Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 98

Severcole Vanderspeak did not hide from his failure, nor did he flinch from the consequences. As soon as his men were safely back behind the lines he took a flyer for Holorus Hive, heading to the highest summit. After landing he was ushered through the guard posts and clearance screenings. Few met his eyes and none spoke to him. Severcole didn't blame them, who would want to speak to a dead man?

Horace's outrage was as stark as he expected, the old man flying into a rage at his failure of a son. His red face roared invective and his lips sprayed spittle as he let loose a torrent of invective, cursing the fruits of his loin as a waste of skin. The High Plutocrat smacked his cane upon the floor repeatedly, making sweeping gestures about the room. Five minutes into the tirade Severcole disconnected his augmetic ears, allowing the swearing to pass without comment. Nothing he could say would alter the old man's mind, so he chose to act sangfroid in the threats of execution.

The Plutocrat's office had been plundered of its riches, stripped of all precious metals and jewels that had once adorned the walls. The false wooden panels looked fine enough but did not hide the plainness of the room, nor the lack of ostentation. Grimy cabinets held mouldering books, crying out for a cleric's touch. There were none, all fit and able men had been sent to the trenches years earlier, along with those who polished the brass fittings and swept the floors. Horace's office was decaying around his ears, the Hololithics fritzing and the Cogitators spluttering for lack of blessings. Only one thing remained as it was, a panoramic window displaying the isthmus, and the Terran armies amassing for their next offensive

Horace's tirade was cut off as the old man broke down into a coughing fit. Severcole turned his ears back on and implored, "Father, let me call a Medicae."

"Away with you dolt!" Horace coughed, "You aren't fit to lick my boots."

"Please, consider your health."

"Pah, I'm as fit as I ever was! Why were I a decade younger I'd beat you down with my fists and take up the reigns myself! I should have known better than to trust my grand plan to a churlish wretch like you!"

"I did what I had to preserve our strength," Severcole pleaded.

"You should have crushed the Terrans utterly!" Horace spat.

"Space Marines were in the field against us. The men couldn't fight them, the mere idea terrifies our soldiers."

"Wastrels and cowards!" Horace spat, "Useless yellow-bellied cretins the lot of them!"

A soft voice cut through the argument, "Was it cowardice or wise strategy?"

From the corner of the room another stepped forward, his red coat drinking in the light like wine spilled onto a rich carpet. Severcole tensed as the man moved forward, confident and sure of his step. His face was lined with more than age, many subtle scars hinting at terrible wounds taken and restored in a lifetime of adventure. His boots were polished to a mirror sheen and his fingers bore doughty rings, yet the most striking thing about him was the Nova-burst emblem on his breast, black iron in hue to mark his elite role. This was Jethro Von Tor, envoy of the Ur-Council, Disquisitor and oathbreaker.

Horace glared at the interruption and hissed, "You endorse cowardice?!"

Von Tor shrugged, "Cowardice and prudence are so often confused. The Astartes appeared in the field without warning and surely had a plan to destroy your offensive utterly. It is not in the nature of Space Marines to allow an enemy to live. The estimates coming in are that Severcole's rapid withdrawal saved two-thirds of your strikeforce, and averted a disaster across the entire front, millions of men and machines that can be used to shore up defences against the coming offensive. A less wise commander would have seen your entire army slaughtered, and even now the Astartes would be storming this spire, coming for your head."

Horace snapped, "You suggest I forgive his blunder!"

Von Tor merely sniffed, "You've tried this strategy before, three times in fact, not once has it worked out the way you expected. You knew it was a one-way trip, you should be glad your son returned, and brought the bulk of his forces with him."

"Blood doesn't excuse incompetence!"

"Merit does," Von Tor retorted, "You know you need him for what's to come, he might be the only man capable of holding back the Space Marines long enough for our plans to reach fruition."

