Siege Of Iyanden - Part IV
Written by Spiritblade
One week passed. A week since the first wave of the hive fleet arrived and brought war to the Craftworld of Iyanden. A week of hard-fought battles, of blood, of pain, of desperation, of fear and of raw courage. The ultimate test of any mortal being, whether he or she be Eldar or human, is the test of war. Here is where heroes and monsters are made. I sat upon the ruins of an Eldar homestead, now a shapeless heap of rubble caused by bolterguns and missile launchers, gazing upon the scene around me. We had fended off one attack after another, and despite our initial successes of fending off the mycetic spores that raced towards Iyanden, the second wave overwhelmed the Eldar's auto-heavy lascannon defences and crashed into Iyanden, bringing the war right into the Eldar Craftworld. Once was bad enough. Twice is very, very bad. Three times will be a bloody nightmare. By the Emperor, these tyranids are worse than locusts! I clutched my autobolter, and released the spent cartridge before reloading another. A Falcon grav-tank laid smoldering in one ruined building, smoke pouring out of a ruined hull. The armoured bodies of its crew laid scattered, bloody holes gaping, and the faces of those bared in terrible anguish. I stood over them. One of them was still writhing in pain, eyes pleading, looking at me to administer the final blow to end his agony. I raised my autobolter to the Eldar's head and said, "Rest quietly, little one. Your death shall be avenged.". The ensuing blast blew his head to a bloody mess that left little to describe. I have administered this fate to many a soldier whose wounds were so terrible that not even the apothecaries of the Emperor could save them - this was the only merciful fate left given.
The sounds of gunfire was deafening even from where I stood, and the air was crisscrossing with laser beams and tear-drop shaped fireballs that spewed from heavy bolters. A rocket flashed across the air towards a gargoyle, disintegrating the winged monster in an instant. Up above, the hive ships and Eldar warships were locked in their deadly battle. Even from where I stood, I could tell that the Eldar were on the borderline of victory and defeat. "Brother captain!" came a voice as I turned to see the armoured form of Marcus, one of my personal Bloodguard regiment.
"Yes, Marcus?"
"It's Gewesen's unit, sir! He and his brother marines are striving to hold off a heavy genestealer attack from one of the adjoining domes. He said that they have landed behind Valkaze's units and overwhelmed the defences there!"
"Emperor blast it! Gather the Bloodguard, we move upon that area! And warn the nearby Eldar forces that the defences of that dome city have been compromised! Shut and secure every area leading out of that place!"
" 'Tis already being done, brother captain!" spoke another voice as a young Space Wolf Blood Claw ran up, "And my unit have broke another attack. We'll join you."
"What in Sanguinius's name happened to your sergeant?"
"He's dead, sir. A tyranid warrior killed him."
I cursed beneath my breath, and looked up at the star-filled void of space, and prayed to the God-Emperor that Mephiston and the others would arrive. I drew my Concilliator power sword and turned to the Blood Claws, "Come, my brother marines. If we die, we die the way our Primarchs would have wanted us to fall."
The huge Imperial starfleet moved towards the warpgate towards Ultima Segmentum sector 4, that exited near the hive world of Ichar IV. From there, it would be a few hours before they would reach the embattled Craftworld of Iyanden. Mephiston looked out the plasteel window from the bridge of the Emperor-class battleship at the massive fleet that had gathered to fight the tyranid fleet. Nigh two-hundred warships and over eight squadrons of escorts. Already, reports have filtered in from nearby systems that the tyranids have been attempting to invade their space, but the local fleets have destroyed many.
Each hour delayed would have disastrous consequences for Iyanden, and though the Eldar were no friends of the Imperium, neither were they their enemies. For many a time, Mephiston have fought alongside the Eldar, and found them proud and arrogant. But, nevertheless, even the Eldar were afraid of the Blood Angels. And for good reason, Mephiston thought, smiling ironically. The entire chapter was cursed, from the oldest veteran commander down to the lowliest scout - all were cursed with the death visions of their Primarch as he faced down the Great Betrayer Horus. Mephiston could not say he conquered the blood-thirst that afflicts the chapter, but he could control it. His young protégé and brother marine, Shateiel Iceblade, was one who struggled to emulate him. And though Mephiston wouldn't say it aloud, he knew the boy's biological father would have been proud of the man his son had become. Mephiston certainly was - despite the brat's hot-head.
