Extremus Fors Chapter 4

Only once had Novak had reason to enter the Librarian's tower and he was in no way eager to repeat the experience. The gloomy edifice had long stood over the island home of the Storm Heralds, casting a pall over those mighty bastions. Few in the Imperium tolerated the Psyker with any grace and none felt comfortable in their presence. Librarians were mighty battle-psykers, valued for their arcane might and deep wisdom, but never truly accepted into the ranks. Their order stood apart from the various Companies for good reason.

Novak reflected on this as they climbed a winding staircase. Clad in his armour it was an easy climb and they swiftly passed the lower levels. Novak's plate was bedecked with glorious heraldry, as behoves a champion. His pauldrons bore golden ablative additions and the helm at his belt a short crest that tapered towards the neck. He bore a sturdy combat shield on his left arm and a power sword etched with Hexagrammatic runes, Honour's Edge, as familiar to him as his own hand.

Novak saw they were passing the library, a vast and winding maze of shelves and bookcases, with circling routes and strange switchbacks. This was as far as he had ever got and he shuddered to remember that encounter. The books of witch-touched were dangerous things, and the stacks tricky. To navigate such a place tested body and soul, and he was eager to leave it behind.

He and Arvael continued to climb, as they did so they moved past several doors, all sealed against intruders. Outside stood guardians in blank-masked visors. They wore black armour and their hands were gloved. Novak frowned as a sense of danger washed over him. Strange, these were no Space Marines, he surely could best them in combat and yet they oozed the aura of one who was not to be trifled with. A primal sense that defying them would result in a very painful and immediate fate.

Novak glanced at Arvael's back and asked, "Who are they?"

"Black Sentinels," Arvael replied as he kept climbing.

"Who are they?" Novak pressed, "Where do they come from?"

"Don't ask," Arvael grunted, "The less you know, the better."

It seemed the Librarian wasn't going to provide more information so they kept rising. They passed through a level of apartments, where Novak assumed the Librarians spent their days. These doors were closed but not guarded, so they moved through and ascended to the summit of the tower, Chief Librarians Echeb's abode. Never had Novak entered this place, and had never wanted to, but he wasn't surprised to find a wide chamber at the top of the stairs. Around the edge of the room were small bookshelves bearing musty tomes. Cabinets housed strange devices and short tables were piled high with scrolls and maps. Novak noted several cabinets were locked or emptied, and assumed the items within were not for the eyes of outsiders. Yet what truly startled him was that the pair of Space Marines awaiting were most definitely not psykers.

Novak nearly missed a step as he spied a figure in red, and one in black. The first was not known to him, but his height and Mark X armour denoted a Primaris warrior, a Techmarine if Novak was any judge. The other was not a friend, but was familiar at least. A Chaplain in sombre black, with a breastplate covered in a polished ribcage made of actual bones. His right arm was an augmetic claw, set with a fiery ruby and his other hand rested on the pommel of a Crozius of unique make. Dread-Hand, a fearsome relic of the Chapter. The Chaplain was stern and humourless in gaze, but surprisingly young. Cortha, Chaplain of Second Company, Furion's first protégé and as zealous a bastard as Novak had ever met.

"Cortha!" Novak called as he stepped into the room, "They snagged you too!"

"Chaplain Cortha," the stern Marine corrected, "Chapter Champion or no, you will address me properly."

"Serious as ever," Novak chuckled, "You should smile more."

"You will not dizzy my head with fancy words," Cortha growled.

But from behind Arvael muttered, "You've never spent an hour locked into a Drop pod with him."

Novak ignored that as he continued, "So, how did you get mixed up in whatever this is?"

"The Chief Librarian requested an urgent meeting," Cortha replied, "One does not lightly brush off such a missive."

"Elusive scoundrel, isn't he Cortha?" Novak chuckled.

"I told you…" Cortha began.

But Novak dropped the mirth for a moment to say, "Don't think you can order me about, I've been berated by the best and they couldn't shut me up. Chaplain you may be, but I've taken down harder Marines than you."

Cortha glared irately but Novak brushed it off and turned to the other saying, "We've not met."

"No, but I know you. I am Geryon, once of the Indomitus Crusade, but lately of the Techmarine Soladity."

"I take it you got a summons too?" Novak probed.

"Yes, a most strange one. The Librarius asked for a Primaris Marine specifically, they were most adamant it not be a Firstborn."

