Locum Ignotum Chapter 3

Wan light filled the tower, a diffuse glow that cast no shadows. It came from everywhere, seemingly without needing any devices or energy to produce it. The illumination carried an impression of eternity within it, like light itself could be old and tired. Stars would blink out, the galaxy fall into dust and this light would still be here, waiting and eternally patient.

Bylan thought upon this as he prowled ahead, searching the interior of the docking tower. The interior space was large and empty, seemingly without any mechanisms at all. It was divided into numerous levels, separated by ramps, wide enough for fifty people to walk down at once. Each level had numerous rooms and winding corridors but the way down seemed to follow a simple spiral pattern. The Space Marines had proceeded at a brisk pace, searching a level then moving on. They had been at this for three hours and had only covered a dozen levels so far but they had found no opposition and no clues. Above them the Thunderchild waited, sitting impossibly in mid-air. The Company was ready and primed but they would not move until a recon sweep had been conducted. The Codex Astartes had much to say on the subject of rushing in heedlessly without gathering intelligence first.

Bylan tensed as he approached a doorway, gripping his bolter tightly. Officially he was the Company Standard Bearer, a duty he took most seriously but this was hardly the place for a large banner. Today he would fight with bolter and combat blade, if there was an enemy to fight. Bylan was eager for a foe to slay, not least because his meagre kill tally was woefully short. Bylan would never gripe about it but the Company Standard was unbelievably cumbersome, a great lop-sided weight that was next to impossible to wield effectively. He was most often forced to fight defensively and forgo the opportunity to claim personal glory. His role was not to be some valiant hero, his calling was to inspire the rest of his Brothers to feats of valour.

Captain Toran had given Bylan the Company's past glory and future triumphs as a sacred trust and he had sworn never to let it fall. It was a duty that called for humility and selflessness and one he held to be the greatest achievement of his life. Still he was Astartes, so when the chance came for a genuine fight he was eager to engage. Bylan peered around the corner and saw only another empty room, one more deserted chamber.

He sighed and looked about, seeing the rest of the recon party sweeping the area. Chaplain Wrethan looked stern in his skull-mask, his Crozius Arcanum held ready for action. Sergeant Furion was following him, the giant marine keeping his Bolter ready. Brothers Persion and Jediah were covering each other, Friction axe and Fractal-edged short sword held tightly.

Behind them Novak the Company Champion was inspecting another room, his power sword and combat shield held high. He was without his usual impudent manner, totally focussed on the duty before him. Novak was the finest sword in the Company, a prodigy with a blade and his face bore the mottled scars to prove he had earned his title.

Last of all was Librarian Arvael who seemed to be inspecting the walls, a Force-Morningstar held loosely in his grip. He was a strange one, as all Librarians are, but he seemed fascinated by the structure of this tower. Bylan strode over to him and said, "+Have you found something?+"

Arvael was staring at an odd angular glyph carved into a wall and replied, "It's more what I haven't found. I presumed this place had some connection to the Eldar but this rock is unlike anything they use. They favour Wraithbone as a foundation for their technology but this is totally different. It is old, older even than them; I think this place may predate the Eldar race entirely."

Bylan didn't follow that and asked, "+What difference does that make?+"

Arvael laid a finger on the glyph and said, "There is power here, vast energy, but it's not familiar at all. The Warp is typically malevolent, actively hostile but this power is placid and calm. Empathic rather than Psychic, as we understand the term. Somehow this place is taming the Warp's energy and creating a safe haven, like a harbour's wall keeping out the ocean's waves."

Bylan felt a shudder at the pronouncement; he didn't like talk of Warpcraft and suddenly wished that he hadn't asked at all. Thankfully he was saved by the voice of Chaplain Wrethan calling, "This floor is clear, we are moving on."

The pair hurried up as the group descended the next ramp. At the bottom they found a clear space exactly like above and they swept it with their bolters. Wrethan ordered, "Sweep and clear, look for the next way down and…"

He paused as he saw Brother Jediah had frozen, standing utterly still. Everybody glanced at him curiously and Jediah stated, "We're being hunted."

Everybody snapped to attention their already keen senses stretched to the maximum. Bylan swept the area again but found nothing, yet he didn't doubt Jediah. He may be a bloodthirsty psychopath but he was also the keenest hunter of them all, if Jediah said there was an enemy out there Bylan believed him.

Wrethan made a gesture and the group split up by pairs, slinking away to sweep the area. Bylan found himself paired up with Arvael and they moved left to check a suite of chambers. They moved expertly, covering each other's backs and checking every nook and cranny. Bylan could see no danger but the sense of threat was growing and he was sure that something was nearby.

They closed upon a doorway and paused, then pounced in sweeping for a foe. Inside they found nothing but a dead end, blank walls with no other exit. Bylan sighed and looked at Arvael who cocked his head in disappointment. Bylan gathered himself and they stepped back, looking for another room. The suite was exactly as they had left it but then Arvael's eyes flickered with a flash of power and he cried, "It's a trap!"