The High Plutocrat glared in vehemence but dared not contradict him. The Disquisitor spoke with the authority of the Ur-Council, and Tellaris needed their trade to survive. Without the Novan's support the defences would crumble for lack of food and raw material, and the rebellion would implode. Severcole however did not feel gratitude for his intervention, the man's loyalty could not be trusted, and every word that came out of his mouth was calculated.

Severcole glared, "You speak out of greed, if we fall then the Novan's greatest source of Superheavies disappears."

Von Tor lifted a mocking eyebrow, "I have never claimed it was otherwise. The Ur-Council wants Tellaris to join Nova Terra as a willing participant, but in the meantime your trade serves our needs."

"With the greatest boons all flowing in your direction!"

"Tis best not to quibble over such trivial details," Von Tor smirked.

Horace grimaced as he turned and stomped to the massive window. The other two followed at a discrete distance, taking in the view. In the fading light of day the smoking dust of battle was lit bright red, looking like a red velvet cloth draped over the world. Down there men scurried to make good the damage the Land Leviathans had inflicted, replacing destroyed gear and filling the ranks with fresh bodies. In a day or two the damage would be erased and the war would return to its grinding stalemate, only now the Terrans had a breed of warrior unlike any other: Space Marines.

Horace thumped his cane down, "Astartes, we haven't seen their like in sixteen years. The last lot who dared test us we saw off in short order!"

Von Tor however countered, "The Angels of Redemption departed for their own reasons, do not think for a second that you scared them away."

"Don't sound so smug," Horace growled, "The Novans have never owned the fealty of a single Chapter."

"If you think Space Marines pay much heed to the High Lord's whims, then you know little of your enemy."

Severcole frowned, "Why now, why have they come after so many years absent?"

Von Tor shrugged, "The political wheels of the High Lords turn so slow moss grows between the gears. It may have taken this long for the situation to penetrate their collective minds, or the Astartes may have chosen to come of their own accord. Chapter Masters are mainly autonomous and treat direct orders from Terra as mere suggestions."

Horace stomped about, "Who are we facing?!"

Severcole frowned as he recalled the images in his pict-screens, "I saw a white bird, with wings spread in flight."

Von Tor frowned, "Raven Guard... interesting. This theatre of war is more the Imperial Fists' forte, even the Iron Hands would seem a better fit. I wouldn't be surprised if the Fire Lords, Dark Paladins or Angels Porphyr were to turn up, but Raven Guard aren't the type for siege warfare."

Horace spat, "Sneaky assassins by all accounts, not ones for stand-up fights. They've never had the stomach for a real battle to the death!"

Von Tor corrected, "Legends are built on a kernel of truth, and the Raven Guard's is greater than most. They survived the massacre on Istvaan V and managed to remain combat effective, despite catastrophic losses. They fought the Arch-Traitor on countless fronts, always outnumbered hundreds to one but inflicting massive losses. They led the purging of many Ork strongholds during and after the War of the Beast. Such tenacity is beyond reproach."

"You sound like you admire them," Severcole accused, "Whose side are you on?!"

"Loyalty, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder," Von Tor dismissed.

Horace glowered at them, "We have a big Throne-damned problem. We drilled it into our people's heads the God-Emperor was on our side, the Astartes abandoning the campaign was a sign that the Terrans had forfeited His grace. Now they're back and our people know it! They will be crapping in their pants at the mere suggestion of Space Marines taking the field against us. We need to... we have... to..."

Horace broke down as a coughing fit wracked his lungs. This one was far worse and the High Plutocrat fell against the glassic window. Von Tor gestured and medicaes poured from the side doors, racing to tend to their liege. The Disquisitor however nodded to the far door and Severcole followed, worried and curious in equal measure. They slipped outside into the corridor, leaving the medicaes to their task.

"You saved me, why?!" Severcole demanded.

"You have a curious way of saying thank you," Von Tor smirked

"Don't give me that. My life was forfeit, we both know it, so why bother to intervene?!"

