
  "Genestealers." he spat. Behind him. Lame Bear 
  moaned.  Weasel  Fierce  gave  his  short,  barking 
  laugh. The sound chilled Cloud Runner to the bone. 
  Two Heads  Talking stalked  past the city's open 
  gates.  The  stench  assailed  his  nostrils.  His 
  concentration faltered, and he could feel the spirits 
  struggling to escape. He exerted his iron will, and 
  the spell of protection fell into place. 
  Studying his surroundings, he realised that he had 
  no need to worry. There were no guards, only a 
  toll-house where a pasty faced clerk sat, ticking off 
  accounts. In its own way this was ominous: the 
  city's  builders  obviously  did  not  feel  threatened 
  enough to post sentries. 
  Two Heads Talking studied the scribe. He sat at a 
  little window, poring over a ledger. In his hand was 
  a quill pen. He was writing by the light of a small 
  lantern.  Momentarily,  he  seemed  to  sense  the 
  Librarian's presence and looked up. He had the high 
  cheek-bones and ruddy skin of the Plains People. 
  but there the resemblance ended. 
  His limbs seemed stunted and weak. His features 
  had an unhealthy pallor. He gave a hacking cough 
  and returned to his work. His face showed no sign 
  of manhood scars. His clothes were made of some 
  coarse-woven cloth, not elk leather. No weapon sat 
  near at hand, and he showed no resentment at being 
  cooped up in the tiny office rather than being under 
  the open sky. Two Heads Talking found it hard to 
  believe that this was a descendant of his warrior 
  culture. 
  He  pushed  on  into  the  city,  picking  his  way 
  fastidiously through the narrow, dirty streets that 
  ran between the enormous buildings. The place was 
  laid out with no rhyme or reason. Vast squares lay 
  between  the  great  factories,  but  there  was  no 
  apparent pattern. The city had grown uncontrolled, 
  like a cancer. 
  There were no sewers, and the roads were full of 
  filth. The smell of human waste mingled with the 
  odour of frying food and the sharp tang of cheap 
  alcohol.  Low  shadowy  doors  of  inns  and  food 
  booths rimmed each square. 
  Unwashed children scuttled everywhere. Now and 
  again,  huge,  well-fed  men  in  long,  blue  coats 
  pushed  their  way  through  the  throng.  They  had 
  facial scar-tattoos and they walked with an air of 
  swaggering pride. If anyone got in their way, they 
  lashed out at them with wooden batons. To Two 
  Heads  Talking's  surprise,  no-one hit  back.  They 
  seemed too weak-spirited to fight. 
  As he wandered, the Librarian noticed something 
  even more horrible. All the members of the crowd, 
  except the urchins and the bluecoats, were maimed. 
  Men  and  women  both  had  mangled  limbs  or 
  scorched faces. Some hobbled on wooden crutches, 
  swinging the stumps of legs before them. Others 
  were blind and were led about by children. A dwarf 
  with  no  legs  waddled  past,  using  his  arms  for 
  motion, walking on the palms of his hands. They all 
  seemed to be the accidental victims of some huge, 
  industrial process. 
  In  the  darkness.  by  the  light  dancing  from  the 
  hellish  chimneys,  they  moved  like  shadows, 
  scrabbling about crying for alms, for succour, for 
  deliverance. They called on the Heavenly Father, 
  the four-armed Emperor, to save than. They cursed 
  and raved and pleaded under a polluted sky. Two 
  Heads Talking watched the poor steal from the poor 
  and wondered how his people had come to be laid 
  so low. 
  He remembered the tall, strong warriors who had 
  dwelled in the lodgetowns and asked nothing of any 
  man. What malign magic could have transformed 
  the  People  of  the  Plains  into  these  pathetic 
  creatures? 
  He  felt  e  shock  as  a  child  tugged  at  his  arm. 
  "Tokens, Elder. Tokens for food." 
  Two Heads Talking sighed with relief. His spell 
  still held. The child saw only a safe. unobtrusive 
  figure. He could feel the strain of binding the spirits 
  gnawing away at him subconsciously, but they had 
  not yet slipped his grasp. 
  "I have nothing for you. boy," he said. The urchin 
  ran off mouthing obscenities. 
  *****************
  Depressed  and  angry,  the Marines  left  the cave 
  village.  Cloud  Runner  noticed  that  Lame  Bear's 
  face was white. He gestured for the big man and 
  Weasel-Fierce  to  follow  him.  The  two  squad 
  leaders fell in beside him. They marched up to a 
  great spur of rock and looked down into a long 
  valley. 
  "Stealers," he said. 'We must inform the Imperium." 
  4
  
  Weasel-fierce spat over the edge of the cliff. 
  "'The dark city is theirs." said Lame Bear. There 
  was a depth of hatred in his quiet voice that Cloud 
  Runner understood. "They must have conquered the 
  People and herded than within." 
  "Some clans resisted." Cloud Runner said. He was 
  proud of that. The fact that his clan had chosen to 
  continue a hopeless struggle rather than surrender 
  gave him some comfort. 
  "Our  world  is  ended;  our  time  is  done,"  said 
  Weasel-Fierce. His words tolled like great, sad bells 
  within  Cloud  Runner's  skull.  Weasel-Fierce  was 
  right. Their entire culture had been exterminated. 
  The only ones who could remember the world of 
  the Plains People were the Marines of the Dark 
  Angels. When they died the clans would live only 
  in  the  Chapter  Fleet's  records.  Unless  the  Dark 
  Angels  broke  with  tradition  and  recruited  from 
  other worlds, the Chapter would end with the death 
  of the present generation of Marines. 
  Cloud Runner felt hollow. He had returned home 
  with such high hopes. He was going to walk once 
  more among his people, see again his village before 
  old age took him. Now he found his world was 
  dead, had been for a long time. 
  "And we never knew," he said softly. "Our clans 
  have been dead for years, and we never knew. It 
  was a cursed day when we rode the Deathwing 
  back to our homeworld." 
  The squad leaders stood silent. The moon broke 
  through the clouds. Below them. in the valley. they 
  saw the faded outline of a giant winged skull cut 
  into the earth. 
  "What is that?" asked Weasel-Fierce. "It was not 
  here when last I stalked in the valley." 
  Lame Bear gave him an odd look. Cloud Runner 
  knew that his old friend had never pictured  the 
  brave of an enemy clan walking in his people's 
  sacred valley. Even after a century, the taciturn, 
  skeletal man could still surprise them. 
  "It  was  where  our  spirit  talkers  made  magic." 
  answered Lame Bear. 
  "They must have tried to summon Deathwing, the 
  bearer of the Warriors from the Sky. They must 
  have been desperate to attempt such a summons. 
  'They trusted us to protect them. We never came." 
  Cloud Runner heard Weasel-Fierce growl. "We will 
  avenge them." he said. 
  Lame Bear nodded agreement. "We will go in and 
  scour the city." 
  "We number only thirty, against possibly an entire 
  city  of  Stealers.  The  Codex  is  quite  clear  on 
  situations  like  this.  We  should  virus  bomb  the 
  planet from orbit." Cloud Runner said, listening to 
  the silence settle. Lame Bear and Weasel-Fierce 
  looked at him, appalled. 
  "But what of our people? They may still survive," 
  Lame Bear said, like a man without much hope. 
  "We must at least consider that possibility before 
  we cleanse our homeworld of life." 
  Weasel-Fierce had gone pale. Cloud Runner had 
  never seen him look so dismayed. 
  "I cannot do it." he said softly. "Can you. Brother 
  Captain? Can you give the order that will destroy 
  our world - and our people - forever?" 
  Cloud  Runner  felt  the  weight  of  terrible 
  responsibility settle on him. His duty was clear. 
  Here  on  this  world  was  s  great  threat  to  the 
  Imperium.  His  word  would  condemn  his  entire 
  people to oblivion. He tried not to consider that 
  Lame Bear might be right, that the People might 
  not yet be totally enslaved by the Genestealers. But 
  the thought nagged at him most of all because he 
  hoped it was true. He stood frozen for a moment, 
  paralysed by the enormity of the decision. 
  "The choice is not yours alone. Cloud Runner." said 
  Weasel-Fierce. "It is a matter for all the warriors of 
  the People." 
  Cloud  Runner  looked  into  his  burning  eyes. 
  Weasel-Fierce had invoked the ancient ritual; by 
  rights,  it  should  be  answered.  The  Terminator 
  Captain looked at Lame Bear. The giant's face was 
  grim. 
  Cloud  Runner  nodded.  "There  must  be  a 
  Gathering." he said. 
  5
  
