Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 62

The lilac sky was burning, stained by plumes of smoke and ash. Explosions shook the ground and showers of mud rose high. Flashing white forms raced past, their bikes churning the ground to mush as bolters and missiles roared overhead. Power armoured bodies lay strewn upon the ground but it was noticeable that there were more purple ones than white. If something didn't change soon then Lorthal would be the end of their tale.

Reddam knew he was dreaming again, the understanding that his deranged mind had drifted off again was deep within him but still the events played out in his mind once more. Reddam was standing over the body of Jortas, firing his bolter into the clouds of smoke. His autosenses picked out hostile forms in the murk and he fired repeatedly, trying to keep them at bay. He emptied his magazine and reached for another as he shouted, "Hurry up!"

Behind him Apothecary Shrios was kneeling in the mud, harvesting Jortas' gene-seed as he snapped, "I'm going as fast as I can!"

Reddam slotted the magazine in and fired again as he yelled, "I can't keep them off us for much longer."

Shrios' Narthecium clunked as it shot a pneumatic bolt into the corpse, extracting the second precious Progenoid and he cried, "Done!"

"Come on!" Reddam yelled as he set off, moving away from the nearest blur of white. Together the pair ran across the battlefield, mud spraying their greaves and staining their proud armour. Reddam felt the dishonour to its spirit, doubly so since the colour was just about the only thing unblemished about it. Like all his kin he had lost his Chapter, his home and his place in the Imperium, his pride was the only thing left to him. Seeing his fellows beset on all sides by the mythical warriors of Chogoris only drove home how impoverished they were.

Reddam saw a brilliant explosion rise high, made blue by the toxic levels of methane in the atmosphere and he snarled, "If we don't get out of here fast it will be the end of the Soul Drinkers."

Shrios snapped off a shot from his bolt pistol and replied, "We should never have come to the Lorthal in the first place."

Reddam tracked a shape in the muck with his bolter but it moved away into obscurity as he stated, "This is insane, we are loyal to the Throne. The White Scars are loyal to Terra, we should not be fighting each other."

Shrios snorted, "Try telling them that, they think the Soul Drinkers are Traitor Marines, nothing we can say will change their minds. It's them or us and I choose…"

"Get down!" Reddam shouted as something came at them from out of the swirling smoke. It was a warrior on a bike, hurtling forward at tremendous speed. His armour was bedecked in glorious raiment, chased with gold and icons denoting his many victories and triumphs. He was a warrior-poet with flowing poetic script inscribed on his white colours. His bike flew a flapping pennant behind it and a horsehair plume arose from his helm. Yet what drew Reddam's eye was the magnificent power spear in his hand, shining with lightning and swinging for Shrios' head. The Apothecary turned to look but was too slow to avoid the coming blow; he would have died were it not for Reddam's hand on his shoulder, shoving him out the way.

The spearpoint flashed an inch from the Apothecary's head as he was sent sprawling into the mud. Reddam however was caught by the corner of the bike and the impact sent him skidding away like he had been hit by a freight train. The White Scar roared past as Reddam hit the mud and rolled over, his breath had been knocked from him but he had kept his grip on his bolter and with transhuman reflexes he fired a burst at the retreating form. His aim was low and missed the rider entirely, but one errant bolt clipped the back tire and exploded it, blasting the rear wheel to pieces.

"Ha!" Reddam yelled as the bike skidded out of control, crashing into the mud and tipping the rider into the filth. He pushed himself back to his feet, desperate to get an advantage but the White Scar was faster than imagination. He rose from the crash and leapt at Reddam, his spear point jabbing for the head. There was no formal challenge, no exchange of threats, the White Scar simply threw himself into the fray without hesitation. Reddam desperately backpedalled but too slowly to avoid the spear, which flashed down and neatly sliced his bolter in two.

Reddam couldn't believe his eyes, his noble weapon was lost but his reflexes were already in motion. As the White Scar spun his weapon about Reddam barrelled into him, smashing bodily into the Chogorian and knocking them both off their feet. They slammed down in a bear hug, elbows and fists smashing into each other. There was no nobility in this, no graceful ballet, it was a no-holds barred slugfest such as might play out in a hive city's slums. The White Scar was a warrior-poet, born in the saddle but he hadn't risen to be an Astartes without knowing how to fight and his punches and kicks were powerful and relentless. Reddam felt the blows slamming into his side and helm but rather than return them in kind he focussed on rolling over, pushing them both through the filthy mud and coming to rest on top. His hand flashed to his hip and came up holding his combat knife, he lifted it high and then…

Reddam started as a surge of emotion jolted him from his slumber, forcing him back to wakefulness. He found himself slung over Glord's shoulder, bouncing to and fro as the Amber Viper marched. The forest was alive with the chirps and squeaks of small animals and the occasional hiss of something larger. Shafts of sunlight penetrated the canopy a kilometre above their heads, columns of illumination casting golden pillars into the gloom. It had been dark when Reddam had last opened his eyes and he groaned as he realised he'd been asleep for hours.

Glord paused as the Sergeant awoke and paused in his march. He bent over and lowered the Marine to the bracken, saying, "You're awake."

Reddam let out a dry rasp and found his throat was on fire, he was forced to swallow several times before he could croak out, "Water…"

Glord shook his head and said, "Sorry, none to be had. Now, hold still I need to look at your wound."

Reddam was too weak to protest as Glord knelt and inspected his chest and left arm. The pain of the wound was still in him, robbing him of strength and his torso was swaddled in damp bandages. Reddam knew his wounds were severe, his inability to move was a testament to that and unless something changed he wouldn't live long enough to make it back to base.

