Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 294
Even when not in active battle a Howling Griffon's existence was dedicated to war. Ceaseless drills dominated their lives, broken only by ritual observances and infrequent meals. Sleep was scant, and forgone entirely when on campaign. Even here, in the heart of the Serpens Rex the Seventh Company trained, honing the keenest edge of their skills. Brothers sparred with knife and chainsword, Sergeants debated the merits of supersonic rounds against subsonic when faced with Transhuman foes, and tactical plots of the Serpens Rex were drawn up, revised and studied intently. While the Amber Vipers lounged about and relaxed the sons of Mancora trained fanatically. When battle came the Howling Griffons would be ready.
Currently Ryneon was on the firing range, watching as a squad of Intercessors shot clay discs out of the air. A pair of servitors provided for them flung the flat slabs at a furious rate, filling the air with targets and yet every one was destroyed. Bolt Rifles hammered ceaselessly, flinging rounds far and wide yet each one hit its intended mark with perfect accuracy. Ryneon was not impressed, this was standard for a Space Marine, not even pushing their limits.
The exercise ended and Ryneon commanded, "Again, double-speed." Magazines were swiftly reloaded and the exercise repeated. This time the servitor's cantilevered arms blurred as they flung clay discs down the range, only to see every one shot to bits. "Again, quadruple-speed!" Ryneon demanded. Again the servitors threw their discs and the bolt rifles thundered. It was an impressive showing, but not perfect. When the echoes of firing ceased a half-dozen discs spun upon the floor, unbroken and mockingly pristine.
The Intercessors knew they had failed and stood to attention, bolt rifles held at perfect parade stance. Sergeant Inzor had his face bared but his expression could have been a mask, so unflinching was he. Ryneon stepped before the line and looked over their bearing, seeking signs of fear or evasion. He found none, they silently awaited rebuke without seeking excuse.
Ryneon stood before them and declared, "To be a Space Marine is to be more than human. You are gifted with the Emperor's strength and keen eye. You are elevated beyond the common masses, and may think this affords you special rights, it does not! You are given more, but more Is expected from you in turn! To be an Astartes is to commit oneself body and soul to the cause of the Imperium, to strive eternally to become the perfect weapon. A hundred generations of Howling Griffons watch from the Emperor's side and demand we do better! We shall know no rest, we shall know no peace, not for one single second. We seek only to be the best we can be; which is why you will repeat this exercise again and again till you get it right."
The Intercessors accepted his rebuke and yet around Inzor's eyes there was the slightest hardening, the urge to say the Captain expected the impossible, yearning to cross his lips. Inzor did not say it aloud, he was too disciplined but Ryneon could read his protest anyway. The Captain did not rebuke it, for he had explained his teaching only in words. To lead Space Marines demanded action.
"Reset, thirty targets only, Quintuple-speed," Ryneon ordered. The twin servitor's arms screeched as they flung discs into the air. There was no individual target, only a solid wall of spinning discs hurtling downrange. Chrysoar was in Ryneon's hand and the bolter spoke on full automatic, unloaded the clip in a thunderous barrage of shots. Thirty bolt rounds flew away and thirty discs exploded, every shot a perfect hit, leaving clay shards to tinkle upon the floor.
Silence fell and Ryneon knew his point was made. He had demonstrated it could be done, and the Marines' conviction was reaffirmed. He was about to leave but Inzor spoke up, "Brother-Captain, may we hear the tale of the Flawless Shot?"
They had all heard it before, but Ryneon was willing to repeat a lesson however many times it took to sink in, "The Traitor Yeremus came from the Cicatrix Maledictum, leading his fabulous hosts to war. Glittering hordes and sickening Traitors. They cavorted in the wake of the great rift's opening, defiling a score of worlds. None could stand against him, and when he set his eyes upon Mancora all thought our days numbered, but the Howling Griffons swore to fight to the last man. I was young, barely out of the Scout-Company, a mere pup in Ninth Company standing on the walls of the Proud Eyrie. We reaped a fearful tally, culling his hordes, but Yeremus was bold and stormed the walls, leading his men from the front."
"You faced him?" Inzor prompted.
"We did," Ryneon explained, "We took a hundred Heretics with us for every one of us that fell, but fall we did. Yeremus could not be withstood, he slaughtered all in his path; my squad, my sergeant, myself. I was left for dead in his wake, but in our struggle someone knocked Chrysoar from his grip. Yeremus stormed on, unable to stop and retrieve his relic. I lay there, bleeding out but my hand found Chrysoar's grip."
"You took the shot?" Inzor eagerly pressed.
"A hundred jostling foes between us, pressed cheek to jowl. Two hundred metres, at the worst possible angle, and more of my blood was on the stones than in my veins, but when I rose to my feet the shot was waiting for me. One round and Yeremus' head was no more, one round to break his hordes and save the Proud Eyrie. One shot, thee shot, the Flawless Shot."
Inzor rapped his breastplate twice in admiration, as did his squad. Ryneon accepted their dues with humility and left them to their exercises. The sounds of bolt rifles echoed in his wake as he strode forth, marching past the other squads in their various drills. The barrack provided rang with thunder and yet it was to a discrete corner Ryneon made his way, where a quiet meeting was to be held.