"Because you are a talented general, and brave enough to admit those times when you can't win. Wasting such talent is needless and will not benefit the Novan cause."

"I thought your ilk believed mankind was an inexhaustible resource."

"That is how the Terrans think, we of the Ur-Council aspire to be better."

"I've seen your war records, you aren't so different in truth."

"Truth is so unimaginative, lies are far more entertaining."

Severcole glared, "I don't believe a word you say, no man whom abandons loyalty to his birthworld can be trusted."

Von Tor shrugged, "You see a man who cast off his Inquisitorial Rosette for the Nova-burst of the Disquisition and assumes I betrayed my beliefs. The sad reality is there is nothing left on Terra worth believing in. The High Lords are a moribund fossil of their former glory, the Ecclesiarchy has coopted their position in all but name. A puppet-theatre maintaining the pretence the Imperium has a government, when all that remains is a headless, brainless juggernaut. The God-Emperor is silent and the Inquisition spends more time fighting itself than the enemy. The Terran side of the galaxy is a hollow shell, fighting to hold onto what little it has left, but the Ur-Council is dynamic and ambitious, we would see the glory of the Imperium grow once more."

Severcole snorted, "Then you aren't locked in a death struggle with the horrors of the Halo Stars? I hear rumours your empire bleeds out, trying to stop the hungry tendrils of whatever it is that lurks in the darkness outside our galaxy."

Von Tor betrayed a flash of annoyance, "Your sources are good, but they don't know everything. We Novans fight a Xenos breed unlike anything we've seen before, but we hold the line. That is why we need Tellaris to endure."

"If you needed us so badly you'd send a Titan Legio to aid us," Severcole growled.

"You know the terms of the peace treaty forbid it," Von Tor retorted, "We cannot risk open war with Terra, not this century at least."

"Terra sends Space Marines."

"Which we cannot oppose, but know other plans are in motion to save your world. You have to keep the Astartes at bay, nothing else matters. And don't die, that is important."

Severcole frowned, "Why do you care if I die?!"

Von Tor cocked his head, "You don't... surely you must see it. Horace is dying, the man passed the limits of Juvenat treatments decades ago. All that keeps him going is spite, and it runs dry. He won't live to see the end of the rebellion, no matter what lies the medicaes peddle. Horace will die soon and someone will rise to take his place. The Ur-Council believes you are the natural choice."

"Me?!" Severcole blinked.

"There are many who would think themselves a better fit, but you are the only one who can end this conflict. You can win this war, but to do so you must survive the Astartes' attention. Focus on denying their plans my friend, and I will work to smooth your path to the High Plutocrats' office."

"And in return you expect me to lead Tellaris to take its place on the Ur-Council?!"

Von Tor's eyes flashed, "We offered your world our protection two decades ago, your father refused and paid the price. Do not repeat his error."

With that Von Tor turned on his heel and strode away, Severcole was left in the corridor, struggling to comprehend it. His father dying, it was impossible, the old man had always been there, fierce and bold. His strength was fading true, but surely the medicaes would find a way to grant him more years. Unless they weren't committed to the idea, unless they'd been subverted by someone else. Horace had been stubborn about accepting Novan aid, rebuffing every offer until he had no choice left save to compromise. Von Tor think may think it was time to find a more pliable partner, someone less intransigent and more amenable. Severcole could find nothing duplicitous in the words he'd spoken, but the Disquisitor was an artist when it came to lying, nothing he said could be trusted.

Severcole chose to put it from his mind, thinking only of the task at hand. One fact was irrefutable, the Astartes were on Tellaris, and they would not sit idle long. Preparations must be made, the Land Leviathans readied to resist a major offensive, production quotas must be raised to replace losses and someone would have to figure out a way to explain to the masses that the God-Emperor was still on their side. Severcole had far more pressing business than a Disquisitor's machinations and resolved to stay far away from his plots and intrigues. Severcole doubted he would live long enough for it to matter anyway.