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Dark Angels: Lords of Caliban - Extract

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The cell stank of despair. There were ancient blood stains painted on the walls and floor, written in the adrenaline-filled reek of sweat in the air. The red glow of a single guttering lamp barely touched the walls, which were hewn from the raw foundations of the Rock, deep beneath the Dark Angels’ space-faring fortress-monastery. Here was not the carved stone and intricate tapestries of the Tower of Angels; here was the naked remnant of Caliban, preserved within countless power fields and held together by graviometic archeotech that perhaps even the Master of the Forge no longer fully understood.

The weight of ten thousand years pushed down on Sammael every bit as much as the millions of tons of architecture above this dismal place.

Stripped of his armour, clad only in a black robe of the Ravenwing adorned with a silver symbol denoting his rank as a Black Knight, Sammael was under no illusion regarding why he had been brought here. The two Deathwing Knights that flanked him, resplendent in full bone-coloured power armour, had treated him as a prisoner from the moment they had taken him from his solitary contemplation in the Reclusiam. By ways unknown to Sammael, and passing no other Space Marine or serf, they had brought him down to the lower levels. Though Sammael could not say where exactly in the dungeons of the Rock the cell lay, he knew well enough the reputation of the place and others like it.

On entry to the Ravenwing he had been initiated into the first of the Rites of the Raven and had learn of the Fallen. He had absorbed such knowledge without shock. He was not sure why he had not been surprised by the revelation that warriors of the Dark Angels had turned on the primarch and the Emperor during the uprising of Warmaster Horus. It was possible that his suspicions of such an event had brought him to the attention of the Chaplains and ultimately the Ravenwing.

As he had risen through the seven Rites, he had learnt more – more about the Fallen and how to hunt them, and more of the arts of the Interrogators that offered them the chance for repentance in cells like this one, dragging forth confession and absolution from bloodied flesh.

A small wooden table and two sturdy chairs were all that furnished the cell; so simple, so domestic in their construction yet given an ominous air by context. Sammael would have felt more comfortable had there been a shelf of torture implements, brands and hooks and knives rather than the plain furnishings, but there was no overt sign of the excruciation suffered by others who had been brought here before.

There was no fear in Sammael as his guards pushed him into the cell and slammed the heavy steel shut behind him. Not fear of torture, at least. He was no Fallen and he could not believe that his battle-brothers would turn their bloody attentions upon him as punishment for the debacle at Kapua. There was no need to extract any account, he would freely tell them what had happened and how the disaster had unfolded.

That was not why he was here, though. There was another reason behind the secret abduction and the intimidating surrounds. The cell was the destination of a journey he had started before Kapua, before Gideon’s fall.

The chatter of autogun fire echoed across the wide courtyard, masking the sound of punctured flesh and splintering stone. Only when they had emptied the magazines of their weapons did the firing squad cease shooting, drawing up their rifles to their shoulders in a salute to the armoured Space Marines overseeing the execution. Grand Master Gideon, his black armour overlaid with golden icons and the heraldry of the Ravenwing, gave a signal to their sergeant, who dismissed the troop. The ten defence troopers, natives of Kaphon Betis, filed away, leaving the two Dark Angels with a dozen bullet-riddled corpses.

‘A fitting end for traitors,’ said Sammael, glaring down at the bodies. ‘Filthy xenos-worshippers. The lowest kind of scum, turning on their own kind for the favours of aliens.’

‘Misguided for certain,’ agreed Gideon. He took off his helm, revealing dark hair and angular features, a scar across his throat disappearing behind the gorget of his armour. He looked at Sammael and shrugged. ‘Only a deviant mind could hope for succour from the very creatures that kill and enslave one’s kith and kin. Desperate, insane. The eldar plied their evil in Kaphon for many decades before we came. It is a shame that some succumbed to despair and started to entreat them, but they were a small minority.’

‘A tiny group, to be sure, but influential,’ replied Sammael. He was aware that Gideon had singled him out to oversee the firing squad, though there were many members of the Second Company that were his senior. It was no secret that the Grand Master had taken a special interest, and there were few that would argue that Sammael did not deserve the recognition and attention he received. Sammael wanted to prove that his superior’s faith was well-placed, to demonstrate the qualities worthy of a Black Knight and perhaps, one day, a Master.

‘Less than two hundred, but there are many in positions of power. They willingly allowed the eldar to harvest those that looked to them for protection. I am sure the aliens were more than happy to cooperate. Had we not heard rumours of instability and division in this system, the xenos cultists might have turned even more to their twisted cause.’

‘By the grace of the Emperor, we arrived and now the threat has been ended.’ Gideon waved a hand at the piled bodies. ‘These are the last of them. We will depart by nightfall and return to the Rock.’

