Hammer Of Daemons Part 6

For every brother and sister taken from us, we rejoice. For every victory of the enemy and the Blood G.o.d's brood, we celebrate, for the true victory is the steeling of the faith in our hearts.'

Around him, the faithful listened patiently. Most of them wore the same threadbare dark blue uniforms as Erkhar, and a few still had the insignia of the Imperial Navy. Some of them had joined the faithful later on, but the core of the congregation were the men and women who had been captured when their s.p.a.cecraft, the Pax Deinotatos, was boarded and its crew handed to Venalitor as tribute.

They have celebrated the destruction of our brothers in the revolt,'

said Hoygens, once a gunnery master on board the Pax. 'We lost many faithful in those days, and games have taken place to mark the black lizard's triumph over them. How can we take comfort from this? I feel my faith is shaken, lieutenant. I feel that something at my core is missing.'

Erkhar stood up. In spite of the darkness and the grizzled face Drakaasi had given him, he still exuded the presence of an officer.

The Emperor takes away those crutches you use to hold yourself up, Hoygens! Rejoice in that emptiness. Think how much the sight of the Promised Land will fill you up, now that you have lost so much! Would that we all could feel such despair!'

Erkhar was about to continue when he noticed the huge shape on the walkway outside the cell door.

It was not a scaephylyd slave master, or even one of the Hecatomb's more violent and spiteful prisoners. It was an enormous man, a clear head taller than the tallest man there, dressed in sc.r.a.ppy piecemeal armour that couldn't hide his exaggerated musculature.

Many backed away from him in fear.

'Have you come to share in the Promised Land, stranger?' asked Erkhar.

'It's the s.p.a.ce Marine,' said Hoygens in a voice little more than a whisper. Hoygens had been the chief of a gun crew back on the Pax, and he was a big man, but he s.h.i.+ed away from the newcomer. They said Venalitor had got one alive. I didn't believe it.'

'I think there is much need for prayer,' said Alaric. 'I would like to join you, father.'

'I am Lieutenant Erkhar of the Emperor's s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p the Pax Deinotatos,' replied Erkhar. 'I am not the father of anything, and may I ask your name?'

'Justicar Alaric'

Erkhar smiled. There is always room for a newcomer, as long as he has the capacity to believe. We were sent here to be tested, after all. Drakaasi is a torment for us all, through which the Emperor will know His own.'

'You must have given some thought to escape, lieutenant.'

'Many have tried before, lord Marine,' said Hoy-gens. 'Believe me, I was nearly one of them in the old days, but every time anyone tries, they die. They either get cut down in the attempt, or they're hunted down and thrown out to die in the arena. It's just another kind of sport for them.'

'Brother Hoygens is correct,' said Erkhar. The closest anyone got was very recently, not more than a month ago. Hundreds of slaves made a break for it at the arena in Aelazadne. Some of the faithful were with them, but the Ophidian Guard were waiting for them, Ebondrake's own, and they died to a man. They had spent many months in preparation, so it is said, but it all ended in a few hours.'

'This planet is ruled by Khorne,' said Alaric. 'Of course it would not be easy to escape, but I take it that fact has done little to dull your determination.'

Erkhar shook his head. 'Escape is a dream, Justicar, physical escape, anyway. You see, everything I have seen on Drakaasi has led me to conclude that we are here for a reason. The Emperor delivered us here, because this is the first step on the path to the Promised Land. If we stay faithful, we shall be delivered to that Promised Land. For every sin that is committed against us, one more glory shall be ours when the Emperor leads us there. It is the only way Drakaasi can be made to make sense.'

The Emperor created Drakaasi?' said Alaric warily.

'No, Justicar. Drakaasi was created by evil men. The Emperor brought us here because we are His faithful, and it is only through suffering the works of these evil men that we can be made pure enough to ascend to the Promised Land. If you join us in our faith then you will be led there, too.'

'Back in the Imperium, lieutenant, what you have just told me would be considered heresy.'

'But we are not in the Imperium.'

'No, we are not, and where is the Promised Land?'

'I have preached that it is a place to which we will be delivered, a land of peace and plenty where there is no pain. As to whether it really is a place, or is somewhere inside us, is a matter for a man's conscience. You, however, I feel, will not be content to seek this solace inside yourself. You want to escape, and get revenge.'

