Void Stalker by Aaron Dembski-Bowden Page B

his flesh. Streaks of warm meat and hot blood splashed across the abettor and archregent. Neither man had moved.
    The archregent swallowed, watching the armoured figures approach. ‘Why?’ he asked. ‘Why have you come here?’
    ‘Wrong question,’ Xarl smiled.
    ‘And we owe you no answers,’ said Talos.
    The archregent raised the borrowed pistol and sighted down the barrel. The warriors kept walking. Next to him, Abettor Muvo was interlacing his fingers, seeking to quell their shaking.
    ‘The Emperor protects,’ the archregent said.
    ‘If he did,’ replied Talos, ‘he would never have sent you to this world.’
    Xarl hesitated. ‘Brother,’ he voxed, ignoring the old man with the gun. ‘I am getting a signal from orbit. Something is wrong.’
    Talos turned back to the other Night Lord. ‘I hear it, also. Septimus, bring Blackened along the eastern edge of the spire. We must return to the void at once.’
    ‘Compliance, master,’ was the crackling reply. Within moments, the gunship was hovering by the dome’s edge, gangramp lowering like an eagle’s hooked maw.
    ‘The Emperor protects,’ the archregent whispered again, trembling now.
    Talos turned his back on the mortal. ‘It would seem that on rare occasions, he really does.’
    Both Night Lords dragged their swords clear from the dead bodies as they ran, and drew bolters mid-sprint, opening fire on the reinforced glass. Their armoured forms crashed through the damaged barrier, taking them into the smoke and out of sight. The archregent watched their silhouettes vanish into the darkness of the gunship’s innards, still unable to blink.
    ‘The Emperor protects,’ he said a third time, amazed that it was so very, tangibly true.
    Talos held his head in his hands. The pain was a rolling throb now, pushing at the back of his eyes. Around him, First Claw were readying their weapons, standing and holding to the handrails as the gunship climbed back into the sky.
    ‘Is it a Navy vessel?’ Cyrion was asking.
    ‘They think it’s an Adeptus Astartes cruiser,’ Xarl held a hand to the side of his helm, as if it would aid his hearing. ‘The vox reports are exciting, to say the least. The Echo is taking a beating.’
    ‘We outgun any of their cruisers . ’ Mercutian was kneeling as he refit ted his heavy bolter, not looking up at the others.
    ‘We outgun them when they don’t break into the system and knife us in the spine from a perfectly executed ambush,’ Cyrion pointed out.
    Talos drew breath to speak, but no words left his lips. He closed his eyes, feeling tears in his eyes and hoping it wasn’t blood again. He knew it would be, but holding to hope prevented his temper from flashing free.
    ‘The Sons of the Thirteenth Legion,’ he said. ‘Armour of scarlet and bronze.’
    ‘What is he saying?’
    ‘I…’ Talos began, but the rest of the sentence fled from him. The sword hit the deck first. The prophet collapsed to his hands and knees a moment later. Behind his eyes, the darkness was returning in a tidal roar, hungry for his consciousness.
    ‘Again?’ Xarl sounded angry. ‘What in hell’s name is wrong with him?’
    ‘I have my suspicions,’ answered Variel, kneeling beside the prone warrior. ‘We have to get him to the apothecarion.’
    ‘We have to defend the damned ship when we reach it first,’ Cyrion argued.
    ‘I hear sirens,’ Talos said, and fell forward once more into the yawning maw of nothingness.

VI
    ASSAULT
    He woke laughing because of Malcharion. The war-sage’s deep, rumbling declaration from over a year before rattled through his aching head, when the Dreadnought had woken with the words ‘I heard bolter fire.’
    He could hear bolter fire too. There it was, that unmistakable drumbeat – the heavy, juddering chatter of bolters opening up against one another. The distinctive thuds of fired shells and the echoing crash of them detonating against walls and armour set up a familiar cacophony.
    The prophet dragged