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Sagas of the Space Wolves – Extract

A Black Library Publication

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I

The edge of the Maelstrom, aboard the warship Veregelt
Year of the Grey Promise
960.M41

Redness.

The redness of anger, the redness of shallow and shameful pain, the redness of blood in his eyes.

Voices.

The voices of his brothers, the voices of his enemies. The voices of those who fought by his side and the voices of those who wished him dead.

‘Blackmane?’

‘Brother?’

‘Get him up.’

‘Hold your fire!’

‘Give the word, Slayer. We’ll cut them to pieces.’

‘This transgression will not be forgotten.’

‘Nor forgiven.’

‘Get him up, damn you.’

‘Blood calls for blood.’

‘Hold your cursed fire!’

‘Don’t fire! Not unless they fire first!’

Into this storm of conflicting voices, Ragnar came back to himself.

‘It is done,’ he told the gathered warriors of both Chapters. Silence fell over both sides as they faced each other in the Veregelt’s hangar bay.

Before him stood the Dark Angels – sixty-one of them in all – their war-scarred plate cast in the same colour as the deep forests of their annihilated home world. They waited in orderly ranks, squad by squad, marked by sigils and standing beneath standards raised by proud bannermen. Robes and surplices of cream were marked by recent battles, burned away in places, blood-spattered in others. Every warrior had a weapon raised, aiming directly at Ragnar.

And behind him, his brother Wolves. Thirty of them beneath his banner – his to command since Jarl Berek had heralded him as battle leader for the campaign at the Maelstrom’s edge.

‘Take the Veregelt,’ the Wolf Lord had said months ago, aboard the flagship Holmgang. ‘I’ll give you a third of the company’s packs. Return to me with a victory, Blackmane.’

Victory had come, hard-fought but honestly earned, despite the cold indifference of their Dark Angels allies.

But now this. Chainswords sputtered in idle hands, keenly waiting for the call to come to life. Ragnar glanced down at the body by his boots. A Champion fallen, the corpse headless. The Dark Angel’s head, still in its helm, lay on the deck a dozen metres away.

Frostfang purred in its ease, blood dripping from the weapon’s teeth.

‘It is done,’ Ragnar said again. ‘The duel is over.’

Only silence met this declaration. All was still, even the cyborg hangar-thralls that had been tending to the docked Dark Angels gunships now watched, motionless.

The blow that had crashed against his face had ripped his cheek open to the bone and torn a flap of skin free, but his blood was already clotting in the stinging, re-filtered air. The wound’s relative innocence only made the moment worse. It took all of his teeth-clenching effort to hide the momentary weakness of anger and shame.

Ragnar gestured to the body at his feet. ‘Take your dead,’ he said to the formation of Dark Angels, ‘and get off our ship.’

Six Space Marines stepped forwards. Four of them lifted the body in wordless reverence, carrying it back to their ranks. Another carried the severed head with the same sense of respectful, monkish care. The Dark Angels had no captain, for he had fallen in battle weeks before, leaving command of the Fourth Battle Company to rest upon their Champion’s shoulders. Now they were leaderless once more.

One of the Dark Angels approached Ragnar, remaining while the others removed the body. His face was bare, his features blunt, his demeanour one of cold serenity. His armour showed only a sergeant’s insignia, but the plating was marked with laurel wreaths and ceremonial bolt shell trinkets denoting valour and marksmanship.

‘This transgression cannot stand,’ he said.

‘What do you want of me? An apology?’ The pain that had cobwebbed across Ragnar’s face was swiftly fading, nullified by his enhanced physiology and a spurt of battle narcotics injected from his armour’s internal regulators. ‘Your Champion is dead. Had he been more skilled, he would still be alive. That’s the beginning and end of it, Dark Angel.’

The Dark Angel inclined his head, seemingly in consideration rather than agreement. ‘The duel was to first blood,’ he said, coldly, viciously reasonable.

‘Does it matter? It’s over.’

‘Indeed it is,’ the sergeant concurred. ‘And you lost, Battle Leader Blackmane.’

Jeers and shouted insults rose from the Wolves’ disorderly ranks, but the Dark Angel was implacable. He nodded to the wound upon Ragnar’s head, where the hanging flap of skin laid a sliver of his cheekbone bare. ‘The duel was to first blood,’ the sergeant repeated. ‘You bled first.’