'Perhaps,' replied Alaric.

'You need allies. Not even a s.p.a.ce Marine can get off Drakaasi on his own. You thought that these poor religious fanatics would think you were some kind of icon sent by the Emperor, and that they would sacrifice their lives for your benefit. We are all equal on Drakaasi, Justicar, even s.p.a.ce Marines. If you want to get away from here, the Promised Land is the only way. Faith will conquer Drakaasi, not you, and if you want to bring Duke Venalitor to task, perhaps you do not know enough about him.'

'He bested me and took me prisoner,' replied Alaric sharply. 'I am under no illusions as to his capabilities.'

Then you know why he is held in esteem by Lord Ebondrake in the first place?' 'I take it you do.'

Erkhar shrugged. 'One hears things. Some of the slaves who were here when we were first captured, long dead by now of course, were there when Venalitor first raised the Hecatomb and took his place among Drakaasi's lords. He bested a daemon, they said. The tale was pa.s.sed down by generations of slaves before us. Its name was Raezazel. It was some magical thing the other lords despised.

Venalitor hunted it down and defeated it. The other lords hated it, and that hate won him power. Hatred and power are the same thing on Drakaasi. That is the world we all have to endure.'

'It sounds like you are willing to sit here and take whatever Chaos throws at you, lieutenant,' retorted Alaric.

'When the Promised Land is in sight, Justicar, you will realise that nothing could be further from the truth. If you want to understand that truth, then join us. We will welcome you. Otherwise, fight and die, for without hope of the Promised Land that is all there is for anyone on Drakaasi.'

Erkhar turned away from Alaric, placed a hand on the broken stone head that represented their Emperor, and continued to pray.

By the time the congregation had finished entreating the Emperor for deliverance, Justicar Alaric had gone.

AELAZADNE!.

It is the song that brings the city into being, not the other way around. A million voices raised in song! A million more in pain! The chorus of Chaos, an endless tune to which dance the very nethermost daemons of the warp!

The spires of the crystal city are a crown anointing the Blood G.o.d's world, raised from the sands to resonate with the song by a divine hand!

The masters of its choirs direct the Blood G.o.d's song from the throats of its slaves, torturing the finest howls of terror and caressing the most beautiful of paeans to suffering. Was there any hideous thing so beautiful as Aelazadne? Were ever glory and horror such close soulmates as in that great crystal cathedral? Was any G.o.d exalted as Aelazadne exalts the Skull Lord of Drakaasi?

- 'Mind Journeys of a Heretic Saint,' by Inquisitor Helmandar Oswain (Suppressed by order of the Ordo Hereticus) 'THIS d.a.m.n SONG,' said Gearth, 'it gets inside your soul.'

'Stay strong,' said Alaric.

'It's all right for you. Your kind get your minds rebuilt to cope with c.r.a.p like this. Some of us are just mortals.' Gearth was sitting in the corner of his tiny cage, which was suspended from the ceiling over an open sewer of gore and effluent. Alaric was in the cage next to him, and through the darkness countless cells hung, each holding one of Venalitor's slaves. The slaves had been separated on the Hecatomb and locked into these tiny cages, which then rattled along chains and rails in the dark crystal depths of the city. The song had begun as the Hecatomb approached the city and had never stopped, but only got slowly louder, until it was as much a part of the place as the walls around them.

The arena of Aelazadne was above them, and even here, deep inside the honeycomb of corrupted crystal on which Aelazadne was built, the song keened from every direction. The orks were singing their own song, a horrible sound, worse than Aelazadne's music.

The idea that any living thing could relish life on Drakaasi was obscene.

'Do you know what we will be fighting?'

'Heh? No one ever knows. I bet they've got something special for you, though.'

'You must have thought of getting out of here,' said Alaric.

'Yeah, thought about it plenty. Thought about being skinned and eaten by the flesh hounds, too, 'cause that's the best I could hope for if they caught me. The way I figure, there's no way off this planet.

The best I can do is make them suffer. Every now and again we get to face something in the arenas that they don't want us to kill. When I come up against something like that, I'm gonna kill it. That'll hurt them more than anything I could do if I broke out.'