Glord rocked back on his feet and said, "Still bleeding, this has to be changed or you'll die of blood loss."

It hurt to talk but Reddam croaked, "We used them all last night."

Glord was silent for a long moment and he took on a distant expression as he mused, "I… might have an idea. Stay here."

He took the spear in hand as he stood and walked back the way they had come. Reddam could do nothing but lay there, unable to move in the slightest. Never in his life had he felt so weak and helpless, he was cold and numb all over he couldn't even summon enough energy to be angry. Was this how mortals felt all the time, he wondered, if so it explained a lot about them. All he could do was lay in the damp underbrush, listening to the noises of the forest. He didn't doubt that Glord would return, the youth was too stubborn to do otherwise, but he didn't see what the Marine could possibly do. Minutes crawled by, each one an eternity unto itself. The rays of sunlight slowly moved through the forest, as the sun above shifted position and Reddam was concerned one might illuminate his position. Yet he knew it hardly mattered, the Eldar were legendarily aware of their surroundings, if the Xenos found them there wouldn't be much they could do about it.

A crunch nearby made him start but it was only Glord, coming back with a hefty knapsack draped over one arm and the other carrying his spear. Reddam noticed a slick of fresh blood staining the blade and he instantly guessed where Glord had taken the supplies from, by the looks of it forcefully. Glord knelt in the underbrush and pulled out a canteen stamped with an Imperial Aquila and handed it over. Reddam took it with his good arm and carefully sipped, it was only water but it felt like golden ambrosia on his tongue. Meanwhile Glord took out some bandages and surgical pads and began changing Reddam's wounds.

Reddam watched his Brother working and slowly said, "Are we safe here?"

Glord kept working as he said, "Safe as anywhere else, there's no place the Eldar can't go, this is as good a spot as any."

Reddam asked, "How much further to base?"

Glord replied, "A long way, the Eldar are everywhere, while you were out I saw them running down Huscarls. Those few survivors aren't going to get very far, they're wounded and weak and…"

Glord fell into bitter silence and Reddam sighed, "That can't have been easy."

Glord muttered, "I don't want to talk about it."

Reddam sipped his canteen again then asked, "The Huscarl you got these off… did he put up a fight?"

Glord sighed, "Worse, he begged. He was dying and he knew it but he refused to pass with dignity. I offered him the Emperor's Peace but he was weak and cowardly at the end."

Reddam affirmed, "We are trained for the red heat of combat, the hack and thrust of the melee. It is easy to feel the rage and the hate in the moment, they drive us to feats of greatness, but in the cold night it can be harder. Guilt, it has ways of creeping in when you're not looking."

Glord worked on the wounds as he said, "Is that why you were talking about the Soul Drinkers?"

Reddam went very quiet at the pronouncement and he wondered what he had let slip in his delirium. What secrets had he spilled in his dreams. Very cautious he said, "You shouldn't know that name."

Glord nodded, "Yes, we guessed that."

"We?" Reddam hissed.

"Yes we," Glord replied, "The First and Second generations Amber Vipers, a few of us at least. We know more than the Old Seventeen guess."

Reddam's eyes narrowed as he probed, "What do you think you know?"

Glord shrugged, "You're not as smart as you think you are. A word here, a whisper there, a few relics that have no business existing. Your reluctance to talk about your spear, it's not modesty, its shame. You're ashamed of how you got it. Tell me the truth, the Old Seventeen didn't spring out of nothing, did you?"

Reddam very quietly said, "We encountered the Soul Drinkers during the Time of Exodus. They were traitors and renegades, they deserve to be forgotten."

Glord snorted, "Very convincing Sergeant, I almost believe it."

Reddam swallowed as he said, "Glord… you should be very careful with your next words."

"Don't worry," Glord chuckled, "We don't care about the past, it's the future that concerns us."

"Really?" Reddam inquired in surprise.

"Oh yes," Glord said, "I think that's the big difference between our generations. We don't share your shame, we are happy to be who we are."

"Is that why you're always cheerful?" Reddam asked.

Glord nodded, "Joffel wants glory, Kazao craves acceptance and Tebes loves to brood. Me, I am right where I want to be, doing what I want to be doing. I get to fight for the Emperor and unlike most Astartes in Chapters I don't have to flagellant myself every day. What's there to be miserable about?"

Reddam sighed, "I can't remember a time I thought that way. Duty and responsibility weigh down on me."

"You're stuck in the past," Glord mused, "Let the past die, the Amber Vipers look to the future."

"I'm not sure that's a good thing," Reddam said, "We haven't done much to be proud of, Chapter Master Coluber is trying to make us a true and honourable Brotherhood but we fall short."

Glord shook his head and said, "Yes, that's why he's so unpopular. Battle-Captain Ferrac, now there a soul who should be leading the Chapter. He sees the glory and goes for it. Everybody thinks he should be in charge."

"I wouldn't say that where he can hear you," Reddam replied.

Glord shrugged, "Coluber can't live forever, every Astartes is fated to die in battle. Someone will have to be the second Chapter Master."

Reddam sighed, "That is a dark thought."

"Too dark," Glord said, "We have enough on our plate for today. I've finished this, we need to keep moving."

With that Glord tied up the bandages and packed the sack up. He lifted Reddam over his shoulder. Then they set off again. Reddam resigned himself to another day of being jostled about but inside he was confused. The Amber Vipers had tried to put their past behind them but it seemed they hadn't been as discrete as they thought. Deep within he wondered how much Glord knew and how many others had guessed their dark secret. They had come to Athelling to secure their future but could it be their past would drag them down regardless. One thing was certain though; if they didn't make it back to base there would be no future for either of them.