Shield of Brotherhood

[Barret]

The moment we reverted to realspace, every proximity and target-warning alarm on the bridge burst into deafening noise, patterning the walls, ceiling and our armour with their dazzling array of lights. "Multiple contacts on an assault bearing," Helmsmaster Carcus called over the cacophony and the deeper groaning as the wounded Radiant Light struggled under the stresses of breaking out of the warp.

 

I looked over to Captain Anteas and saw the thick muscles in his jaw working. "They were waiting for us, like they knew we were coming," he murmured so low I barely caught the words. Louder, "Helmsmaster, bring us up to bearing point five by nine by two. Keep us broadside-on." The groaning of the hull and the lower rumbling of the engines changed pitch as the Strike Cruiser sought to do the Captain's bidding, and I could see the star field swing dizzyingly in the forwards viewport. Anteas looked over to me, and said, "You'd better be right about this, Acastus."

 

Before I could respond, Carcus called up to the strategium platform again. "New contact, sire. Behind us, now. That makes four, all holding station at torpedo range." Anteas scowled, and pressed a button on his command throne, activating the holo-display. The Radiant Light was a winking red dot, still a mere few hundred kilometers from our reentry position, while four blue icons representing the approaching ships were all stationed at the cardinal points around us.

 

"Three Strike Cruisers and a Battle-Barge," said Punitus. He looked up from the display, his leering skull-helm gleaming crimson in the light. "We're dead in the water if they choose," the Chaplain growled. "So much for your wisdom, Codicier." Punitus had always held me in contempt, guilty by my association - however minimal - to the psyker Librarians who would have my title and wear my blue armour in another Chapter.

 

A red icon on Anteas' throne lit up and began to blink incessantly. We were being hailed, audio-only. Anteas pressed the icon, and a voice, stentorian and crackling with static, filled the command deck. "Unidentified ship, you have entered prohibited space. Cut your engines, power down your weapons and heave-to or we will open fire. I repeat, heave to and identify yourselves immediately."

 

Anteas flicked a glance in my direction before responding. "This is the Radiant Light, Captain Anteas of the Castigators Fifth Company commanding. We have no hostile intent, and are complying with your...request." At a nod from Anteas, Carcus made it so, and the background noise of the engines quieted to an almost subliminal level. "I repeat, this is the Captain Anteas of the Castigators."

 

There was a long, static-filled pause on the vox before the voice returned. "Captain Anteas, whither goes the eastward raptor on burning wings?"

 

The pause was now on our end, as Anteas and I looked at each other blankly, while Punitus just glared. It had been about a century since last contact with these people. Had something changed? My mind raced as I tried to remember the correct response, lest our lives be ended at the hands of those we thoughts allies. "I repeat," the voice on the vox came again, "whither goes the eastward raptor on burning wings?"

 

Abruptly, the answer flooded my mind, and I responded myself before it could escape me. "The eastward raptor sails north, bearing ice, to seek his Oathbrethren." It was a challenge-response code from millennia ago, and it was the first time it had been used in centuries, as far as I knew.

 

When the voice came back, there was a tinge of warmth to it. "Captain Anteas of the Castigators, this is Captain Xharp of the Thousand Swords Second Company. Well met, brothers, and welcome to Karthagot Nova. We are sending you approach vectors now. The Thousand-Edged Blade will escort you in."

 

 

Two hours and a great deal of tension later, the Radiant Light was docking with an umbilical port on the main spire of the Thousand Swords Fortress-Monastery, a massive structure built into their homeworld's single moon. The histories said that most of the moon had been hollowed out over the millennia and the three spires were just the tips of the vast interior fortress. Each of the spires were covered in weapons emplacements, supplementing the two smaller orbital battle stations. It was an impressive sight, and a testament to the Thousand Swords' industriousness. It reminded me of our own similar facility, the Sanctuary, and it made me oddly long for those quiet halls of contemplation, the hallowed cathedra, and the fraternal home of my battle-brothers.

 

We awaited completion of the docking sequence in the Strike Cruiser's main bay, and the sight of the huge, crenelated spire backlit by the green-brown scape of Karthagot Nova was breathtaking. Although the Thousand Swords claimed a world reputed to be nearly as deadly as Loscano Secundus it somehow looked more...alive than our howling wasteland of a home. I had little doubt, though, that it could not create a people as hardy and pure as Loscano.

 

I stood beside Captain Anteas, who still appeared on edge, and Punitus, who held himself as rigidly as ever. Behind us was an honour guard of ten Castigators, plus Bericus, bearer of the Company standard. The deck thumped, and we could hear the hiss of escaping air as the docking seal was pressurized. Anteas looked over at me. "Anything to keep in mind, Codicier? I've never met the Thousand Swords before."

 

It was a rare admission of need from the Captain, and I was pleased he trusted me enough to make it. I wracked my brain for what I knew of our Oathbrethren. "Well... they pride themselves on martial skill above all else, both individual and as a formation. They consider themselves a Chapter of warriors above all, and their librarium is said to be one of the greatest repository of writings on the nature of war in the Imperium."

