Praetorian of Dorn Read online

  Kestros breathed out.

  ‘The enemy at Damocles Starport bore the markings of the Hysen Cartel, and they used its clearance codes and vehicles. But those must have been covers.’

  ‘All covers have to come from somewhere,’ said Andromeda. ‘If they used genuine clearance codes, who obtained them? If they had a vehicle, where did it come from? Conspiracies are like cloth, dozens of threads woven together to make the whole. The more elaborate the design, the more threads, and the more subtle the weave. But even the finest cloth can be unravelled.’

  ‘So we pull a thread,’ breathed Kestros.

  Archamus looked at Andromeda and gave a single nod.

  ‘We pull a thread,’ he echoed.

  Sork, the Scavenger King, makes himself known

  Four

  The Aska mountain range

  Terra

  The trio of gunships chased the sun as it fell over the mountain tops. Air vibrated in their wake. Beneath them the stacked hab-archipelagos glimmered with pinprick illuminations. The yellow of the gunships’ hulls was lost in the low light. In the cockpit of the lead craft the pilot blink-clicked a marker rune.

  ‘Waypoint seven reached,’ said the pilot into the vox. ‘Turning on my mark, all weapons live, launch ready.’

  A second later the trio banked as one. In the lead gunship, Archamus checked the weaponry clamped to his armour. Kestros and the two assault squads mirrored him. The side hatch slid open. Air rushed through the cabin space. Andromeda sat next to the door, legs crossed, chrome hair braided and coiled on her head. She wore an armoured body glove under her ragged grey robes, which billowed in the rushing air. A rebreather mask hid the lower part of her face, but Archamus was sure she was smiling.

  She glanced up at him and jerked her head towards the ground turning beneath them.

  ‘Is it always like this?’ she called, voice loud across the vox.

  ‘Like what?’ asked Archamus.

  She laughed in reply, just as she had laughed when he had said that she should not be with the strike force. He had no idea why either incident was humorous.

  It had taken them only a few hours to identify their lead. The atrocity at Damocles Starport had been committed by a cell of infiltrators posing as trade haulers. The cargo vehicle that had carried the hallucinogen had borne the Hysen Cartel’s markings, and the human operatives had worn Hysen colours. Such things were simply costume, easily engineered and faked given time. What was not so easily faked were the shipment and clearance codes used to pass within Damocles’ cargo lock. Those markers were the means by which each of the houses maintained its power, each a token of old pacts between trader and port. The hauler had the correct code, and its arrival had been scheduled in the cartel’s ledgers.

  That was a mark of complicity, as clear as a brand on a thief’s face. It was too obvious, though. It had taken Andromeda, Kestros and Archamus twenty minutes to conclude that the Hysen had been betrayed and used. It had taken them another twenty-seven minutes to find the trail of their true quarry.

  Dowager-son Hyrakro was not really one of the Hysen. Within Terra’s trade dynasties blood was everything. The line on consanguinity bound the great houses. Members of the family held all positions of power or potential with direct blood ties to one another. A hireling might be very useful to a dynasty, and even win lavish reward, but they could never hope to inherit true authority or a stake in the dynasty’s concerns. Only those of the blood could do that. It was a system that had served the Hysen, and their peers, for centuries.

  There was, however, one other role that an outsider could fulfil. Marriages brought a level of status close to that of a full-blooded family member. Creating children who bore the blood of the dynasty strengthened that bond. They became honorary family members, afforded privileges and even a measure of responsibility. If their full-blooded spouses died, they became dowager-sons or daughters of the clan. Their blood ties broken, they were relegated to luxurious exile. That was what Hyrakro was, and it had been he who had arranged the clearance for the cargo-crawler containing thousands of litres of hallucinogen gas to enter Damocles Starport.

  The gunships’ flight flattened out. The slopes of the mountains had risen up to meet them, so that now they were skimming low above the roofs of buildings that marched up the mountainside in crowded tiers. Vast water pipes snaked between the buildings, climbing to the towers that marched across the summits. The sky on the other side of the mountain was still bright, but they were riding in twilight. Walled compounds capped the highest peaks, breaking the line of reservoir towers. The compounds had been the estates of the Lord Aquarians, but their power was lost to the Emperor along with their water, and others now lived behind the walls they had built.