  ***************
  6
  
  CHAPTER II
  Two Heads Talking saw a commotion break out 
  across the square. A squad of bluecoats forced the 
  maimed beggars to one side. People were crushed 
  underfoot as they pushed through the throng like a 
  blade through flesh. 
  The Librarian dropped back toward the entrance of 
  a tavern. A surly bravo with fresh-scarred cheeks 
  came too close. He raised his truncheon to strike 
  Two Heads Talking, obviously perceiving him as 
  one of the throng. It bounced off the carapace of his 
  Terminator  armour.  The  bluecoat  squinted  in 
  astonishment at him, and then backed away. 
  A palanquin borne by two squat, shaven-headed 
  men in brown uniforms moved through the path 
  cleared  by  the  bully-boys.  Two  Heads  Talking 
  looked at the sign of a four-armed man on its side 
  and a thrill of fear passed through him. His worst 
  suspicions were justified. 
  "Alms; Elder, give us alms." the crowd pleaded, 
  voices merging into one mighty roar. Many had 
  abased  themselves  and  kneeled,  stumps  and 
  grasping hands outstretched in supplication towards 
  the palanquin. 
  A curtain in its side was pulled back, and a short, 
  fat man stepped out. His pale skin had a bluish tint, 
  and he was wearing a rich suit of black cloth, a 
  white waistcoat and high, black leather boots. A 
  four-armed pendant dangled from a chain hanging 
  around his neck. His head was totally hairless, and 
  he had piercing black eyes. He gazed out at the 
  crowd and smiled gloatingly, great jowls rippling 
  backward to give him a dozen small chins. 
  He reached down and found a purse. The crowd 
  held its breath expectantly. For a second, his gaze 
  fell on the Librarian,  and he looked puzzled.  A 
  frown crossed his face. Two Heads Talking felt a 
  tug on his leg and fell to one knee, although it went 
  against the grain to kneel to anything except the 
  image of the Emperor. He felt that malign glance 
  linger upon him and wondered whether the fat man 
  had somehow penetrated his bound spirits' disguise 
  *****************
  All the squads gathered around the fire. The great 
  logs smouldered in the dark, underlighting the faces 
  of  the  Marines,  making  them  look  daemonic. 
  Behind them. Deathwing sat on its landing claws, a 
  bulwark against the darkness. He knew that beyond 
  it  lay  the  city  of  their  enemy,  where  dwelled 
  abomination. 
  Nearest the fires squatted the squad leaders, faces 
  impassive.  Behind them were  their men.  in full 
  battle regalia,  storm  bolters  and  flamers  near at 
  hand.  Firelight  glittered  on  the  winged  swords 
  painted on their shoulder pieces. 'Their garb was 
  Imperial. but the scarred faces that showed in the 
  firelight belonged to the Plains People. 
  He had known these men for so long that not even 
  Two Heads Talking could have done a better job of 
  reading their mood. In each stem visage, he saw a 
  thirst for vengeance and a desire for death. The 
  warriors wished to join their clansmen in the spirit 
  realm.  Cloud  Runner.  too,  felt  the  tug  of  his 
  ancestral spirits, their clamour to be avenged. He 
  tried to ignore their voices. He was a soldier of the 
  Emperor. He had other duties than to his people. 
  "We must fight." said Weasel-Fierce.  "The dead 
  demand it. Our clans need to be avenged. If any of 
  our people survive,  they must be liberated.  Our 
  honour must be reclaimed." 
  "There  are  many  kinds  of  honour."  responded 
  Bloody  Moon.  'We  honour  the  Emperor.  Our 
  Terminator suits are the badge of that honour. They 
  are signs of the honour our Chapter does us. Can 
  we risk losing all traces of our Chapter's ancient 
  heritage to the Stealers?" 
  "For a hundred centuries. the armour we wear has 
  borne Marines safely through battle. The suits will 
  not fail us now." replied Weasel-Fierce hotly. "We 
  can only add to their honour by slaughtering our 
  foe." 
  "Brother  Marius.  Brother  Paulo,  pray,  silence." 
  Cloud Runner said, invoking formality by the use 
  of  Chapter  ritual  and  calling  Weasel-Fierce  and 
  7
  
  Bloody Moon by the names they had taken on when 
  they had become Marines.  The two Terminators 
  bowed their heads, acknowledging the gravity of 
  the moment. 
  "Forgive us. Brother Captain, and name penance. 
  We  are  at  your  service.  Semper  fideles."  they 
  replied. 
  "No penance is necessary." Cloud Runner looked 
  around  the  fire.  All  eyes  were  upon  him.  He 
  weighed his words carefully before he spoke again. 
  "We are gathered tonight, not as soldiers of the 
  Emperor, but by ancient custom, as warriors of the 
  People. To this, I give my blessing as Captain and 
  War chief. We are here as speakers for our clans, 
  joined in brotherhood so that we might speak with 
  one voice, think as one mind and discern the correct 
  path for all our peoples." 
  Cloud Runner knew his words rang false. Those 
  present were not speakers for their clans. They were 
  their clans - all that was left. Still, the ritual had 
  been invoked and must be kept to. 
  "Within this circle there will be no violence. Till 
  the ending of this gathering, we will be as one 
  clan." 
  It was strange to speak those words to warriors who 
  had fought together in a thousand battles under a 
  hundred suns. Yet it was the ancient rite of meeting, 
  meant  to  ensure  peaceful  discourse  among  the 
  warriors of rival tribes. He saw some Marines nod. 
  Suddenly. it felt right. The ways of their people had 
  been born on this world, and while they were here, 
  they would keep to them. In this time and space, 
  they  were  bound  by  the  ties  of  their  common 
  heritage.  Each  needed  the  reassurance  after  the 
  trials of the day. 
  'We must speak concerning the fate of our world 
  and our honour as warriors. This is a matter of life 
  and death. Let us speak honestly, according to the 
  manner of our people." 
  *****************
  The Elder fondled his chain of office and continued 
  to stare at Two Heads Talking. A frown creased his 
  high, bulbous forehead. Abruptly, he looked away 
  and fumbled in his purse. 
  A ragged cheer went up from the crowd as he threw 
  handfuls of gleaming iron tokens out to them, then 
  withdrew  into  his  palanquin  to  witness  the 
  scramble. The Marine watched people grovel in the 
  dust, scrambling for coins. He shook his head in 
  disgust as he entered the tavern. Even the most 
  debased  hive  world  dweller  would  have  shown 
  more dignity than the rabble outside. 
  The place was nearly empty. Two Heads Talking 
  looked around at the packed earth floor and the 
  crudely  made tables over which slouched a few 
  ragged, unwashed drunks. The walls were covered 
  in rough hangings which repeated a stylised four-
  armed  pattern  made  to  look  like  a  crude  star. 
  Outside, in the distance, he heard the long. lonely 
  wail of a steam whistle. 
  The innkeeper leaned forward against the counter, 
  gut  straining  against  the  bar-top.  Two  Heads 
  Talking walked over to him. As he reached the 
  counter. he realised that he had no tokens. 'The 
  innkeeper  stared  at  him  coldly,  rubbing  one 
  stubbled, broken-veined cheek with a meaty paw. 
  "Well," he demanded peremptorily. 'What do you 
  want?" 
  Two Heads  Talking was surprised by the man's 
  rudeness. The People had always been a polite folk. 
  It paid to show courtesy when an offended party 
  might hit you with a stone axe. He met the man's 
  gaze levelly and exerted a portion of his will. He 
  met no resistance from the man's weak spirit, but 
  even so, the effort was fatiguing. 
  The innkeeper  turned  away,  eyes downcast,  and 
  poured a drink from a clay bottle, without being 
  asked.  Outside  the  doorway  came  the sound  of 
  8
  
  footsteps. The doors burst open and a crowd of 
  workers flooded in, bellowing orders for drink. 
  Both men and women had gaunt, tired faces. Their 
  hands and bare feet were as grimy as their clothing. 
  Two Heads Talking guessed that a shift had just 
  ended. He took his drink and sat down in a comer, 
  watching the workers slump down in the chairs, 
  listening to them listlessly curse their overseers and 
  their lack of tokens. A group set up a dice game in 
  the comer and gambled indifferently. 
  After  a  while,  Two  Heads  Talking  noticed  that 
  people were drifting through a doorway in the back 
  of the tavern. He rose and followed them. No-one 
  seemed to object. 
  The  room  he  entered  was  dark  and  smelled  of 
  animal fat. In its centre was a pit surrounded by 
  cheering,  cursing  workers.  Two  Heads  Talking 
  made his way forward, and the crowd melted away 
  about him. He stood at the edge of the pit and saw 
  the object of everyone's attention. 
  Down  below,  two  great  Plains  weasels  were 
  fighting, ripping long strips of flesh from each other 
  while the audience roared and betted. Each was the 
  size of a grown man and wore a spiked metal collar. 
  One had  lost  an  eye.  Both  were  bleeding  from 
  dozens of cuts. 
  Two Heads Talking was disgusted. As a youth. he 
  had  hunted  weasels,  matching  stone  axe against 
  ferocious cunning. It had been a challenge in which 
  the warrior gambled his life against a fierce and 
  deadly adversary. There was no challenge to this 
  cruel  sport.  It  was  simply  a safe  outlet  for the 
  bloodlust of these weary, hungry workers. 
  The Librarian departed from the pit, leaving the 
  workers to their sport. As he left he noticed that a 
  bluecoat had entered the bar and was talking to the 
  bartender. As he stepped outside, he saw that they 
  were looking in his direction. He hurried into the 
  smoggy night, thinking that he felt inhuman eyes 
  watching him. 
  *****************
  Cloud Runner looked at the faces round the fire. 
  They were waiting for him to begin. He took three 
  deep breaths. By long tradition, he must be the first 
  to speak. 
  A Gathering of Warriors was not an argument in 
  the  formal  sense,  where  words  were  used  as 
  weapons to count coup on the .enemy. It was a 
  pooling of experience, a telling of stories. Words 
  must have no sharp edges on which to snag anger. 
  He chose his carefully. 
  "When I was twelve summers old." he began. 'I 
  dwelled  in the Yellow Lodge among the young 
  bucks.  It  was  my last summer there,  for  I was 
  pledged  to  marry  Running  Deer,  who  was  the 
  fairest maiden of my clan. 
  "Often. the bucks would talk of the Warriors from 
  the Sky. A hundred years had passed since their last 
  visit, and the red star was visible in the sky. The 
  time was near for their return. 
  "Hawk  Talon, my  grandfather's  grandfather,  had 
  been chosen and taken to the spirit realm to serve 
  the Great Chief Beyond The Sky. My bloodline had 
  acquired much honour because of it, although he 
  had left his son fatherless and needing to found a 
  new lodge. 
  Silver Elk was a buck with whom I had vied for 
  Running Deer's hand. Because she had chosen me, 
  he  hated  me.  He  boasted  of  how  he  would  be 
  chosen. His words were a taunt, aimed at belittling 
  my kinsman's honour. Silver Elk's own line had no 
  spirits  who  had  ridden  Deathwing  and  ventured 
  beyond the sky. 
  "I was stung and responded to his taunt. I said that, 
  if that were so, he wouldn't mind climbing Ghost 
  Mountain and visiting the Abode of the Ancestors." 
  Cloud Runner paused to let his words sink in, to let 
  the  warriors  imagine  the  scene.  The  memory 
  seemed fresh and clear in his own mind. He could 
  almost  smell  the  acrid  wood  smoke  filling  the 
  young men's lodge and see the fun hanging from its 
  ceiling. 
  "That was what Silver Elk had wanted me to say. 
  He sneered and replied that he would go to the 
  mountain if someone would accompany him as a 
  witness. He looked straight at me. 
  "So I was trapped. I could not back out without 
  dishonour. I had to go, or he would have counted 
  coup on me. 
  "When she heard, Running Deer begged me not to 
  go, fearing that the spirits would take me. She was 
  a Shaman's daughter and had the Witching Sight. 
  But I was young. with a young man's pride and 
  folly, so I refused her. Seeing that I could not be 
  swayed, she cut a braid from her hair and wove it 
  about with spells, making it a charm to return me 
  safely home. 
  "It was a three-day trip at hunter's walk to Ghost 
  Mountain. Fear was our constant companion. What 
  had seemed possible in the warmth of the lodge 
  seemed dreadful in the cold autumn nights when 
  9
  