 

Punitus snorted. "They glorify their arms, at the expense of their hearts." The pun was a rare jest from Punitus, and both Anteas and I had to chuckle.

 

The airlock door was beeping now, counting down the last phase of the recompression. "From what I've read about the Zarath Strand Reprisals, they do not share many our views on many things. It has been reported that they are even...irreverent on many subjects, and they employ psykers freely." I did not wish to speak ill of our comrades of old, members of the Oathbrethren sworn to bonds of brotherhood from the time of the Founding and Baraquiel himself, but no Castigator can stomach the thought of the witch, let alone a witch in the trappings of a Space Marine. If Anteas felt the same conflict, he didn't show it. His face was an impassive mask, as though he was focusing his attentions inwards. "They are noted to be the most cooperative of the Oathbrethren in many ways, and have a long record of inter-Chapter cooperation up until recently." I paused for thought. "Honestly, Captain, I'm not sure what to expect. Some of the records paint them as one step from the Sons of Russ, and others as the fiercest of brothers, nearly as zealous and pure as we."

 

Anteas nodded gravely, and took a breath as the doors began to open, swirls and skirls of vapour leaking out. "Thank you, Acastus. I will doubtless require your knowledge again."

 

"I just hope they have someone equally...helpful, too," Punitus said, his usual derision returned, and signaled to Bericus.

 

"Honour guard!" the standard bearer shouted, and with a rhythmic clanking of armour plate and heavy boots on decking, we arrayed ourselves in rows. First was Anteas, looking the regal and mighty hero in his crimson, black-edge cape and the Sword of Sorrow sheathed at his side. Behind him, Punitus and I flanked Bericus, and then two files of five Castigators. With another command from Bericus, we marched forwards through the portal, and I could feel a perceptible temperature drop as we passed through the umbilical into the main station. I was filled with a mixture of pride at the sight of my brethren in their crimson armour and signs of devotion, and curiousity at what lay ahead. As Codicier, one of my principal duties lay in knowing the lore of the twelve Chapters of the Oathbrethren, even the despised and fallen Reapers. Many of the remaining eleven members of the Oath had not had contact with the Castigators for centuries, if not millennia. Others, like the Judicators, were relatively well known to the Castigators. The Thousand Swords, however, were a mystery to me, as much of the knowledge I found in our Librarium seemed at times conflicting or even outright contradictory. What all sources agreed on, though, is that our brethren were impressive fighters, but had little time for devotion, piety and worship.

 

The march down the umbilical seemed longer than it could have been, and I wondered what we would find to greet us. I hoped that it would be Captain Xharp, for he was best known to me, having been the last to fight besides the Castigators, and was said to be a learned man as well as a master swordsman. The umbilical ended so abruptly, spilling us into a wide, empty bay, that I was jerked out of my reverie by what awaited us. In serried ranks, their bolters held in salute and their armour gleaming, was an entire Company of the Thousand Swords. A hundred Space Marines, in the livery of the Second Company, arranged in rigid lines in a horseshoe. We were surrounded, and I doubted it was accidental.

 

To the fore of the apparent honour guard that stood before us were two Captains, one in the yellow of the 2nd, and the other wearing the red heraldry of the 3rd. Captains Xharp and Bomilkar, names I knew. Both strode forwards to greet us, followed by their standard bearers. They drew to a halt with parade-ground precision a few feet from us, and crashed their fists against their chests in salute, followed a second later by the rest of the Company. It was a martial din that quite overwhelmed our return salute. Captain Xharp stepped forwards, and dipped his head to Anteas. "Brother Captain, welcome to our home."

 

If Anteas was as awed by the welcome as I was, he didn't show it. Instead, he returned the gesture, saying, "Thank you, brother. You do us much honour with this greeting. I see your reputation for hospitality is not unwarranted."

 

Xharp raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware we had one, actually. We were not expecting a delegation from the Castigators at this time." The Captain was almost uncomfortably blunt, as those he had no time or patience for social mores.

 

As if sensing the true nature of our visit, and an uncomfortable one it was to admit, the other Captain stepped forwards and addressed Anteas. "What my gracious brother means," he said in a gravelly voice that was tinged with irony, "Is that we are surprised by your arrival, and pleased to see our Oathbrethren once again. You have traveled far, and doubtless have reasons for doing so, but that can wait. For the moment, let us go inside." He turned, and led the way through the bay, the assembled Marines parting before us. I took the chance to study the two Thousand Swords as we walked. Their armour was a deep red, like ours but darker, as though they were covered in drying blood, while their arms and the aquilas embossed on their breastplates were a rich gold colour. Both wore long capes, as did Anteas, but where my Captain was adorned in purity seals, litanies and honour badges, they had few signs of faith upon them. Instead, they each wore two swords and their armour was decorated with campaign badges, kill tallies and oft-repeated icons of swords and blades.

 

We passed through a heavy set of blast doors, and entered a long, steel corridor devoid of decoration. "Tell me, Captain Xharp," Punitus asked after a moment of silence, "Do you greet all your visitors with a fleet and a full company of Marines?"