Novak lifted an eyebrow to remark, "Odd… and I wouldn't care to guess why. Echeb runs his order with a tight leash. Still, we have someone here who can explain…"

Arvael didn't take the bait as he said, "That is not for me to say."

"Come on, spill it," Novak chided.

"I shall not…" Arvael began to protest but was cut off as a stern voice called, "Leave him be, I am here."

From behind a bookshelf Echeb appeared, striding into view with his astrolabe-topped staff clicking on the tiles. Clad in armour with constellations marked in gold and twin-tailed comets he was a striking figure, his eyes heavy with latent power. The sight gave even Novak pause and he fell silent as Echeb approached. Had he been here the whole time, or entered via a hidden door, Novak didn't know but had bigger questions.

Echeb came to stand at a small table and set a weighty scroll down upon it as he said, "I thank you for coming so swiftly. The Chapter's honour is imperilled."

"A bold claim," Cortha stated, "What is so troubling that we must meet such haste?"

Echeb sighed, "It is my shame to tell you of a recent disgrace, concerning the Librarius Conclave. Such matters are classified, but Chapter Master Phalros and I deem this information is necessary for you to know. The meeting of Chapters was overturned by an invasion of Chaos. Shocking, yes, I see it in your faces. We were beset by Daemons and Traitorous Inquisitors and the warlord Jubila."

"Jublia?!" Novak exclaimed in shock, "That bastard's back?!"

"Who?" Geryon asked perplexed.

"An old enemy of the Chapter," Novak explained, "A Traitor of the Third Legion. I've tested blades with him on occasions and sworn to claim his head. Arvael, you should have told me he's returned."

"There was no need," Arvael sniffed, "He died."

"Jubila's dead?" Novak said incredulously, "You saw his head cut off, you have the body to prove it?"

"Well… no, but the darkness that took him was impossible to survive."

Novak scoffed, "If you didn't see it with your own eyes then he's not dead. Bloody scum has more lives than an Ottersaur."

Echeb cut in, "As concerning as that is, it is not the reason we called you. During the summit a relic was lost, a most potent and treasured artefact of our bloodline. It was defiled, polluted by a Daemon Prince, becoming a tool of Chaos, but in its original form it was known as the Gladius Incandor."

"The Primarch's weapon!" Cortha gasped, "The Blade of Reason itself!"

"What, where, how…" Novak spluttered.

Cortha agreed, "You had the sword of our gene-father in your hands and lost it?!"

Arvael sighed, "Such is our shame."

"The Primarch's weapon, defiled and made into a tool of Chaos," Cortha growled, "We are disgraced, the stain upon our honour is harrowing."

Novak shared the sentiment. To have lost such a hallowed relic was a dishonour upon all Storm Heralds, but to allow such a treasure to be polluted by Chaos was a black mark that would never be forgot. The Storm Heralds would be disgraced, their pride and esteem crushed into the dust. However it seemed not everyone agreed with that conclusion.

Geryon shook his head and said, "You Firstborn and your pointless rituals."

"You dare?!" Cortha exclaimed with the tone of one deeply insulted.

"It's a sword," Geryon retorted, "Roboute Guilliman might have a wisp of nostalgia, but he's got a better one. He won't care."

"We care!" Novak spat, "If word of this gets out…"

"It won't, it can't," Echeb growled, "This mission must be utterly secret, even from our Brothers. Win or lose, the memories of any who partake will be scrubbed clean."

"Erase our memories?" Geryon spat in disgust, "This is the reward if we succeed?"

Novak wasn't any happier but argued, "It can't be any other way. Our honour is on the line."

"Indeed it is," Echeb stated, "We have to retrieve the blade and cleanse it of taint. The Gladius Incandor must be returned to Imperial hands, the Daemon Prince excised and our honour restored."

Novak accepted this but it was Cortha who said, "I take it you have a lead?"

Echeb turned to the table and unfurled the scroll. It was revealed to be a map, one of the Saint Karyl Trail, but with additions Novak had never seen before. He leaned in as he saw a knot of worlds in a region he had only ever seen depicted as 'Perdita', and barred with entreaties not to pass this way. This map was old, older than the Psybrid invasion, the Saint Karyl Trail as it stood two thousand years ago.

"Psybrid space?" Novak asked.