  the moon was full and spirits flitted from tree to 
  tree. I believe that if either of us had been alone, we 
  would have turned back, for it is a terrible thing to 
  approach the places of the restless dead at night as 
  winter approaches. 
  "But we could show no fear,  for the other was 
  witness, and our rivalry drove us forward. Neither 
  wanted to be the first to turn back. 
  "On the evening of the third day, we met the first 
  warning totems, covered by the skulls of those the 
  sky warriors had judged and found wanting. I felt 
  like running then, but pride kept me moving on. 
  "We began to climb. The night was still and cold. 
  Things rustled in the undergrowth, and the moon 
  leered down like a Witching Spirit. Stunted trees 
  hunched over the pathway like malign ghosts. We 
  climbed  till we came to the vast  empty plateau 
  marked by the sign of the winged skull. 
  "We were filled with a sense of achievement and 
  our enmity was, for the moment, buried. We stood 
  in a place few men had ever seen. We had defied 
  the spirits and lived. Still, we were on edge. 
  "I  don't  know  what  I  thought  when  Silver  Elk 
  pointed  upward.  There came a howling  as  of a 
  thousand roused ghosts, and fire lit the sky. Perhaps 
  I thought the spirits had chosen to strike me down 
  for my presumption. Perhaps I was so filled with 
  terror that I thought of nothing. I know that I was 
  frozen in place, while Silver Elk turned and ran. 
  "If I had been afraid before, imagine how I felt 
  when I saw that great, winged shape in the distance 
  and heard the roar of the approaching thunderbird. 
  Picture my horror when I saw it was Deathwing 
  itself, steed of the Emperor. chooser of the slain, 
  Winged Hunting Skeleton. 
  "I bitterly regretted my folly. I could not move to 
  save myself, and waited for Deathwing to strike me 
  with its claws and release my spirit 
  "I was surprised when the thunderbird stooped to 
  earth in front of me and ceased its angry roaring. 
  Still. I could not run. Its beak gaped, disgorging the 
  massive, black-armoured forms of the chosen dead. 
  On each shoulder, they bore the sign of the winged 
  blade. 
  "I knew then that I was in the realm of spirits, for 
  Hawk Talon, my grandfather's grandfather, stood 
  among them. I had seen his face carved on the roof 
  pole of our family lodge. He looked old and grey 
  and tired, but there was still a family resemblance. 
  'To see a face so familiar and so strange in that 
  dreadful place was somehow reassuring. It enabled 
  me to overcome my fear.  Filled with wonder, I 
  walked forward till I stood before him: that terrible, 
  grizzled old man whose face was so like my own. 
  "For a long time, he simply stared at me. Then he 
  smiled and started to laugh. He clasped me to his 
  armoured breast and shouted that it was a fortunate 
  homecoming. He seemed just as pleased to see me 
  as I was to see him." 
  Cloud  Runner  paused,  comparing  his  ancestor's 
  return to his own. There was no laughter here as 
  there had been among those Marines long ago. He 
  understood now how glad the old man had been to 
  see a familiar face. He was glad that Hawk Talon 
  wasn't  here  now  to  see  the  destruction  of their 
  people. 
  "Of course, I was overwhelmed, standing among 
  these legendary warriors, speaking with my ancient 
  blood-relative. I knew they had returned to choose 
  their  successors  in  the  Emperor's  service,  and 
  forgetting everything else, I begged to be allowed 
  to join them. 
  "The old man looked at me and asked me whether I 
  had  any  reason  to  stay  or any  reason  to  regret 
  going. I thought of Running Deer, and I hesitated, 
  but I was a callow youth. Visions of glory and the 
  wonders beyond the sky filled me. What did I truly 
  know of life? I was being called on to make a 
  choice that I would have to live with for centuries, 
  although I did not know it. 
  "My ancestor did. He saw my hesitation and told 
  me better to stay in that case. I would have nothing 
  of it, and insisted that they put me to the test. 
  'They strapped me to a steel table and opened my 
  flesh with metal knives. I had endured the Weasel 
  Claw ritual to prove my bravery, but the pain was 
  as  nothing  to  what  I  then  endured.  When  they 
  opened my flesh, they implanted things which they 
  said would bond with my flesh and grant me spirit 
  power. 
  "For weeks. I lay in feverish agony while my body 
  changed. The walls danced, and my spirit fled to 
  the edge of the cold place. While I wandered lost 
  and alone, one of the Brothers stood beside me 
  reciting The Imperial litanies. 
  "In  a  vision,  the  Emperor  came  to  me,  riding 
  Deathwing,  mightiest  of  thunderbirds.  It  was 
  different  from  that  which  had  borne  the  Sky 
  Warriors home. It was a beast of spirit; the other 
  had been a bird of metal, a totem cast in its image. 
  10
  
  "The Emperor spoke to me, telling me of the great 
  struggle  being  waged  on  a  thousand  thousand 
  worlds. He showed me the races other than man 
  and the secret heart of the universe, which is Chaos. 
  He showed me the powers that lurked in the warp 
  and exposed me to their temptations. He watched as 
  I resisted. I knew that. if I had given in, he would 
  have struck me down. 
  "Eventually, I awoke,  and  I knew then  that my 
  spirit belonged to the Emperor. I had chosen to 
  abandon my people, my world and my bride for his 
  service. I knew I had made the correct choice." 
  Cloud  Runner  glanced  around  at  the  other 
  Terminators. He hoped he had told the story well 
  enough to catch his listeners' minds and remind 
  them of their duty to the Emperor. He hoped he had 
  reminded them that they had all made the same 
  decision as he had and that they would once more 
  make the correct choice. 
  He  shook  his  head  and  touched  the  charm  of 
  braided hair that he still wore round his throat He 
  wondered  if he had made the correct  choice all 
  those years ago, if he would have been happier 
  staying with Running Deer. The bright, bold vision 
  he had possessed in his youth had faded and lost its 
  glamour over the years of endless warfare. I never 
  even  said  goodbye  to  her,  he thought,  and  that 
  somehow was the saddest thought of all. 
  He judged that he had swayed many of the Marines, 
  but when Lame Bear leaned forward to speak; he 
  knew the struggle had only begun. 
  'I would speak of Genestealers." the big man said 
  quietly. 'I would speak of Genestealers, their terror 
  and their cruelty…"
  ***************
  11
  
  CHAPTER III
  Two Heads Talking wandered the nighted streets. 
  They  seemed  empty  now  that  the  workers  had 
  returned  to  their  barracks.  A  slight  breeze  had 
  sprung  up,  blowing  flecks  of  ash  through  the 
  streets, clearing the smog slightly. A bitter ash-taste 
  filled his mouth. 
  He  passed  by  the  factories  where  giant  steam 
  engines stood, still working. Their din filled the air. 
  Their pistons went up and down like the nodding 
  heads of maddened dinosaurs. He knew they never 
  rested. 
  He strode down a street of rich mansions, driven by 
  morbid curiosity. He felt as though he had been 
  shown the pieces of a vast puzzle, and if he could 
  only locate the last piece,  it would all fall into 
  place. 
  Each mansion he passed had wrought-iron gates 
  which bore the signs of the Night-owl, the Puma 
  and the Rat. These were the totem animals of the 
  Hill Clans. Two Heads Talking wondered whether 
  the chieftains of these people dwelled within. He 
  could well believe that they might make pacts with 
  whoever  had  done  this.  Those  people  had  dark 
  reputations. 
  He felt  anger grow within him,  driving  out  the 
  sense of bewilderment. His life had been rendered 
  meaningless. His people had  been  betrayed.  His 
  world had been stolen. Even the Dark Angels had 
  been  destroyed.  Ten  thousand  years  of tradition 
  ended here. There were no more bold huntsmen of 
  the plains for the Sky-Warriors to recruit. 
  The Chapter might continue, but its heritage had 
  been destroyed - it would never be the same again. 
  Two Heads Talking was of the last generation of 
  Marines recruited from the Plains People. There 
  would be no more. 
  As  he  moved  beyond  the mansions,  toward  the 
  polluted river, his spirit senses warned him he was 
  being followed. Part of him did not care, he would 
  welcome  confrontation  with  whatever  watchers 
  shadowed him. From up ahead. he heard a groan of 
  pain. 
  *************
  "We do not know where they come from." said 
  Lame  Bear.  "Not  even  the  Curators  of  the 
  Administratum  know  that.  They  appear  without 
  warning, carried in the mighty space hulks which 
  drift on the tides of warp space." 
  A  shiver  passed  through  even  these  hardened 
  Terminators. Cloud Runner saw the gaze of those 
  who had faced the Genestealer turn inward. Their 
  faces  reflected  the  grim  memories  of  the 
  encounters. 
  Unconsciously, they sat up straighter and looked 
  around nervously. For the first time, it was brought 
  home to the Captain that they really did face the 
  Genestealers once more. They faced a threat that 
  could kill them. 
  "They  are  dreadful  foes:  ferocious,  relentless, 
  knowing neither pity nor fear.  They  do not use 
  weapons, perhaps because they do not need them. 
  Their claws are capable of tearing adamantium like 
  paper. 
  "They do not use armour; their hides are so tough 
  that  they  can  survive,  for  a  time,  unsuited  in 
  vacuum. They have the aspect of a beast, yet they 
  are intelligent and organised. They are the most 
  terrible enemies any Marine has faced since the 
  time of the Horus Heresy. 
  "How do I know this? I have faced than, as have 
  others here." 
  Cloud Runner shivered, recalling the times he had 
  faced the Stealers. He remembered their chitinous 
  visage, their gaping jaws and four rending claws. 
  He  tried  not  to  recall  their  blinding,  insect-like 
  speed. 
  "It is not their fearsome battle prowess that makes 
  the  Stealers  such  dreadful  opponents.  It  is 
  something else. I will tell you of it. 
  "One hundred and twenty years ago, before ever I 
  donned Terminator armour. I was sent with the fleet 
  that  investigated  the  strange  silence  of the  hive 
  world 'Thranx. 
  "The Imperial Governor had not paid tribute for 
  twenty years, and the Adeptus Terra had decided 
  that perhaps a gentle reminder of his sworn duties 
  was in order. 
  "The fleet arrived bearing sections from the Dark 
  Angels, the Space Wolves, the Ultramarines and an 
  Imperial Guard regiment from Necromunda. As the 
  fleet  moved  into  drop  position  we  expected 
  resistance, rebellion. But the orbital monitors did 
  not fire at us, and the Governor spoke fairly to us 
  on the comm-link." 
  12
  
