Incantator Congressus Chapter 34
Bitter shame clung to Arvael's heels as he ran. He tried to shake it off but the sour taste in his mouth told him that disgrace was not so easily cast aside. Friends, brothers and comrades had his choices condemned in the past, some he had judged too weak to withstand the trials of a Space Marine, others he had sentenced to death for wariness against taint taking root in their souls. Such was life for a Librarian, their mandate was to stand between their Chapter and the corruption of the warp. For the sake of humanity it must be so, compassion and mercy had spelt the death of billions, whole worlds burnt to ash when the guardians of mankind had allowed a single corrupt soul to slip away. None were above suspicion, no man could truly claim to be immune to the lure of Chaos, save for Him on Terra. Yet to turn away from one's own master, this was a weight of guilt not easily borne, a millstone around his neck.
Arvael tried to focus on the present as the Librarians continued their flight. They had climbed out of the gully and made tracks into the hills. Faster than ever they fled, knowing hunters lurked in all quarters. They had given Jubila the slip but his armies were everywhere, and the Possessed too. Arvael was unsure they could continue to evade such dogged pursuers for long, not for the time to would take the Inquisition to notice Holdfast's silence and send aid, but the attempt must be made.
Ghyrun was in the lead as they barrelled through tangled briars covering a low hill. Sharp thorns awaited and knotted roots but Ceramite and fibre-bundle servos made short work of that. Crashing through the briar patch they began to ascend, hurrying as fast as they were able. Arvael smelt the wet sap of broken plants and it faintly reminded him of blood. The thought made his mind return to Echeb and he wondered if his master's lifeblood yet stained the sacrificial knife of the enemy.
Jhur must have caught his melancholy and drew nearer, saying, "Chewing over your lot?"
"Is it that obvious?" Arvael sighed.
"It was a hard choice, but there's no use crying over it," Jhur consoled him, "You make decisions and you live them with them. That is how things must be."
From the other side Imix called, "Your master would understand, the Spirit of the Storm would have done the same."
"That is no consolation," Arvael grumbled.
"It is what it is," Imix sighed, "All our lives are forfeit in the defence of Mankind. To sacrifice oneself is noble, but to sacrifice others for the mission is a terrible burden, reserved only for those hard enough to bear it."
Jhur agreed, "True, not every Space Marine is cut out to be a Captain, much less a Librarian. There's more to our calling than being psykers."
Arvael lapsed into silence as the seven climbed the hillside. From here he could see far, the rolling hills endless and the distant mountains bleak and indifferent. He was starting to hate this strange planetoid, Arvael realised, from the raw stone of its base to the pointed peaks, the cold waters and the never-changing daylight. He longed to be back on his homeworld, to hear the sea crashing on the shore and feel the winds that ran before the Emperor's Storm upon his face. The sooner he was off this accursed plate-world the better.
Ahead the others neared the summit, the top hidden by the lumpy contours of the slope. They made to dart across the pitted top and down the other side and Ghyrun was first over the apex but then he froze. Arvael's lips held a question but before he could speak Ghyrun shouted, "Ambush!" From over the crest came a hurtling bolt-round, tearing through the air with a buzzing rip. It caught Ghyrun in the flank, cutting deep into his ribs and then the mass-reactive detonated, blowing blood and ceramite shards far. Ghyrun was sent flying backwards, spraying blood from a vicious crater in his side. He hit the slope and tumbled over and over in a ball, arms and legs flopping wildly. Arvael wanted to aid him but had no time, for over the crest came a wall of lurid colour, Emperor's Children in great number with weapons bared.
A dozen bolters let fly, hammering a hail of death at the lurking Librarians but Arvael was faster. With a moment of warning he threw up a kine-shield and the bolts detonated upon his barrier, harmlessly expending their wrath. Unfortunately one of the foe bore a Blastmaster and the sonic weapon carried through without impediment, smashing Sythah aside with a roar that shook atoms from their eternal dance.
