Hounds of Wrath - John French Page 2
He rammed his power sword up under the hound’s jaw. The lightning sheathed blade exploded through bone and muscle. The hound’s body scrabbled at the air, claws skittering off the ceiling plates. Sanakht ripped the sword down, back through the head and out of its muzzle. The collar around the hound’s neck flashed blue with heat and shattered globules of flesh and liquid brass exploded outwards. Sanakht flinched back, disconnected his feet from the ceiling plates and pushed off.
I heard another howl and had time to turn as a second hound slid from the shadows. I fired. The round hit its shoulder, and ripped a crater in its bulk. Splinters of crimson scale exploded into the vacuum and hissed to ectoplasm. I squeezed the trigger again, just as the hound hit me.
The lack of gravity saved me. If I had fallen, the last thing I would have felt in life… was…
The hound’s paws and chest slammed into me, its mouth yawned wide to bite down on my head. I pitched backwards, and my boots unclamped from the floor. The hound’s jaws closed. A single tooth caught my forearm and slit the armour open like skin. I tumbled down the corridor. Beads of blood scattered after me. Bright, white pain exploded in my skull. Blackness was seeping into me as blood poured out. The warp fled into the distance. Ceiling, walls and floor hammered me as I tumbled over and over, still clutching my staff and pistol.
I could hear the hound bounding after me, its claws ripping metal as it sprung down the corridor. Its hunger filled my mind and I knew that it would never stop, that it would drag my soul back to the blood-soaked dark beneath the Throne of Skulls. It was inevitable. It had been ordained. I raised my pistol, targeting spinning runes as my world turned over and over.
A sword blade hacked down into the back of the creature’s neck. The power field activated just before the edge met flesh. Scales, flesh and bone sprayed out, as the blade cut down and down.
My back hit the wall. I punched my hand into the metal and jerked to a stop. Sanakht was tumbling beside the daemon, pushing his blade deeper into the hounds lower neck. I raised my pistol and fired. Three bolts ripped the creatures head free and blew it into splinters and froth.
I let out a breath as my thoughts and the warp reconnected. That, more than still being alive, was a sublime relief.
Sanakht struck the wall next to me and gripped onto it.
+Are you injured?+ he asked.
+Your concern is refreshingly unexpected,+ I managed. Blood was still pumping from the slit in my arm. +I am functioning.+
+Can you move?+
By way of reply, I kicked off the wall and shot down the corridor. We had to reach our gunship. We had to get back to the Sycorax. My mind reached out, trying to find Ahriman, trying to speak to him, but the only answer was the fading cries of the dead. Sanakht followed, kicking off walls and gantries in the spinning silence
+This was not a random attack.+ I sent as we hurtled through the dark. +They were waiting for us. This was their message. The hounds have been loosed to hunt us, to hunt him.+
It was one of the moments of my life where my capacity for something approaching loyalty surprised me. I should have known better. I should not have been so naive.
+Which power unleashed them?+
It was a good question, and I should have seen that it was the only question which really mattered. Hindsight makes us all seem fools.
+Pick one,+ I spat back.
On the edge of my mind I could hear more howls rising from the distant night.
Ahriman was waiting as we jumped the gunship. I had managed to connect to his mind only minutes before we docked, blurting out a warning as my body fought to staunch the blood flowing from my wound. Sanakht had his swords drawn and lit as we hit the floor. Blood scattered from me as I rose from where I landed. My eyes took in the rings of Rubricae covering the hangar deck. Astraeos and the rest of the Circle stood beside Ahriman, helmed and armoured.
Surprise spilled through me. It was so calm. So still. No blood. No howl of hounds. Bright stablights reflecting on azure armour. I felt myself sway.
It was wrong.
Or was it I that was wrong?
+Ctesias,+ sent Ahriman, stepping forward.
The Hounds were coming. I had heard their cries. They had tasted my blood, and I knew that they were coming with total certainty.
+Ctesias?+
I heard the thought, but it was distant. I blinked and tried to form a sending, tried to open my mouth. But nothing happened.
The world was cracking. Smears of red marked the light touching my eyes. I felt one of my legs slide out from beneath me and the deck met me as I fell to my knees.
Red. Everything was calm, but all I could see was red: the red of thick blood rippling in a pool, the red of a sun hidden by the smoke of a burning world and the red of a sword pulled from the forge. The world was drowning in crimson and I was drowning with it.
And then a portion of my stupidity fell from my mind. I should have known. Of Ahriman’s entire Circle I should have known, and seen, and not been so blind. I am, it seems, not immune to my own form of hubris.
I tried to rise, but I could not.
I felt hands touch me, and try to pull me up.
I forced my mouth open.
‘They…’ I began, and felt thoughts try to reach my own, but my mind was a blur of sharp edges and heat. ‘They are coming,’ I rasped. My breaths were coming fast. The air in my lungs was smoke and cinders.
‘We are ready for them,’ said Astraeos.
‘They need a scent,’ I said, and with each word I heard the patter of my blood on the deck. I think they understood then, because I felt them draw back, and heard the sound of weapons crackling to life.
The hound had not failed in its purpose. It had maimed me, and tasted my blood so that it could have my scent.
So that they could follow me from beyond the veil.
The howl rose within my mind. First one, then a second, then more than I could count. I could feel fire in my blood. The whirl of crimson was all around me, a wall of blood fog and black smoke, and I knew that my long and pitiful life was at an end.
But I knew that I was not going to meet my end on my knees.
I stood and forced my eyes open.
For a second everything was as it had been. Ahriman, Astraeos, Sanakht – the ranks of Rubricae – all facing me with weapons drawn. Then, with a last howl in my skull, the hounds fell upon us.