  "He claimed that the world had been cut off by 
  warp storms and Orkish raids. He apologised for 
  the non-payment of tribute and offered immediate 
  reparations. He suggested that Inquisitor Van Dam, 
  who  was  in  charge  of  the  punitive  expedition, 
  descend and accept his obeisance. 
  "We  were  naturally  suspicious,  but  Van  Dam 
  suggested that any chance to take a world back into 
  the Imperial fold without the expense of military 
  action should at least be investigated. He requested 
  that the Dark Angels provide an honour guard. We 
  set  our  location  and  teleported  down  into  the 
  Governor's reception hall. 
  "Thranx was a world encased in steel. Its natives 
  never saw the sky. The Governor's hall was so vast. 
  though, that clouds formed under its ceiling and 
  rain fell on the trees that surrounded the Ruler's 
  Pavilion. 
  'It was a sight to stir the blood. Long ranks of 
  guardsmen flanked the curving metal road that led 
  to  the  pavilion.  The  pavilion  itself  floated  on 
  suspensors above an artificial lake. The governor 
  sat an a throne carved from a single industrially 
  cultured  pearl.  flanked  by  two  beautiful  blind 
  maidens who were his court telepaths. He bade us 
  welcome and showed us the tribute. 
  "It  was  brought  from  vaults  by  specially  bred 
  slaves, grey-skinned eunuchs with muscles like an 
  Ogryn's.  Even  so,  they  could  barely  carry  the 
  chests. They paraded past us in a seemingly endless 
  procession,  carrying  industrial  diamonds,  gold-
  inlaid bolters, suits of armoured ceramite and jade. 
  "All  the  time  the  governor,  Huac,  kept  up  an 
  endless, amiable chatter. We watched, dazzled and 
  beguiled by his smooth voice and affable manner. 
  As the long day wore on, we began to accept that 
  there was no need to fight, that we should simply 
  take the tribute and go home. 
  "Our  minds  were  pleasantly  befuddled,  and  we 
  were prepared to agree to anything our gracious 
  host suggested when the great cryogenic coffins 
  were brought forth. Huac claimed they carried his 
  greatest treasures. It is a measure of how under his 
  sway we were that we almost took than. without 
  thinking. 
  "It was Two Heads Talking who said no. He stood 
  there, for a moment, like a man bemused, and then 
  he began to chant. It was as if cobwebs had been 
  lifted from our eyes and we saw the snare that had 
  been so subtly set for us. 
  "The spell of the Magus, for such was Huac, was 
  lifted, and we saw to our horror that we had almost 
  taken two Genestealer coffins back to our fleet. All 
  that afternoon, as our minds had been lulled by the 
  long, slow march, Huac had been inserting subtle, 
  mystical tendrils into our minds. 
  "Still, so near to being enthralled were we that we 
  almost protested when Two Heads Talking riddled 
  Huac and his two apprentices with bolter fire. Only 
  the Living Dreadnought Hawk Talon joined in the 
  firing. We reacted slowly when he warned us to 
  defend ourselves. Huac's guardsmen almost had us. 
  "But we were Marines. No sooner had they opened 
  up with their lasrifles than we returned fire with our 
  bolters,  cutting  them  down.  Van  Dam  tried  to 
  contact the fleet but our comm-links were being 
  jammed. and we could not teleport out. There was 
  nothing for it. We had to fight our way  to the 
  planet's  surface  and  hope  that  a  dropship  could 
  reach us. 
  "It seemed as if the whole planet had turned against 
  us, and that was more or less what had happened. 
  Two  hundred  of  us  fought  our  way  out  of  the 
  audience  room.  We  were  met  by  armed  men, 
  unarmed  children  and  their  mothers.  All  threw 
  themselves against us with insane ferocity. As we 
  cut  them  down,  they  showed  no  fear  -  only  a 
  strange,  unholy joy. The whole world had been 
  infected. 
  "Our  trip  to  the  surface  was  a  nightmare.  We 
  battled  along  dark  corridors,  crawled  up  access 
  13
  
  ladders and through narrow hatches never meant for 
  Marines.  I saw Steel  Fist  tumble  back  headless 
  from one hatchway. Van Dam lobbed a handful of 
  crack grenades through and we were spattered with 
  the remains of a full-grown Stealer" 
  "My brother Red Sky was pulled down by a wave 
  of feral  children  with explosives in their hands. 
  They detonated them as they crawled over his body. 
  He did not live. 
  "Twice in the endless corridors, we were almost 
  overrun.  It  came  to  hand-to-hand  combat  with 
  purestrain Stealers. Twenty of our brothers were cut 
  down before Two Heads Talking's force axe and 
  Cloud Runner's power sword carried us clear. 
  "It was while guarding the final hatchway that I lost 
  the use of my leg. A Stealer cut right through the 
  floor and grabbed me, trying to pull me down. I 
  blasted frantically at it. The last thing I remember 
  was its horrid, leering face as it pulled me down 
  toward it. Around it was a group of' Thranxians 
  who stroked and pushed against it fondly. 
  "The others told me what had happened when I 
  woke up in the medical bay of the ship with a new 
  bionic leg. Two Heads Talking and Cloud Runner 
  had pulled me clear and carried me to the roof of 
  the world. where the dropship waited. 
  "There  was  only  one  thing  to  do:  order  the 
  Exterminatus. The whole place was sterilised from 
  orbit  with  virus  bombs.  Later,  inquisitorial 
  investigators  ascertained  that  the whole business 
  had  begun  only  sixty  years  before,  when  an 
  unrecorded  space  hulk  had  swung  through  the 
  system. 
  "It had taken only three generations for the Stealers 
  to  infect  a  whole  world.  For  that  is  how  they 
  reproduce - by turning people into hosts for their 
  offspring. Their victims endure this willingly, due 
  to the Stealers' hypnotic powers. 
  'Many nights I have lain awake wondering whether 
  we could  have saved  the world  if only we had 
  arrived  sooner.  Perhaps  if we  had  been  able  to 
  eliminate the Stealers before the cancer had spread, 
  we would not have had to order the Exterminatus. 
  Cloud Runner could see that the warriors had been 
  swayed and angered by Lame Bear's tale. He could 
  tell that they were considering the assimilation of 
  their People as breeding stock and the possibility 
  that, by swift action, they might prevent it. 
  "Let us go." said Weasel-Fierce, leaping to his feet. 
  "Let us enter the city and kill the Stealers' spawn." 
  Several other warriors made to accompany him. 
  Wait," said Bloody Moon. "The gathering is not 
  over and I would speak..." 
  *****************
  Anger and impatience drove Two Heads Talking 
  toward the sound of pain. By the brink of the river, 
  in the shadow of a monstrous factory, he saw that a 
  group of bluecoats had pinned an old man against 
  the wall and were slowly and surely beating him to 
  death with their truncheons. One of their number 
  held a lantern, occasionally giving a calm, precise 
  order. 
  "Talk  seditious nonsense,  would you?" said one 
  bravo.  His  stroke  ended  with  the  cracking  of 
  breaking ribs. The old man groaned and fell to his 
  knees. The other bluecoats laughed. 
  "Preach heresy against the Imperial cult and the 
  warriors from the sky, eh? What makes you old 
  fools do it? By the Emperor. I thought we had got 
  the last of you." 
  Their victim looked up at them. "You are deluded. 
  The Warriors from the Sky would not have built 
  this place and herded  us here the way  elks are 
  herded  to  the  slaughter.  Nor  would  they  have 
  broken  the  burial  mounds  of  our  people.  Your 
  masters  are  evil  spirits  summoned  by  the  Hill 
  Clans, not true Sky Warriors. Deathwing will return 
  and rend them asunder." 
  "Silence, blaspheming no-name." said the leader of 
  the bluecoats. 
  "You wish to prove your courage, do you? Perhaps 
  we should return to the old ways, drunkard, and 
  practise the Weasel Claw ritual on you." 
  The old man coughed blood. "Do what you will, I 
  am Morning Star of the line of Running Deer and 
  Silver Elk. I have the Witching Sight. I tell you that 
  the spirits walk. Ancient powers stalk the land. The 
  red star burns bright in the sky. A time of trouble is 
  coming." 
  "Is that why you chose to start ranting this night? I 
  had thought the only spirits that talked to you came 
  from  a  bottle,"  said  another  bluecoat,  kicking 
  Morning Star in the ribs. The old man groaned. 
  Two Heads Talking made his way forward through 
  the mist, till he emerged into the lantern light. 
  'The bluecoat leader spoke to him. "Go away, buck. 
  This is Warrior Lodge business. If you don't want 
  to join this drunkard in the river, you'll leave now." 
  14
  