  ‘Closing on target,’ came the pilot’s voice. ‘Ninety seconds.’

  Archamus glanced at Kestros and nodded. They stood. Mag-locks thumped free of armour. The hatches at the front and rear of the compartment opened.

  ‘Auspex reads slaved weapons and sensors.’

  Archamus could feel the weight of Oathword in his grasp. He glanced to the building tops flashing by beyond the open hatches.

  ‘Entering defence weapon range. Weapons locked and ready to fire.’

  ‘For the Imperium,’ called Kestros over the vox. ‘For Terra!’

  And the night vanished in a flash and roar of launching rockets.

  Alpharius crouched as the first rocket went overhead. It hit a turret tower on the curtain wall above him and blew it to shrapnel. Lascannon blasts cut through the dark, slamming into targets deeper in the complex. He had missed the sound of the approaching gunships, but he could hear them now. They roared overhead, accelerating as they turned above the mountaintop compound. Three of them, one Fire Raptor and two Storm Eagles. The trio of aircraft rose into the rays of the setting sun. They were coming around, fast. The Fire Raptor’s flank cannons hurled shells down into the space beyond the curtain wall. Alpharius could hear the rounds slamming into stone slabs.

  An alarm was blaring. As he watched, the Storm Eagles broke away, turning, thrusters flaring as they spun lower and lower. He could see their open assault ramps. He had to move fast. His mission was never going to be clean, but now there was a real chance of its failure.

  He ran up the scree slope between him and the curtain wall, and pulled the explosive charge free from his back.

  The Storm Eagle was right overhead now, and he could see a figure on the rear ramp, light glinting off its yellow armour.

  That was not optimal.

  The gunship circled above the roof of the compound’s main building. The figure at the rear assault ramp jumped.

  Alpharius reached the wall and slammed the charge into the smooth stone. He dived aside. Above him the Fire Raptor’s guns went silent. The charge detonated. The blast wave thumped out. Stone dust and flame licked across Alpharius’ armour as he rose and spun through the breach, weapon in hand.

  Kestros leapt after Archamus. The stone of the roof cracked beneath them as they landed. Kestros was up and moving a second before Archamus. Las-fire bit the cracked floor beside him and splashed across his shoulder. The Storm Eagle slid across the air above them, thrusters churning the smoke. His squad brothers were dropping from the doors and ramps, scattering across the compound. Some were already firing.

  Kestros saw the first guard come out of the smoke in a blur of dull silver plates and blades. It was bigger than Kestros, a hulking mass of abhuman flesh coated in armour. A mask covered its lump of a head, white and featureless apart from two eye slots. A red blaze ran diagonally between the eyes. Its right fist was a spool of chromed chains, its left a churning mass of blades.

  Gene-bonded stock, he thought. Tough, and loyal to the last.

  Kestros brought his bolt pistol around. The abhuman swung faster. Kestros flinched aside, but not fast enough. A length of chain whipped free of
the abhuman’s fist and wrapped around Kestros’ arm. The bolt pistol fired. The abhuman yanked him towards its grasp. Kestros’ forearm crashed into the blank mask as he cannoned forwards. White ceramite shattered. The abhuman’s head flinched and then crashed back into Kestros’ faceplate. His eyepieces shattered. Armour crumpled. Air vented into his face. The chain around his arm was tightening, pulling him into the abhuman’s bulk. He heard the motor driving the creature’s blade fist gun to life.

  ‘Left!’ growled Archamus’ voice across the vox. Kestros yanked left with all his strength. The abhuman pulled back, muscles bunching beneath armour, chain biting.

  Archamus’ mace struck the abhuman’s right knee. Armour and flesh exploded in a ball of lightning. The armoured brute fell, its pain booming from its throat. The chain loosened. Kestros rammed the pistol muzzle against the abhuman’s arm and fired. The burst of shells sawed the limb from the body in a spray of meat and bone. He shook the chain from his arm and ripped his ruined helm from his head. The air stank of blood and smoke.

  A ragged hole lay open in the roof in front of them. A rocket had struck, and punched a hole through metal and stone. Smoke and screams rose up from within. Archamus was at its edge bracing to fire down into the ruin beneath.

