Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 137

The news rang loud in the Strategium, "We have pulled back our main thrusts, reinforced our perimeter around the landing zone and set Skull-probes in low orbits to seek any spoor of this new enemy. If they are out there, we will find them." The speaker was Inquisitor Ganymit, addressing the assembled Generals, logisticians and Chapter Masters of the Novan Crusade. Their faces were grim, their manner concerned, as well they should be. Traitor Marines on Terra Nova could change everything, and yet not everyone was convinced.

"If they are out there, which I find doubtful," Chapter Master Jorrim of the Fire Lords growled.

"Doubt is the pit in the fruit of weakness," Q'umarkaj sneered.

"Call me weak again and I will challenge you to an honour duel," Jorrim hissed.

"Beating your breast before a crowd and clashing swords without care, how like the untempered youth you are. A day in the jungles of Copan you would not see the setting of the sun."

A scurrilous whisper ran around the crowd at the insult. Damchak took a moment to examine their surroundings, admiring the macabre grandeur of the Invasion-Cathedrum's Strategium. High above the roof did soar, supported by pillars of acid-etched rock lifted from the surface of Venus and among the vaulted buttress Cyber-cherubs did linger, tiny wings beating unseen. At one end of the nave a mighty relic blade rested in a reliquary, a Black Sword. It had been wielded at the start of the Crusade but the Emperor's Champion had fallen many years ago and no other had emerged to take his place. Braziers of hot coals stood between the columns, so the faithful could lift them in open hands, testing their devotion with sacraments of pain. Banners hung at intervals, woven with the greatest victories of the Crusaders and Black Templars veterans stood vigil at all corners.

Their master stood silently, the great mace he bore resting head down on the floor. Marshal Bezharad chose not to speak yet, allowing the rest to make their opinions known. Damchak, Q'umarkaj and Empex of the Dark Tusks stood to the left, Jorrim and Helboran of the Fraters to the right. Inquisitor Ganymit stood between them, forming a loose circle. Others hung nearby, but their voices carried no weight in this discourse.

Jorrim lifted his chin, "I find this entire report to be of dubious veracity. These skulking wretches come to us with a tale of hordes of Traitors, after a single ambush in the hills and we abandon our campaign."

Damchak spoke up, "A forked tongue you accuse me of owning?!"

Jorrim looked at him with disdain, "Who are you to speak among masters?!"

But Q'umarkaj snarled, "With his own eyes did my Shadow-chieftain lay eyes upon the Traitor, he will have his voice at this court of fools!"

His admonishment caused many to look at him with disgust but Jorrim argued, "I have faced Traitor Marines before, and they do not skulk into a fight and slink away after. The hateful Iron Warriors did not creep around picking off a handful at a time, nor the Black Legion when they assailed Cadia. If there was a Traitor Legion army on Nova Terra, they would be coming at us in a wave of Daemonic fervour."

Many heads nodded and yet Empex spoke aloud, "You paint all Traitors with the same brush, but evil comes in many stripes. VIIIth Legion, Night Lords, creatures of mist and shadow. No bombastic warriors, to throw themselves on the wire or charge headlong into the guns of their rivals. Konrad Curze's bloodline is cowardly, devious and sly. Deception and beguilement are their way, their cunning is surpassed only by the Alpha Legion, but even the XXth cannot match the Night Lords for spite. This ambush sounds exactly like them."

Damchak nodded his head fractionally in gratitude but Ganymit pursed her lips, "The part that worries me is that he let you go."

Damchak bristled, "A half-dozen of my Kinsmen lay dead!"

But the Inquisitor retorted, "All of you should be! Vorshaan is a name known to the Holy Ordos, and he is not given to mistakes. His attack was sloppy, too sloppy. He could have wiped you out but chose not to. He wanted you to escape."

"No man can hold mist in his hand!"

"Do not pat yourself on the back for getting away," Ganymit rebuked, "Vorshaan wanted word of his presence to spread, his ambush was a calling card, announcing his presence. The real question is why?"

Helboran's flaming brazier shivered as he spat, "It matters not why, Treachery is treachery!"

Ganymit faced him squarely, "Ten years have we faced the Novans, and only at the climax do Traitor Marines appear. This requires further investigation."

"To understand treachery is to embrace it!"

"Don't be so blind!"

"The God-Emperor sees all, yay, even into the hearts of men!"

The debate was cut off as Empex interjected, "Do not look further than simple desperation. We've pushed the Novans back to their crownworld, invaded the soil of their capital planet. It should not surprise us that those with no hope remaining would turn to Chaos."

Jorrim bristled, "You speak as if the Imperium can be blamed for this treachery!"

But Empex sniffed, "A drowning man will grab anything he can to save himself from going under."

The Dark Tusk's proclamation rang loud but Damchak sensed the crowd did not like that idea. The Golden Throne was sovereign over all the worlds of men, even in their millennia of isolation the Smoke Jaguars had embraced that truth. Any who defied the Sun-Emperor was a Heathen most foul and should be dealt with as such. That the Novans had sought aid from other Traitors was almost expected of them. And yet the encounter with Vorshaan had left Damchak feeling unsettled. There were deeper currents at play here, of that he was sure.

Helboran raised his arms high to declare, "We cannot abandon our righteous crusade! The Novans are reeling, their defences shattered. Our armies advance on every front, the time to strike the fatal blow is upon us. We must scour treachery from this world, no matter the cost in blood!"

Murmurs of agreement arose but Q'umarkaj retorted, "You would pile bodies up till a ramp of the dead allowed you to walk over the battlements!"

"As the God-Emperor is my witness... yes!"