They bounded from the edge of sight. Crimson bodies flickered into being. Lightning formed around Astraeos, lashed out towards the forming shapes, and vanished before it fell. Light stuttered and ripped into shreds of black and glowing red. I saw a hound, the first to take full flesh, leap into the air as the Rubricae fired as one. The bolts exploded in midair, the blue and pink fire within flashing out and collapsing in an eye blink. The hound landed amongst the Rubricae, its jaws locking around the chest of one and tossing it into the ranks behind. Dust fell from the pierced armour. I could hear high, dry screaming in the warp.
Sanakht was running to Ahriman’s side, his swords a blur. More hounds bounded into sight. I heard the stutter of bolt-rounds, and the splash of explosions. The Rubricae began to jerk to stillness as the presence of the hounds severed them from the power animating their armour. Voices called across the vox. I saw Astraeos battering down a creature with the pommel of his lifeless force sword. Ahriman was calling to us as he wove amongst the devastation, firing with each step.
‘Ctesias!’ he called, and my head turned. A hound cleared the immobile line of Rubricae, and loped towards me, muscles bunching to pounce. I pulled the pistol from my thigh. My fingers were wet with my own blood. Blazing orange eyes fixed upon me – they were already too close, and my hand was still rising.
A figure in blue armour cannoned into the hound from the side, pitching into it with raw physical power. The hound landed, its claws raking the deck for purchase. Then Astraeos straightened and fired, his bolt pistol breathing rounds into the creature as he walked towards it. The hound came apart
in spills of red smoke and jellied flesh.
He turned. Hissing blood coated his armour and robe.
‘Thank you,’ I managed.
He turned away, already firing. Blurred shapes, cries and the roar of weapons rolled like a storm through the air. I looked for a target, but my limbs were moving as though I was wading through water. Blood fell from my arm. It fizzed with fire as it fell through the air.
The one possibility that I had overlooked came to me then, and I cursed myself that I had not seen it sooner.
I focused my mind and turned it within, reaching down into the base beat of life within my veins. I felt the blood pouring through me, and the dual beat of my hearts became the roar and clash of battle. Like all daemons the hounds were of the warp, even if their brass collars and the blessing of their lord made them immune to our powers. The warp is their existence, and at that moment their existence in reality hung by the thread of blood they had followed. My blood.
They felt it as my mind began to reform. They howled and turned towards me. I was fighting to stand. I saw Sanakht cut the legs from one as it turned from him and bounded towards me. Formulae were unfolding in my mind, multiplying as my will gave them life.
The hounds were steaming towards me, closing with flickering bounds. Frost covered the deck beneath their feet, and their blood spun into the air as smoke. Gunfire and blades cut into the pack, and some fell or blew apart. They did not stop or turn aside. They knew what I intended, and they would bring me down before I could complete my plan.
The formulae of banishment are old, their secrets known for millennia and forgotten many times. Their preparation should be done with care, their use controlled with every precaution. But I did not have time, and I did not have the strength for caution. I unleashed my thoughts and let them pour across the blood bond.
The hounds screamed but their howls died in their throats. Their bodies began to burn. Flakes of ash peeled from them. Their scales cracked. The fire in their eyes blazed. They were choking in reality, and mine was the hand on their throat.
Ahriman, Astraeos and the others began to fire. Bolt-rounds struck crumbling flesh, and blew it into grey clouds. For a second I thought I had succeeded, that I would survive.
A hound leapt over the powdering form of its pack mates and landed before me. Molten brass bled from its flanks and the edges of its shape were a haze of cinders and ashes. The last segment of the formulae completed in my mind, and I felt the warp buckle as it reached in to reality to yank the hound back into its own realm.
The hound’s mouth opened. Its teeth were black slits in the world. I could hear shouts and the stuttering boom of gunfire. The hound’s body broke apart as surged towards me. The sound of its howl swallowed my mind.
Its jaws closed on my neck.
Silence rushed up to meet me as the clamour and colour of life vanished, and then I died for the first time.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
John French has written several Horus Heresy stories including the novels Praetorian of Dorn and Tallarn: Ironclad, the novellas Tallarn: Executioner and The Crimson Fist, and the audio dramas Templar and Warmaster. He is the author of the Ahriman series, which includes the novels Ahriman: Exile, Ahriman: Sorcerer and Ahriman: Unchanged, plus a number of related short stories collected in Ahriman: Exodus, including ‘The Dead Oracle’ and ‘Hand of Dust’. Additionally for the Warhammer 40,000 universe he has written the Space Marine Battles novella Fateweaver, plus many short stories. He lives and works in Nottingham, UK.
Ahriman, exiled sorcerer of the Thousand Sons, embarks on a quest that crosses space and time as he seeks to undo his greatest mistake and restore his Legion to glory.
A BLACK LIBRARY PUBLICATION
Published in Great Britain in 2017 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd,
Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.
Produced by Games Workshop in Nottingham.
Original art by Dave Gallagher.
Hounds of Wrath © Copyright Games Workshop Limited 2017. Hounds of Wrath, 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.
All Rights Reserved.
A CIP record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 978-1-78572-623-3
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
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Table of Contents
Cover
Hounds of Wrath – John French
About the Author
A Black Library Publication
eBook license
Table of Contents
Cover
Hounds of Wrath – John French
About the Author
A Black Library Publication
eBook license
Table of Contents
Cover
Hounds of Wrath – John French
About the Author
A Black Library Publication
eBook license
Table of Contents
Cover
Hounds of Wrath – John French
About the Author
A Black Library Publication
eBook license
Table of Contents
Cover
Hounds of Wrath – John French
About the Author
A Black Library Publication
eBook license