Extremus Fors Chapter 19
Deeper into the lands of the Technobarbarians Jubila led his horde, deeper into the warm heart of their scattered territories. Several times they fell upon smaller clans, wiping them out utterly. The Hoar-Giants fell in a night of blood and fire, Verglaskin was devoured by feral beastmen and the Frostriders died to a man, their courage breaking, only to be run down before they could flee. Jubila left a trail of ruin in his wake, but it brought him little joy.
The warlord was striding along the rim of an ice wall, his step sure and certain on the slippery surface. He looked upon his lowly minions, as they gorged themselves on hot blood and dripping meat. Blood-drunk the beastmen fell upon each other, brawling, rutting and braying loud. Such banal pleasures were uninteresting to his refined tastes, base and simple, he had long since outgrown such tawdry delights. The only reason he had steered his force this way was to fill their bellies; it would be a poor showing if starvation killed his army before he could use them.
Oh, for a true army of Emperor's Children, the cavorting paragons of the glorious IIIrd Legion. There was an army to stir the heart and inflame the loins. Proud warriors of the Long War, each an artist of destruction and an epicurean of torment. Jubila had commanded Legions of such decadent killers once, and their perverted slaughters had been pleasing for the Prince of Excess. Jubila had strode the stars as a force of nature, unstoppable and feared, now look at him. Reduced to leading a smattering of lowly half-breeds, how the mighty had fallen.
He spied Varador and jumped from the wall to see what the outcast was doing. The Traitor was liberally applying his flamers to a variety of dwellings, watching them go up like bonfires. The dance of flames was entrancing to the renegade, the play of light and heat hypnotic. Jubila didn't care much for such passive things, but he did like the screaming wails of those caught within, screeching in terror and agony as they were burnt alive.
"Enjoying yourself?" Jubila called as he closed.
"There is such beauty in fire," Varador uttered dreamily, "Look at it: energy, creativity, passion. Fire is life."
"If you say so," Jubila sniffed.
"You mock me," Varador hissed, turning his head slightly.
"It's what I do," Jubila snorted, "Not much else going on while the lowlies feed."
"You care nothing for your followers," Varador growled.
"Not a fignut," Jubila scoffed.
"You inspire no love, no loyalty, you are a poor leader."
Jubila's hand nearly went for his blade, he'd killed better men for less, but chose to stay his hand. He had better ways to hurt the Traitor, ones that would leave more lasting hurts. Jubila grinned widely and uttered, "Loyalty... You'd know all about that. Remind where that sort of thinking got you."
"Don't go there," Varador growled.
"I go where I will, unlike you. You can't ever return to Nocturne, never again walk among the fuming volcanoes. An exile, and all for doing what had to be done."
"I said, leave it."
"Or what, you'll drop incendiaries on my head, like you did those fleeing Guardsmen?!"
"They were as good as dead!" Varador snarled.
"Your beloved Chapter didn't see it that way!" Jubila needled.
Varador yelled "The battle was lost! The guard failed to hold the Kelphic Valley, they ran before the Tyranid onslaught. The swarm rolled up that valley, heading straight for Manurha city! My orders were to hold and buy time for a defence to be readied, but it was pointless, one squad couldn't hold against that tide."
Jubila chortled, "So you fell back and called down a bombardment and wiped them all out, Guardsmen and bugs alike. Human and Xenos burning together, while you flew away to safety. What a sight that must have been, a valley filled from end to end with flaming Promethium. How many soldiers did you kill, ten-thousand, twenty?"
"To save millions!" Varador snarled, "It had to be done, there was no other way."
"Your precious Chapter Master didn't see it that way."
Varador turned his face away and spake with sorrow, "He said I forsook honour and disobeyed orders. Better to have stood and died, than sacrifice allies to save my own skin. Coward they named me, a disgrace, faithless and untrue. I was cast out, a Penitent Crusade, sent to find whatever death I could find among the stars."
Jubila was loving the pain in his voice and twisted the knife a little deeper, "Any other Chapter would have patted you on the head and called you a good boy. The Imperial Fists would have given you a medal, the Ultramarines would have harped on about tactical sacrifices for strategic advantage. The Dark Angels... would have done whatever it is they do behind those monastery walls. But not the Salamanders, not the bleeding hearts of Vulkan, so concerned with the little people. Ha, they should have met their Primarch in person, let me tell you he chalked up more than his fair share of atrocities in the Great Crusade."
"They'll pay," Varador hissed, "I'll show them all how wrong they were to shun me. All of them will burn, when I return to Nocturne at the head of an army."
"Gods favour you with that," Jubila snorted, "You'll need it."
"You shouldn't laugh at my pain and I don't like your grinning face," Varador snarled, "Maybe I should burn it off."
"Try it, I'll cut your head off before you can squeeze a trigger!"