The Emperor's Children continued their charge and drew knives, racing down the slope to engage. There was no possibility of flight so the Librarians summoned their powers and moved to greet them head on, knowing there was only victory or death to be found in the next moments. A fiend with a snarling chainsword came at Arvael, the blade tainted by a foul denizen of the Warp. Arvael didn't know what that weapon would do to him but was determined not to find out. He jumped aside from the first swing and swung his Force-Morningstar wide, trying to smash his enemy's head in. Yet the swordsman swayed aside and came back with a lightning-fast riposte, that nearly skewered Arvael through the eye. Desperately he ducked, only to find a knee rising to meet him, and it slammed into his face with a crack of genhanced bone.
Arvael saw stars as he staggered back and the swordsman cried, "First blood to Salmacis!"
"First and last," Arvael growled as he steadied himself.
The swordsman leered, "Bold words, for a dead man. You can't dream to match me blade to blade."
But Arvael sniffed, "As you will."
Drawing deep on his connection to the warp Arvael sent forth invisible chains, wrapping them around Salmacis' limbs. The duellist gaped in surprise as telekinetic bonds yanked him away, pulling his feet from the ground and leaving him dangling in mid-air. He yelled and swung his blade madly but his feet had no traction and he could not move. Then Arvael heaved and threw Salmacis into the sky, sending him tumbling into the air to land far down the hillside.
One threat had been dispatched but the rest were far from done. All around a furious melee raged, Librarians fighting tooth and nail to survive in the face of superior numbers. Jhur roared as he fended off three Traitors, his spear a blur in the air as he parried and denied. He was fighting extraordinarily but could only defend, there was no opening to attack. Ashuay fought off a pair with grinning facemasks, his limbs wreathed in fire. He burned their plate and marred their lurid heraldry but made scant impression as they pressed in from both sides. Sythah had regained his feet and fought in the midst of a dark haze, casting shimmers of distorted time around him. He seemed to move like a badly framed pict-reel, moving from spot to spot without crossing the distance. The effect was confusing and the foe could not pin him down, and he led them a merry chase. Elsewhere Chamat grappled with a brute with gnashing fangs for a face, the foe had him pinned but the Steel Confessor was working on the enemy's plate, causing it to fit and started randomly as the befouled Machine Spirit was disabled. Imix faced off with the sonic-wielding enemy, the pair battling with shrieking waves of force. Psychic bellows left Imix's lips to meet the bone-rattling roar of the Blastmaster, making the air weep as they fought for supremacy.
Arvael gathered himself to come to his brethren's aid but then he saw Jubila himself, dancing through the fray and headed his way. Arvael had no time to call out a warning as the grinning warlord threw himself at the Librarian and they met in the fury of combat. That slim sabre swept for Arvael's neck and only a hastily conjured Kine-shield kept his head attached. The sword scraped off his barrier and Arvael swung low, aiming to take out Jubila's knees but the Warlord leapt over the crystal-mace and kicked a bootcap into his face.
Arvael's battered head was once again sent into a spin and he reeled back, expecting a killing blow. Instead Jubila stalked nearer, sword held low as he growled, "You have something of mine."
"You'll have to prise the Gladius from my cold dead hands!" Arvael spat.
"Good," Jubila snorted, "Then we can agree on something."
Suddenly he blurred, moving faster than Arvael could see. Exceeding all bounds of Space Marine tolerance Jubila accelerated towards him, a smear of light his blade, angling to cleave Arvael's hearts out. Arvael had no time to defend himself, all he could do was leap to the side, trying to avoid dying on the edge of the sabre. He almost made it. A terrible wrench tore through him, accompanied by a lance of fire across his back as the tip scored deep. But worse was the sudden shift of weight as something was torn from its mounting: the Gladius Incandor, flying away to land in the heath.
Arvael slammed into the briar, his back aflame and his legs numb. He could barely feel them, let alone stand and fight and he knew Jubila could finish him off at any moment. Yet the Warlord did not, instead leaping at the fallen Gladius and snatching it up by the hilt to cry, "At last, it is mine!"
"The blade," Arvael croaked, "He has the blade!"
"No one can stop me now!" Jubila exclaimed.
