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The Grey Raven – Extract

A Black Library Publication

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The Grey Raven

Gav Thorpe

There was a moment during translation when everything hung between the realms of the material and the immaterial, when Balsar Kurthuri knew silence. At the threshold of existence, for an infinitesimally short instant, he was neither real nor imagined, alive nor dead, legionary nor psyker. The mesmerising, taunting, crashing background noise of the warp did not intrude upon his mind; the constant nagging whisper of his companions’ thoughts and the ever-present hiss of humanity’s psychic static was gone.

He remembered the first time he had left with the Raven Guard, the first time he had been upon a ship as it delved into the gap between realities. Every occasion since, on each of the countless jumps from star system to star system, he looked forward to that singular experience, hoping that perhaps this time the silence would remain.

It was not to be.

The cold clamour of his fellow Space Marines welled up around him, no matter how much he suppressed his potential, how high and thick he built his mental barriers. Even the servitors at the consoles, more machines than men, gave off a dim glimmer of life like slowly leaking reactors tripping a rad-counter over and over – the very reason for their existence being that they had souls, which true machines did not, such were the strange ways of the Mechanicum.

The Geller field dropped as the warp breach closed behind them, taking with it the nerve-tingling sensation of psychic suppression. Like a fog lifting outside a sealed door, Balsar was aware of its dissipation even though his thoughts extended no further than the limits of his own skull.

He had always been more of receiver than a broadcaster. It was that ability that had seen him inducted into the XIX Legion and sent out with the fleet.

Layer by layer he shut away the impeding inputs, like narrowing the frequency band on a vox-caster until he had only a single channel.

Last to go were the bleeding thoughts of his companions on the bridge of the Wrathful Vanguard, and strongest were the mixed emotions of its commander, Captain Noriz. His emanating thoughts at returning to the Throneworld fluctuated between relief, trepidation and anticipation. Not that one needed psychic powers to discern such truth – it was obvious from the Imperial Fist’s pensive expression and relentless pacing – and the bright polish and full regalia of his war-plate – that the occasion of his return to his Legion was at the fore of his mind.

More closed but still discernible were the thought patterns of Arcatus Vindix Centurio, warrior of the Legio Custodes, who had left with the Raven Guard after their fateful acquisition of the primarch gene-code during their last journey to Terra. His face was passive, his stance relaxed, but seeping through the iron gates of his mind came pulses of something like happiness at his homecoming. Not relief, but pleasure at being returned to the place of his birth and his duty.

Even as a semblance of quiet fell upon Balsar, the placid deepness of a pool from which one hears and sees only the faintest glimmers from the surface, a physical clamour rose to fill his senses.

Sensor-servitors jabbered warnings and klaxons wailed as the augur banks came online after their deactivation for warp transit. Multiple targeting beams and intrusive hails assaulted the Wrathful Vanguard, threatening all kinds of trauma before even a word was uttered.

‘Warning signals off,’ snapped Noriz, his golden yellow livery dappled by the glow from a dozen red and amber lamps. The clamour seemed to settle more than agitate him, and he spoke calmly to his officers. ‘Gun crews remain on standby, targeting systems on passive.’

A chorus of affirmatives replied.

‘Vox-channels open for contact,’ reported the legionary sergeant at the communications console. ‘Which hail do you wish to receive?’

‘How many are there?’ asked Balsar.

The sergeant checked his display.

‘Eighteen.’ He read a little more. ‘Two outer defence stations, three full line warships and the rest are escort-class monitors and patrol boats.’

‘Give me whichever has highest rank priority,’ Noriz told his deck officer. ‘Return the others with our standard identifiers.’

Balsar realised that Noriz was in his element. This was his whole world. After years fighting the war alongside the Raven Guard he was now returning to the Imperial Fists, on far more familiar ground.

The former Librarian had another revelation. ‘You were hoping for this, weren’t you?’

Noriz glanced at him with a guilty smile.

‘I’ll admit, I was far more worried about arriving and not being challenged.’ He nodded to the waiting sergeant. ‘Full contact, prepare for visual feed.’

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A Black Library Publication

Published in 2016 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd,
Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

Produced by Games Workshop in Nottingham.

The Grey Raven © Copyright Games Workshop Limited 2016. The Grey Raven, GW, Games Workshop, Black Library, The Horus Heresy, The Horus Heresy Eye logo, Space Marine, 40K, Warhammer, Warhammer 40,000, the ‘Aquila’ Double-headed Eagle logo, and all associated logos, illustrations, images, names, creatures, races, vehicles, locations, weapons, characters, and the distinctive likenesses thereof, are either ® or TM, and/or © Games Workshop Limited, variably registered around the world.
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ISBN: 978-1-78572-273-8

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