The Knights of Terra

I sit in my chambers, looking at the crossed power-sword and knife that hang above my desk when not in use. I begin to slip into a deep reverie when Erasmus Spooge, my scribe walks in. Buzzing at his shoulder is a servo-skull: the skull of his father. From what I know of his past he carried that skull through the Ash Wastes of Armageddon and further, guarding it even when his life seemed forfeit. He and members of the 13th Penal Legion escaped that hell when their lieutenant threw himself and a traitor from a bridge into a chasm. The servo-skull bears a scroll upon it always, reading simply: "Lieutenant Kage – no great man in life, but more than any man in death".

'What are you thinking, is I may be so bold?' Erasmus asks in his usual, timid voice

'Of those who fought to come back, and those who fought to stop them. Of those who deserved nothing better than death, and those who deserved to live forever.'

He fingered a 25mm heavy stubber round, which he always wore round his neck, alongside a fang from a bull-Ork, as he said: 'when I was on Armageddon, a man now long dead told me I was the best damn loader he ever had. I walked through hails of bullets with that man – and yet he died about two minutes too early. Two minutes before we were all saved, he was pitched into a fething ravine. I hated the bastards that did that – and I'm proud to say we killed them all. I've lived thirty years since that day, and not one of them have I not wished that he'd survived – I'd do anything short of heresy to bring him back. However, he taught me to see the funny side of things, to always laugh instead of get angry – he also told me I was good at what I did. I will carry those lessons around for the rest of my days, because I won't betray his memory. My point, inquisitor, is that when people do survive, it's their company you should seek: and think about people not with sadness, but with joy: for what they did in life, rather than how they perished. I hope every day that I'm going to go to Armageddon and find a man named Brin "Brownie" Dunmore alive and kicking the feth out of some Orks. But the chances of that aren't high, so I live like he wanted to live: and above all – I'm still called Razzy'

I look up at the servo-skull: the other two scrolls hanging from it are full pardons for the crimes of one Brin Dunmore and one [Blank Kage – Both previously of the 13th Penal Legion.

'You know what, you're frakking right. This evening will be about the lives of those lost. I have something to tell you, which might be of interest: out next port of call is, in fact, Armageddon. We have to investigate rumours of a possible possessed Ork warboss. We leave in three days. Have everything packed, and I give you permission to take any armament you see fit with you.'

He turned to leave, I attracted his attention with a cough.

'Erasmus?'

'Yes?'

'Mind if I call you Razzy from now on?'

His face broke into a smile: I remember just how young the pair of us are when I consider out experiences together. Our whole team, including us has done more in a few years than more people do in a lifetime. I'm 36 and he is 83 – his voice is as squeaky and timorous as the day we met: but it's endearing as apposed to possibly annoying – thanks to rejuvenat treatments he looks about 40.

Everyone likes Erasmus – he's the life of our team, and I can't think what I'd do without him. I still don't know.

Chapter 1

Graihgn ran as quickly as he could through the dark alleyways, trying to keep his right arm out of sight under his short cloak. He had known fear before, but never such as this - his lower-circle associates were dead, all slain by that damn pair of lovers the inquisitor kept in his team. He didn't know about the upper-circle, but suspected that the long-death and that hell-spawned Lysander had slain them.

Just as he finished thinking about this, Graihgn heard a sound that made his blood freeze - the sound of a sword being drawn from its sheath - just behind him.

Hurling himself sideways through a door he just managed to avoid a decapitating swing from a massive blade, as he flew through the door he caught a glimpse of a huge figure, dressed in black, red trimmed, power armour, with a white helmet. Finishing his jump Graihgn found himself in a small, dark bar - before he could stop himself he had crashed into two burley smithy-workers, and his cape was torn off. The first man cried in alarm and the second span around and threw a slightly misaimed punch at this intruder. Graihgn's arm killed him in a second, the long barbed tongue punching through his chest and ripping out his heart. The remaining worker turned to flee, but Graihgn's arm claimed him too, the mouth that took up the forearm biting into his neck and severing his spine.

Graihgn realised he had spend too much time finishing the men when he felt a searing pain and, looking round, saw his left arm lying in a pool of blood - screaming, he fell to the floor, clutching his stump. He stopped when the marine stood over him, pointing a bolter at his head.

The marine spoke; 'Die heretic' and pulled the trigger. The bolt round shattered Graihgn's forehead and blew out his brain in a messy fan.

Razien looked up from the remains of the mutant cult-member and, with the aid of his super-human senses, located the area where the inquisitor and the others were battling the last remnants of the Cult of Erasing Change and charged towards it - leaving behind a shocked and panicked bar-room.

Lucas Drake was having the best time he had had in many years; there was a bolt-pistol and a sword in his hands and enemies all around him. No longer was he stuck watching the fun - he was here, right in the front line.

He slashed round with sword and sent a cultist with a long, curved knife stumbling away, his throat cut. Stamping down he reversed the swing and changed it into a thrust, the blade of his ancient weapon went straight through the heart of a charging woman with a chain-axe.