  "You dishonour the idea of the Warrior Lodge," 
  said Two Heads Talking quietly. "Depart now, and 
  I will spare you. Remain a heartbeat longer, and I 
  will surely grant you death." 
  The old man looked up at him. awe-struck. Two 
  Heads Talking could see the winged skull tattoo of 
  a Shaman on his forehead. A few bravos laughed. 
  Some, the wiser ones, heard the soft menace in the 
  Marine's voice and backed away. 
  The leader  gestured  for  the bluecoats  to  attack. 
  "Take him!" 
  Two  Heads  Talking  parried  the  swipe  of  a 
  truncheon with his forearm. There was a metallic 
  ring as the bludgeon snapped. He broke the bravo's 
  nose against the butt of his force axe then lashed 
  out with his foot, driving it into another bluecoat's 
  stomach  with  inhuman  force.  As  the  man  bent 
  double the Librarian chopped down on his neck. 
  breaking it. 
  The  bluecoats  swarmed  over  him  now.  Their 
  truncheons were as ineffective as twigs against a 
  bear. A few tried to grab his arms and immobilise 
  him. He shrugged them off easily, swinging killing 
  blows with weapon and elbow. Where he struck, 
  men died. 
  As the battle lust swept over him, he felt the bound 
  spirits slip away. He knew that he stood revealed in 
  his true form. The last of the bluecoats turned to 
  ran. Two Heads Talking hooked an arm around his 
  neck and twisted. There was a crunch of shattering 
  vertebrae. 
  The old man gazed on him with religious intensity. 
  "The spirits spoke truthfully," he said, as if he did 
  not quite believe it. He reached out and touched 
  him. making sure he was real. 
  "You have come at last to free the People from their 
  bondage to the false Emperor and lead them back to 
  the plains. What is your name, Sky Warrior?" 
  "In  my  youth,  it  was  Two  Heads  Talking, 
  apprentice  to  Spirit  Hawk.  When  I  entered  the 
  service  of  the  true  Emperor,  I  took  the  name 
  Lucian." He could see tears running down the old 
  man's scarred cheeks. 
  "Tell me, old man, what has happened to our folk? 
  How did they come to fall so low?" 
  "It began when I was a buck." said Morning Star, 
  wiping  his  face.  "One  summer  night,  the  sky 
  burned, and there was a great roaring. A trail of fire 
  raced across the sky, and there was an explosion. 
  Where we are now was a vast crater, and in the 
  centre,  where  the  Temple  of  the  Four-armed 
  Emperor stands, was a great, red-hot pile of metal. 
  "Some  people  thought  the  Sky  Warriors  had 
  returned,  that the roaring was the voice of their 
  thunderbird. The Shamans knew that this could not 
  be  so,  for  Deathwing  returns  only  once  every 
  hundred years, in autumn, and it had been only fifty 
  years since the red star was last visible." 
  "We  were  pleased  because  we  thought  that  we 
  might ride Deathwing. Most of us had reckoned on 
  being old men when the Sky Warriors came again. 
  "Those who met our chiefs were not the armoured 
  warriors of legend. They were feeble, pale-skinned 
  men who claimed that  they had come from the 
  Emperor to show us the way to build an earthly 
  paradise.  They preached  the virtues of tolerance 
  and  brotherly  love  and  an  end  to  warfare.  The 
  chiefs sent them packing, which was a mistake, for 
  when honeyed words did not succeed, they tried 
  force of arms. They allied with the Hill Clans and 
  gave them metal blades which our weapons could 
  not withstand. 
  "Eventually, clans were forced to trade for the new 
  weapons in order to withstand their enemies. Tales 
  were told of how witching spirits with four arms 
  and terrible claws destroyed our warriors. Soon, the 
  pretenders  ruled  the  Plains,  taking  slaves  and 
  destroying utterly those who opposed them. 
  "Then came the building of this great city, using 
  slave  labour  and  paying  the  freemen  in  trade 
  tokens." 
  Suddenly,  the  old  man's  eyes  went  wide  with 
  horror. He was looking past Two Heads Talking 
  and into the night. The Librarian turned, and from 
  the mist, shapes emerged. 
  One was the fat man who earlier had been riding in 
  the palanquin. Flanking him were two huge four-
  armed figures. Their carapaces glistened like oil. 
  They  raised  large  claws  which  glittered  in  the 
  moonlight. 
  "We would have told you all this if only you had 
  asked."  said  the fat  man, gazing  at  Two  Heads 
  Talking with his dark, magnetic eyes. 
  The Librarian flexed his fingers, and his force axe 
  hummed a song of death in his hand. 
  *****************
  "It  was  in  the  time  of  Commander  Aradiel,  a 
  hundred summers gone," said Bloody Moon. "We 
  were  aboard  the  battlebarge  Angelus  Morte  on 
  15
  
  sector edge patrol when the alarms went off. Sensor 
  probes  indicated  that  a  space  hulk  had  dropped 
  from warp space near us. Deep scanning revealed 
  nothing. We were ordered to investigate. 
  "We crouched within the boarding torpedoes and 
  were fired at the hulk. It was unpowered and dark 
  when  we  disembarked,  so  helmet  lights  on,  we 
  moved  to  secure  the  perimeter.  We  met  no 
  resistance,  but  as  per  standard  operational 
  procedures, we proceeded with extreme caution. 
  "We identified the hulk as Prison of Lost Souls, an 
  appropriate  name  as  it  turned  out.  We  moved 
  nervously through the shadowy corridors, for the 
  taint of the warp still hung about the craft. It made 
  us uneasy." 
  "At first, there was no sign of danger. Then we 
  came across  the bodies  of some Space  Wolves. 
  They had been riddled with bolter fire. We could 
  not guess how long they had lain there - perhaps 
  since the hulk had last entered normal space.  It 
  might have been ten years or ten thousand - we did 
  not  know.  The  tides  of  warp  space  are 
  unpredictable, and time flows strangely there. 
  "Brother Sergeant Conrad ordered us to be wary. 
  Then  a  terrible  thing  occurred.  A  Space  Wolf's 
  corpse sat upright. its eyes glowing crimson. 'You 
  are doomed.' it told us. 'Every one of you will die as 
  I have.' We riddled it with fire from our weapons, 
  but still its horrible whispers echoed in our minds. 
  "We  began  to  fall  back.  All  around  us,  Blips 
  suddenly  appeared  on  our  sensors.  They  were 
  running parallel to us, trying to cut us off from the 
  boarding torpedo. 
  "At  corridor  intersections,  we  caught  sight  of 
  armoured figures. We exchanged a few shots with 
  them. I hit one and heard its scream over the comm-
  link. They were using the same frequencies as we 
  were. When we realised that, our blood ran cold. 
  We asked ourselves: could these be Marines? 
  'We did not have long to wait for an answer. They 
  swarmed down the corridor toward us in a vast 
  wave. They were garbed in the armour of Marines, 
  but  they  were  horribly  mutated.  Some  clutched 
  rusty bolters in tentacles instead of hands. Some 
  had faces that were moist and green and slimy like 
  toads.  Some  had  claws  and  extra  limbs.  Some 
  dragged themselves along, leaving a trail of mucus 
  behind them. 
  "The mark of Chaos was upon them. They called on 
  Horus and those powers that are better not named. 
  And we knew then - they were renegades, survivors 
  from the Age of Heresy who had pacted with Chaos 
  in exchange for eternal life. The fighting became 
  close and heavy. They had the weight of numbers, 
  but we had our Terminator armour and the strength 
  of righteousness. 
  "For a moment, it looked as though they might 
  overwhelm us, but then our thunder hammers and 
  lightning claws came into play, and we cut through 
  them inexorably. They fought like daemons, and 
  they had the strength of the damned, but eventually 
  we won. 
  "I stood looking down at the body of my last foe, 
  and a thought occurred to me: this man had once 
  been a Marine like myself. He had undergone the 
  same training and indoctrination as I had. He had 
  sworn  to  serve  the  Emperor.  And  yet  he  had 
  betrayed humanity. How could this be? 
  "How could a true Marine become forsworn? It 
  seemed unlikely that he would suddenly turn his 
  back on the pattern of a lifetime and pact with the 
  Darkness. What had Chaos to offer him? 
  "Wealth? We have no use for the baubles that other 
  men covet; we already have the finest of everything 
  that a man could wish for. Sensual gratification? 
  We  are  taught  its  transitory  nature.  Power?  We 
  know true power, which is the will of the Emperor. 
  Who among us could equal his sacrifice?" 
  "No - as I stood over his body I came to understand. 
  He had deviated not in one leap but in small steps, 
  by increments. 
  "First he had come to place trust in the Warmaster. 
  An easy step, for was not Horus the chief champion 
  of the Emperor? 
  16
  
  "Then he had come to follow the Warmaster. Who 
  would not? A soldier follows his commander. 
  "Then he had come to believe Horus divine. An 
  easy mistake. Was not the great Heretic one of the 
  Primarchs of the First Founding, gifted with god-
  like powers second only to the Emperor himself. 
  "Thus  did  he  sway  from  the  path  of  truth,  till 
  eventually he lost both his life and soul. It is a way 
  that is open to anyone, one small mistake leading to 
  another until at last the Great Error is reached. This 
  I  came  to  realise  as  I  studied  the  body  of  the 
  renegade on the Prison of Lost Souls. I resolved 
  then and there to submit myself to the Emperor's 
  will. I knew that all our regulations and our codes 
  have a purpose, and it is not for us to question 
  them, for they keep us from the path of the deviant. 
  Around the fire, there was silence. Cloud Runner 
  could tell that Bloody Moon's words had touched a 
  chord  within  the  Marines.  He  found  himself 
  examining his own conscience for signs of heresy. 
  The implication of Bloody Moon's tale was quite 
  clear:  if  they  lapsed  from  the  service  of  the 
  Emperor, they were taking the first step down the 
  road to damnation. He had also reminded them that 
  they were Marines, the chosen of the Emperor. If 
  they did not keep the faith, who would? 
  For a long time, all was quiet. Then Weasel-Fierce 
  indicated his wish to talk. "I will speak of death," 
  he said. "the death of men and worlds...." 
  *****************
  Two  Heads  Talking  felt  the  impact  of  the  fat 
  Magus' will like a physical blow. The great, dark 
  eyes seemed to swell, to become bottomless pits 
  into which the Librarian fell. At his feet, Morning 
  Star whimpered. 
  With  a  wrench,  the  Marine  broke  the  psychic 
  contact, thankful that his Librarian's armour was 
  equipped  with  a  psychic  hood.  The  Magus  was 
  strong, and Two Heads Talking was already tired. 
  The  Stealers  raced  toward  him.  The  Librarian 
  raised his storm bolter and sent a hail of shells 
  blazing out. Tracer fire ripped the night apart. The 
  leading  Genestealer  was  shredded  by  the  heavy 
  bullets. The other dodged with inhuman speed. 
  Morning Star leap between the Librarian and his 
  assailant. A claw flickered, and the old man's body 
  was tom in half. Two Heads Talking lashed out 
  with his axe, willing it to strike hard, and its blade 
  burned  coldly  as  it  passed  through  the Stealer's 
  neck. He leapt back to avoid its reflexive death-
  strike. 
  The  Magus  laughed.  "You  cannot  escape.  Why 
  struggle?" 
  The fat man concentrated,  and  a halo of power 
  played around his head. The Librarian hosed him 
  down  with  fire,  but  some  force  intercepted  the 
  shells, causing them to explode harmlessly a few 
  feet from their target.
  Two Heads Talking strode forward, swinging the 
  axe. He felt his own power build within him as the 
  blade arced toward his target. Something stopped it 
  a foot away from the Magus's head. Great muscles 
  bulged under his armour as he forced it forward. 
  Servo-motors whined as they added their strength 
  to his. 
  Slowly, inexorably,  the Marine forced  the blade 
  toward his enemy. Sweat ran down the fat man's 
  brow as he concentrated. A look of fear passed 
  across his face. He could not save himself. and he 
  knew it. 
  He gave a single shriek as his concentration lapsed. 
  The force axe sheared through him from head to 
  groin. Two Heads Talking felt the Magus' psychic 
  death scream echo through the night. He sensed 
  hundreds  of  minds  answer  it  in  the  distance, 
  through the deadening curtain of mist, he heard the 
  sound of scuttling, coming ever closer. 
  Knowing his only chance of survival lay in swift 
  flight, Two Heads Talking turned and ran.
  17
  
