Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 139
Into the gloom of night the Shadowhawk soared, unseen and unremarked by all. Ancient Archeotech let it slip past Augur stations and patrol craft with ease, the Novans watching for threats remained blissfully unaware of its passage. Their Schismatic allies were equally oblivious, their superior detection gear made useless by rad-baffle and quantum auspex deflectors. Quiet as a mote of dust on the wind Sable Pinion slipped deep into enemy territory, its precious cargo equally invisible.
Far below the war had resumed, but at a grinding pace. Legio Collegia Titans marched in lockstep with tank regiments of Leman Russ and mechanised infantry in Chimeras. No longer could the Titans range out and punch into enemy lines, seeking engagements with Schismatic Titans, now they were forced to plod along at a snail's pace. Their Knight vassals chafed at the leash, spirits soured by being relegated to infantry support roles. They let slip their ire with random shots into the distance, citing fleeting Auspex contacts, which earned stern rebuke. The Frater army moved slowly, but inexorably, united against any possible threats. It would take them a long time to get to their target, but once they got there nothing would stay their wroth.
Damchak sighed as he leaned back from the surveyor screen, vexed at the lack of contact. Their elusive foe had disappeared, vanishing into the mists of confusion. For two days there had been fleeting reports of Night Lords, but leads had run dry. A regiment claiming to have been ambushed turned out to have simply been caught in a landslide. A spearhead of Rough Riders spent an entire night chasing ghosts in the dark. A squad of Black Templars in Drillood had been annihilated, but attempts to determine their fate were squashed when Schismatic Warhounds swept through the city and it was concluded that the sons of Sigismund had been killed by Titan fire. Vorshaan had dropped off the Auspex, and that worried Damchak more than anything.
Annoyed the First left the cockpit and slid down the short ladder to the troop bay. It was slightly more cramped than a standard Thunderhawk, the stealth-technology taking up significant room, but it was still large enough for two squads to fit into the restraint cages. To the left Umbral Flame Prowl traded boasts and jibes, daring each other onto greater feats in battle. To the right a squad of Dark Tusks lingered silently, helms clamped tight. If they discoursed they did so over closed vox-link, keeping their thoughts to themselves. Ever since Chasquit IX the Dark Tusks had been sullen and withdrawn, speaking to none save their own Chapter-Brothers. Save for Empex they would not talk to any outsider, an effect as unsettling as it was vexing.
Damchak stepped to their Sergeant and said, "The sands of time run dry."
A nod was all the reply he got and annoyed he said, "Their great library of Alexopolis have we been charged to burn. In the beating heart of battle our minds must be as one. Heed my commands as you would your Lord and Master Empex. Thus is it written, thus shall it be."
A hand reached around the cage bars and thumped a clenched fist to a breast. Damchak sighed, knowing that was all the reply he was going to get. The Dark Tusks returned to their private mediations, leaving the First befuddled. Exasperated he moved off, heading to his own Prowl, who were in high spirits.
Zyenya called, "Shall we taste the sweet nectar of vengeance?!"
Damchak pulled himself into a restraint cage and sighed, "Vorshaan is like the spider lurking in his web, hidden from all eyes but sensing all."
Nizca muttered, "No man can avoid the eye of vengeance."
"These are no mere men," Damchak admonished, "We face the Devil-sons, no foe is greater. They will choose the hour of our next encounter, mark my words."
"Traitor blood tastes sweeter than mere heathen," Caulli argued.
"Blood there will be aplenty when the sons of Nostramo return for our souls," Tikal groaned.
Damchak craned his helm about, seeing Tikal staring at the floor. Beyond Nizca's helmet shook fractionally, indicating he didn't know what was wrong with their Kisnmen either. Ever since they encountered the Devil-sons young Tikal had been sullen, barely speaking save to pronounce doom. Damchak was worried by the shift, where was the laughing fool he had seen on the Proving grounds, where was the merry wit that drove them to distraction? It was like some stranger had taken Tikal's armour and now hid amongst them.
Damchak spoke firmly, "The scions of ruin did ambush us well and cruelly, but the edge of surprise has no whetstone to keep it sharp. We know our prey's scent now, we are ready for them. When next we meet the sons of Sedaxus will balance the scales of bloodshed and the Night Haunter's by-blows will be laid out in the dust."
"Devious are the Devil-sons, their evil knows no bounds," Tikal lamented.
"Vengeance compels us!" Nizca snapped.
"To folly and failure," Tikal lamented, "We should depart these cursed lands and bring the fires of Exterminatus."