Ragnar looked back over his shoulder, where his warrior-packs were throwing derision at the Dark Angels amidst all of the laughter. In reflection, the Dark Angels were perfectly silent, doubtless considering themselves above such trite indignities.

‘Listen to me,’ Ragnar said, his voice little more than a whispered plea. ‘I regret your Champion’s death. Truly. But withdraw, sergeant, for this ugly scene will only turn evermore foul.’

‘No, Wolf Guard.’

‘Are you so blind to reason? We fought and won a war together, cousin. Proudly! Go now and we can avoid staining that glory with bloodshed and further regret.’

The sergeant, standing with his helm under one arm as if on the parade ground, showed emotion for the first time since coming aboard the Veregelt. His lip curled, not in feral temper but in simple, human disgust.

‘You think we fear the bite of your blades? You have no right to plead for mercy now after committing a crime that demands redress. Blood calls for blood. It is tradition.’

‘You… wish to fight us?’

‘What I wish is of no consequence, Wolf Guard. This is not about me. You lost the duel and ignobly cut down the warrior who beat you. You broke the lone tradition that binds us together in the echoes of brotherhood. You lost your temper like a newly blooded aspirant, disgracing the primarchs’ ritual with foul murder.’

Ragnar’s reply was a thing of hissed, hot breath. ‘Watch your words, Dark Angel. I’ve cut tongues from men’s mouths for lesser insults.’

‘I believe you.’ The sergeant’s disgust had reached his eyes, infecting the warrior’s austere stare with condescending light. ‘But blood will have blood, Battle Leader Blackmane.’

Ragnar’s fury dissipated. It was all he could do not to laugh in disbelief, even in the gravity of the moment. Even with the sin he’d committed heavy and fresh upon his shoulders.

‘You threaten us on our own ship? Allfather’s bones, Dark Angel, my men will tear your company to pieces. Already they clamour for your last breaths. Take your threats and go while you’re still able. I cannot guarantee your survival any longer.’

‘I make no threats,’ the sergeant said. ‘You are the one threatening us, which might be considered dangerous ground when we yet outnumber you two to one. You violated the boundaries of Duellum Honestas. Thus, I challenge you to Duellum Dolor.’

‘A fight to the death?’ Ragnar couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice. A line sergeant against a Fenrisian battle leader, in a fight to the death? The Wolves behind him were howling with laughter now.

‘To the death, Battle Leader Blackmane. In accordance with our rites of war, you have thirty hours – a single turning of the Calibanite day – to accept the challenge and pay the blood price.’

‘And if I refuse?’

‘Then you forfeit all honour. If you will not pay the blood price, the Dark Angels will take it from the Wolves, one way or another.’

Pain nullifiers were no salve for the heat of irritation. He had let his temper get the better of him, but it wasn’t too late to pull the two forces back from the brink.

It couldn’t be too late. Control, control, he thought. Calm.

‘I’m not fighting you, sergeant, no matter how you threaten me. For the final time, get off our ship.’

The Dark Angel replaced his helm with a hiss of locking seals at the collar, and saluted with the two-handed sign of the aquila across his chestplate. The voice that left the helmet’s mouth-grille was inhuman and metallic, yet somehow serene.

‘Thirty hours, Lord of Wolves.’

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A Black Library Publication

‘Engage the Enemy’ first published in 2004.
‘Twelve Wolves’ first published in 2010.
‘Reparation’ first published in 2011.
‘In Hrondir’s Tomb’ first published in 2012.
‘On the Heels of Morkai’ first published in 2012.
‘Defender of Honour’ first published in 2013.
Arjac Rockfist first published in 2014.
Blood on the Mountain first published in 2014.
Iceclaw first published as an audio drama in 2014.
Ragnar Blackmane first published in 2015.
Thunder from Fenris first published as an audio drama in 2015.
‘Hollow Beginnings’ first published in 2015.
Curse of the Wulfen first published in 2016.
Legacy of Russ first published in 2016.
The Hunt for Logan Grimnar first published as Space Wolves in 2016.
‘Stormseeker’ first published in 2016.
This eBook edition published in 2020 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd, Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

Produced by Games Workshop in Nottingham.
Cover illustration by Toni Deu.

Sagas of the Space Wolves © Copyright Games Workshop Limited 2020. Sagas of the Space Wolves, 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: 978-1-78999-335-6

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