The Beast Arises

‘Very good, my lord,’ Zerberyn said, and left Maximus Thane alone with Dorn once again.

Taking up his helmet and setting off for the East Transept, the captain encountered Sergeant Hoque en route past the company chapel. He marched with Hoque and his squad down to the barbican lock.

‘Opinion, brother?’ Thane put to Gaspar, the sentry whose post the barbican had been.

‘Sounded too measured and deliberate for the greenskins, sir,’ Gaspar said, but his boltgun was still aimed at the barbican portal. Thane waited. Behind them, the section bulkhead hatches began to lower.

Then they heard it. The sound of something smashing a great fist against the thick metal door. It didn’t sound like a rabid savage or alien invader.

‘Sergeant,’ Thane said, prompting Hoque and his men to form a gauntlet of gaping barrels in the barbican chamber. If their visitor was indeed hostile, Hoque and his men would ensure that its welcome would be brief. Thane put on his battle-helm. ‘Brother Gaspar, if you will.’

The sentry fired the airlock mechanism and the massive door began to rumble towards the ceiling. Blinding Eidolican daylight seared its way under the door and began to fill the barbican, prompting the auto-senses of the captain’s plate to respond and initiate optical filters.

As the portal shuddered open and the Fists Exemplar leant into their boltguns, a single silhouette appeared at the door. A black shape in a power-armoured suit waited for them. As the boltgun barrels lowered, the Adeptus Astartes framed in the blinding light of the doorway stepped inside. He was swiftly joined by several other battle-brothers in sealed plate.

‘Lower it,’ Thane commanded Brother Gaspar. As the armoured door lowered and the barbican turned to darkness, the filter optics of Thane’s helmet returned to normal spectra. Not fast enough for the captain, however, who promptly removed his helmet.

Before him stood a crusade marshal in the roasted midnight plate of the Black Templars. A skull-helmed Chaplain stood to his side, while two Sword Brethren flanked the pair with their power swords and crusader shields. The final member of the group was a Fists Exemplar captain, clad in the temperature-tarnished bare ceramite of the Chapter. As the captain took off his helm, Thane could see that it was Dentor of the Seventh.

‘It’s a relief to see you, captain,’ Thane told him.

‘Likewise, Maximus,’ Dentor replied.

As the Black Templars commander relieved himself of his burning helm, Dentor introduced him. ‘Captain Thane, this is Marshal Bohemond of the Vulpius Crusade.’

‘An honour, brother-captain,’ Bohemond offered.

‘Likewise, marshal,’ Thane said, ‘and a surprise: we sent out broad-range requests for fraternal assistance, but did not think you so close. You are, of course, warmly welcome to Alcazar Astra and a share of the honour to come. How many battle-brothers do you have at your command, marshal?’

Bohemond’s eyes were hard but understanding. He seemed to nod to himself.

‘Second captain,’ Dentor said, ‘the Marshal does not…’

‘Thank you, captain,’ Bohemond said, cutting him off. ‘You are ranking Adeptus Astartes here?’

‘I am.’

‘I wonder if we might speak alone, sir?’ The Black Templar’s eyes never left his Fists Exemplar opposite.

‘Of course, marshal,’ Thane said. ‘I know just the place.’

With the barbican re-secured and Bohemond’s men entertained, Thane led the Black Templar Marshal into the company chapel. It was closer than the oratorium and, with the daylight hours filled with repair and industry, still deserted. Bohemond fixed upon the stained glass representation of Dorn immediately. Falling down to his knees, he hammered his armoured fist into his breastplate at the four points of the crusader cross.

‘Beautiful,’ Bohemond said as he got back up.

‘Marshal,’ Maximus Thane said, staring across the altar, ‘I do not wish to break with ritual or tradition but my world turns. With night comes the enemy and an opportunity to avenge our fallen.’

‘I’ve seen your world,’ Bohemond said, ‘and the xenos attack moon hanging over it. Your black sands swarm with orks. They travel with the terminator. In their cunning they have become wise to your planet’s lethalities. Tomorrow, the enemy takes this fortress: from orbit it is plain to see.’

‘It is not as simple as that.’

‘Captain, it is every bit as simple as that,’ Bohemond told him.

‘I expected more from Sigismund’s crusaders,’ Thane told him. ‘It does not become a Templar to turn his cheek from the fight. You speak of odds. What are odds to a son of Dorn?’

‘It smarts, doesn’t it, captain?’ the Black Templar said as he wandered about the chapel. ‘I should know. You’re right: it does not become us. But our cheek is not turned. We are simply facing the other way. We are crusaders, and crusades are not won on single days or single worlds. And that is all Eidolica is: a single world with a single day.’

‘You speak cavalierly about our prospects, marshal,’ Thane said. ‘Why don’t you help us improve them?’