  Kestros heard the distant boom of an explosive charge detonating as he dropped through the hole.

  The space beyond the curtain wall was a charnel house. Chunks of flesh and pulped meat painted the shattered stone. Alpharius could pick out scraps of fabric amongst the remains. White and red, the colours of the man who owned the estate. The household guard had poured out of the manse to man their positions when the first rocket had hit. The Fire Raptor’s cannons had caught them in the open, and turned them to red slime and tatters. There were still some alive in the compound and keep, though. Gunfire boomed and echoed through the smoke and dust.

  One of the Imperial Fists came around the corner, chainsword spinning. If the warrior was shocked at the sight of Alpharius, he did not pause. His bolt pistol roared. The round punched Alpharius off his feet. He felt bones and carapace break. Shards of his chest-plate stabbed into him. The fall saved him.

  The second shell passed over his head. He hit the ground. The bulk of his weaponry slowed him as he instinctively tried to roll to his feet. The Imperial Fist was advancing on him. Alpharius drew and fired his volkite serpenta pistol. Circles of red energy radiated from the barrel an instant before the main beam ignited. It struck the warrior in the chest. The armour plate blistered. Then the beam cut through to the flesh beneath, in a flash of ash and heat.

  Alpharius pulled himself up and ran forwards, clamping the serpenta to his thigh and pulling the missile launcher from his back. It was an exotic variant, designed to fire from the hip rather than the shoulder. He triggered the launcher’s suspensor web, and its weight vanished. The wall of the compound’s main keep loomed out of the smoke. Gunfire flashed in the high windows. Above him the gunships circled like vultures above a dying animal. Alpharius steadied himself and aimed the launcher upwards. Targeting runes and distance calculations aligned in his eyes. The silhouette of a gunship was clear against the darkening sky.

  Confusion, that was always the key – no weapon had slain more heroes, nor brought so many of the mighty low. He smiled at that simple truth and keyed the firing stud.

  Archamus landed in the ruin of a dining hall. Splinters of polished wood and painted porcelain covered the floor. Threat runes lit red at the edge of his sight. He fired as he rose. One round into each of the three uniformed guards, and then he was up and moving. A stream of data filled his ears and eyes.

  ‘Outer zones clear,’ came the voice of one of the squad leaders who had taken the curtain wall. ‘No sign of primary target. Resistance heavy.’

  It had been twenty seconds since they had dropped into the compound, ninety-eight since the first rocket strikes.

  He reached a set of wooden doors and went through them. A pair of guards in white, black and red armour were running down the corridor beyond. Archamus’ bolt took the first. A shot over his shoulder the second.

  ‘Do you have him?’ came Andromeda’s voice in his ear. She was on one of the Storm Eagles circling above the compound. The roar of the gunship’s engines spilled over the link.

  ‘No,’ shouted Kestros, before Archamus could reply.

  The passage curled before them. Cobweb-veiled faces of stone watched them pass from niches, and dust shook from the arches above.

  ‘He will be running,’ she replied, as though she had not heard.

  ‘There’s nowhere for him to run to,’ called Kestros.

  ‘There will be a passage, a hidden way.’

  A clanking sound filled the air as metal shutters began to drop across the passage in front of them. A hatch opened in the ceiling above, and an autocannon swung down into the passage. The barrel turned towards them, targeting beams red lines in the smoke. Archamus fired. The cannon detonated. Secondary explosions rolled fire across the ceiling. He felt the blast of heat through his eyepieces, and blinked.

  ‘They seem in the mood to fight rather than run,’ shouted Kestros.

  ‘Not Hyrakro,’ said Andromeda’s voice. ‘He is a coward. The only reason they are fighting is so that he can get away.’

  ‘Why are you sure?’ cut in Archamus before Kestros could answer.

  ‘I understand the nature of his weakness,’ was all she said.

  The first shutter was almost at the ground when he reached it. Archamus brought Oathword down on the closing barrier. The head of the mace ripped through to the plasteel, and he rammed his way through the breach.

  ‘Where would such a tunnel be?’ Archamus grunted, as he shouldered through the splintered metal. Rounds exploded across his shoulders and chest. Lead stub rounds mashed themselves to flat discs on the ceramite.