Suddenly, the press of cultists broke apart to allow a towering monstrosity through; it was covered by a cloak of pure darkness and, from what Lucas could see, had long writhing tentacles coving its back, these lashed out seemingly at random.

'In the name of the Emperor, what is that!?' He heard Falcon shout above the din of battle.

Two explosions tore from the creature's throat area - it toppled backwards and lay still, blood fountaining from the wound.

'Dead' replied Razien and, without even breaking stride, sent a shredding hail of fire into the ranks of cultists. Each round struck home, slaying or crippling the target.

Sarah spun round, sending a kick into the temple of the nearest foe - she felt bone crack and saw the man crumple. She drew her twin long knives and began to fall into the pattern of thrusts and parries she knew so well. Two cultists were dead before they even knew she was there, their blood making strange patterns on the dusty floor, but more began to react to her presence; three rushed her, one of them she named Short Swords, one Chain-Axe and one Cleaver. She flipped one of her knives and threw it into the chest of Cleaver. She then stabbed Short Swords in the eye socket and sent him screaming to his dark gods. The third was on her by then and - with surprising speed for a man wielding a chain axe, smashed the knife from her grip. She jumped backwards but fell as Cleaver grabbed her ankle. Chain-axe stood over her and, laughing, began to lift his axe for the killing blow. All of a sudden his head exploded in a pink mist - his body toppled backwards and the dropped chain-axe bisected Cleaver. A mist of warm blood sprayed across her armoured black bodysuit.

'Thanks for that, Vindicare'

'Anything to help out a friend' was the reply. The voice was slightly deep, with gorgeous undertones that made Sarah think of spices and warmth. She and Fabien had been lovers for three years.

'I didn't think assassins were allowed friends?'

'They aren't, nor are they allowed lovers; but I'm not an assassin. Not any more.'

'We have Lysander to thank for that, don't we?'

'May the Emperor bless and protect him' He said in an undertone

'Oh yes; fourteen is my count so far. Bet your not beating that?'

'I've done twenty-seven so far and that was when they were still running around the alleys like rats'

'...Show off' She muttered

'Always'

He voxed off and another cultist went down missing his head. For the first time since infiltrating the cult of Erasing Change Sarah felt truly safe. Fabien was not going to let anything hurt her. Lysander might be an alpha level psyker and Razien might be a Space-Marine but Fabien was ex-vindicare and her lover - those two factors made him a deadly opponent in ranged or close combat - especially when Sarah was present.

Falcon was taking a short break from the combat; with his back against the wall he covered his front with a one of his wrist mounted flamers and reloaded his shotgun one handed - a trick he had learned from an old Arbites friend he had known on his home planet.

Falcon was not his real name; no one but a selected few knew his true name. It had been taken from him in Comorragh - in the torture chambers or in the slave-gladiator pits he did not know. But he refused to use his old name; it was too painful. He had escaped when, during one pit fight, he had broken the neck of a newly promoted Archite and turned his weapon on the stadium guards. The Emperor was looking over him in his opinion - because at the moment he escaped Comorragh came under attack from a random patrol of Eldar, they had been lost in the webway for many months, and eventually stumbled into Comorragh. Falcon was then able to stow away in a vehicle as they fled back into the webway and travel to the nearest Imperial Planet.

Ever since the day he escaped he wore the mask of an Aquilla. He was now an agent of the Golden Throne. Falcon was slow to trust and even slower to befriend - but he classed members of Lysanders' entourage as friends and still trusted the few remaining people from his birth world.

Lysander Kain of the Ordo Xenos was impressed with how effectively his plan had worked, but distressed at how far the corruption had spread - he had ordered three units of storm troopers to assist in the cleansing of these scum. However as soon as they had arrived they had cremated their Commisar then turned on the Inquisitor and his retinue. Lysander could not say he felt particularly sorry for the Commissar.

Lysander fired his plasma pistol into what looked to be the planet's governor and burned him on the spot; all the time chanting the Write of Cleansing. He span and his power sword severed two men at the waist; this gave him a momentary respite from the battle. He used it checking how the battle was going; Razien was as efficient as he always was, as were Fabien and Sarah. Falcon was excelling all of them, but his flamers were designed for this kind of fighting so that was hardly surprising. Also his Aquilla's appearance was causing panic and disorder in the ranks of the enemies which was helping to stop the traitors from forming ordered ranks and massacring his troop with massed numbers.

A thundering roar ripped across the sky, and a Valkyrie drop-ship shot over the wall and slammed on its air brakes; Kasrkin jumped from the sides and began to rappel down towards the battle - firing from the hip all the way.

Lysander though "finally, the back-up's arrived" and charged into the fray once more.

The purification of Seblion Major's capital city took four weeks and required over 400 imperial guard to be deployed on the planet's surface - it cost the lives of more than half of these. The spread of corruption would not have been detected but for the effort of Lysander Kain of the Ordo Xenos and his team.