Nightfall - Peter Fehervari Page 3
By the time the prey came in sight his mood had grown almost sanguine and he was tempted to prolong the hunt. At thirty paces he teased them with a keening wail, enticing one of the three to glance back. Moments later the fool had impaled itself on a bed of nails. As he whipped past, Haz'thur beheaded the screaming wretch with a flick of the wrist. Predictably it hadn't been the ghost. No, the ghost was sly, but even so its life hung by a thread only twenty paces long…
Drenched in sweat, his heart hammering wildly, Zeth knew they couldn't last much longer. Even Kert's slip-up hadn't slowed the hunter. When the fool had got himself spiked the dark thing inside Zeth had cheered, desperate for anything to delay those claws, but it hadn't made a damned bit of difference. Even so, that shadow was now eyeing Brox hungrily, looking for an angle to make him count…
The placid ghoul's breathing was steady beside Zeth's ragged gasps. Dim but strong, that was Brox. And so very loyal. The idiot could have pulled ahead long ago, but there he was, sticking shoulder to shoulder with Zeth despite the devil breathing down their backs. Sacrifice the fool! Freeze him!
The thoughts lashed across Zeth's mind with a brutal logic that shocked him. The worst thing was he knew he could do it. All he had to do was reach out with his mind and twist. It would be so easy and it made such sense! But Brox was the last of his pack…
They swept round a corner and Zeth saw their destination looming just ahead. This was the endgame! They were so close, but so was the hunter…
Do it now!
And then they were bursting into the old generatorium storeroom, weaving through the heaped metal barrels, straining for the open hatchway on the far side. But then Zeth's heart sank in despair. They'd never get the blast door closed in time! From outside the storeroom they'd have to turn and pull it shut. It would take precious seconds they'd never have… but if someone just pushed it from the inside…
Zeth glanced at Brox and the cold thing inside him reared up.
Do it!
Exploding into the storeroom Haz'thur saw the bigger animal suddenly turn on the ghost, thrusting it into the tunnel beyond. Excited by their conflict he stormed forward, the reek of promethium assaulting his finely tuned sense of smell. Promethium? He felt the tripwire break.
Staggering from the storeroom Zeth glanced back and caught a glimpse of Brox's face. The big ghoul's expression was tranquil, empty. And then the hatch slammed shut and the concussion followed an instant later. It buckled the solid metal hatch and tore the ground from under Zeth's feet. Huddled in a ragged heap, he lay in the darkness long after the tremor had passed. Two thoughts hounded each other through his mind, vying for his soul: I didn't… I did…
Haz'thur awoke to a world of raw pain. Every breath tore through his chest like a gust of broken glass and his nostrils twitched to the stench of his own charred flesh. His remaining eye had fixed on the maze of fissures in the ceiling above. There was significance to be found in that twisting conjunction of empty spaces. Besides, he couldn't move his neck, or anything else for that matter. Only the claws of his left foot still offered the ghost of a twitch. The ghost… The ghost had killed him. The same ghost that was looking down at him now with those cold, grey eyes. As it knelt over him something dark slithered behind the grey and suddenly he was gazing up into twin black suns. For the briefest instant he knew fear, and then the black thorn came down.
When Zeth emerged from the Needle the sky was streaked with red and the plaza swam with it. The bodies were everywhere, razers and flesheaters and darkscars all alike in the unravelled simplicity of death. The survivors were gathered in a bewildered huddle, almost as ragged and bloody as the dead, their faces slack with the shock of just being alive.
The raptors were there too, but now they were still and silent. It was as if the sun's rays had petrified them where they stood, transforming them into dark statues. Their wolf-helmed leader crouched amongst them. His armour was a scorched wreck and his hunched posture spoke of barely contained agony, but he was alive. That was good, Zeth thought. He would need allies amongst them.
His eyes found the ones who would decide his fate. A faceless creature was skimming silently over the dead, the seething swathe of its robes never quite touching the ground. It was like a spectral carrion bird, seeking some arcane logic in the weave of the carnage. An armoured giant stalked silently by its side, the tapers of his sable cloak wet with the blood of trampled corpses.
Sorcerer and lord. Once again the words just slipped into Zeth's mind, along with an understanding that these ancient nightmares were not to be approached boldly. They would come to him in their own time. So Zeth waited, eyes fixed on the gore-spattered ground. And finally they came.
'Have we bled this world so dry?' The lord's voice was a desiccated whisper. 'So dry… that such a stunted creature can endure the harrowing?'
The sorcerer made no reply, but Zeth suddenly felt the barbed tendrils of its mind reaching out…
Digging into his soul… Tearing through the walls like paper… Seeing through to his edge…
Desperately Zeth brandished his sacrifice, 'A kill… a kill for True Night!' Hanging from his hand was the bloody rag of Haz'thur's flayed face.
With a smooth gesture the lord silenced the psychic assault and leant forward. His handsome, bloodless features might have been carved from white marble, but they were pooled with shadows and his eyes were a lustreless black.
'You claim to have killed a raptor?' No anger in that voice, just an ancient bitterness that was somehow worse. To answer with anything less than excellence would be fatal.
'He was… weak, lord.' Zeth breathed, waiting for death. The moments stretched into a dark eternity beneath that withering gaze. And then the ancient nodded.
'Yes, he was. And weakness is the only sin this galaxy truly despises.' The lord turned to the sorcerer. 'We will take this one.'
'It is dangerous.' The words were a hissing, electrical buzz.
'I would hope so, sorcerer.' There was the faintest trace of amusement in that bleak voice.
'Lord Vassaago, its essence has been tainted by… an element I am unable to quantify.'
Zeth fought down a wave of hatred for the faceless bastard. It had tasted the touch of the Needle on him and it was afraid, afraid of the power he would become…
'We are all tainted, Yehzod.' Zeth almost flinched at the acid in Vassaago's voice. 'It is the reason we must endure.'
'Lord, it is unpredictable.' Yehzod urged.
'We shall see…' Vassaago answered, turning his back on them.
Yes, you will, the Needle promised.
About the Author
Peter Fehervari slipped into the parallel surreality of television almost twenty years ago and never quite escaped. As a rogue editor, his life is an eternity of cuts and mixes to quench the dreams of thirsting producers while actually getting things on air. He has cut promos for many well known television shows, but winning a place in the Black Library anthology Fear the Alien eclipsed it all. His first novel, Fire Caste, is scheduled for release in 2013 and he very much hopes the zombie apocalypse doesn’t break out before then. Afterwards, anything goes. He currently presides over a dormant Chaos Gate in London.
Heroes of the Space Marines is an anthology of stories about these brave champions and their dark counterparts, the Chaos Space Marines.
A Black Library Publication
First published in Great Britain in 2009, in the Heroes of the Space Marines anthology.
This eBook edition published in 2011 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd, Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.
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Cover illustration by Hardy Fowler.
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ISBN: 978-1-84416-731-9
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