 

The Captain, his bristly warrior crest of hair at odds with his stern, introverted aspect, appeared to think for a moment. "No," he said at last, "only the ones we think aren't who they say they are." For some reason, Punitus found that amusing.

 

The two Captains led us to a smaller antechamber, occupied only by a round table and chairs, off of the corridor, just before it ended in a door that was at least twenty feet tall and cast with a bas-relief of a Space Marine holding a two-handed sword almost as tall as he. Bomilkar ushered Anteas, Punitus and I into the chamber, then turned to a dour-faced Sergeant who had followed him. "Sakarbal, why don't you see if the Third are willing to play host for a while?" The Sergeant nodded, and turned to lead our honour guard away. It was only after a nod from Anteas that Bericus and the rest followed. "Now then," Bomilkar said, waving the door closed and seating himself in one of the chairs, his back to the door. Xharp did similar, and then Anteas and I joined them. Punitus remained standing behind Anteas. "What can the Thousand Swords do for the Castigators?"

 

Anteas and I shared an uneasy look. Asking for aid does not come easily to the Castigators, not even when asking it of the Oathbrethren. "As you noted, Captain Xharp," Anteas began, looking at the other Captain, who inclined his head in return, "we are a long way from Loscano Secundus and in truth we are not meant to be. We were engaged in a punitive action against an Ork raiding fleet when our main drive was damaged, and we ended up blown far off course. On the recommendation of my Codicer, Acastus, we were able to make the shorter transit here, in hopes that you would provide us a temporary berth while we effect repairs."

 

Xharp and Bomilkar shared a meaningful look, then turned back to us. Bomilkar leaned forwards, resting his hands on the table. "I'm afraid we can't allow you to simply sit in space and try to 'effect repairs', as you say." Anteas opened his mouth to speak, but Bomilkar held up a hand and kept talking. "As you may have noticed, much of our fleet is out at the moment, along with Master Zeuxis and the rest of the Chapter, as we're on high alert for a kabal of reaver Eldar that decided to come visiting two weeks ago. Because of this, our drydock is nearly vacant, and we would be honoured to make our facilities available to you. We will also billet your men here in the Fortress alongside my company, and the Second." Xharp nodded his agreement.

 

There was a pause, as Anteas and Punitus looked to each other, communicating without words. After a moment, Punitus inclined his head, and Anteas turned back to the two Thousand Swords. "Your generosity does your name credit, brothers. We would be honoured to accept."

 

Bomilkar grinned, slapping the table and saying, "Excellent. We could do no less for the Oathbrethren." Xharp, I noticed, maintained his slightly sour expression. I couldn't tell whether he didn't like the idea of strangers, even fellow Astartes and Oathbrethren, roaming the Fortress-Monastery. Bomilkar rose, followed by Xharp and then we three Castigators. "Come, brothers, we'll show you where we'll billet you, and introduce you to the Thousand Swords." The door swung open again, this time by a human in white surcoat emblazoned with a down-turned black sword; a Chapter serf, I assumed. The serf stood aside, bowing from the waist, as we trooped out. Bomilkar lead us across the corridor, passing by the enormous iron door again, through another side hatch and down a long, unadorned hallway. "I am bypassing all the parts of the Fortress that a visitor might like to behold, but the way to the Third Company barracks is otherwise torturous and if we come there unannounced, you may get to see a thing." He didn't explain, and I didn't feel comfortable asking. From their expressions, Anteas and Punitus were similarly curious.

 

We passed through a set of open blast doors, operable only from the inside, and began climbing a switchbacking stair case that the Space Marine in me couldn't help but notice would be highly defensible. The climb would exhausting for any without the endurance of a Marine, and anyone advancing up the stairs would be exposed to the interlocking fields of fire from each landing with precious little cover. To make it worse, the stairs were short and narrow so that barely half our booted feet fit and we had to pay constant attention to our footing lest we slip and fall, for there were no railings to lean against or catch the unwary. Anteas, no doubt noticing the same thing, remarked on it. Bomilkar chuckled. "Each of the ten Company barracks are built like this, though no two are alike. Each is a fortress unto itself, and we stage assaults on each other as part of routine training." Even in the interior of their most precious, sacrosanct fastness they thought only of the martial. And little else, I assumed, given how spartan and featureless all of the Fortress we had seen so far was. Where our own Fortress-Monastery on Sanctuary was filled with shrines and baroque architecture, works of devotional artwork and inspirational statuary, the Thousand Swords' home was barren, all cold iron walls and bare metal floors. Every room and corridor looked like the last, and it was disorienting. I suspected that was also deliberate, to confound any invader by robbing them of navigational landmarks.