  CHAPTER IV
  "Our  world  is  dead,"  said  Weasel-Fierce.  Some 
  Marines  muttered  about  the  fact  that  he  was 
  addressing than directly, rather than keeping to the 
  ritual.  He  silenced  them  with  a  short,  chopping 
  gesture of his right hand. When he spoke again, his 
  tone was scathing and savage. 
  "This ritual is a sham. It comes from a time that is 
  ended. Why pretend otherwise? You may wish to 
  delude yourselves by keeping with the old ways, 
  but I do not. 
  "You can speak in parables about our oaths to the 
  Emperor, the horror of the Stealers or the nature of 
  damnation. I choose to speak the truth. 
  "Our people are dead or enslaved, and we sit here 
  like old women, asking ourselves what to do. Have 
  we been put under a spell? When were we ever so 
  indecisive? A true warrior has no choice in this 
  matter. We must avenge our people. Our weapons 
  must taste enemy blood. It would be the coward's 
  way not to face them." 
  "But if we fail . . ." began Bloody Moon. 
  "If we fail. so be it. What have we to live for? How 
  many summers have we left before we die of old 
  age or are encased in the cold, metal body of a 
  Living Dreadnought?" 
  He fell silent and glared around the fire. To Cloud 
  Runner's surprise, he looked down, and the fury 
  seeped out of him. 
  "I am old," he said softly. "Old and tired. I have 
  seen more than two hundred summers. In a few 
  more, I will be dead anyway. I had hoped to gaze 
  again on my kin before then, but it is not to be. This 
  is my only regret." 
  Cloud Runner could see the weariness in him, felt 
  its echo in his own mind. Every man about the fire 
  had  served  the  Emperor  for  centuries,  their 
  lifespans increased by the process that turned them 
  into Marines. 
  "If I had remained  among the people,"  Weasel-
  Fierce  said. "I would be dead  by  now.  I chose 
  another path and I have lived long – longer perhaps 
  than any mortal should. 
  "It is time for an ending. Where better than here, on 
  our homeworld, among the bones of our kin? The 
  day of the Plains People is done. We can avenge 
  them, and we can join them. If we fall in combat, 
  we shall have had warriors' deaths. I wish to die as I 
  have lived: weapons in hand, foes before me. 
  "I believe that this is what we all want. Let us do 
  it." 
  All was quiet except the crackling of the fire. Cloud 
  Runner looked from face to face and saw death was 
  written in each of them. Weasel Fierce had voiced 
  what they had all felt since first seeing the shattered 
  lodges. They had become wraiths, walking in the 
  ruins of elder days. 
  There  was  nothing  left  here  for  them,  except 
  memories. If they departed now, all that loomed 
  before them was old age and inevitable death. This 
  way, at least, their ending would have a meaning. 
  "I say we go in. If the contamination has not spread 
  too far, we can free any survivors," said Lame Bear. 
  Cloud Runner looked at Bloody Moon. 
  "Providing we command Deathwing to virus-bomb 
  the planet  if we  fail,"  he  said.  The rest  of the 
  warriors  put  their  right  fists  forward,  signifying 
  assent. They all looked at him, waiting to see what 
  he had to say. He felt once more the pressure of 
  command fall on him. He considered the destroyed 
  lodges and his own loss and weighed them against 
  his Imperial duty. Nothing could bring back the 
  Plains  People,  but  perhaps  he  could  save  their 
  descendants. 
  But that was not all there was to it, he realised. He 
  wanted the satisfaction of meeting his foes, face to 
  face. He was angry. He wanted to make the Stealers 
  suffer for what they had done, and he wanted to be 
  there  when  they  did.  He  wanted  vengeance  for 
  himself and for his people. It was as simple as that. 
  Such a decision was not the correct  one for an 
  Imperial officer, but it was the way of his clan. In 
  the end, to his surprise, he found out where his true 
  loyalty lay. 
  "I say we fight," he said at last. "But we fight as 
  Warriors of the People. This battle is not for the 
  Emperor.  It is for our murdered  clans.  Our last 
  battle  shall  be  fought  in  accordance  with  our 
  ancient  ways.  Let  us  perform  the  rite  of 
  Deathwing." 
  ***************
  Two Heads Talking ran for his life. Through the 
  darkened  streets,  Genestealers  pursued,  loping 
  along, swift and deadly. He sensed their presence 
  all around. 
  18
  
  He leapt over a pile of rubbish which lay in his path 
  and swept round a corner into a main road. Two 
  workers poked their heads through a doorway to 
  see what was going on. They swiftly withdrew. 
  Two  Heads  Talking  ran  wearily.  His  heart  was 
  pounding, and his breathing was ragged. The strain 
  of maintaining the spell of concealment for so long 
  had sapped his strength. He wondered how long he 
  could keep up this pace. 
  He  risked  a  swift  glance  over  his  shoulder.  A 
  Genestealer had just rounded the comer. He fired 
  his storm bolter at it, but his shot was inaccurate, 
  and the Stealer lurched back into cover. 
  Sensing danger in front of him, he turned. From out 
  of a shadowy doorway, a Stealer uncoiled. He had 
  just enough time to raise his force axe before it 
  sprang.  He  thrust  the  blade  out  before  him, 
  chopping into the monster's chest. The momentum 
  of the thing's charge knocked him over. A claw cut 
  into his arm, searing it with pain. If his blow had 
  not landed cleanly, he realised, he would have been 
  dead. 
  Ignoring the pain, he rolled onto his belly, catching 
  a clear glimpse of his pursuers as they charged. He 
  squeezed the trigger of his bolter and stitched a line 
  of  fire  across  their  chests.  The  strength  of  the 
  armour  allowed  him  to  hurl  off  the  ambusher's 
  carcass with ease. He continued on his way. 
  Not much further, he thought, forcing himself to 
  reel onward. He could see the huge walls jutting 
  upward above nearby buildings. He recited a spell 
  to free his mind of pain and made for the gates. 
  His heart sank when he saw what awaited him - a 
  mass  of  hunched,  evil-faced  men  with  dark, 
  piercing eyes. Some held ancient-looking energy 
  weapons. Some gripped blades in their three hands. 
  Towering over them were purestrain Genestealers, 
  flexing their claws menacingly. Two Heads Talking 
  came to a halt. facing his foes. 
  For a moment. they eyed each other in respectful 
  silence. The Librarian commended his spirit to the 
  Emperor. Soon Deathwing would be carrying him 
  off. His bolter was almost empty. With only his 
  force axe, he knew he could not withstand so many. 
  As if at an unspoken signal, the Genestealer and 
  their brood surged forward. A bolt from an energy 
  weapon burned into his armour, melting one of the 
  skulls on his chest plate. He gritted his teeth and 
  returned fire, cutting a great swathe of death. There 
  was a loud click as his bolter jammed. He did not 
  have the time to clear it, so he charged to meet his 
  foes, chanting his death-chant. 
  He rushed into a sea of bodies that pressed against 
  him, hitting him with blades and rending claws. He 
  summoned the last dregs of his strength to power 
  his force axe and swung it in a great double arc. He 
  lopped off heads and limbs with a will, but for 
  every foe who fell, another stepped into place. He 
  could not guard himself against all their blows, and 
  soon he bled from scores of great wounds. 
  Life fled from him, and overhead he thought he 
  heard the beating of mighty pinions. Deathwing has 
  come, he thought, just before a blow smashed into 
  his head and all consciousness fled. 
  ***************
  Cloud Runner paused briefly before he painted out 
  his personal cloud-and-thunderbolt insignia on his 
  armour's  right  shoulder;  He  felt  changed.  By 
  blanking out his Imperial insignia, he had blanked 
  out part of himself, cut himself off from part of his 
  history. Slowly he began to etch in new totem signs 
  on the armour, the marks of vengeance and death. 
  As he did so, he felt the powers of the totem spirits 
  begin to enter him. 
  He looked at Weasel-Fierce. The gaunt man had 
  finished painting out all the icons on his armour. It 
  was now white, the colour of death, except on its 
  left  shoulder,  where  the  skull  had  been  left 
  unchanged. It seemed somehow appropriate. 
  They performed a rite that dated back to ancient 
  times, before the Emperor had come to tame the 
  thunderbirds. Only once before had Cloud Runner 
  seen it performed. As a boy, he had watched a party 
  of old warriors,  sworn to vengeance,  paint their 
  bodies white and go after a horde of Hill Clan 
  raiders  that  had  killed  a  small  child.  They  had 
  painted their bodies the funeral colour because they 
  did  not  expect  to  return  from  facing  so 
  overwhelming a foe. 
  19
  
