Extremus Fors Chapter 44
It was a long and mournful journey, back across the haunted depths of the Empyrean. Fleeing the tide of destruction consuming Pysbrid space, down the tributary warp-routes that flowed past sentry outposts, back to the swift currents that were the Saint Karyl Trail. Once caught in that cyclical-flow it was a swift journey of fifty-light-years to the Storm Herald's homeworld, then a slow burn across realspace back to the orbit of Lujan II. Ares' Promise slipped into the teeming pilgrim docks without comment, to be met by a single Thunderhawk, which brought the handful of survivors down for a most fateful meeting.
Librarian Arvael stood proud in his master's quarters atop the Librarian's tower, intense daylight streaming through the spotless dome. The light of day revealed the field-repairs made to his armour; the quick-setting paste used to patch the cracks. His armour yearned for the comfort of the Forges, but it would have to wait. His own injuries were no less harrowing, more scars added to his weathered face, but that too would have to wait. He, Cortha and Geryon were attending Chief Librarian Echeb, who did not seem pleased. The master of Librarians was reading a data-slate in silence, cold eyes scouring every word and betraying not a hint of satisfaction. Arvael could guess what his lord would say, but as for the other person present there was no telling how he would react. Chapter Master Phalros, standing proud in his peerless armour, senatorial features stern and unsympathetic. That the highest authority among Storm Heralds was present was troubling, and Arvael worried what it heralded.
Eventually Echeb lowered the slate and muttered, "Fulgrim, you met one of the nine Traitor Primarchs. This strains belief."
"Believe it," Cortha countered, "I saw the damned filth with my own eyes."
"None doubt the veracity of your words," Echeb corrected, "Psykers the length of the sector were harrowed by the shockwaves of his manifestation. I felt it too, though I had no name to attach to the upheaval, few things indeed can unleash such calamity merely by appearing."
"Then what's so hard to believe?" Geryon probed.
Phalros answered for him, "That any of you remain alive. Traitor-Primarchs have laid waste whole sectors, obliterated entire Chapters. That you few encountered Fulgrim and lived to tell the tale is either the greatest feat in the history of the Storm Heralds, or a tissue of lies to disguise treachery."
"You question our loyalty?" Cortha growled.
"They must," Arvael hastily averred, "To meet a Daemon of such power is to imperil one's soul. Too easy would it be for a coward to bow to Chaos and return telling tales of a great victory. Tell me you would not be suspicious in their place and I will call you a liar. But, my lords, know that we did into fight alone. As you read in our report the Grey Knights were present, their power was invaluable in the battle."
"Being over-blessed with anti-psyker gear didn't hurt either," Geryon muttered.
Echeb, looked at the slate again and mused, "Hypras, a name of no small notoriety. A spirit uncompromising and his purity beyond question. That he is dead leaves the Imperium's defences poorer. Yet I find it troubling that you claim one of his order died by our hands."
"Troubling, is hardly the word!" Phalros exclaimed, "I could scarce believe it when you summoned me to report this clusterfrak!"
"Your presence was not requested," Echeb replied with an affronted glare.
"But your bungling has made it mandatory," Phalros rebuked, "I have been lenient with your clandestine ways Echeb, content that you acted in good faith, but this crisis has forced me to get involved. A simple mission to restore our honour, that was what you proposed, instead I find a plethora of debacles. Fallen champions, Fulgrim abroad in our protectorates, a sordid history unearthed, Jubila in custody, a Daemonsword polluting our halls and Honourable Ajax dead!"
"The Dreadnought..." Geryon began.
"When I want your opinion, I'll give it to you," Phalros snapped, "Honourable Ajax, our oldest and most revered Dreadnought, the one constant we could rely on in a shifting galaxy. The last living soul who remembers our founding is lost forever. This is a day of ashes and lament."
"If I may," Echeb countered, "Ajax's erratic behaviour has been growing worse, the tragedy with the Sodality was only the last in a long line of dangerous incidents. You and I both agreed that Ajax was a problem, one that we could no longer afford to ignore. His passing may well be a blessing in disguise."