‘The last?’ Sammael was surprised. ‘We have not yet caught the ringleader. The so-called Lord Cypher.’

Gideon’s stare was as sharp as the Raven Sword hanging at his hip. ‘Where did you hear that name?’

‘Chatter from the prisoners. One of them thought they would be saved by a ‘Lord Cypher’.’ Sammael read consternation in the expression of his superior. ‘I have not yet had time to search the planetary records, but I am sure we will unearth this traitorous noble soon enough.’

‘You have not spoken of this to anybody else?’ Sammael answered Gideon’s question with a shake of the head. ‘Good, let it remain so.’

Sammael felt as though he had done something wrong, but he had no idea what the infraction had been. He sought refuge in formality to hide his confusion. ‘If that is your command, grand master.’ Apparently the attempt was unsuccessful.

‘This is a far graver matter than you know, Sammael,’ Gideon told him. At first it looked as though that was all he would say on the matter, but after a pause he continued, his voice little more than a whisper as his eyes darted around the courtyard before settling on Sammael. ‘The title is not from Kaphon Betis, it is from Caliban.’

‘Caliban? Our destroyed home world? How can that be possible?’

‘Cypher is one of the Fallen, Sammael. More than that. The worst of them, intent on destroying all that remains of the Legion he once served. If he has been in Kaphon there is far more at play here than eldar raids and heretic sympathisers.’

The scrape of footfalls outside the door drew Sammael from his the recollection of when he had first heard the name of Cypher. The cell door opened and two familiar figures loomed large in the corridor beyond: Supreme Grand Master Azrael and Chief Librarian Ezekiel. The two most senior Dark Angels entered in silence and the door closed behind them.

Azrael gestured for Sammael to remain seated and stood to one side, while Ezekiel sat in the chair opposite. The Librarian’s bionic eye gleamed red, matching the ruddy glow of the lantern. His other eye seemed a pit of blackness, swallowing the light. Sammael felt himself drawn into those depths, and shuddered despite every effort when he saw golden motes of energy within the gaze of the psyker.

‘You will tell me about Kapua.’ Azrael spoke the words without emotion, a flat statement of fact. Sammael answered, but his gaze was locked with the stare of Ezekiel, unable to break the trance the Librarian had set upon him.

‘There seemed little danger at first. We had detected an astropathic call for assistance in putting down a small-scale rebellion on the world of Kapua. We entered the system some seventeen days later and made orbit over the primary world, Kapua Seven. After short conference with the aides of the Imperial Commander, who we were told were overseeing the fighting personally, Grand Master Gideon organised and launched a standard drop assault on the rebel holdings less than fifty kilometres from the city of Vespengard.’

Ezekiel had not blinked, but it was as though he had allowed Sammael a moment of release and the Black Knight took it, turning his attention to the Supreme Grand Master. Azrael’s cold stare was only slightly less intimidating.

‘Describe the rebels,’ he said.

‘Nothing untoward, master. Dissidents led by political opponents of the Imperial Commander, with weapons looted from the stores of the local forces. Nothing to offer significant resistance to warriors of the Adeptus Astartes.’ Sammael shrugged. ‘We took a few casualties, but in a matter of days the strength of the rebellion was broken, their command shattered and their lairs destroyed.’

‘Gideon became over-confident.’ Again it was a statement, not a question. ‘Faced with poor opposition he underestimated potential threats.’

‘I disagree, master.’ Sammael kept his tone level, trying to be critical of Azrael’s assessment and not the man who uttered it. ‘At that time there was no evidence to suggest any foe more significant than the rebels we had encountered.’

‘Perhaps you do not question Gideon’s judgement because it reflects poorly on his later declaration in support of your elevation to the position of Grand Master. If we doubt the first judgement we must also doubt the second.’

The suggestion riled Sammael a little but he did not rise to the baited words.

‘Your judgement will be final, master. I relate the events simply as I experienced them. You wished for me to offer opinion and I did so.’

Azrael nodded in acknowledgement of this defence. He gestured for Sammael to continue.

‘No commander I have served with could have predicted what happened next,’ said Sammael.

The torrent of reports over the vox-network was the closest to panic Sammael had ever encountered in his time with the Chapter. Each measured, clipped message belied the anarchy that had suddenly engulfed the Ravenwing and it was by its mass rather than individual parts that the underlying consternation could be felt.

Sammael understood the shock in those voices all too well. The same sense of dislocation and unreality was raging in his thoughts as bolter fire and missiles screamed down at the Black Knights from camouflaged bunkers ahead.

‘Power armoured enemy, moving through the woods to the west.’

‘Highly accurate heavy weapons fire, we are withdrawing.’

‘Converging fire from ground level and above. Where did they come from? Sergeant! Sergeant?’