Azrael had dispatched two battalions of some two hundred Space Marines from the Dark Angels chapter; Marneus was leading his own legion personally, and Mephiston and Dante led the Blood Angels. The Space Wolves Chapter was headed by Ragnar Blackmane himself. Azrael had went separately with the Third Company, to bolster the Imperial defences on Couran IV from a chaos attack. As it came directly from the Adeptus Terra, Azrael could not disobey the command, and left. Knowing that had kept Ragnar's tongue in check - even he could not challenge the authority of the Adeptus Terra(though he made some extremely sarcastic comments). The long-standing feud between the Dark Angels and the Space Wolves was legendary to the point that everyone knew about it. Space Wolves were boisterous and outgoing in nature, quick to anger, and quicker still to forgive. Dark Angels, however, were slow to anger, slower to forgive - and they were many stories concerning the dark, brooding nature of the Dark Angels. Some say that they were touched by Chaos - and were on a quest of redemption. Some said that there were traitors amongst the ranks, and that the Dark Angels will spend an eternity - if need be - to hunt them all down and earn the Emperor's Forgiveness. There were many legends about the Dark Angels - and none wanted to talk about it.
Marneus Calgar entered, and said, "For all you say, I trust this Shateiel is as formidable as you say he is?"
"He is, Lord Calgar. He'd better be - or by the Emperor, I'll drag his miserable soul back from death's own hands just to beat the living hell out of him before sending him back."
Calgar chuckled, "You sound just like my father when I was but a mere man. By the Emperor, I wish I could repeat those days with him again - but nevertheless, he was proud of what I am."
"As was Sheik's biological father of him, when they last spoke."
"You knew the man?"
"Indeed. In nature, he would make the Dark Angels look like children - and in experience, I have seen this man drop Traitor marines like flies in close combat with his power sword."
"That good?"
Mephiston shook his head, "If the Imperial Guard had one of us within their ranks, 'tis Ashram Iceblade."
"The commander of the Black Legion?"
"The same. Though, compared to the father, Sheik is far more the genuine idiot. Hot-headed, rash, crazy, and sometimes, he is infatuated with the Eldar. How in the Emperor's holy name he became a captain in our ranks eludes me!"
"He sounds like a good man."
Mephiston's smile left his handsome features as his eyes drifted back across the years. He had sensed the latent, dormant power beneath Sheik's aura, waiting to be trained and perfected. Sheik promised to be a powerful Master Librarian, but it was under a psionic lock. Mephiston had been surprised, for a psionic lock denied a psyker use of his or her powers. It had to be implemented when the child was young so that the power would not grow, added to the fact it was not easily broken. He had been with the young captain when he had been a scout. He had seen him stride proud towards the Farseer of Saim-Hann and grip his hand to signify an alliance between the Eldar and the Imperial forces in their attempt to throw the forces of Chaos off the world of Kharn-Tauragh, which bordered close to the Eye of Terror. The alliance had lasted to this day, much to Mephiston's surprise. No doubt because the wolf was still lurking near their doors, ever waiting for a single sign of weakness.
As a fully-fledged marine, he had fought countless battles, across a hundred worlds, seeing the fires of war in all Her infernal majesty. The boy that once thought war glorious now realised the nightmarish truth. But, nevertheless, seeing the danger posed to his people by uncountable enemies, he had carried out his duties befitting the Imperium's finest. What Sheik loved most of all was personal combat, and he seeked out the most formidable opponent to challenge. From Khorne Berzerker champions to Chaos Lords to even the mighty daemons of Chaos - Sheik's thirst of perfecting his battle-skills was unparalleled. And in a galaxy burning with War, there were endless opponents.
But against the forces of the Great Devourer, even Shateiel Iceblade, war-hardened as he was, would require all of his strength and tactical planning gained by decades of conflict, to turn the tide in the favour of the Eldar.
So engrossed was he by his contemplation of the past that he did not hear Marneus Calgar's question. "Excuse me?" Mephiston asked, "What was it you said? My apologies, Lord Calgar; I was remembering a few things."
"Do you think we can win?"
"The question does not arise, Lord Calgar. If we fail to severe one tentacle of the Hive Fleet Kraken, then that tentacle shall wrap around another world. We shall win or die. Brother captain Sheik refuses to withdraw from Iyanden because of that - he knows the consequences if he retreats."
The sound of armoured jackboots on plasteel floors made both Lords turn to face a blue-armoured Ultramarine, "Lord brother Calgar, Lord Mephiston, there is a transmission for the both of you."
"By whom?"
"An Eldar, Lord commander. He calls himself Yriel of Iyanden, former Admiral of the Craftworld's fleet."
Yriel of Iyanden waited patiently in his flagship with his fifty or so ships, in full view of the Imperial warfleet. Yriel could not stop believing the power the human Imperium could field into a war, and the mere size of the battlefleet nearly stopped Yriel's heart. His own kindred had been arrogant, dismissive of the young race of Man. One day, they promised, the stars would belong to them once more, as it did so long ago.