"You speak ill of the glorious dead," Phalros growled, "Our Brothers will be in mourning when the news is released, what do you suggest I tell them?"
Echeb replied calmly, "The truth. Ajax faced Fulgrim incarnate in battle and was slain. His great sacrifice banished a Traitor-Primarch and thwarted the machinations of Chaos. No greater feat can be imagined, no more worth a victory could crown his achievements. Ajax's name was already a legend, but for this noble sacrifice his name will endure till the stars burn out."
"A glorious death..." Phalros mused, "It is better than any of the other fates we were considering for our demented Dreadnought. His name will be whispered by his Brothers with awe."
Geryon interrupted, "You intend to tell them Fulgrim ate him?"
"Actually, I think its best we keep the fine detail to those present," Phalros stated.
"I thought you might," Geryon muttered under his breath.
Cortha cut in, "Does that mean we get to keep our memories?"
Phalros sniffed, "There's hardly any point to erasing them. Word has spread far and wide of this disturbance, it cannot be hidden. Even the meanest governor knows something staggering has occurred, and those with the clearance to know the truth have many pointed questions. Our gene-father himself demands an immediate and full report. I need to craft a narrative to present to the Imperial Regent, before First Captain Jemiel does it for me."
"So, we are to retain our memories only to repeat whatever you want us to say?" Arvael pressed.
"Yes, especially when the Grey Knights arrive."
"More Grey Knights?!" all three adventurers exclaimed in shock.
Echeb explained, "We have received an Astropathic message from one Brother-Captain Manguire, a missive so heavily encrypted that the Astropaths who transcribed it died from an implanted Psychonomic suicide-trigger. Manguire signals he comes to investigate the loss of his Brothers, and take possession of the Daemonsword."
"You cannot allow it!" Cortha exclaimed.
"I can and I will," Phalros retorted, "This entire mission has gone too far beyond the pale. I know Echeb has a variety of tainted relics in his vaults, but this I will not tolerate."
"What of our honour?!" Cortha growled, "We swore to cleanse it and restore the blade's purity. All the blood we shed will be for nothing if we simply give away the sword."
But Phalros glared, "Then you can explain to Brother-Captain Manguire that the Storm Heralds are responsible for the deaths of his kin. I would count a miracle were he to take the blade and sail away assuming Fulgrim killed Hypras and the others. As it stands I will be hard-pressed to keep him from learning what role we had in his affair."
Arvael added his voice, "I would be glad to see him take the Daemonsword away from these shores forevermore."
"You applaud with this dishonour?!" Cortha snapped.
Yet Arvael snapped "You saw the corrupting influence of that blade as well as I! Hypras nearly succumbed, a Grey Knight no less! If he could not withstand its insidious touch, the Storm Heralds will not either. We were naive to think we could cleanse it; we would be tainted if we even tried. Throw it into the deepest cell and stand Black Sentinels at the door and that would still only slow it down. It must be removed from our reach, taken to a place where none can be polluted by its filth. To keep it on our island would see the Storm Heralds grow corrupt in heart and mind, till we would be turned against the Golden Throne."
Phalros declared, "The Daemonsword will go to Titan. The Storm Heralds must not walk the same path as the damned Relictors. A dishonour we will bear, but better that than to lose our loyal hearts. The decision is made, and I will suffer no argument on the matter!"
All eyes were cast down in deference, but then Echeb cleared his throat, "If we may look for a silver lining in this debacle, I would point out that we did capture the traitor Jubila."
"A hated enemy of our Chapter," Phalros mused, "Long have we sought revenge for his involvement in Vorshaan's invasion of our home. You have done well Brothers, but tell me why he still breathes."
Arvael explained, "He's died before and returned to plague us. Slitting his throat was tempting, but no use if he pops up again in a decade. I was at a loss, so sought wiser counsel as to his punishment."
"How to dispose of a foe who refuses to stay dead," Echeb mused, "A thorny problem."