‘Is that a Dreadnought, brother? Sector five. I swear I saw a...’

A blast seared through Teranto’s bike just a few metres from Sammael, turning mount and rider into a roiling ball of superheated vapour and molten ceramite. Sammael swerved to avoid the expanding cloud of gas and atomised matter, recognising a multi-melta hit. His shouted warning was lost amongst the din filling the vox.

‘Armoured vehicles, old Legion patterns, breaking through the buildings on our flank.’

‘By the Emperor, traitors everywhere! Rebels have launched massive counter-attack through the marshalling yards!’

‘Autocannon position, end terrace. Covering fire with grenade launchers.’

‘We need a Nephilim strike, sector seventeen. Heavy armour incoming. Urgent request for air strike! Where is the air cover?’

‘Squadron Astrael reporting. Two Land Speeders destroyed. Request Apothecary retrieval for survivors. Providing cover fire. Enemy are pushing forward, support needed immediately.’

Sammael glimpsed colour ahead: bulky shapes moving through the rubble of a refinery that had been levelled by orbital bombardment. The fortifications around it had shown clear on the auspex scans. Sammael checked his steed’s display again. Still it registered no enemy despite the torrent of fire that had erupted from the supposedly empty bunker line.

‘Some kind of masking shield,’ he said, but nobody seemed to be listening. The Black Knights were each concentrating on staying alive, dodging between mortar bomb eruptions, whickering heavy bolter fire and the stabbing ruby beam of a lascannon. Sammael turned his bike towards this last threat, unleashing a salvo of shots from its plasma talons into the firing pit where the heavy weapon was stationed.

It was then that he saw something that caused him a moment’s pause. The lascannon was no tripod-mounted support weapon as he had expected. It was carried on the shoulder of a warrior in power armour, dwarfing the poorly-armoured rebels.

A Traitor legionary.

Sammael did not know the foe from his deep red livery, but as the enemy Space Marine turned to fire his lascannon the yellow and black sigil emblazoned on his shoulder revealed his former allegiances. A renegade of the Word Bearers Legion. There were others around him – more giants in red armour, some in black, pushing out to encircle the Ravenwing advance.

‘All vanguard squadrons to pull back!’ This last came from Gideon, cutting through the chatter. ‘Withdraw immediately, do not get drawn into prolonged engagement.’

To Sammael’s right the Grand Master pulled his jetbike into a tight turn, pulling away from the refinery and its defenders. Sammael followed suit, the wheels of his mount sending up showers of grits and dust as he hauled Withermare across the broken ferrocrete of the street.

The shots of the rebels and Traitor Space Marines followed them as they sped back up the road, Sammael’s soul heavy with thoughts of failure.

‘Gideon’s response to evidence of the Traitor Legions was to break off the attack. He surrendered what momentum the assault had gained.’

Sammael looked at the Supreme Grand Master and wondered if Azrael was conducting this inquiry to find the truth or was simply seeking to confirm an opinion already formed. The Black Knight spoke up in defence of Gideon. Nobody else could.

‘Grand Master Gideon assessed that we were not in a position to prosecute a successful attack with the speed and decisiveness required. Although it transpired in our later reconnaissance that the Traitor legionaries were no more than a few dozen in number, they had armoured vehicles and heavy weaponry that negated the advantages we had over the rebels. As well as their direct military impact they were also leading the enemy, who numbered several thousand, coordinating their attacks, bolstering their resolve, and had been doing so since the outset.’

‘So it was a trap?’ It was the first question Azrael had asked.

‘I believe so. Gideon also thought that it was likely. Our early successes had been an attempt to lure us into a false sense of confidence so that we might over-extend our efforts. Grand Master Gideon’s swift command to withdraw enabled over ninety per cent of the company to escape the ambushes. Had we stayed to fight, we would have been wiped out.’

‘That is your assessment, Sammael. I have my own.’ Azrael folded his arms, jaw set. ‘Continue with your account. Gideon thought it wise to continue with the attacks even though the enemy were well-prepared in fortified positions.’

‘The Grand Master convened a council of the veterans and the decision was unanimous to continue the offensive. We considered waiting for Chapter reinforcements or the weight of the Imperial Guard, but the risk that the traitors would gain a further grip on the populace, or perhaps escape from Kapua, outweighed the dangers of continuing the campaign.

‘The next phase of fighting vindicated the Grand Master’s decision. Our orbital support had been curtailed by intervention from the traitor’s warships, and our air power seriously compromised. Lacking the firepower needed for a direct attack, the company began a series of supply raids and feint assaults. Over the course of seven days these proved troublesome enough for the enemy to react. The rebels led by the Word Bearers in particular were prone to being lured out of position by these baiting attacks. We later discovered there were also Space Marines bearing unaffiliated black livery, who proved far less headstrong.’

