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The Twisted Runes – Extract

A Black Library Publication

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The Twisted Runes

By Matt Smith

Prognosticator Beynan Rhondus stood in the Well of Judgement. The stone pit was thirty feet deep, ten in diameter, and made up the centre of the Chamber of Fate, the most hallowed meeting hall of the Prognosticatum of the Silver Skulls. Surrounding the upper rim of the well were thirteen thrones set into individual alcoves. Twelve belonged to the most senior prognosticators. The last was reserved for the Chapter Master.

‘Speak, Prognosticator Rhondus. Tell us, what do the runes show you?’ a voice spoke above him.

Eight prognosticators sat in judgement on this day, but from the foot of the well, Beynan could not make out their faces. The Chamber was dark, lit only by the dying embers of torches. Their light served only to cast deeper shadows upon the thrones. All Beynan could truly see was the giant metallic skull leering down on him from the wall of the well. In this setting, the symbol of the Chapter was both intimidating and inspiring.

‘They show me death. Our deaths and those of every Silver Skull.’

The room fell silent but Beynan’s skin prickled as the air filled with psychic energy. He could only wonder at the words spoken in telepathic communion above him. He longed for the day he would be a part of it.

‘Where and how will this come to pass?’ another voice called down to him.

‘It is unclear. The runes are scattered, confused. For some time, I could not discern their meaning, but this night past I had a dream. A vision of the past and the future.’

‘Is this the first time you have foreseen the Chapter’s demise?’ asked another.

‘Yes. It was so vivid. Prognosticator Aharan was there. He spoke to me.’

‘Aharan?’ It was the first voice again, but softer now, and Beynan could see a blue-robed figure leaning forward from his seat. He recognised him as Chief Prognosticator Vashiro. The master of the Prognosticatum looked down at him intently. ‘Tell me of this dream, young brother.’

‘It was a vision of destruction and woe. I saw an item of great power and meaning. It was hidden, in a place remote and lethal, concealed from a sky ruled by warring dragons. It was taken by a thief in the night, hooded and cowled. Four sentinels barred the gate – an army of slaves, while harbingers waited in the shadows, wreathed in fire. They howled in despair. I saw a great beast to be slain, and a sorcerer consumed by pride. Aharan showed me a path that must be walked, for the sake of us all.’

‘Was there anything else?’ a new voice asked.

‘No.’

‘You bear Prognosticator Aharan’s runes, and your portents have seen us true this far. It is clear the Emperor speaks through you. Prognosticator Rhondus, you will have the warriors you require,’ said Vashiro. ‘Where will you take them?’

‘Skythis.’

Skythis was the only habitable world in the Aris Drakartis system, but Beynan knew this was a stretched truth. It was a death world characterised by sweltering jungles and vicious native wildlife. The Thunderhawk Seer’s Steed descended towards a remote island in the northern seas. Launched from their strike cruiser, Spear of Destiny, it contained eighteen warriors. Beynan sat at their head and looked down the row at the squads under his command. The first was Amethyst Squad. It contained ten Tactical Marines from the Sixth Company, led by Sergeant Braxus – a capable, if unspectacular, leader. The second Beynan had requested specifically. Jade Squad consisted of five veterans from the First Company under Sergeant Tor’ra, a staunch traditionalist. Bastev Tor’ra was an old friend of Beynan’s former mentor, Prognosticator Aharan. Though Beynan had only met him a couple of times, he had still recognised the sergeant’s face when it appeared in his visions. He was there for just fleeting moments on the periphery of greater events, but every time, his chainsword swung and cut down an unseen enemy. Tor’ra’s skill and brutality were both famous within the Chapter.

As they made their final approach, Beynan replayed his vision again, examining it for any meaning he may have missed.

‘It was hidden, in a place remote and lethal, concealed from a sky ruled by warring dragons.’

The Aris Drakartis system was named for the constellation visible from any of its worlds. It appeared to depict a pair of battling dragons. Skythis was the planet and this island was the most remote landmass. When he reached the end of the vision in his head, he felt a weight sink upon him, for he had lied to the Prognosticatum. There was one last thing he had seen.

‘A hero, exalted for generations.’

He had not told them this for he could not know if they would understand. If they thought he wanted to venture to Skythis in search of his own glory, they may have sent another in his place. He couldn’t allow that. In another’s hands, the Chapter was doomed. He did not do this for pride. He did this for the survival of the Silver Skulls, and because it was the infallible will of the Emperor. Beynan told himself this, over and over again.

Seer’s Steed was forced to set down in the rocky shallows surrounding the island, much to its pilot’s disdain. Brother-Techmarine Rikolux muttered litanies of apology to the machine’s spirit throughout the landing and visibly tensed as the gunship set down, as if he expected the ground to give way below it at any moment. After a few seconds of baited breath, the access hatches opened and the Silver Skulls disembarked.