'But all the killing is for the glory of Khorne. Every time you kill out there, you are doing the will of Chaos.'

'Then, when they send you out there, just curl up and die. I don't care, Marine.' Gearth sneered. 'I hear they killed your friend.'

'That is true.'

'The Imperium killed mine. The arbitrators dragged them around the back of the precinct fortress and shot them in the back of the head. There's nothing good in the universe to fight for. It's all going to h.e.l.l. If you want to die out there then be my guest, but make sure you take a good look around first, Marine, 'cause soon that's what the entire galaxy is gonna look like.'

Then Venalitor didn't have to do much to break you,' said Alaric levelly. You were Khorne's servant long before he ever found you.'

Gearth spat at Alaric. Alaric ignored it. Men like Gearth were a natural by-product of the Imperium. The Imperium was a cruel place because the galaxy was cruel. Its people had to be oppressed, because if they were free to do and think as they wished, they would do horrible things that would lead the human race to destruction. Gearth was one of the many who didn't fit into the mould the Imperium had prepared for its people.

Sometimes Alaric wondered if the Emperor could one day awaken and show the Imperium a way to survive that did not require such relentless cruelty towards its citizens.

'Do you really believe,' Alaric found himself saying, 'that Drakaasi could exist without people like you?'

Gearth gave Alaric a look full of hate. Before he could retort, Alaric's cell was cranked suddenly upwards. It was hauled up a stinking narrow shaft, and a thin veil of reddish light picked out the claw marks along the sides. The sound of the arena crowd mingled perfectly with Aelazadne's song in a terrible harmony that could have broken a lesser man than a Grey Knight.

The light broke around him. The cage fell apart, and Alaric was standing in the centre of Aelazadne's arena.

THE LIGHT WAS coming from a single opening in the stone sky above Alaric. Around him a labyrinth spiralled off in all directions. It was a buried part of the city, its buildings rotting bastions of stone, with empty windows like blinded eyes and broken doorways like teeth in shattered mouths. Aelazadne had always been grand, but now the excessive decoration had decayed into a parody of beauty, sculpted pediments sagging and faceless statues lying in severed chunks on the pitted ground.

Alaric spotted tiny glistening eyes winking on the walls, swivelling to follow him. Through them, Aelazadne was watching.

He heard the cheer as they focused on him, a new player entering their game.

He spotted the first body lying close by, slumped against a collapsed wall in a pool of glistening blood. It had originally been human, but more than that Alaric couldn't tell, for it had been torn clean in two. Alaric picked up the rusted blade lying by the corpse's outstretched hand.

Something lowed in the distance, deep and angry. Someone screamed. A cheer rose at the sound.

Aelazadne's song wove a different pattern here. Filtered through the layers of the city, its individual threads were clearer, and Alaric could pick out the voices, strangle sounds and gurgling, opened up to the glory of Khorne. He could pick out some of their words, too.

They were telling him to be grateful, for very few were given the honour of such a death.

Alaric flinched at a movement nearby Another slave skulked from the shadows. He was armed with a club with an iron spike through it. Alaric realised the man was a mutant, his scrawny body disfigured with ruffs of waving cilia that wove up his neck and down his arms. He was dressed in ragged remnants of armour.

'Where is it?' the mutant demanded.

'Where is what?'

'What they sent us here to hunt.' 'I don't know. I haven't even seen it.' 'Of course you ain't. What, you fresh out of the sky?' 'Yes.'

The mutant looked Alaric up and down. What are you?'

'I was going to ask you the same.'

Touched,' said the mutant with pride, 'in the blood.' Blood oozed from the fronds wriggling all over his skin. 'Bleeding for His glory, weeping Khorne's own tribute for...'

A sound close by cut off the mutant's voice. A second later a body crashed through a wall behind Alaric, bringing decayed chunks of marble crunching to the ground.

Alaric rolled away from the destruction and just caught sight of the corpse out of the corner of his eye: another mutant, a multi-armed creature, its chest an open red ruin and its face locked in an expression of surprise.

The club-armed mutant roared and charged into the seething darkness. A muscly hand grabbed him and dragged him through the ruin of the wall. The mutant screamed, and it was a scream that went on far too long for the enemy to be killing him quickly.

Alaric ran around a corner, away from the enemy's line of sight.