 

Finally, we reached the top of the stairs, seven hundred and seventy-seven by my count and stood before another massive iron door embossed with a heroic Space Marine, this one standing atop a mound of leering skulls. It was chilling to behold. We did not enter it, though, passing by down a side corridor and up another flight of steps, this one cramped and poorly lit. We had only gone up perhaps fifty feet when we arrived at an antechamber where Bericus and our honour guard awaited us. The stern Sergeant, Sakarbal, stood by double doors that, if my sense of direction wasn't wrong, led into the same room as the larger doors below. Bomilkar nodded to Sakarbal, and the Sergeant struck a Rune of Activation next to the door. With a soft hissing, the doors began to swing open, and we passed through.

 

The first thing that struck me was the light. After the poorly lit antechamber, the bright light was dazzling, though my eyes adjusted quickly. The second was the noise. A tumult of raised voices, dozens or more, roaring and yelling in a chaos I couldn't make sense of. We were standing on a balcony overlooking a large, circular room. A gallery ran around the second floor with deep-set doors leading off of it. Above each door was a banner, each older than the last and all bearing variations of the colours I had seen on the Third Company banner in the docking bay, making this their barracks. The doors I had seen earlier, with the chilling image of the Space Marine, was opposite us and once again I was stuck by the underlying purpose of the room. Anyone breaching those doors would be exposed to the fire of defenders on the gallery and would have no cover in the wide, barren room. I moved to the railing and looked down, finally realizing the souce of the noise. The centre of the room was a sunken pit, stepped on the sides to make an arena with seating for at least two hundred. Those steps were crowded with Marines, all jostling and yelling. I recognized the heraldry of the Third and Fourth Companies in the main, with scattered examples of most of the others. In the centre of the arena were two Marines, dressed only in thermal shorts and circling each other, blades drawn.

 

"Ah, Bomilkar said with a self-satisfied tone, "I was right. Brothers," he said, turning to us, "you are privileged to see something few others have seen, a challenge for the rank of Knight-Champion." As he spoke, the two combatants charged each other, the ring of steel on steel filling the air. They traded strokes for a moment, then broke apart and resumed circling each other. The noise of the spectators grew, alternating between cheers and jeers as each Marine urged on his favourite and hurled abuse upon the other. It was deeply shocking to a Castigator. Though we had our own traditions of inter-company honour duels, they were dignified affairs, and never would we descend into such undisciplined...brawling. Anteas looked grim at the sight, and Punitus was openly sneering at the display. The Thousand Swords, however, watched the contest avidly and I noticed Sakarbal's hand twitching unconsciously, as though he longed to be in the ring.

 

Trying not to think about how our honoured brethren were so enamoured of this savage display, I studied the combatants. They both wore the same bristly warrior-stripe of hair, and were both covered in tattoos and scars. One, a member of the Third Company judging by the heraldry tattooed across his shoulders, had a curved scar under one eye that told a tale of something puncturing his helmet. The strong-boned, high-cheekboned features and olive skin tone of the Thousand Swords gave him a heroic look, only enhanced by the wide, toothy and slightly savage grin plastered across his face. He carried a short sword, perhaps two feet long, that was shaped like an attenuated leaf. His opponent was taller and leaner, his tattoos marking him as a member of the Eight Company, and he carried a long, slender sabre with a wicked cutting edge. Despite the disparity in reach, the two fighters seemed evenly matched.

 

Bericus, still holding our Company Standard close, had moved up to the rail and was watching the contest almost as avidly as the Thousand Swords. He considered himself quite a swordsman, and justly so, given the heroism he'd displayed in earning the right to carry our banner. "Captain Bomilkar, sir," he asked, and I winced at the haughtiness of his tone, "what is the purpose of this contest?"

 

Bomilkar, not taking his eyes off the fight, explained. "Most of the population of our homeworld is concentrated in seven plateau city-states, and each of those cities has the ancient right to a Knight-Champion. The Knight-Champion is a Marine, no higher than the rank of Battle-Brother, who fights in the interests of the city he represents in cases where two cities wish to resolve a dispute during the farming season, or when it is a not a matter to be resolved by formal war. The title is a great honour, for the holder must be an excellent fighter as it can be challenged for at any time in a ritual combat. The rules of the combat are simple, no armour and no weapons but personal blades and it is decided by the first blood from the torso. In this way we strengthen our ties to our recruiting populace, and encourage strength of arms."

 

There was a great shout from below, and we returned our attention to the contest. The two fighters were locked together, each with a hand clamped on the other's blade-arm and they were fighting for dominance. The handsome Marine with the short sword, slab-like muscles bunched, was overpowering his opponent, and the tip of his blade was slowly inching towards the other's neck. Suddenly, the Eighth Company Marine did something too fast for me to catch, and had his leg hooked around the other's knee and jerked back, trying to spill his opponent to the ground. The shorter Marine moved his leg with the tug and slammed his knee up, but the Assault Marine was faster still, using the momentum to smash his head forward. There was an audible crack of bone, and a spray of blood as the shorter Marine's nose broke. Dazed, he staggered backwards and managed to parry the Assault Marine's renewed offensive twice, but then the longer, faster sabre hooked inside his guard and left a thin ride stripe up his torso. The cheers were defeaning, and Bomilkar swore and pounded his fist on the balcony railing. "Always the headbutt with that boy, he always misses it." Xharp said something in a language I didn't know, but it sounded snide, and Bomilkar flushed angrily. "The Eighth can't hold that title forever! I'll have a second Knight-Champion in my company before long!" Sakarbal looked similarly angry, and was scowling at the defeat Marine. An Apothecary wearing the colours of the Third pushed fowards, along with two other Marines, one of whom was the biggest Astartes I'd ever seen. The Apothecary prodded the long slash, apparently decided it didn't need tending, and reset the Marine's broken nose with a swift and callous tug. He patted the Marine on the cheek, condescendingly, and joined the flow of Marines leaving the area.