  Bloody Moon looked over from beside the fire and 
  gave him a weak grin. Cloud Runner walked over 
  to him. 
  "Ready.  old  friend?"  he  asked.  Bloody  Moon 
  nodded. Cloud Runner bent over the fire and put his 
  hands into the ash. He pressed his palms, fingers 
  together, flat against his face, making the sign of 
  Deathwing on each cheek. 
  "I wish Two Heads  Talking would return." said 
  Bloody Moon, repeating Cloud Runner's gesture. 
  "He may yet surprise you." 
  Bloody  Moon  looked  doubtful.  Cloud  Runner 
  gestured for the warriors to assemble. They formed 
  into a circle around the dead fire. One by one, they 
  began to chant their death-songs. 
  ***************
  Even as they carried him through the long steel 
  corridors, Two Heads Talking knew he was dying. 
  Life leaked from his wounds. With every drop of 
  blood that dribbled over his bearers,  he became 
  weaker. 
  It felt  like some evil  dream,  being  borne down 
  dimly lit tunnels by the hunched, daemonic figures 
  of the Genestealer brood. The Librarian watched 
  these events through a fog of pain, wondering why 
  he was still alive. Part of his mind realised that he 
  was within whatever vessel had carried the brood to 
  his homeworld. 
  Agony lanced through him as one of his bearers 
  jolted him slightly. It took all his will power not to 
  scream.  They  entered  a  long  hall  in  which  a 
  hunched, dreadful figure waited. He was placed on 
  the floor in front of it. It cocked its head to one 
  side, studying him. 
  Tears ran down the Librarian's face from the pain as 
  he forced himself to his feet. Genestealer guards 
  raced towards him, but the huge creature glanced at 
  them, and they froze in position. 
  Two Heads Talking stood unsteadily, knowing he 
  faced a Genestealer Patriarch. He had heard dim 
  legends of such things, the progenitors of entire 
  broods, the most ancient of their lines. 
  He looked into his enemies' eyes. He felt an almost 
  electric shock pass through his body as their minds 
  made  contact.  The  Librarian  found  himself 
  confronted by a foe that was ancient, implacable, 
  deadly. His mind reeled  under the assault of its 
  ferocious  will.  He  felt  an  urge  to  kneel.  to  do 
  homage to this ardent being. He knew that it was 
  worthy of his respect. 
  With an effort, he managed to restrain himself. He 
  reminded himself that this was the being that had 
  destroyed his people. He made to throw himself at 
  it, to aim a killing blow with his good arm. He 
  sprang, but his legs gave way underneath him, and 
  the Patriarch caught him easily, almost gently, and 
  held him at bay with its claws. The long ovipositor 
  on its tongue flickered out, but did not touch him. 
  20
  
  Suddenly, he found himself engaged  in a bitter, 
  psychic  struggle.  Tendrils  of  alien  thought 
  insinuated themselves into his mind. He blocked 
  them, chopping them off with the blades of his 
  hatred. He countered  with a psychic bolt of his 
  own, but it was stopped by an ancient will that 
  seemed impervious to outside influence. 
  The  Patriarch  exerted  his  full  power,  and  Two 
  Heads Talking felt his defences  begin to buckle 
  under the terrible pressure. The cold, focused power 
  of the Genestealer was enormous. Even fresh, Two 
  Heads Talking doubted he could have matched it. 
  Now,  strength  fading  because  of  his  wounds, 
  exhausted because of his earlier struggles, he could 
  offer no contest at all. 
  His outer screen fell, and the Patriarch was within 
  his mind, sorting through his memories, absorbing 
  them  into  itself.  For  a  second,  while  it  was 
  disoriented, he tried a psychic thrust. The Stealer 
  countered easily, but for a moment, they met mind 
  to mind. 
  Strange alien memories and emotions washed over 
  the Librarian, threatening to drown him. He saw the 
  Patriarch's past spread out before him. He saw the 
  long trail that led through despoiled worlds and past 
  many children. He saw the hive world it had fled 
  from in a fast ship, just before the virus bombs fell. 
  With a shock, he realised that he had been there 
  himself  -  on  'Thranx  and  that  the  creature  had 
  recognised his aura from then. He saw the ship 
  crippled by an Imperial battlebarge and barely able 
  to make the jump into warp space. 
  He  experienced  the  long  struggle  to  return  to 
  normal space and the frozen eternities it took to 
  escape and crash-land the crippled ship on a new, 
  virgin world. He saw the pitifully few survivors 
  emerge; only a few purestrains and three hybrid 
  techs. He saw them make axes from the wreckage 
  of the ship for trade with the tribesmen, and he 
  watched them start the long struggle to establish 
  themselves in a hostile world. 
  He was  gratified  as the web  of psychic contact 
  expanded with each new brood member. He felt 
  cold satisfaction at the destruction of the tribes and 
  the  knowledge  that  soon  a  new  industrial  base 
  would be built. The ship would be repaired. New 
  worlds to conquer would be within reach. 
  For  a  bleak  moment,  despair  filled  Two  Heads 
  Talking. He saw the Stealer planning to spread to 
  and infect new worlds. And he could do nothing to 
  stop this old, invincible entity. He almost gave in. 
  He could see no way out. Death loomed, and that 
  thought gave him pause. He knew what he must do. 
  Part of him gave way before the Patriarch's assault; 
  another part willed his spirit towards oblivion. 
  He stood once more in the cold place, sensed far-
  off the spirit of the Emperor, bright and shining as a 
  star.  Near  at  hand  were  the  angry  ghosts.  The 
  Patriarch  was  a  hungry,  ominous  presence, 
  determined  to  enslave  him.  Somewhere  in  the 
  distance, he could hear the thunderous pinions of 
  Deathwing coming to claim him. 
  Too late, the Patriarch realised what he was doing 
  and tried to break the link. Two Heads Talking 
  focused all his hatred, anger and fear and held the 
  link  open,  a  task  made  easier  by  their  earlier 
  intimate  contact.  The  Patriarch  struggled 
  frantically, but could not free himself. 
  The wingbeats came closer, drowning the Librarian 
  in a roar that might have been a hurricane or his 
  own last breath. From the middle of a vortex of 
  agony,  he  was  borne  up  into  darkness.  The 
  maelstrom sucked in the Patriarch. It died, slain by 
  the Librarian's death agony. 
  Briefly, Two Heads Talking felt his foe vanish, felt 
  the sense of loss from its brood. As the Librarian's 
  spirit rose higher, he reached out and touched the 
  minds  of  his  comrades,  bidding  than  farewell, 
  telling them what they must do. Then Two Heads 
  Talking knew no more. 
  ***************
  Cloud Runner felt the presence as he stared into the 
  fire. He looked up and saw Two Heads Talking 
  standing before him. The Librarian looked pale. His 
  face was distorted by agony, his body gashed by 
  dreadful wounds. He knew that this was a spirit 
  vision, that the old Shaman was dead. 
  For a moment, he thought he heard the sound of 
  titanic  wingbeats  and  saw  the  mightiest  of 
  thunderbirds  soaring  toward  the  moon.  The 
  presence vanished, leaving Cloud Runner feeling 
  cold and alone. He shivered in the sudden chill. He 
  knew he had been touched by Deathwing's passing. 
  He looked toward the others and knew that they had 
  seen the same thing. He raised a hand in a gesture 
  of farewell and then swept it down as a signal for 
  the Marines to advance. 
  Filled  with  determination,  the  white-armoured 
  Terminators marched toward the distant city.
  21
  
  ***************
  22
  
  CHAPTER V
  Cloud Runner sat enthroned and looked down upon 
  his  visitors.  His  people  were  drawn  up  in  long 
  ranks, forming a corridor along which the Marines 
  advanced warily. They were led by a Captain and a 
  Librarian. From the doorway, the huge armoured 
  form of a dreadnought performed overwatch. Cloud 
  Runner found the sight of that old, familiar form 
  comforting. 
  He saw the uneasy, worshipful faces of his people 
  look to him for reassurance. He kept his face grim 
  and calm. He sensed the Battle Brothers' unease at 
  the  strangeness  of  the  folk  within  the  great 
  lodgehouse.  They  held their bolters  ready,  as if 
  expecting violence to erupt at any moment. 
  Cloud Runner was glad to see them. Since Lame 
  Bear's death, he had felt very alone. He spotted 
  several  familiar  faces  among  the  oncoming 
  Imperial warriors. Memories of the old days in the 
  Chapter House flooded back. He took three deep 
  breaths,  touched  the  ancient,  white-painted  suit 
  beside him, for luck, and then spoke. 
  "Greetings, Brother Sky Warriors," he said. 
  'Greetings, Brother Ezekiel,' said the Marine Leader 
  suspiciously. 
  Cloud Runner rubbed his facial scar-tattoos with 
  one gnarled hand, then grinned. 'So they made you 
  a Captain. eh Broken Knife?" 
  "Yes, Brother Ezekiel. They made me a Captain 
  when you failed to return." He paused, obviously 
  waiting for an explanation. 
  "It took you ten years to come looking for the Dark 
  Angels' honour suits?" the old man asked with a 
  hint of mockery. 
  "There has been war: a great migration of Orks 
  through the Segmentum Obscura. The Chapter was 
  called to serve. During that time the absence of our 
  Terminators  was  felt  grievously.  You  have  an 
  explanation for this, of course." 
  The Marines stared at Cloud Runner coldly. It was 
  as if he was a stranger to these grim youths, or 
  worse, a traitor. He remembered the first time he 
  had stood among Marines and, for the first time in 
  long years, became aware of their uncanny quality. 
  He felt isolated and uneasy. 
  "These are not our people. Cloud Runner. What 
  happened  here?" asked a deep rolling voice. He 
  recognised it as the dreadnought's. Suddenly, he did 
  not feel so alone, Hawk Talon was there, hooked 
  into the life-support systems of the dreadnought. 
  There was at least one person present who was on 
  his side, who was old enough to understand. It was 
  like  their  first  meeting  under  the  shadow  of 
  Deathwing, when he had sighted that one familiar 
  face among strangers. 
  "No, honoured forefather. they are not. They are the 
  untainted survivors of the Genestealer conquest." 
  He heard the shocked murmur of the Marines, saw 
  the  way  that  they  instinctively  brought  their 
  weapons to bear on the lodge people. 
  "You  had  better  explain,  Brother  Ezekiel,'  said 
  Broken Knife. 
  *****************
  Cloud Runner found himself telling his tale to the 
  astonished Marines. He told them of the Terminator 
  company's landing and of their discovery  of the 
  devastation  that  had  been  wrought  by  the 
  Genestealers. He told them of the Gathering and of 
  the choice the warriors had made - of Two Heads 
  Talking's  spirit  walk  and  the  Terminators'  final 
  march on the city. He spoke to them in the intricate 
  syntax of the Imperial tongue, not the language of 
  the Plains People. 
  23
  
