Tallarn- Siren - John French Read online

  ‘Take what you need to understand,’ said Lycus.

  Halakime shivered. The lips pulled back from his teeth. Fire burned through Lycus. Smoke and mist breathed from the astropath’s mouth. Pain yanked Lycus’ thoughts. Frost grew on their clasped hands. Their thoughts blurred, mixed, flowed like burning oil and freezing water.

  He was a boy watching the thoughts of those around him dance in haloes…

  He was a warrior standing on the walls of Catulon, the shells of his autocannon pouring into the beasts below…

  He was a robed neophyte kneeling as his eyes boiled away under the gaze of a being that was less than a god, more than a man…

  He was standing on the deck of the Light of Inwit as the Iron Warriors boarding pods bit through the hull…

  He was…

  …holding Halakime’s hand, his flesh crawling with heat.

  ‘I have enough,’ said the astropath. ‘I will send the message.’

  Lycus nodded, and stood. A low rumble growled through the air, and the ceiling shook.

  ‘I will give you what time I can,’ said Lycus, and turned to leave the room.

  ‘This was it, wasn’t it?’ said Kulok from behind him. Lycus did not stop moving. His hand pulled his plasma pistol free, and he checked the charge coils. ‘There is not going to be an evacuation, is there? You came here because of the astropath, and only because of him. We are not going to survive.’

  Lycus paused and looked back at the man.

  ‘Word must get out. Tallarn’s fate must be heard,’ he said. ‘You have served the Emperor well. You will be remembered.’

  Kulok held Lycus’ gaze, and then shook his head.

  ‘No,’ he said, and walked past Lycus. ‘No, I won’t. But I will stand with you.’

  Kulok pulled the envirosuit on. It was clammy against his skin. The breath feed snapped into place, and cool air flowed across his face. He checked the harnesses holding the oxygen bottle across his back and picked the shotgun up. Twelve solid rounds: he doubted he would be able to reload wearing the suit’s heavy gloves. He snorted to himself. Once Tallarn’s killing air was inside the shelter he doubted he would have time to reach the end of the shotgun’s clip.

  ‘What is happening?’ said Sabir. Kulok had not heard the prefectus enter the armoury. ‘What are you doing?’ Kulok turned, and shouldered past Sabir. ‘What is–’

  Kulok looked at him, and the man stepped back, blinking. There were tears on the prefectus’ cheeks. He held the older man’s glistening stare, and then turned and began to run.

  He reached the airlock to find Lycus standing before it. His sword was drawn, his pistol in his hand.

  There was a boom, and light flashed through the porthole. Dust fell like fine snow from the roof.

  ‘Shaped krak charges,’ said Lycus, his voice growling flat from his helm grille. ‘They are cutting and blasting sequentially, creating fault lines in the door. They will be through the first door soon.’

  As though in answer to those words, the inner airlock door rang like a gong. Kulok swallowed, his throat dry. He saw a shape moving on the other side of the inner porthole. A slab, armoured face looking in. A blinding beam of light flared across the porthole. Molten crystal began to weep down the circle of crystal as the beam bored deeper. The door shook.

  ‘Will this…’ began Kulok, and found his voice catching in his lips. ‘Will this make a difference?’

  Lycus looked at him, green lenses bright in the bare ceramite of his helm.

  ‘Yes,’ he said after a moment. ‘Every act of defiance matters.’

  ‘To the Imperium?’

  ‘To existence.’

  Kulok looked back at the door. The porthole was a circle of molten orange. Three other points to either side of the centre were glowing cherry red as the cutters bit deeper. Another metal roar shook the quiet.

  ‘What were you?’ asked Lycus.

  Kulok looked up at Lycus with surprise. The Space Marine tilted his head to the side. ‘Before this, what were you?’

  Kulok shrugged. ‘An evader of taxes.’

  A low growl came from Lycus, getting louder as the warrior’s armour shook. After a second, Kulok realised that the Space Marine was laughing.

  Lycus brought his plasma pistol up to aim at where the airlock door was staring to blister yellow. Kulok raised his shotgun, braced, finger tense on the trigger.

  The airlock door blew in. White hot shards of metal and crystal flew inwards in a wash of smoke and tainted air.

  Kulok fired five rounds before Tallarn pulled his flesh from his bones and sent his memory out into the realm of the dead.

  They heard.

  Across the star-dotted vaults of space, astropaths woke from their trances with images of iron giants striding through dead cities and silence. Shivering, they unravelled the sensations of their dreams, and the allegorical meanings shouted in their minds with the fury of a last, dying scream.

  ‘Come to us,’ it said. ‘The Iron Warriors are here. Tallarn is dead. Its grave will be the anvil upon which you break them.’

  They heard.

  On the bridge of the Lament of Caliban, they heard.

  In the Conclave of Iron, the Princeps of the Legio Gryphonicus and the Myrmidon Lords of Zelth heard.

  Amidst the silence of the Nerren gulf, the ships of Niobe the Castigator heard.

  Alone in the tower of his war-barque, Tempis Lor – General of Seventy Thousand Swords – heard.

  And in a hundred more quiet places, a thousand more, the loyal warriors of Emperor heard. And one by one, they rose to answer the siren call of war.

  About the Author

  John French has written several Horus Heresy stories including the novellas Tallarn: Executioner and The Crimson Fist, the novel Tallarn: Ironclad, 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.

  Another tale from the war-wracked world of Tallarn. The Iron Warriors attempt a daring feat: hijacking an Imperial god-machine, a towering Warlord Titan.

  A Black Library Publication

  Published in 2016 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd,

  Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

  Produced by Games Workshop in Nottingham.

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  ISBN: 978-1-78572-072-7

  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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