‘To what purpose were these attacks directed?’

‘With precision strategy, we were able to weaken part of the cordon around the city of Vespengard. If the company could breach the city then the enemy defensive line would be rendered worthless. Once the fortifications had been penetrated, forces still loyal to the Imperium could assault Vespengard while the company continued to confound the enemy from behind their line.’

‘A strategy that seems to have some merit.’ Azrael scratched the side of his nose, his attitude seeming to soften for a moment. Then his expression hardened again and the next words rasped angrily. ‘But it was not, was it? Due to imprecise intelligence, the attack ran into fierce opposition. Gideon led the Ravenwing into an even greater trap than the one they had already survived.’

With Nephilim and Dark Talon fighters screaming overhead and Thunderhawks and Land Speeders pounding the buildings and streets along their flanks, the bikers of the Ravenwing plunged towards the heart of Vespengard. Sammael and his Black Knights accompanied Gideon as always, a few metres behind the Grand Master’s jetbike, their steeds leaving dust and exhaust fumes filling the street in their wake.

Missiles from Land Speeder Typhoons raked along rooftops, setting factories, administration buildings and hab-blocks ablaze while the battlecannons and lascannons of the gunships shredded the improvised barricades that had been thrown across the roads along the path of the attack squadrons on the ground. Heavy bolters and assault cannons on Land Speeder Tornados held the rear, keeping the rebels pinned in their bunkers and trenches.

A sudden surge of energy flashed across the auspex display of Withermare. At first Sammael thought it was one of the inner city power stations exploding, but the truth revealed itself half a minute later when a monstrous engine stepped into view at the far end of the boulevard ahead.

The Reaver Titan was a colossus of the Dark Age of Technology, twelve stories high, its vaguely humanoid form obscured by the purple and blue flickering of void shields. The street underfoot cracked and sagged beneath its weight while windows exploded as its void shields touched them, filling the air with glittering shards. The blare of its war horn roared down the boulevard, overloading Sammael’s autosenses and shattering more glass.

The Titan’s original battle colours, black and orange, could still be seen on the war banners hanging from its weapon mounts, emblazoned with a horned skull and flames. Its body was more like living flesh than metal and ceramite, flexing and bulging with ruddy muscles corded with brass-like veins, protected by serrated, overlapping armour plates. Where once the head and crew deck had been there was now a monstrous daemonic face surrounded by curling horns, its mouth rimmed with whirring chainblades like teeth. Piercing yellow eyes blazed with hideous light as its murderous gaze fell upon the Black Knights. Its right arm was a multi-barrelled gatling blaster, its left a huge fist encased in coruscating black energy that crackled from the tips of its barbed claws. Atop its angled carapace a twin-muzzled turbo-laser swung towards the gunships now converging on its position.

With a blinding flash, the turbo-laser opened fire, giving Sammael no time to wonder how such a monstrosity had been concealed from the Dark Angels augurs and orbital surveys; the reality was that it had. The beam intersected with a Thunderhawk, splitting it from cockpit to tail. As the remains of the gunship rained down on the city the gatling blaster spewed a torrent of shells along the boulevard.

The Black Knights reacted without command, veering hard to the left as Gideon wrenched his jetbike away from the stream of explosions tearing towards the squadron. The turbo-laser fire stabbed out again, incinerating a Land Speeder Tornado racing across the rooftops from the west. Too fast for the Titan’s main weapons to target, the Nephilim fighters and Dark Talon interceptors plunged down, opening fire with rift cannons and missiles.

Sammael’s last glimpse of the Reaver was of the Titan wreathed in coruscating warp power as its void shields absorbed the attacks of the aircraft. Autocannons and anti-air missile streaked up from the surrounding streets, driving off the interceptors and fighters midway through their attack runs.

‘All units, break off attack. Withdraw to assault point alpha.’ Gideon’s voice was laced with regret. ‘All units, withdraw.’

A moment after the order had been issued, a communication arrived from Sergeant Versian leading the rearguard.

‘Grand Master, Traitor legionaries converging on our withdrawal sector. Word Bearers and heavy armour have cut off retreat route alpha.’

The news was almost as devastating as a salvo from the Titan. The Ravenwing were trapped inside the city.

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A BLACK LIBRARY PUBLICATION

Honour of the Third first published in Space Marines: Angels of Death (2013).
A Hunt in the Dark first published as a digital eBook (2014).
Holder of the Keys first published in 2014 Advent (2014).
Battle-Brothers first published as a digital eBook (2013).
Accept No Failure first published as a MP3 Audio Drama (2014).
All Must End first published in Honour of the Space Marines (2014).

First published in Great Britain in 2015.
This eBook edition published in 2015 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd, Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS UK.

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