The pair faced off but the looming confrontation was cut short as a flailing figure burst from a burning hut. A frail woman fell out of the door, her furs on fire. She fell to the icy ground and rolled, trying to put them out but failing. Varador pointed his flamers but Jubila stayed him with a raised hand.
"You show mercy?!" Varador hissed.
"I grow tired of traipsing about this icy wasteland. See if she knows anything, any leads on where the sword may be hidden."
"I am not your lackey."
"I think you are," Jubila laughed, "Burn her face off, snap her fingers, make her watch as you murder her children, I don't care how you do it, just find me something useful."
Jubila spun on his heel and took off, leaving the renegade to work. The warlord made his way through the camp, following the sound of laughter and screams. Sure enough he found a knot of beastmen, filling their mouths with entrails torn from still living victims, Moragann was among them, sharing the wet feast. The sorcerer looked up as Jubila strolled over and called, "Want some?"
"Already dead, where's the fun in that?" Jubila dismissed, "How soon can we move?"
Moragann stood up and wiped his chin before saying, "A few hours to eat and sleep, then we can drive the herds on."
"Eating, sleeping," Jubila lamented, "Oh, for some true Space Marines."
"Make the most of what Fulgrim has given you," Moragann scoffed.
"Fulgrim gives me crap all!" Jubila snapped, "I had to scrape this lot together myself! All the power of the Legion at his beck and call and he couldn't even give me a squad!"
"Careful," Moragann cautioned, "The Phoenician's temper is volatile."
"You don't have to tell me that, look at what he's reduced me to. Me, Jubila, greatest of the IIIrd grubbing in the muck like a human. Fulgrim can go..."
"Can what, my son?" came a silky tone out of Moragann's mouth. Jubila shut up instantly, for that was not the Sorcerer's voice. Low and resonating with Transhuman inflexions, but clipped and refined. The voice was elegant, cultured and well-read, but with dangerous undertones of threat. It was totally out of character, like hearing a Primadonna sing Tenor and it wasn't alone. One by one the beastmen stood up and faced Jubila, their eyes shining silver as a depthless power reached from the depths of the warp and steered them like puppets. Their jaws moved in unison as a hundred mouths spoke, "You have some criticism of me?"
Jubila hastily gulped, "No, nothing my Lord Fulgrim."
"Strange," the voice echoed from every corner, "You seemed to be complaining about my lack of generosity."
"I assure you, I would never..."
"I assure you that your torments would be never-ending if you did," Fulgrim's puppets uttered, "I can inflict such tortures on your flesh as to make Slaanesh's jaw drop. You have barely begun to explore the depths of agony that are possible."
Jubila felt a trickle of cold dread steal down his spine, knowing that was no idle threat. The Prefector of Chemos was mighty beyond comprehension, a Daemon-Primarch and far from least among his brothers. Some may foolishly fear the frenzy of Angron, or the indomitability of Mortarion, or even the cunning of Magnus, but Fulgrim... Fulgrim was petty. The others would just kill you but if the Palatine Eagle felt slighted there was no end to the torments he could imagine. Death would be no escape.
"Mighty lord... beautiful master of depravity!" Jubila stammered, "All proceeds as planned, we have tracked Rebre and the Daemonsword to this moon. She is here, we only need to narrow the search a little. We almost have her."
"Almost buys you no leniency. I told you what would happen if you failed to bring me that sword!"
Jubila desperately promised, "It will be yours; I swear it. Most praiseworthy of all Primarchs, your Brothers will writhe in envy when you lay claim the sword. The Ultramarian blowhard's teeth will be ground to dust when he finds out. Magnus will blink, Mortarion will choke on his bile, Pertuarbo will pound his fist that you got there first. Even Angron will bow his head in respect."
"You left out Lorgar," Fulgrim pointed out, "Actually no, don't compare me to the Script-Thumper. That's giving Lorgar too much credit."
Jubila nodded as he probed, "Then I may continue?"
"For now," Fulgrim allowed, "But know your time grows short. You are bound to me forever. There is nowhere you can run from me, nowhere you can hide. Die and I will bring you back, to kill you over and over and over till the stars burn out. Now go!"
The crowd sagged as the Daemon-Primarch's presence retreated, sinking back into the warp where his essence luxuriated. Moragann and the rest staggered, seemingly drunk as he murmured, "Whaaa happen..."
"Never mind that," Jubila snapped, "Get this lot sorted out, I want to be out of here within the hour!"
He stomped away, leaving the confused beastmen to stagger about in bewilderment. Jubila was angry and afraid in equal measure, and had good reason to be, time was running out and the noose was around his neck. Thankfully Varador was closing and Jubila marched straight up to him barking, "Well?!"
The Renegade answered, "The hag spoke of a cavern far from here, with a mighty Forgefane within. Seemed to be a bid deal to these primitives, as good a place as any to look."
"It's a start," Jubila muttered sullenly, "Help me round up the herds and get them moving. Eternal glory or endless agony awaits us. From here on out everything depends on our speed, no matter what we must get that blade!"