But, Yriel knew that the young race of Man needed the Eldar as the Eldar needed them. One was young and powerful beyond measure, harsh in spirit due to the endless enemies and wars it faced, and burdened with the ancient guilt of the knowledge it was they who created the Dark Legions of the traitor space marines. The other, ancient and wise, with knowledge accrued over centuries - nay, millenias - of study and perfection, but arrogant and proud. The same pride which brought low the Eldar race and gave birth to the Great Enemy, Slaanesh, and gave rise to their Dark Kin. Once, one of his kindred had proudly spoke of Man's blood staining the stars as the Eldar reclaimed their lost glory - but have they ever truly considered that those stars drenched in blood may well be their own?
There were many who said that Eldrad had warned the Emperor of Horus's betrayal, but that the Emperor had dismissed such rumours. Horus had been his closest friend and second only to him. Why should he betray him?
Yriel knew the answer. Like a father who loves his son without question, Horus broke it all, including his friend's heart, for power. Even the Eldar were not immune to betrayal by a loved one. The mon-keigh were not to be underestimated, Yriel knew, and if should he ever return to Iyanden and the Path, he would have much tales to tell his kindred.
It is easy to find something worth dying for; but is there, Yriel, something worth living for?
Eldrad of Ulthwe's words haunted him. The message that his friends had sent him a month and a half ago bespoke of his home Craftworld being besieged by a massive Tyranid fleet and being invaded. In the message, however, included several lines that surprised Yriel. Just when he thought he had seen and heard everything, the message bespoke of an Imperial force on Iyanden itself! They fought alongside the Eldar defenders tenaciously, and were led by a Blood Angel Captain that went by the name of Shateiel Iceblade. By Asuryan! A human force within the Craftworld was unheard of! Few had ever had the honour of stepping on the Craftworld.
He placed a holo-crystal within a trans-receiver, and the face of the Blood Angel captain emerged, standing atop the rubble of a homestead, fighting alongside Eldar forces and his troops. Considered handsome even amongst the Eldar, the captain stood the full seven feet of the Imperium's finest, and had the shimmering, long, dark hair that none in the galaxy save the Dark Eldar could possess. Clad in crimson power armour worn by regular marines instead of the standard issue armour worn by Blood Angel Captains, Sheik was armed with a triple-barreled autobolter, a plasma pistol and a beautifully forged power sword. So, this is him. He looks familiar…….almost like…, thought Yriel for a moment, when the similarities rocked him. He HAD seen that face before!
By Asuryan, even the grim smile is similar!
Just before his thoughts could proceed further, the comm-screen before him blinked, and activated, revealing the hulking form of an Imperial Space Marine, clad in the blood-red armour of a dread Blood Angel. The other was clad in blue-and-gold inlaid armour of the highly disciplined Ultramarines Chapter. Yriel knew them both, for even among the Eldar, were these two men legendary for their martial prowess. Mephiston, Lord Librarian of the Blood Angels, and Marneus Calgar, Lord of the Ultramarines.
"Greetings, Yriel," spoke Mephiston calmly, "What is your reason that you wish to speak to us? I know of your reputation, and I would advise you not to try anything suspicious. One move, and your fleet flies to the Eye of Terror in small pieces."
"I am not here to pick a fight with you, marine," replied Yriel, equally calm, "but to offer aid, if it be willingly accepted. The reason why I wished to speak with the both of you is that this conversation is for our ears alone. This frequency has been jammed, so we can speak without anybody listening. And if you have any of your brother marines in the same chamber, I suggest you dismiss them."
Calgar turned and nodded to the nearby marines, who departed immediately.
"Good. Now to the reason to why I am here. You are going to aid an Eldar Craftworld under attack by the Great Devourer, are you not?"
"We are. How do you know all of this?"
"I have my contacts on Iyanden, and I might say that one of your captains, Lord Mephiston, is on Iyanden itself, and to my surprise, leading Iyanden's defences along with my Eldar brothers and sisters."
"I am aware of that. He was always infatuated with your race, Yriel, truth be told."
Despite the situation, Yriel chuckled, but was not surprised. Eldar females are exceptionally beautiful, radiating a noble, pure beauty that would hold the human warriors in an enchanted thrall. Their Dark Kin, however, radiate a raw, seductive beauty that stoked the flames of passion in the breast of all who behold them.
"We are straying from the matter, captain Yriel," said Calgar, "Why are you here?"
"Like I said before, Lord Calgar, I am here to offer assistance, whether your Imperium likes it or otherwise. You, Lord Mephiston, have a brother marine you consider as a son that you can never have, in danger. I have my homeworld that lies on the brink of total and utter destruction. You, Calgar, like Ragnar Blackmane of the Wolves, have brother marines whom you will not abandon to face an enemy alone. Whether you like it or not, my fleet and I shall follow you to Iyanden."
Mephiston took several moments to measure his words, his eyes holding the look of one who gazed far into the past, before he nodded.
"Join us, then."
Yriel smiled as the comm-screen blinked out, and he felt his ship shudder as they joined the massive imperial fleet. Win or lose, they'll all go down fighting against a common enemy.