Jorrim cut in, "What proof have we these Night Lords present a genuine threat?! You encountered a couple of squads, no more. For all we know that is all Vorshaan has, perhaps at most a Company in number. We hold vast superiority but we run scared at the mere whiff of Chaos!"

Q'umarkaj sneered, "Mill-Arder drools at the sight of unburnt fields!"

"This is what Vorshaan wants!" Jorrim snapped, "A brief glimpse of his presence and we shrink back. He's playing with us, he's got you all scared of your own shadows!"

"Speak not to me of shadows, I own them all," Q'umarkaj hissed.

"Go hide in a corner, it's what you're good at," Jorrim dismissed.

Empex snapped, "Speak with respect to your betters whelp!"

But Helboran accused, "Too long have you dwelt in the dark, you are not fit to speak. The cleansing fires of righteousness shall lead the way!"

The tension was at a knife edge but it was then Marshal Bezharan uttered, "No." All fell silent as the Lord Marshal stirred, his unyielding visage unmoved by any counsel save his own. Damchak felt disdain wafting off him, scorn for the bleating of his so-called peers. The Black Templar stilled the debate with a word, and all awaited his decree in tremulous silence.

Bezharad looked across the circle and uttered, "None of you grasps the true danger of Chaos, even you Inquisitor Ganymit. You think of the schemes of the Dark Gods as passing storms, tempests that ravage but soon move on. Not so, Chaos is a galactic cancer, one that does not become apparent until the patient is terminal. This Vorshaan is but the puppet of fouler entities, and the ruinous powers do not comprehend restraint unless it is a step towards a larger goal. Whatever his plan is, it is already far advanced beyond our knowing."

Jorrim faced the Marshal unrepentant, "The Traitors have been defeated before, many times. Four Black Crusades thwarted, four times has Abaddon been bested."

But Bezharad growled, "Do not believe you can guess the Despoiler's mind. His assaults are not mindless, they hide schemes within schemes, and his objectives remain unknown. Chaos is not to be underestimated, the Black Templars grasp this. Our own founder Sigismund fell to the hand of the Warmaster's damned son, and I intend to treat this Vorshaan as if he was equally dangerous."

Q'umarkaj pressed for more details, "What then is your will, First among Crusaders?"

Bezharad looked coolly upon the crowd, "Vorshaan seeks to play us, and to do that he must know us well. Two options we have, to press the attack mindlessly, or consolidate and cower as we await the next blow to land. But I will not play his games, I choose my own path. The Crusade will advance, but slowly, ponderously. Each objective will be totally secured before moving on, we will not risk becoming overextended. Meanwhile I will pull three hundred Black Templars back to the Invasion-Cathedrum, as a reserve force. When Vorshaan reveals himself again I will lead a strike to claim his head!"

Damchak was stunned, as were many others. The Black Templars were fervent in their zeal, not given to patience. For so many of them to sit idle and await the call went against all their teachings, but then that was the point. Vorshaan would never expect the Marshal to withdraw so many of his Kinsmen from the line of battle, not for so singular a mission. Three hundred sons of Sigismund, oathsworn to claim the cur's head, the heathen wouldn't stand a chance.

Bezharad lifted his mace and slammed it down, "Return to your units and await further instructions. Combat operations will resume within the day and make sure that any sighting of Traitor Marines is reported instantly. We will squeeze this planet until Vorshaan is forced out of hiding, then I will destroy him. The God-Emperor's eyes are upon us, serve Him well!"

The Lord Marshal turned and departed and the rest filed out of various doorways. Damchak had a glimpse of Jorrim glaring daggers at the Smoke Jaguars, but paid him no mind. Instead he followed his Shade-Lord and the master of the Dark Tusks out another door, trailing in their wake.

"Bezharad's plan could work," Empex mused as his Honour Guard fell in.

Q'umarkaj frowned, "A hunter is wise to lay a snare, and yet some days the prey is too large for the noose."

"You think Vorshaan has some unholy scheme in motion?"

"Sure as the rising of the sun," Q'umarkaj confirmed.

Empex slowed his pace as he mused, "I agree, something is off here. Jorrim was right about one thing, the Traitors should be attacking while we're overextended. To appear and disappear hints at a greater plan. I do not like it; I want to be close to the heart of things when the call comes in. When Vorshaan is sighted, I will join Bezharad on his strike."

Damchak frowned, "The Black Templar will send you away."

"I remain a Chapter Master, and the Dark Tusks remain independent. I go where I will."

Q'umarkaj lifted an eyebrow, "You forsake vengeance on the Novans?"

But Empex corrected, "I aim clearly. I have no wish to be fighting some insignificant battle in a distant town when the fulcrum appears. I will be waiting for the pivotal moment, my knife sharp and eyes open."

Q'umarkaj halted as he said, "You are the arrow sprung from the bow."

"I think that is a compliment," Empex mused.

"It was, your course is clear, your path unwavering. I wish you good hunting, blood of my blood."

Empex nodded, "I shall second Dark Tusk squads to fight alongside yours. May you slay ten thousand Novans in my stead."

"May the spirits of your ancestors guide your hand, when you meet the heathen face to face."

Damchak was touched by the shared bond of cousin chapters. Empex was making a great sacrifice, to pass up glory in the field and wait at the rear, but it was entirely in keeping with the Axioms of Corax. Surely Vorshaan would not be expecting Black Templars and Dark Tusks to come after him, confronted by two Chapters united his doom was certain. So why did Damchak feel a chill misgiving in his gut, as if the traitor was laughing at them from the shadows. Something was amiss, and Damchak was determined to keep his guard up until he discovered what it was.