  ‘Wherever he sleeps,’ answered Andromeda.

  ‘Why–’ began Kestros.

  ‘Humans like to feel safe when they sleep. The chance of escape is comfort.’

  Archamus did not understand the answer, but he did not have time to question it. They were burning time, and every second gave Dowager-son Hyrakro more chance of escaping.

  ‘Squad Tancred, hold perimeter,’ called Archamus across the command vox. ‘Squad Sotaro, converge on my location, maximum speed.’

  ‘Archamus!’ Andromeda’s shout filled his ears. All humour and laughter had gone from it. Now there was just urgency bordering on panic. ‘Archamus, there is someone else in the compo–’

  ‘Lord,’ said the voice of one of the Storm Eagles’ pilots. ‘There is–’

  The first breath of an explosion blew across the vox, and then there was just the roar of static.

  The light of the fireball flashed across the sky. Alpharius had not watched the missile strike home. He was already moving towards the main block of the compound. He twisted as he ran, the trio of blind grenades looping high from his hand. The missile launcher bounced against his hip, almost weightless in its suspensor harness. He switched missile type. Behind him the blind grenades exploded. Clouds of dead, grey fog stole the light of falling fire. He put a krak missile into a doorway in the building wall. The armoured door ripped from its frame and spun into the space beyond. Alpharius was through it, already selecting a third type of missile.

  A hulking figure loomed out of the pall of dust and smoke. Alpharius had an instant to see a mask of red and white set atop a muscle and armour-bloated torso. He fired without slowing down. The missile exploded in the abhuman’s chest. There was a dull boom, and a rush of indigo steam stained the smoke as the bio-acid in the warhead reacted with the abhuman’s blood. Alpharius ran on, the scream of agony draining into a wet, gurgling whimper behind him.

  Kestros flinched as the vox cut out.

  ‘What...’ he began, but Archamus was sprinting to the next shutter barring their path. Lightn
ing wreathed the mace in his hand. Two blows and he was through. The vox was a skidding mass of static and scraps of voices.

  ‘Someone else is here,’ called Archamus. The pistons in his bionics were thumping as he ran. Kestros was following, but the whirl of events was closing around him. It felt strange, vile, like being tossed into a sudden squall at sea. Like being out of control.

  He glanced around as he ran. The walls were curving tighter. The floor was on a slight tilt. The details matched the plans he had memorised before the attack. They were curving down towards the portion of the building set directly on the tips of the mountain’s peak.

  ‘We should hold for Sotaro,’ he called, but Archamus did not answer.

  The walls suddenly flared out into a broad space before a set of double jade doors.

  ‘Hold close,’ Archamus shouted, and struck the door. Jade and plasteel shattered in a storm of lightning and surging armour plates. Kestros uttered an oath and followed.

  A chamber ballooned around them, hung with tattered tapestries. A circular pool of soft cushions sat at the far end, surrounded by a forest of jugs, chalices and bottles. The room smelt of perfume and dusk, and dark wine was spreading across the floor in a bruised lake. A dozen guards in white carapace were crouched behind pillars to either side. On the far side, Kestros could see seven more guards clustered around a squat man wrapped in thick red fabric. Dowager-son Hyrakro looked back at Archamus with wide eyes set in a quivering face.

  Las-fire fell on them as Kestros came through the door beside Archamus. Shards of marble exploded from the impacts of their strides as they ran. Kestros felt a burning slap as a las-bolt skimmed his scalp. His armour was singed from the heat of countless impacts. Archamus struck the first guard he reached with a blow that turned body to vapour. Kestros turned the other way, lacing bolts into the guards on the other side of the chamber.

  He was about to turn his fire onto the other side of the room when a section of wall exploded inwards.

  Alpharius came through the hole blown in the wall of Dowager-son Hyrakro’s private chamber a heartbeat after the missile hit. His visor fuzzed for an instant, and then it was alive with threat runes. He fired into the centre of the room. Another missile kicked free of the launcher. Las-fire strobed in the murk. The missile hit the wall, and a fresh bloom of blind fog blended with the spreading dust from his entry.