  "We marched  through the black gates and were 
  assaulted  by  Stealers.  At  first  they  seemed 
  confused, as if they had suffered  a great shock. 
  They attacked in small groups with no pattern and 
  no guiding intelligence, and we cut them down. 
  "We pushed through crowds of screaming people as 
  we followed our Librarian's locator beacon toward 
  the city centre.  Huge purestrain Stealers  erupted 
  from buildings as we advanced. They attacked with 
  insane fury, but without thought, and so we bested 
  them easily. 
  "In the centre of the city we found a temple - a 
  building that obscenely parodied the Imperial cult, 
  dominated by a huge four-armed statue of what was 
  intended to be the Emperor. We toppled it into the 
  street  and beneath it found an entrance into the 
  underworld. 
  "Down we went into the cold, metal corridors. We 
  passed through airlocks and bulkheads. It was like a 
  buried spacecraft. We still followed the locator fix, 
  determined to reclaim Two Heads Talking's armour 
  and avenge his death. 
  "At first we made easy progress against isolated 
  Stealer attacks, but then a change occurred. For a 
  while, there was peace. 
  'We exchanged wary looks. Bloody Moon asked if 
  we could possibly have killed them all. I can even 
  now picture the puzzled look on his face. It was still 
  there when a Stealer dropped through an air vent 
  and took his head off. I blasted the thing with bolter 
  fire, reducing it to bloody mush. 
  "Now the Stealers began to attack again. But this 
  time  their  attacks  were  co-ordinated,  guided  by 
  some malign intelligence. It was as if they had been 
  leaderless for a time, but a new fiend had now taken 
  charge. 
  "They  flanked  us  through  parallel  corridors, 
  dropped through vents in the ceiling. Hordes of 
  Stealers and their human brood attacked from all 
  sides.  Waves  of  them  scuttled  forward  with 
  blinding speed, threatening to overwhelm us with 
  sheer numbers. It was a horrible sight, watching 
  those great armoured beasts race closer, ignoring 
  their kin as they were cut down. 
  "Still they came. Our point men and rearguard were 
  ambushed and killed. The threats came so fast, we 
  almost didn't have time to respond. 
  "I saw a score of than slain by flamer fire, and the 
  stench that filled the air was indescribable. They 
  spent their lives recklessly in their blind lust to kill 
  us. There was a sense of terrible, oppressive anger 
  in the air. It was as if they had a personal score with 
  us and were all prepared to die to settle it 
  "Any other squad, even other Terminator, would 
  have been beaten back by the sheer fury of their 
  attack, but we wore the mark of Deathwing. Our 
  funeral dirges had been sung - fear was not in us, 
  and we had our own scores to settle. We pushed 
  forward. inch by tortuous inch. 
  "Blood washed the corridors as we fought our way 
  into a great central chamber. There we found the 
  body of Two Heads Talking. He was dead, his body 
  rent by great wounds. Nearby lay the body of the 
  Patriarch, not a mark upon him. 
  "The hall was full of foes, purestrain and brood. A 
  handful of us had fought our way into the throne-
  room. We faced  many times our number. For a 
  moment, we stood exchanging glares. I think both 
  sides sensed that they faced their ultimate enemy - 
  that the outcome of that fight would decide the fate 
  of this world. 
  "There was quiet in the hall, silence except for the 
  cycling  of our breathers.  I could hear  my heart 
  beating. My mouth felt dry. But I was strangely 
  calm, sure that soon I would be greeting the spirits 
  of my ancestors. The Stealers formed up, and we 
  raised our bolters to the firing position. 
  "At an unspoken signal, they charged, mouths open 
  but making no sound. A few of the brood fired 
  ancient  energy  weapons.  Beside  me,  a  Battle 
  Brother fell. We laid down a barrage of fire that 
  tore the first wave to pieces. Nothing could have 
  lived through it. Everything we fired at died. But 
  there were just too many of them. They swarmed 
  over us, and the final conflict began in earnest 
  "I saw Weasel-Fierce go down beneath a pile of 
  Stealers. His bolter had jammed, but he fought on, 
  24
  
  screaming taunts and insults at his foes, the last I 
  saw of him, he was tearing the head from a Stealer, 
  even as it punched a claw through his chest. Thus 
  passed the greatest warrior of our generation. 
  "Lame Bear and  I fought back  to back,  circled 
  about  by  our  enemies.  Power  glove  and  power 
  sword smote the Stealers as we cut them down. If 
  there had been only a few more purestrains, things 
  would have gone differently that day, but most of 
  them  seemed  to  have  died  in  the  initial  futile 
  attacks. 
  "As  it  was,  things  were  close,  Lame  Bear  fell, 
  wounded, and I found myself breast to breast with a 
  huge,  armoured  horror.  The  leader  knocked  my 
  sword from my hand with a sweep of a mighty 
  claw. I thanked the Emperor for the digital weapons 
  in my power glove and sprayed the monstrosity's 
  eyes with poisoned needles, blinding it. In the brief 
  respite, I found time to bring my storm bolter to 
  bear and slay it 
  "I looked around: only Terminators stood in the 
  hall. We whooped with joy to find ourselves still 
  alive, but then the number of our fallen struck us, 
  and we stood in appalled silence. Only six of us 
  survived.  We  did  not  count  the  number  of  the 
  Stealers fallen. 
  "In  the  world  above,  the children  of the Plains 
  People waited. A huge crowd had gathered outside 
  the temple to see the outcome of our battle. They 
  looked at us, awe-struck. We had destroyed their 
  temple and killed their gods. They did not know 
  whether we were daemons or redeemers. 
  "We looked on the weary creatures who were the 
  only remnants of our former clans. We had won, 
  and we had reclaimed our world. Still, our victory 
  seemed  hollow.  We  had  saved  our  descendants 
  from the Stealers, but our way of life was gone. 
  "As we stood before the assembled throng, it struck 
  me  what  we  must  do.  The  Emperor  himself 
  provided inspiration in that moment. I explained 
  my plan to the others. 
  "We drove the crowds from the city and assembled 
  them on the plain outside. We searched for traces of 
  the brood among them, but there were none. The 
  Stealer taint seemed to have been destroyed in our 
  vengeance war. 
  "I walked through the factories and past the toppled 
  chimneys. Then we took our flamers and burned the 
  city to the ground. We divided the people up into 
  six new tribes and said our good-byes to each other, 
  for we knew we would likely never meet again. 
  Then we led our descendants away from the still-
  blazing city. 
  "Lame  Bear  took  his  folk  to  the  mountains.  I 
  brought my people to my old village, and we rebuilt 
  it. I do not know what became of the others. 
  "I have told these people that I was sent by the 
  Emperor to lead them back to the old ways. I have 
  taught them how to hunt and fish and shoot in the 
  old manner. We do battle with the other tribes. One 
  day they will again be worthy of becoming Sky 
  Warriors." 
  Cloud Runner fell silent He could see the Battle 
  Brothers had been moved by his tale. Broken Knife 
  turned  to  the  Librarian.  Cloud  Runner  felt  the 
  pressure of mind-to-mind contact. 
  "Brother Ezekiel speaks the truth, Brother Captain 
  Gabriel." said the Librarian. Broken Knife looked 
  up at the old Marine. 
  "Forgive  me,  brother.  I  have  misjudged  you.  It 
  seems the Chapter and the Plain's People owe you 
  and your warriors a great debt." 
  'Semper Fideles," said Cloud Runner. "You must 
  take back the suits. They belong to the Chapter." 
  Broken Knife nodded. 
  "Perhaps a favour. In honour of our dead, leave the 
  suits the colour of Deathwing. The deeds of our 
  brothers should be remembered." 
  "It will be so," replied Broken Knife. "Deathwing 
  will be remembered." 
  The  Marines  turned  and  filed  out  past  the 
  dreadnought.  The  mighty  being  stood  there, 
  watching Cloud Runner with inhuman eyes. 
  The  Terminator's  departure  left  Cloud  Runner 
  suddenly  tired.  He  felt  the  weight  of  his  years 
  heavily. 
  He  sensed  the  dreadnought  gazing  at  him  and 
  looked up. 
  "Yes, honoured ancestor?" he asked in the tongue 
  of the Plains People. 
  "You could go back with us. You are worthy of 
  becoming a Living Dreadnought," it said. 
  He wished he could return and spend his last years 
  with his Chapter, but he knew that he could not. His 
  duty was to his people now. He must return them to 
  the Emperor's way. He shook his head. 
  25
  
  'I thought not. You are a worthy chieftain of the 
  People. Cloud Runner." 
  "Any Sky Warrior would be, Ancestor. Few are 
  given  the  chance.  Before  you  depart,  there  is 
  something I must know. When first we met, you 
  told me I should not become a Sky Warrior if there 
  was anyone I would regret leaving behind. Did you 
  have any regrets about becoming a Marine?" 
  The dreadnought stared at him. "Sometimes I still 
  do. It is a sad thing to leave people you care about 
  behind, knowing they will be lost to you forever. 
  "Goodbye, Cloud Runner. We will not meet again." 
  The  dreadnought  turned  and  departed,  leaving 
  Cloud Runner among his people, his hands toying 
  with a braid of ancient hair.
  Names of the Deathwing and their translations:
  Akkad (Stone Heart) 
  Ezekiel (Razor Wing) 
  Azrael (Weasel Fierce) 
  Sergio (Lame Bear) 
  Aradiel (Two Tongues) 
  Conrad (Bloody Moon) 
  Lionus (Long Spear) 
  Gabriel (Fire Walker) 
  Gdeon (Hawk Talon) 
  Marcus (Lonely Hunter) 
  Lucius (Stalking Death) 
  Matthias (Red Fox) 
  Raphael (Grey Mane) 
  Nathaniel (Wind Runner) 
  Pluvius (Blood Blade) 
  Octavius (Swift Wing) 
  Antonius (Flying Eagle) 
  Caliban (Iron Fist) 
  Claudius (Red Crow) 
  Adonai (Stone Hand) 
  Uriel (Great Bear) 
  Sammael (Doom Walker) 
  Vicconius (Laughing Sun) 
  Saphon (Pale Crow) 
  Malloc (Rain Bringer) 
  Amael (Spirit Runner) 
  Bethor (Snarling Bear)
  26
  
  ***************
  27
  
SOURCE: textdata/thevault/Vault2.0.-.Fiction-and-audiobooks/Books/Warhammer 40K/Space Marines/Dark Angels/Deathwing short.pdf