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Bringer of Sorrow – Extract

A Black Library Publication

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Bringer of Sorrow

By Aaron Dembski-Bowden

Arkhan Land had never seen a Space Marine cry before. In an extremely rare moment of considering someone else’s feelings, he wasn’t certain where to look. Would the Blood Angel be ashamed if Land stared or pointed out this sudden emotional vulnerability? He used the time to adjust the clicking lenses of his goggle-visor, which in no way needed adjusting.

How fascinating, he thought. Of all the things to weep over.

‘There’s an artistry at play here,’ the Martian scholar confessed, ‘but I assume you’ve witnessed hundreds of planetfalls. I fail to see what’s awakening such an embarrassing degree of emotion within you at the sight of this one.’

Zephon, the Blood Angel, didn’t reply. He kept his eyes lifted, watching salvation descend from the heavens on wings both metaphorical and literal. Gunships streaked through the clouds, their hulls cast in war-scarred ceramite, their engines trailing fire. Thousands of them arced down in a continuous spiral, a cyclone of troop landers and war craft powering their way planetside. Heat shielding scorched from atmospheric entry flashed in the light of the setting sun.

Arkhan Land and Captain Zephon had watched this aerial ballet from the Palace battlements, and though Land had no time for the kind of embarrassing reaction suffered by the peasants and certain emotionally compromised warriors bearing witness, even the technoarchaeologist found himself affected by the artistry and precision of the Legion’s mass-landing.

Was he moved? No, we mustn’t get ahead of ourselves. Was he awed? The idea was laughable. But affected, yes. Land could appreciate the mildly hypnotic effect of the swooping, retro-burning vessels, flying in formations made beautifully complex by the sheer number of craft. It put him in mind of a code-stream playing out across a monitor: something semi-organic, something with biological variances blending in with the precision of purer calculations. A human element, if you will.

Sapien, his artificimian, crouched on Zephon’s shoulder. The psyber-monkey’s barbed tail drifted in a slow wave back and forth, a sure sign of the creature’s contentment. Land clicked his fingers to draw Sapien’s attention, but the monkey kept clinging to Zephon’s ceramite pauldron with the ease of familiarity.

The creature even vocalised a series of quiet, ostensibly simian sounds as it perched in place, and the Blood Angel reached up with one of his bionic hands, idly scratching the back of the beast’s head.

Land clicked his fingers again. This time the psyber-monkey acknowledged its summons and scrambled onto Land’s shoulder instead. It was quite a step down in height from the Space Marine to the Martian scholar. The little creature practically had to leap.

After another few increasingly (and woefully) dull minutes of watching the Blood Angels Legion make planetfall, Land spoke up.

‘If you wish me to deal with your failing bionics in the coming days, I am able to do so.’

Zephon didn’t answer. He didn’t even seem to have heard. This was surprising, given that the reconstruction of the Angel’s shattered physicality had taken primacy in the warrior’s thoughts for some time. Yet here was Land, making the offer to deal with the many flaws in Zephon’s augmetics, and receiving no acknowledgement at all.

He repeated his offer in the exact same tone and inflection, hiding his annoyance at being ignored the first time.

Zephon blinked slowly, as if unwillingly pulled away from enlightenment. His beauteous face, transhuman in its gentleness, showed his distracted confusion.

‘Forgive me, my friend, what did you say?’

Land repeated the offer a third time. On his shoulder, Sapien was toying with its own tail. It rather diminished the austere dignity of the moment, which was a shame. Still, with the truly beneficent offer made, he went back to adjusting his goggle-visor, this time in order to track the descent of a particularly ravaged Stormbird.

‘If you have the time to spare,’ the Blood Angel said, ‘I would be immeasurably grateful.’

‘I do,’ Land replied with a sniff.

The pair were a common sight in the Palace in recent months, in part because Land considered the wounded warrior by and large less irritating than anyone else on Terra. It would be a stretch to say Land felt genuine affection for the Space Marine, but he viewed Zephon with something above casual derision, and that made them practically brothers in the pantheon of Land’s regard.

‘I’ve never seen a Space Marine cry before.’

That made the Angel smile through his slow, stately tears. ‘Well, now you have.’

Land, who had lectured Zephon (the way he lectured everyone in his presence) about his impatience for people stating the agonisingly obvious, somehow managed to refrain from tutting at the comment.

Zephon was still weeping as he watched the gunships spiral lower, watched the bulk landers juddering downward towards the cityscape of the space port on the horizon. The silvery traces of his emotion painted thin, twin trails down his pale cheeks.

‘I don’t understand you,’ Land finally said to him. ‘Why do you weep?’

The Blood Angel looked down at the technoarchaeologist, his eyes impossibly soulful, his smile impossibly benevolent.

‘My Legion,’ he said. ‘My brothers. My father.’

Land hesitated. He could see the landing craft just as clearly as anyone else. More clearly, if the truth be told, given the enhancing effects of his goggles. Confusion hammered impatience into his tone. ‘Yes?’

The Angel was already staring back up at the crowded sky as the IX Legion continued its endless planetfall. ‘They’re alive.’

Land lifted his goggles to scratch the side of his considerable nose. He was not what many people would consider attractive, though most people weren’t what he would consider intelligent enough for him to give their opinions any credence. And besides, attraction and sexual tension were distractions from the Pursuit of Knowledge. You could spend your life flinging genetic material at other people, or you could get things done.

Land got things done.

‘You’ve known they were alive for weeks,’ he said. ‘You’ve known since they reached the edge of the subsector and the deep-range auspices started heralding their arrival. What difference does it make now they’re actually here?’

Even the Angel’s pained wince was weighted with a sense of infinite patience. ‘I do not know how to phrase my emotions and my relief in words you will relate to, Arkhan.’

Land resisted the urge to roll his eyes. ‘If you’re done being melodramatic – not that you ever seem to be done with it – my offer still stands.’ He flicked a finger towards the aerial display that would still be taking place days from now. Bringing a Legion to the earth was no swift feat. ‘If you wish to fight with your brothers again, come to me. I will make it happen.’

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A Black Library Publication

First published in Great Britain in 2019 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd, Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

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ISBN: 978-1-78999-404-9

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