 

We waited a moment, until those not of the Third had left the barracks, and then Bomilkar nodded to Sakarbal. Drawing in a breath, the Sergeant bellowed, "Attention! Captain on the deck!" Without a hint of surprise, making me question whether the Marines below had actually been ignorant to our presence, they snapped to their feet, assuming the straight-backed stance and crashed their fists to their chests. Bomilkar returned the gesture, and his Company broke out into a cheer that surprised me in its intensity and feeling. The Captain was very obviously loved by his men.

 

"My sons, my brothers," he began, quieting the cheers. "As you witnessed this day, we are witness to a great honour. Our Oathbrethren, the mighty Castigators, sons of Baraquiel, do us the honour of visiting these storied halls." He made it sound like we were doing them a favour, and not the other way around, and it relieved me. I did not relish the idea of these savage, undignified Marines knowing we'd come in desperate need of aid. "This," he continued with a wave of his hand towards us, "is Captain Anteas and his comrades, of the Castigators Fifth Company. Some will be sharing out quarters for a time, and I would that you make them as welcome as you would each other."

 

A Marine, a sergeant with a hair crest on his helm, stepped forwards from the mass, and shouted, "All hail the Castigators, Oathbrethren and victors of Achenite Apostasy!" The rest of the Thousand Swords took up the cry, a stentorian chant of "Hail! Hail! Hail!" I was stunned by the shout, as the defeat of the Achenite Apostasy was one of the early actions of the Fifth Company under Captain Anteas, and I could tell he was secretly pleased by it. To a shocked look from Punitus, Anteas stepped to the rail, and spoke.

 

"You do me honour, Oathbrethren, and I look forwards to standing beside the heroes of the taking of Fort Ilghur!" The cheers came again at Anteas' mention of their most recent, and perhaps most terrible, victory.

 

As the crowd dispersed, Bomilkar turned to Sakarbal. "Sergeant, find guides for the Chaplain and the Librarian. Use your discretion as to who." As the grim sergeant walked away, he turned to us. "Captain Anteas, if you'd join me we can see about getting the Radiant Light into the dry dock and your men billeted. In the meantime, Chaplain Punitus, Codicier Acastus, would you care to see more of our Fortress?" Despite my reservations about the conduct of the Thousand Swords, I nodded my agreement. Punitus also assented, after a moment of thought. "Excellent," Bomilkar said. "If you'll wait here, Sakarbal will be back in a few moments. Captain, if you and your retinue would join me?" The two Captains, trailed by Bericus and the honour guard, left the way we'd come.

 

Punitus and I waited in awkward silence, neither willing to speak. I passed the moments in studying the banners hung from the walls, trying to guess the era of each and the honours they bore. Now that the room below was mostly empty, I saw more decoration, mostly what I assumed were trophies and other memorabilia of famous actions. Many were biological in origin, like the dessicated head on a stake near the door. After few minutes, Sakarbal returned, followed by two Marines who wore the same squad markings as he. One of them was tall, and darker of skin and eye than most of the Thousand Swords. At his waist was belted a very strange sword, like a scythe blade attached to a short staff, but with the blade pointing out like a spear instead of perpendicularly like a scythe. Unlike the others, his arms and chest eagle were a glossy black, as was the helmet hanging from his waist. The most striking thing about him, though, were the scars. Into his forehead had been carved a finely detailed Imperial aquila, and crossed swords into each cheek. He had the burning eyes of a zealot, a look I'd seen often in the eyes of Castigators and Chaplains. The other Marine, I realized with a start, was the defeated fighter. His short sword was scabbarded on his right hip, an archaic-looking chainsword on his left, and the helmet hung over the chainsword had a white stripe down the centre. "This," the sergeant said, without preamble, "is Chaplain-Novus Tabnit." He indicated the Marine with the scars. "Chaplain Punitus, he'll be your guide. Tabnit is a fierce devotee of the Chapter cult, and can answer any questions you might have. He can also take you to our Reclusiam. Codicier," he said to me and waved at the other Marine, whose broken nose had been broken before from the looks of it, "this is my combat squad leader, Maharbaal." That explained the helmet stripe. "He'll be your guide for the duration of your stay with us."