Arvael struggled to stand but was unable. His body began to burn hot, where Emperor-bestowed implants started to close his wounds but it was not fast enough, not nearly enough. Jubila saw his struggle and leered evilly. He turned and, Gladius in one hand, sabre in the other and preapred to finish off the lame Librarian. Jubila raised his sabre high, intending to plunge it into his face and there was nothing Arvael could do to stop it. And yet at the last second another intervened.
Suddenly the bracken came alive, whipping tendrils shooting upwards to wrap around Jubila's limbs and he cried aloud in shock. Twisted brambles encased him, wrapping him up like a cocoon as long thorns dug deep. He was not the only one, all over the hilltop the Traitors were beset by unexpected vines, growing from the ground like reaching hands. Legs were tangled, arms dragged down to sides and necks throttled as the hillside rose and attacked.
Arvael twisted in his prone position and saw Ghyrun standing nearby. The Disciple of Caliban swayed as blood poured down his side, Larraman cells trying vainly to stem the torrent. His face was pale and yet he held himself upright as his hands clawed the air. In response to his mental commands the bracken grew denser, over-powering even Space Marine strength with layer upon layer of knotted sinew. Jagged thorns grew longer, tasting blood and one Traitor had his eyes gouged out, screaming in denial as he was blinded forevermore.
Ghyrun was doing it, alone and wounded he was holding the enemy at bay and buying the Librarians time to regroup. Arvael's heart surged as he tried to force himself upright and he looked upon Ghyrun with awe. Thus he was perfectly positioned to see the flash of light firing from behind Ghyrun. A soaring bolt-round caught him in the back and he staggered, blood flowing down the rear of his legs. Another and another smote him, each one breaking through armour to pulp internal organs in a fatal barrage of mass-reactives.
Ghyrun fell to his knees as his face went slack, revealing the hated sight of Salmacis. The duellist had evaded being ensnared and he stood over his victim, a smoking bolt-pistol held in his hand. He lowered his gun and raised his sword to finish the kill, intending to claim the head for himself. Arvael could only look on in horror, unable to intervene as Salmacis lifted his sword for the final chop. Ghyrun's cold eyes locked with Arvael's and they shared a moment of understanding that the fight was lost, the traitors had won and would kill all the loyalists. This was the end. Then Ghyrun's eyes flared one last time and Arvael's world was sent into a spin.
The hillside exploded beneath him, bracken bursting its roots from the soil to hurl his weight into the sky. Like a man tossing a ball it threw him away, sending him flying down the slope, far from the melee. He was not alone, the others were also hurled away, thrown clear of the fight by an undulating mass of bracken. Arvael hit the slope hard, his back screaming in torment as he rolled downhill. Sky and land flipped wildly in his sight and the world whirled about his head as he tumbled out of control.
A large rock stopped his slide and he slammed into it with the crunch of breaking ribs, finding himself at the base of the hill. Filled with agony he rolled over; arms pressed tight to his broken chest. Around him the others groaned in pain, as disorientated as he was. Ashuay was the first to his feet crying, "To arms! Ghyrun bought us a moment but they will come to finish the job!"
But Chamat cried, "No look, they withdraw!"
It was true, the Emperor's Children were falling back, flying away as fast as their heels could take them. They disappeared over the crest of the hill, leaving the headless corpse of Ghyrun prone upon the ground. Jhur gasped, "They had us, they could have finished us off with ease. Why would they retreat?"
"Because they have what they came for," Imix snarled.
"What?!"
"The Blade of Reason," Arvael hissed in agony, "Jubila has claimed the Gladius Incandor."
Awful silence fell as the group saw it for themselves. Their sacred charge had been taken from them; they had failed to keep the relic safe. Chaos had the blade and took it far from their reach. Leaving the Librarians alive to stew in the bitter ashes of defeat, laughing in scorn at the shame piled upon them.
Jhur broke the silence defiantly, "We're not dead yet, come on, get after them!"
"We can't beat that many on our own," Chamat hissed.
"Then we die trying!" Ashuay growled.
Imix nodded as he affirmed, "For the Sun-Emperor and the Great One, we shall give chase unto our last breath."
"I'm coming too," Arvael spat.
"You can barely stand," Sythah hissed.
"It's only pain and my body heals as fast as yours does. Don't just stand there, get after them, Jubila can't be allowed to get away!"