In a small room Nyoir waited, along with Brothers Bessius. Cavalon and Regulam. These three had been given a special mission, to scout the interior of the Serpens Rex and find the relics of the Howling Griffons. Seventh Company lacked Reivers or Scout-novices, but these three were gifted in silence and much of Ryneon's knowledge of the Amber Viper's base was thanks to their subtle skill.
"Report!" Ryneon barked without dissembling.
Regulam replied, "We tracked the footsteps of Archmagos Castabore. As you predicted our vehicles have been placed inside the main forge. We could not enter but Auspex revealed the presence of potent Machine Spirits."
Ryneon nodded, "Our records detail we lost an Omega Sicaran, a Predator Tank, a Hunter air-defence, a Land Speeder Storm and several Rhinos."
Cavalon stated, "There is certainly enough activity to suggest they are all present. But..."
"But?"
Bessius completed the report, "Of our power armour and bolters there is no sign. We deduce the majority of our relics are walking about the Serpens Rex, on the shoulders of Amber Vipers."
Nyoir sighed, "That complicates matters."
But Ryneon snorted, "On the contrary, it simplifies things. We cannot steal in, snatch our relics away and sail for the jump points. We must force the Amber Vipers to concede to our demands, we must break them first. Then, when Coluber's neck is under my boot, we will take what is ours."
Nyoir looked concerned, "Captain, have we considered asking for our relics back?"
Ryneon smiled coldly, "You missed your calling as a jester Nyoir. To think these brigands would part with our relics, that is most humorous. No, I have seen their base and their avarice is writ over every bulkhead. Coluber will not part with a single bolt round, not willingly anyway. We must force the issue, with our superior strength and discipline."
"We are outnumbered," Nyoir countered.
"Temporarily. I have struck an agreement with the Blood Ravens, and am sure the Storm Heralds can be talked around. Daggon and his Soul Drinkers are few, they will play no part. Two hundred and fifty Space Marines, more than enough, but what I lack is intel. You three, return to your scouting, I want every hidden passage and cut-through mapped before the Conclave concludes."
The recon party made the sign of the Aquila and then departed, leaving Nyoir and Ryneon behind. Nyoir looked troubled and the Captain sighed, "Out with it."
Nyoir grimaced but spoke, "Toran may not turn so easily and as for Auriga, he cannot be trusted."
"I judge differently."
Nyoir sighed, "He wants something, he plans his own scheme and the Howling Griffons risk being caught in a snare. If I were a Captain..."
"But you are not Captain, I am," Ryneon rebuked, "The Chapter elevated me, while you were cast from the First. So long as I am in command, it is my judgement we shall trust."
Nyoir flinched but argued, "I must repeat, we swore Oaths of Parley, yet we plan to break them."
"Oaths to scum like the Amber Vipers have no worth."
"Is that the way of Mancora?"
"You dare speak of our traditions, after you broke your sacred oath?!"
Nyoir looked stricken, "I tried..."
"Do not plead misfortune, not to me. You were the finest blade of the First, a Company Champion in the making. When Utto the Fathomless lead his pestilent hordes forth you swore a Sacred Oath that he would die on your blade. Foolish, arrogant even, but an Oath nonetheless. Yet when the battle closed who's hand culled the Traitor?"
Nyoir gulped, "I apologise for my outburst."
Ryneon growled, "I asked you who?"
Nyoir's pain was painted over his face, "I was but a step behind..."
"Answer my question!"
Nyoir whispered in shame, "Commissar Helenya Deerad."
Ryneon smiled at this confession, "A commissar, a mortal no less. The Fathomless fell not to the hand of a Howling Griffon but a mere woman. A mortal did what we could not, a disgrace upon all our names, but none so more than upon you. You swore a Sacred Oath Nyoir, to kill Utto by your own hand. You failed Nyoir, you broke your oath."
"I fought with all my hearts," Nyoir lamented, "I was but a step away."
"Irrelevant, you swore an oath to kill him, you did not. For a Howling Griffon a Sacred Oath has only two acceptable outcomes: triumph or death. To allow yourself to live was to accept the deed was impossible, it means you held something back to preserve your life. The fact you yet draw breath proves you did not give your all that day, that you accepted your limitations and chose to remain within them. Better you had died on the field, than live to report your failure."
Nyoir could not match his gaze, "Why do you shame me so?"
"You make me act," Ryneon growled, "If you were not so pathetic I would not need to berate you. Be the warrior you should have been, and I will not need to correct you."
"I vow I shall," Nyoir offered, "I shall give my life for the Howling Griffons."
But Ryneon sneered, "So emotional, even your efforts to redress your failings fall short. By our Oaths we are bound, by our will is our duty done, but your will is weak. Get out of my sight. Begone Nyoir, I have more important matters than you to deal with. "
Nyoir stiffly turned and walked away, leaving Ryneon disappointed, as a stern teacher confronted by a student who continued to fail. Ryneon had patiently instructed Nyoir over and over, but the Marine simply refused to learn. His failings were odious. Ryneon resolved to redouble his efforts with Nyoir, but later. The Conclave was about to begin and he had to escort Posix to the gathering. Events were about to spring into motion, Nyoir's re-education would have to wait.