He still had not seen it, save for its hand. He heard it lumbering away, issuing a deep rumbling growl, followed by a wet crunch that Alaric guessed was the mutant's body being mashed against the ground.

Alaric caught his breath. The monster was definitely huge, and judging by the mutant's scream it had more in its a.r.s.enal than mere strength. He could smell it, too, a mixture of sweat and heady chemicals.

Alaric had emerged into a rained town square built around a grand fountain. The fountain's statues had lost their heads and hands and the water, if it had been water that flowed through it, had long since dried up. A sagging basilica stood along one side of the square, gutted by fire. The creature's smell told Alaric that it had retreated in that direction. The sounds of its footsteps were all but hidden by the droning ba.s.s of Aelazadne's song, but they were there, and audible enough for Alaric to know that the beast was still close.

A stone head on the ground looked up at him. Its eyes were the same as the ones studding the walls of the labyrinth. Alaric stamped on it, shattering the head and crus.h.i.+ng the eyes. Somewhere in Aelazadne, he hoped, two members of the audience were blinded.

The basilica's interior was twisted by heat and decay. Columns bowed under the weight of a half-fallen roof. Skeletons were embedded in the stone of the columns and walls, petrified like fossils, reaching from the rock as if they had been alive when they turned to stone.

Alaric backed up against a pillar. He looked down at the sword in his hand. It was pathetic, little more than sc.r.a.p metal beaten into shape. It was worse than nothing. He put it on the ground at his feet.

He listened to the song. It was telling him to welcome death, and let it speed him towards a blessed release from life's pain. He ignored it. The song might have wormed its way into a broken man's mind, but Alaric was better than that. He listened harder.

He could hear drops of water spattering down through the hole in the roof, and the sound of the city groaning as it settled. A s.p.a.ce Marine's senses were all greatly enhanced, but rarely had so much hinged on Alaric being able to make the most of them.

It had come through the basilica, through the rubble at the far end, and had headed upwards.

Alaric slipped from behind the column, and began the hunt.

He crept through a collapsed colonnade that had once fronted a mighty palace, now collapsed into a sprawl of rubble. He followed the trail through its cellars, between mouldering works of art and altars to the perverse faces of Khorne.

The trail led through a garden of petrified trees and a stream bed half-filled with flaking dried blood. He moved past a pyramid of bones, and a complex of slaughterhouses, where hooks still hung from rails on the ceiling and the occasional skull still dangled.

Alaric knew that the beast he had trailed was close by. It was instinct as much as the signs: the fresh, six-toed hoof prints on the wet floor, the newly killed hunters whose blood had yet to start drying, the smell of the chemicals, and the glints of blood where the beast had torn itself on a sharp piece of rubble. Alaric slowed down, making every step an exercise in discipline, as he pa.s.sed over the threshold of the slaughterhouse and onto the grand processional bridge.

Once, a great palace of Aelazadne had risen over the rest of the city. It had long since collapsed, but the way up to it remained, a mighty bridge over a deep ca.n.a.l. Alaric walked carefully onto the bridge, keeping a statue between him and the hulking shape he just glimpsed among the stonework. The statues rose on either side of the bridge, a stern parade of Aelazadne's kings, all of them dressed in obscene majesty that only accentuated their deformities. Eyes covered them, blinking excitedly as Aelazadne watched.

Alaric got a better look at the prey he had been sent to hunt. It was a hunched giant wrapped in swathes of scabbed skin, covered in wounds and brands. Its back was to Alaric, and he saw that it sported a crest of bony spikes along its spine.

Alaric recognised some of the beast's tattoos: an eye, a compa.s.s, a star. He had seen them many times before, and that gave him an advantage mat the keenest of Drakaasi's hunters lacked.

'I know,' said Alaric aloud, 'what you are.'

The beast looked up from its meal, a hunter it had chased down and killed on the bridge. Alaric stepped out from behind the statue.

The beast's face was humanoid, but no longer human, severely lopsided with a single fang reaching down past its chin. Its hands were fused into crab-like claws of muscle and talon.

Its eyes were sunk so deeply into the scarred folds of its face that it had to be blind. A larger third eye in its forehead was closed.

'When did they find you?' asked Alaric. 'How long have you been down here?'