"Indeed," Echeb explained, "The Exterminatus fleet has broken open that pit of vipers and revealed long lost secrets. Here, this planetoid on the edge of the conflict, here I found the Gladius Incandor, in the hands of a Heretic witch. A lost outpost of the Mechanicus, frozen and abandoned, but not lifeless."

"That explains Geryon," Novak mused, "You need someone versed in the Cult Technis, to deal with any Archeotech you encounter. But why not a Firstborn?"

"There have been… issues within the Soladity," Geryon explained, "Factionalism, infighting, doctrinal feuds. I surmise you want someone free of any ties to the local Mechanicus sects?"

"Very astute," Echeb said, "We scoured the ancient texts and found references to a lesser Forgemoon, not good ones. The texts had been heavily redacted, but something happened there long ago, involving the Storm Heralds. I cannot guarantee our Techmarine brothers will be impartial in this matter, but a Primaris will have no ulterior motive."

"You require his lack of ties more than his knowledge," Novak mused, "My skill with a blade…"

"And my Crozius," Cortha interjected raising his weapon.

Echeb's eyes hardened as he said, "Dread-hand, forged from the finger-bones of a Sister of Silence… its effect is troubling to the psychic mind. If you encounter Psybrids, or worse, it may be essential."

Novak touched his blade as he said, "My sword is warded, and you two are powerful psykers."

"I cannot go," Echeb said sadly, "I have the Inquisition breathing down my neck, they want to know what we know. I must stay here and delay rival hunters as best I can. Arvael, you will lead this strike team to the planetoid in my stead. You must move fast, the Exterminatus fleet is burning the most heavily infested worlds to ash, but will not spare a single planet. You have weeks at best before that rock is scoured by cyclonic fire. But I have two gifts to aid you… Arvael."

The young Librarian moved to a cabinet and pulled out an item on a tray. He handled it gingerly, as if trying not to touch it too much and held it away from his body. It was a gun, small for an Astartes' hand, which fired small needles. It looked light-weight and underpowered to Novak's eye, but it was presented to Geryon with great reverence.

The Techmarine picked it up and looked down the barrel saying, "This is supposed to help me?"

"Recovered from the ruins of the conclave," Echeb said, "The rounds within are Null-iron, forged from the blood of Pariahs. These darts carry potent anti-warp charges. One hit will render a Psyker powerless."

"I saw a possessed man hit with one," Arvael elaborated, "It pinned him to the world like a fly in amber. Use it sparingly, there are only a dozen shots left, and we have no way to replace them."

Geryon didn't look impressed but clipped the gun to his belt as Novak asked, "And the other gift?" Echeb nodded towards the stairs where a figure was being prodded up the steps. Two Black Sentinels drove a young boy, one on the cusp of manhood. His hands were manacled, and his mouth sealed with an iron gag. His brow bore the mark of a condemned man, and crossed bones were branded to his forehead. He glared angrily at the Space Marines, not intimidated in the least, but Novak spied a small implant buried into his skull, almost hidden behind his ear.

"A mortal?" Cortha growled disbelievingly.

"Far more than that," Echeb said, "This is Micah Dwelt, a condemned thief and life-long outcast from society. He was sentenced by the Ecclesiarchy, to be burned at the stake for blasphemous sedition against the Emperor, but my agents snatched him away as soon as we realised what he is. Micah is a Pariah, a natural-born anti-psyker, rare beyond rare. Without the limiter we implanted he oozes nothingness, no Psyker can use their gifts near him. He is as far, as we can discern, soulless."

"You want us to take that thing with us?" Cortha hissed, "We are Space Marines, it couldn't possibly keep up. We'd be forced to carry it like babe."

"If we intend to touch a Daemonsword, then yes," Arvael spat, "You cannot imagine the corruption within, the foul taint you would invite into your soul. Micah here may well be the only one who can touch that sword and not be corrupted. Without him, the mission fails."

Novak sighed wearily as he said, "So, we travel to this lost outpost, carry condemned Heretic on our backs as we look for a lost Daemonsword, racing against the clock, before the planet gets subjected to an Exterminatus. And if we succeed we won't be allowed to remember it?"

"Your summation is correct," Echeb said grimly.

"Wonderful," Novak groaned, "And does this Forgemoon have a name?"

Echeb and Arvael shared a loaded glance and then the Chief Librarian said, "According to the ancient text it was called… Lujan Minoris."

Silence fell as the words sank in, then Novak exclaimed loudly, "What?!"