 

Maharbaal flashed me a grin, cracking the crusts of dried blood on his upper lip, and extended a hand. "Hail, Oathbrethren Acastus." Despite the growing reservations I had been feeling about these Astartes, his camaraderie was infectious and we gripped each other's forearms in the age-old warrior greeting, our vambraces crashing together. The greeting between Tabnit and Punitus, I noticed, was much more restrained. "Come, brother," he said, guiding me back through the door to the balcony with a slap on the shoulder. "You've seen enough of bare metal walls, no doubt. Time for the interesting."

 

We returned to that terrible staircase, though Maharbaal sped the descent by the simple expedient of bypassing the steps and leaping down from landing to landing. Each drop was at least twice my height, but we made it back down with surprising rapidity and returned to that long, plain corridor we'd entered by. As we walked, I asked him about the great victory at Fort Ilghur and he was only too happy to indulge my curiosity. I noticed that, where the two Captains spoke Gothic flawlessly, Maharbaal had a distinct accent of flattened vowels and hard consonants. A remnant, I assumed, of his homeworld. Given that he lacked even a fifty-year service stud I guessed that the accent likely faded in time. Or maybe Xharp and Bomilkar were just more concerned with communicating with those not of the Chapter; I didn't have enough data to make a firm conclusion. Maharbaal's storytelling was tellingly single-minded, focusing on the intricate details of even the smallest skirmish, but omitting anything beyond his immediate experience. Given the relish with which he described the cut and thrust of a trench action, I guessed it was a symptom of the Thousand Swords' obsessive focus with the immediate and martial, and disregard for all else. By the time we reached that great, embossed iron door he had only reached the second week of the siege.

 

This time, the corridor was not empty. Two more Chapter serfs, with that same white surcoat emblazoned with a black sword I had seen before, stood astride the door. These serfs, however, had the unmistakable blockiness of carapace armour beneath their surcoats and held matte-black hellguns across their chests. They eyed me blankly for a moment before looking to Maharbaal. The Thousand Sword made a vague gesture at the door, and grinned at me over his shoulder. One of the serfs muttered something into his earbud vox, and the doors split and began to grind open. We passed through.

 

"Well," Maharbaal said with an expansive gesture at the chamber beyond, "what do you think?"

 

I must admit I was speechless for a moment. We had stepped into a vast, octagonal room topped by a dome of reinforced blast-windows that revealed the lush, green sweep of the planet above our heads. Framed against this vista was an effigy of cyclopean proportions. Standing fifty feet tall on a plinth at least twice my height was a statue of carven, veiny marble. It was a Space Marine in mid-charge, with a sword nearly as tall as he raised in one hand, and a round storm shield held out as a battering ram. The statue's bearded, scarred face was in full roar, features twisted in rage and battle-lust. A cape of breathtaking detail, still in marble, flowed weightlessly behind it. The statue had no right to exist, it defied the laws of gravity and physics. There must have been hidden suspensors cunningly built into the stone. At the figure's feet, in a vast pile reaching nearly to its thighs, was a pile of what I at first took to be rubble, as though the figure had burst, fully-formed, from the living rock. As my eyes adjusted to the radiant, greenish light reflected from the planet handing heavy in space above our heads like an impossible cloud, I realized the rubble was a massive votive mound of trophies. Most where skulls, bones, helms, weapons; from every race and enemy of Imperium I knew and some I didn't. Beneath the clutter of rusted weapons and yellowing skulls I saw what looked like a Tau Battlesuit, and the track assembly of a Land Raider on which I could dimly make out the heraldry of the Reapers. I continued to examine the pile with a mingled sense of awe and horror, and saw the skulls of a pair of Hive Tyrants, and what I could swear was the complete, flesh-stripped skeleton of a Carnifex.

 

Maharbaal took my stare for wonder, and he flashed white, predatory teeth in another grin. "Abydos, first Chapter Master and our Founder, as he was at the Battle of the Fens of Dylathleen, where he was elevated to the Emperor's right hand." The Marine's voice was thick with emotion. Pride, grief and, beneath it all, fury, as though he wanted to join the statue in some eternal battle. It made sense, I realized. Abydos, their first hero, stood forever in death as he doubtless had been in life: knee-deep in the dead. My guide stood staring at the statue as though he, too, was gazing upon it for the first time. I noticed he gripped the hilts of both sword and chainsword tightly.

 

After a long moment, he shook himself and turned back to me, that casual camaraderie back in his eyes. "This is the central hub of Tower Primus." He pointed at a series of doors set in the walls around us. "The one we came through leads to the docking bay, as you know. The barracks for all four Battle-Companies are located here, as is the primary access to the drydock,

[Marshall Strat]

It's a good opening for a story, but it seems to end rather abruptly...:)

[Barret]

That's 'cause it's not finished. :lol:

[Marshall Strat]

:o I see. The WRITTEN portion of it is quite good. I'd like to see more.

[voi shet magir]

Who is this about? Not which chapter; is it about the people, what happens to them and what they think?

 

I like that they are friends, or acquainted

 

in some way.

 

They know each other, some of them. Not all of them know each other.

 

Some of them though, they have met before, and they act that way.