"Stasis?" Geryon suggested.
"Stasis-fields fail, prison walls fall, even the cold of space is no guarantee of a permanent end to his debauched story. I must give this further thought."
Phalros nodded, "Do so, it will keep you out of trouble for a time. Meanwhile I have to explain to our Gene-father what mysteries we uncovered on Lujan Minoris."
Geryon spoke up, "There isn't much to report. We found evidence of ancient battles, a Heresy crushed long ago and purged from records. Bloody battles, but no more than a million other wars in the galaxy."
Phalros glared, "Your report spoke of Ajax claiming the Storm Heralds were part of some Mechanicus treason, a tainted experiment to make quasi-Daemonic warriors."
"The ramblings of a failing mind," Echeb countered, "Nothing Ajax said can be taken as gospel truth, especially not second-hand reports. Whatever fire raged on Lujan Minoris was smothered long ago and we can truthfully report the last embers have been stamped out. Let that volume of history remain closed."
Phalros nodded in acceptance and said, "And that leaves only our most bitter decision: Novak."
"He lives?" Cortha asked.
"The Apothecarion reports his vitals remain stable, in a Sus-an-coma. They sound shocked that he was not dead, given his injuries, it is startling that his hearts beat."
"It was not random chance," Arvael sighed, "Fulgrim was deliberate in his cruelty, allowing Novak to live was no mercy."
"Still, it is a tragedy," Echeb said, "The Apothecaries have proposed granting our Chapter Champion the Emperor's Peace."
"A hasty waste of his skill," Phalros retorted.
"Skill?!" Arvael exclaimed, "You think he can be made to walk and fight again?"
"Fight: no," Phalros corrected, "Walk, maybe. The initial reports indicate that augmetic reconstruction could restore up to twenty-three percent of his mobility."
"Twenty-three?!" Geryon exclaimed, "That would leave him a plodding cripple, almost blind and nearly deaf. He'll never swing a sword like that."
"But he would retain his knowledge of swordsmanship and peerless experience handling a blade. Essential lore, to be passed down to the next generation."
Arvael blinked, "You intend to make a Training-instructor of him?"
"Those burnt-out wrecks," Cortha scoffed, "Cursed by being unlucky enough to survive where others fell in glory."
"Dedicated and wise teachers," Phalros rebuked, "Honoured for their experience and understanding."
Arvael swallowed, "With respect, I do not believe that Novak would want such a fate. To live as less than what he was, to be pitied, would be unbearable. If he were able to make a choice, he would prefer to die."
Phalros was unmoved, "Novak's wishes are secondary to his duty and a Chapter Champion is a resource not lightly cast aside. The Chapter requires Novak's knowledge, his teachings could inspire a new generation of Storm Heralds on to greatness."
"He has given his all," Arvael argued, "We have no right to ask more of him."
"Aye let him rest, his name belongs in the scrolls of honour," Cortha urged.
Phalros however stated, "Had he passed battling Fulgrim I would carve his name into the Rock of Heroes, but he did not. Novak lives and our aspirants need him. I must look to the good of all our Brothers, a thousand Space Marines and those yet to be. Novak's life will continue, even crippled there is no other choice."
Arvael's hearts grew heavy as he saw it was true, Novak's duty was not done. It was bitter indeed but had to be borne, though another piece of Arvael's spirit died in doing so. And yet Echeb sniffed, "Actually..."
All turned to him and Phalros probed, "You have something to say?"
"Merely an observation," Echeb mused.
"Out with it then!"
Echeb replied calmly, "I find it interesting we debate Novak's life as a binary choice, death or a drudging half-life, when there is a functional and vacant Dreadnought chassis laying in our Forges."
Silence for a moment then Phalros exclaimed, "Novak, a dreadnought?!"
"Chapter Champion Novak," Echeb countered, "Why waste his skill at arms on the training ground, when we can put him back on the front line?"
All shared a loaded glance and then Phalros ordered, "Quickly, to the Forges and summon the Apothecaries immediately!"