The group stepped out into the humid air. They made their way down the access ramp and splashed through the shallow water. When they reached the shore, the prognosticator called them to gather around him in a circle.

‘Let us pray that we shall succeed here in carrying out the Emperor’s will, and in doing so honour the Silver Skulls. Primus Inter Pares.’ First Among Equals. It had been the Silver Skulls’ mantra since their birth in the Second Founding.

The Silver Skulls echoed their leader, then fell into their own ministrations. Some remained standing, others knelt. Some made the sign of the aquila, while others pressed their fists against their hearts in a warrior’s salute. They murmured prayers and litanies in different tongues and dialects from across the Chapter’s recruitment worlds. Beynan lowered to his knees. He removed a simple leather pouch from a cord tied around his waist. He weighed it in his hand for a moment, then closed his eyes and upended it. The rune stones held within fell and made tiny craters in the sand.

Aharan’s runes were made from grey slate carved from the frozen cliffs of Varsavia. Once sharp edged and rough, centuries of use had worn them smooth. Symbols had been carved into them with a knife and a delicacy unexpected of a warrior’s hands. Aharan had been slain eight months prior fighting orks on Godwin’s Landing. After being separated, Beynan had found his injured master just as Aharan used the last of his strength to tear the orks’ warboss in half with his incredible psychic might. As he’d laid dying, Aharan’s final act had been to bequeath his rune stones to his apprentice. Beynan would always remember his master’s pale and drawn face in that moment. He had looked so frail, and the scar surrounding half of his left eye, once distinguished, had become merely ugly.

Aharan’s stones spoke to Beynan clearly now, as they would speak to any who knew how to listen. Where Beynan had poured them from their pouch, the Emperor’s hand had placed them in the sand before him. He spoke His will through symbols, their orientation and their positions relevant to one another. The aquila stone was marked with the twin-headed eagle. It was the only stone that was not part of Aharan’s original set. Aharan had lost the original many years before, though he had never been sure when or how. Its replacement had been in use long enough that it had bonded with the rest and its virtue lay true. It had landed highest and correctly oriented. A good omen. The compass stone, marked with a four-pointed cross, had landed just below it. The longest point, which represented north, reached forwards towards the aquila. His goal lay to the north. The warrior and seer stones rested together. His path and that of his brothers ran parallel. Above them, the reaper’s stone had fallen oriented sideways. There would be deaths on both sides. This was regrettable, but such was the life of a Space Marine.

Beynan returned the stones to their pouch as the rest of the group ended their prayers. Sergeant Tor’ra then reorganised them into formation. His veterans spread out to take lead positions in a wide forward arc. Braxus’ squad fell into close defensive positions around the prognosticator and Techmarine.

‘I have had to make modifications to this auspex,’ said Rikolux dourly. ‘If doing so hasn’t offended its spirit too gravely, it should identify the energy signature much more clearly now.’

‘Then let us hope you have suitably appeased it. We do not have time to search the entire island. Join Sergeant Tor’ra and see that we are going the correct way.’

‘Yes, prognosticator.’

The group moved forward as one, and swiftly crossed the beach before passing into the jungle. The light dimmed immediately; the sun’s rays barred entry by layers of thick canopy. Power-armoured boots were caught up in thick bundles of roots. Progress slowed as the Space Marines were forced single file through an ever tighter bottleneck created by centuries’ old tree trunks. The air buzzed constantly with the sounds of insects. At first, Beynan filtered out the sound through his helmet’s auditory systems, but it grew so loud he could no longer block it without leaving himself deafened. With each step, the jungle grew thicker and the Space Marines were forced to draw blades to cut their way through the grasping branches. Beynan kept a close eye on the tracking signal coming from Techmarine Rikolux. More than once, he was required to regroup his retinue as they were broken up wading through the thick flora.

‘Contac–’ a voice yelled through the vox. It was cut off by a sickening wet crunch. A trio of bolter rounds exploded in the distance, then there was silence.

‘Brother Tek, report!’ Tor’ra growled into the vox, but there was no reply from the warrior who had raised the alarm. ‘Jade Squad, regroup on my position!’ Another bolter barked in anger.

‘Forward,’ Beynan ordered, and fell in behind two members of Amethyst Squad as they hacked furiously at the trees in their efforts to catch up to Tor’ra’s veterans. Beynan drew his bolt pistol and force sword, Soul Render. The bolter fire up ahead grew in intensity, and he could now make out an unfamiliar but unmistakably malicious hiss. He wondered what kind of foe could make such a sound.

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