"Burn this world?!" Damchak gasped, "Madness has you in its grip!"
"No, the boy speaks truth!" Zyenya argued, "The mire of ruin lays upon this fetid mire, let us scour it clean and be done with this swamp."
Damchak glared at them in vexation, "We are charged to take this planet for the Sun-Emperor. Not lay waste to every leaf on the branch and babe in its crib! This is the way of the Fire Lords, to burn all they see and call the ashes victory. The Novans commanded ten thousand worlds once, those planets yet languish in resentment. It is not enough to obliterate the crownworld of Heathens, the Golden Throne must take it whole, and be seen to do so. A thousand years of rebellion will we face if we unleash the ultimate sanction!"
The condemnation was fierce and yet Caulli pointed out, "The Smoke Jaguars have taken the burden of evil upon our shoulders before."
Damchak lowered his head, "Truth, bitter truth. Twice has the Shade-lord been compelled to unleash the virus bombs since we rejoined the Imperium, but such deeds are not celebrated in our walls. The taint of Chaos must be burnt out root and branch, but the medicine is so bitter as to make the disease seem sweet. Wasteful and regrettable, are such deeds. An admission of failure and lax vigilance would such a decree be, we have not yet failed on this world!"
His rebuke rang loud in the hold and the rest nodded at his wise counsel, save Tikal. Damchak's eyes narrowed, his concern growing. Discretely he set a closed vox-link between them, ensuring privacy between Kinsmen. Some things could not be said even among a Prowl, this was for the boy's ears alone.
"Tikal, unburden your truth to me," Damchak urged.
"The closed fist hides nothing," the boy refuted.
"Lies do not become you," Damchak argued.
"Words fail me," Tikal lamented, "I feel sorrow pass over me as a great wave."
"They Who Thunder Prowl lost Kinsmen to the Devil-sons, it is a harrowing unto the spirit of every Smoke Jaguar."
Tikal however lamented, "Before then. The very moment I laid eyes upon Night Lords the sun became shaded in my eyes and the spirit of the Dark One rose within me. The ghosts of screams echoed in my ears and the chill between stars settled in my bones. Greyness, all was grey and the songs of birds on the wing rang flat. A land without colour, without the hope of reprieve."
Damchak's frown deepened, "The spirit of the Dark One grows strong when the thirst for blood grips tight. You must temper your humours with purpose, cleave to the knowledge that our every blow is struck in service to a higher cause."
"So teaches the Living-dead," Tikal muttered, "Yet I killed a traitor but it brought me no joy."
"Do not shirk from your bloodlust, embrace it. Command it as the huntsman does his courses. Kill two more and your spirit will rise from its stupor, kill five and joy will find you."
"I am not sure enough blood exists to sate the hole in my hearts," Tikal lamented.
Damchak's concern grew sharper, wondering where this strange melancholy came from. He cast his mind back to the sagas of legend, to the tales of the Ravenlord. Great was he and wise, but also given to pensiveness and rumination on failure. Tikal had not seemed given to such moods, but perhaps the brightness of his joy in the day was matched by the darkness of his despair in the night. Those without a centre would swing to extremes, and then there was the lingering shade of the Dark One, a malignant sprite in the Smoke Jaguars' mythic cycles, urging them to embrace their most cruel and predatory aspects. Damchak would have to keep a close eye on Tikal, and trust this funk was but a cloud passing before the sun.
Thankfully any further conversation was cut off as the Shadowhawk pitched downwards. Umbral Flame held on tight as the craft began a slow descent, drifting on the wind as silent as the owl's feather. So unlike the bombastic assaults of the Black Templars, hurtling into combat with engines howling, the Smoke Jaguars alighted the world gently, and left no trace of their passing. Damchak counted the seconds then lifted his cage and moved to the ramp. Umbral Flame and the Dark Tusks followed, eager to see their target.
The ramp lowered and Damchak saw the world beyond. Sable Pinion had brought them down in a farmer's field, on the outer bounds of a city. The First beheld steep roofs and narrow streets, alive with light and noise. The defenders of Nova Terra were awakened and their Wardsmen ringed the perimeter with guns. Damchak was not dismayed, the Shadow-path would allow them to pass without disturbing a single puff of wind, the heathens would never know they were under attack until it was too late.
Against the stars their target lay, a great library, a repository of history and philosophy. Great pride did the Novans take in their culture, and when the Smoke Jaguars burned it down the marrow of defiance would be sucked from the bones of resistance. The Sun-Emperor would be pleased, so Damchak led his Kinsmen forward in anticipation of victory today, but with a wary eye cast tomorrow.