 

There is a little bit of "in your name," "who summoned me," "zug zug" going on, just not much, which makes this enjoyable. Please do not decide that you are not interested in what happens and stop writing. Actually, I suppose you would know best, right?

[Captain Antonius]

Beautiful begining. I loved the scene setting of the crenalated spires poking out of a small moon. I don't know much about either chapter represened here, so I'm intereseted to see what kind of fluff you put in to fill out what the chapters are all about. Nicely done. Keep it up.

[Barret]

Thanks for the feedback, guys. Although I haven't been able to work on the story much recently (the push to Alpha is not conducive to creative energy), I have been thinking about it a lot. I'm going to rework the beginning a little bit to better present who is who. The two Chapters involved, the Castigators and Thousand Swords, are the DIYs of Commissar Molotov and myself, respectively, and I was writing as though the reader would know about them and the Astartes Vocates. Needless to say, not everybody does, and I'll make an effort to "educate" the reader a little more to reduce any confusion.

 

 

voi shet magir~ While I love the Warcraft quotes, I'm not sure what you mean by them.

[Codex Grey]

I'm glad to see a new story about the Thousand Swords, and now with Castigators too? Great!

 

I've always liked your writing style and your stories and this looks very promising. Nice to see some familiar faces too. Reading about Sakarbal made me smile. Will we see some conflict regarding the use of Librarians and the Castigators view of them?.

 

Eagerly waiting for more.

 

 

*cough!*you should feature*ahhem* my chapter *cOUgh!* in one of your stories...

[Barret]

I'm going to work on this story tonight. Updates tomorrow. I swear.

 

Codex, I'm sending you a PM.

[Barret]

Updated. New stuff in orange.

[Brother Barkus]

Oh yes maharbaals back in business! Will you be introducing Zeuxis?

[Barret]

Yes, he is. <_<

 

I'm not sure about Zeuxis yet. He may feature in the story, but not much if he does. I don't think that a grunt battle-brother would interact with the Chapter Master much.

[Pulse]

I enjoyed the read, i like the description of your Thousand Swords Fortress a lot. The descriptions of the defensible areas and the secretive nature of the Thousand Swords were both good.

 

Only downside being the spelling and grammar in areas, apart from that i look forward to more!

[Commissar Molotov]

Definitely good to see this progressing. Whilst you're using the Castigators as a mechanic to reveal more about the Thousand Swords, I do have a few concerns about factual inaccuracy and how they're being represented. Small things really, that I'll bring up with you when I see you next on MSN.

 

Still, keep going!

[Barret]

Pulse If you see spelling or grammatical errors, feel free to point 'em out. I'm terrible at noticing that kind of stuff in my own work.

 

Molly Sure thing, or just PM me if there's anything specific you want changed. The new parts are very much first draft.

[voi shet magir]

For many authors, space marine dialogue is stilted and meaningless.

 

In this case, there is nothing interesting about the kind language your marines are using. I am not taking any delight in those words.

 

I have to compliment you though, because the content of the dialogue is interesting. It is informative about their thoughts and environment. There is an actual reason for it to be in the story, and not somthing that happens when I mouseover the character portraits on you dustjacket, all spitting out random m'lords and wilford brimley ads.

 

"I see the enemy, should I kill him?"

 

"Yes please, kill that guy over there. After that, kill the other guy"

 

"ok I am killing those guys now. I am angry, are you angry?"

 

"sooo angry. we should pray."

 

"should we pray about killing?" &c &c

[Barret]

Now that Fallout 3 has relaxed its death-grip on my time, spare and otherwise, I've done some work on this. New stuff in orange, plus a few other little fixes of stuff Molotov brought up and some grammatical and spelling errors.

 

I'll probably be adding bits throughout the day.

[Commissar Molotov]

I've been extensively editing it, as you know, and here's what I've got thus far. I've split the story into four sections, the second being the one I have the most problems with. It needs a fair amount of work, especially as you were considering ditching Xharp. I don't think he's adding anything to the story, and focusing on Bomilkar as an analogue to Anteas would strengthen the story a lot, I think. Pieces in orange are sections I'm unsure about or would appreciate discussing with you, but consider the whole second section as being a little suspect. I've re-worked the first, third and fourth sections a little, and hopefully it works out for you. Feel free to copy it into your first post (but be sure to take the formatting, for italics, etc.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

SHIELD OF BROTHERHOOD

 

I

As we translated back into realspace, every proximity and target-warning alarm on the bridge began to shriek, patterning the bulkheads with a deathly red glow. I caught the ominous tolling of the vessel's great bell as Helmsmaster Carcus looked to the Captain, his face lined with concern.

 

'Multiple contacts - they're on an assault bearing.' His voice was barely audible over the cacophony - and the deep groaning beneath our feet as the Radiant Light struggled under the stresses of breaking out of the warp. We were wounded, and unlikely to survive any confrontation. I looked over to Anteas; the thick muscles in his jaw worked as he considered the best course of action.

