Slowly , inexorably, the Marine forced the blade toward his enemy. Sweat ran down the fat man's brow as he concentrated. A look of fear passed across his face. He could not save himself. and he knew it.
He gave a single shriek as his concentration lapsed. The force axe sheared through him from head to groin. Two Heads Talking felt the Magus' psychic death scream echo through the night. He sensed hundreds of minds answer it in the distance, through the deadening curtain of mist, he heard the sound of scuttling, coming ever closer.
Knowing his only chance of survival lay in swift flight, Two Heads Talking turned and ran.
Chapter IV
"Our world is dead," said Weasel-Fierce. Some Marines muttered about the fact that he was addressing than directly, rather than keeping to the ritual. He silenced them with a short, chopping gesture of his right hand. When he spoke again, his tone was scathing and savage.
"This ritual is a sham. It comes from a time that is ended. Why pretend otherwise? You may wish to delude yourselves by keeping with the old ways, but I do not.
"You can speak in parables about our oaths to the Emperor, the horror of the Stealers or the nature of damnation. I
choose to speak the truth.
"Our people are dead or enslaved, and we sit here like old women, asking ourselves what to do. Have we been put under a spell? When were we ever so indecisive? A true warrior has no choice in this matter. We must avenge our people. Our weapons must taste enemy blood. It would be the coward's way not to face them."
"But if we fail..." began Bloody Moon.
"If we fail. so be it. What have we to live for? How many summers have we left before we die of old age or are encased in the cold, metal body of a Living Dreadnought?"
He fell silent and glared around the fire. To Cloud Runner's surprise, he looked down, and the fury seeped out of him.
"I am old," he said softly. "Old and tired. I have seen more than two hundred summers. In a few more, I will be dead anyway. I had hoped to gaze again on my kin before then, but it is not to be. This is my only regret."
Cloud Runner could see the weariness in him, felt its echo in his own mind. Every man about the fire had served the
Emperor for centuries, their lifespans increased by the process that turned them into Marines.
"If I had remained among the people," Weasel-Fierce said. "I would be dead by now. I chose another path and I have lived long – longer perhaps than any mortal should.
"It is time for an ending. Where better than here, on our homeworld, among the bones of our kin? The day of the Plains People is done. We can avenge them, and we can join them. If we fall in combat, we shall have had warriors' deaths. I wish to die as I have lived: weapons in hand, foes before me.
"I believe that this is what we all want. Let us do it."
All was quiet except the crackling of the fire. Cloud Runner looked from face to face and saw death was written in each of them. Weasel Fierce had voiced what they had all felt since first seeing the shattered lodges. They had become wraiths, walking in the ruins of elder days.
There was nothing left here for them, except memories. If they departed now, all that loomed before them was old age and inevitable death. This way, at least, their ending would have a meaning.
"I say we go in. If the contamination has not spread too far, we can free any survivors," said Lame Bear. Cloud Runner looked at Bloody Moon.
"Providing we command Deathwing to virus-bomb the planet if we fail," he said. The rest of the warriors put their right fists forward, signifying assent. They all looked at him, waiting to see what he had to say. He felt once more the pressure of command fall on him. He considered the destroyed lodges and his own loss and weighed them against his Imperial duty. Nothing could bring back the Plains People, but perhaps he could save their descendants.
But that was not all there was to it, he realised. He wanted the satisfaction of meeting his foes, face to face. He was angry. He wanted to make the Stealers suffer for what they had done, and he wanted to be there when they did. He wanted vengeance for himself and for his people. It was as simple as that. Such a decision was not the correct one for an Imperial officer, but it was the way of his clan. In the end, to his surprise, he found out where his true loyalty lay.