Suddenly a grey blur dropped down from above the door's lintel. It crashed into the pair of them, knocking them aside. Bylan staggered, seeing a vague impression of fur and metal but before he could focus something hard came right at him and smashed him in the helm. Bylan had never been hit so hard and he fell down, stars flashing before his eyes. He heard the sound of a brief struggle and then the crash of a ceramite body hitting the blank stone. He blinked his eyes as he recovered and leapt to his feet but another blow smashed into his faceplate, knocking him back. He staggered and in that instant sensed rough hands grabbing at his pauldrons. He was spun about and thrown against a wall then his autosenses detected the unmistakable sensation of a gun barrel being pressing into his head.

"You struggle, you die," a guttural voice growled in his ear and then he was hauled away, pushed before his attacker as a living shield. Bylan was forced to march out into the central area, his opponent right behind him. He couldn't look back but felt that the foe was as large and broad as he and caught a glimpse of gunmetal coloured ceramite in the corner of his eye.

They marched out only to be greeted by a ring of raised bolters held in the hands of Wrethan, Persion, Furion and Novak. Wrethan had his bolt pistol raised and shouted, "Halt and identify!"

A voice growled from behind Bylan's ear, thick with a strange accent, "You be in my hall, tell me your name first."

Wrethan snarled, "We have you outnumbered."

"Doesn't matter," the voice growled, "I'll still gut you all and leave your bodies to lie upon red snow."

Wrethan barked furiously, "Stand down or you will die."

The voice hissed, "I would rather die on my feet than on my knees."

Wrethan stepped forward and roared, "Last warning, stand down!"

The voice spat, "One more step and I'll blow this one's brains out!"

"Really?" said a new voice from behind them, "How are you going to do that with an empty bolter?"

Bylan realised it was Jediah's voice and he was right behind the attacker, his pistol just visible in his eye-line. There was a moment's pause and then the voice rang, "Ha! You are very good to notice that. Very well, it will be as you wish."

Bylan felt a shove and he staggered forward, turning to see his attacker. The sight was most surprising, he beheld an Astartes warrior in unpainted ceramite armour with no helm. It was an ancient model, Mark II, a design long since superseded. The warrior was bereft of insignia or iconography, save for a thick pelt over his shoulders and a heavy axe hung at his belt, worked with a beautiful runic script.

His face could have been carved from granite; it was pitted and aged to an extent Bylan had never seen before. His head was bald but twin plaits hung from his chin as a beard and his mouth was filled with two huge fangs that jutted out from under his lip, making him look like a beast. The warrior glanced back at Jediah, who was stood behind him and said, "You are good, you would find a warm hearth amongst the ranks of the Vanir."

Jediah gestured with his bolt pistol and said, "As much as I admire the gall of a man who forces a standoff armed with nothing but an empty bolter, I need your name."

The warrior smiled around his fangs and spat, "Straight to point eh, I like that, I am Ganaar. Ganaar the Wanderer."

Wrethan stamped forward and said, "I see no heraldry, who do you serve?" Ganaar's smile didn't waver but he presented his shoulder upon which flared a brief image of a stylised 'I'.

Wrethan hissed, "Inquisition."

Ganaar frowned and said, "What is Inquisition? No, I am Ganaar, Knight-Errant to Malcador the Sigillite."

Bylan had never heard of such a thing and he aasked, "+What have you done to Arvael?+"

"Ha!" Ganaar laughed, "Your wyrd sleeps, but weep not, I did not cut his thread."

Wrethan eyed him and said, "He better breathe, for your sake."

Ganaar didn't look intimidated, despite being surrounded by bolters and said, "I've told you my name and you're in my hall, it is customary to tell me yours."

Wrethan didn't lower his bolt pistol but listed their names and concluded by saying, "We are the Storm Heralds."

Ganaar cocked his head and said, "Never heard of you, but you carry the scent of Roboute Guilliman. Only his XIIIth smell so much of spit and polish."

Bylan blinked at the odd statement but said, "+Why are you here?+"

Ganaar blinked and said, "I saw your fat narwhale of a skiff docking and I knew my beacon had at last brought someone still breathing. So I thought I'd see who was coming to visit."

"You set the beacon," said Wrethan eying him, "You've been here a while then?"

"An eternity," Ganaar said his smile fading; "Many times I thought I would never see a fresh face. And yet here you are."

Jediah probed, "So, you must know what this impossible place is."

"All too well," Ganaar spat with vehemence in his tone, "The others call it a refuge, a safe haven for those lost and weary. A protected place to rest your head and refresh your soul. I however call it a prison."

"+Others?+" asked Bylan in surprise, "+There are more of you?+"

"Ja," Ganaar explained, "A few, they can explain things much better than I."

Wrethan leaned in and said, "You shall take us to them."

Ganaar glanced down and said, "Would be easier without guns pointing at me."

Wrethan paused for a moment then nodded and everybody lowered their guns but didn't holster them. Ganaar smiled once more and said, "Better, you are in no danger here, regretfully. You should come with me and talk to Baruch, he runs things around here."

Wrethan kept his pistol in hand but said, "Very well, let me summon our Captain and you shall escort us to this Baruch."

"So be it," said Ganaar, "I hope you have some mead on that narwhale, its a long way and I haven't had a drop in centuries."

Wrethan blinked and said, "No we do not. Now let me call our Captain, then you shall take us to your leader."