 

'They were waiting for us,' he said to himself, so quietly that I barely caught the words. 'As though they knew we were coming.' The groaning of the hull changed pitch as the Helmsmaster sought to keep the Cruiser's weapons batteries aligned towards the approaching vessels. Anteas looked over to me and I felt myself quail for the briefest of moments. 'You'd better be right about this, Acastus.'

 

Before I could respond, Carcus called up to the strategium platform again. 'New contact, sire. Behind us, now. That makes four, all holding position at torpedo range.' Almost unbidden, a hololithic display activated. It showed the Radiant Light at its centre as a winking red dot. Though the display was streaked with static, four blue icons were clearly visible, showing the approaching ships, arrayed in such a way as to prevent us from escaping in any direction.

 

'Three Strike Cruisers and a Battle-Barge,' Punitius growled. The Chaplain turned from the holo-display, his leering skull-helm gleaming crimson in the light. 'We're dead in the water, should they choose. So much for your wisdom, Codicier.' Punitus had always held me in contempt, guilty by my association - however minimal - to the psykers who would adopt my rank in any other Chapter.

 

A red icon on Anteas' throne lit up and began to blink incessantly. We were being hailed. The Captain pressed the icon, and a voice, stentorian and crackling with static, filled the command deck.

 

'Unidentified ship, you have entered prohibited space. Cut your engines, power down your weapons and heave-to or we will open fire. I repeat, heave to and identify yourselves immediately.'

 

Anteas flicked a glance in my direction before responding. 'This is the Radiant Light, Captain Anteas of the Castigators Fifth Company commanding. We have no hostile intent, and are complying with your...request.' At a nod from Anteas, Carcus made it so, and the background noise of the engines quieted to an almost subliminal level. "I repeat, this is the Captain Anteas of the Castigators."

 

There was a long, static-filled pause on the vox before the voice returned. 'Captain Anteas - whither goes the eastward raptor on burning wings?'

 

The pause was now on our end, as Anteas and I looked at each other blankly, while Punitus just glared at me. It had been a century or more since last contact with these people. Had something changed? My mind raced as I tried to recall the correct response to their peculiar message, lest our lives be ended at the hands of those we thought of as allies. 'I repeat,' the voice on the vox came again, 'whither goes the eastward raptor on burning wings?'

 

Abruptly, the answer flooded my mind, and I responded myself before it could escape me. 'The eastward raptor sails north, bearing ice, to seek his Oathbrethren.' It was a challenge-response code established millennia ago, and it was the first time it had been used in centuries, as far as I knew.

 

When the voice came back, there was the slightest tinge of warmth to it. 'Captain Anteas of the Castigators, this is Captain Xharp of the Thousand Swords Second Company. Well met, brothers, and welcome to Karthagot Nova. We are sending you approach vectors now. The Thousand-Edged Blade will escort you in.'

 

* * *

 

 

 

II

Two hours and a great deal of tension later, the Radiant Light docked with an umbilical port that led to the main spire of the Thousand Swords' Fortress-Monastery. The Monastery was a massive structure embedded within their homeworld's single moon. The histories I'd read said that much of the moon had been hollowed out over the millennia, and I realised that the three spires protruding from the surface were likely just the tips of a vast interior fortress.

 

Each of the crenellated spires were studded with weapons emplacements, supplementing the two smaller orbital battle stations. Backlit by the green-brown landscape of Karthagot Nova, they were undeniably an impressive sight, and a testament to the industriousness of the Thousand Swords. I could not help compare it to our own Fortress-Monastery, and it made me oddly long for those quiet halls of contemplation, the hallowed cathedra, and the fraternal home of my battle-brothers.

 

I stood beside Anteas, who still appeared on edge, and Punitus, who held himself as rigidly as ever. Behind us stood Senior Sergeant Caetrus, Apothecary Decius and Bericus, the bearer of the Company Standard. We waited in the details required. . First was Anteas, looking the regal and mighty hero in his crimson, black-edge cape and the Sword of Sorrow sheathed at his side. The deck thumped, and we could hear the hiss of escaping air as the docking seal was pressurised.

 

Anteas looked over at me. 'Anything to keep in mind, Codicier? I've never met the Thousand Swords before.'

 

I wracked my brain for what I knew of our Oathbrethren. 'The Thousand Swords are said to value martial skill above all else. They consider themselves a Chapter of warriors, and their librarium apparently houses one of the greatest repositories of writings on the nature of war in the entire Imperium.'

 

Punitus scowled. ‘They glorify their arms at the expense of their hearts.’ The pun – intended or not - was a rare jest from the Chaplain, and I had to chuckle, though I quickly suppressed it when Punitus began to scowl at me. I hesitated for a moment before continuing to talk.

 

'On our last encounter, they were said to differ from us on many things. It has been reported that they are even...irreverent on many subjects, and that they employ psykers freely.'

 

I saw my brothers pause at that. I did not wish to speak ill of our comrades of old; the Thousand Swords had sworn an oath of brotherhood at their founding that had bound them irrevocably to the Castigators, but none within our Chapter can easily tolerate a witch - let alone a witch in the trappings of a Space Marine. Something involving Punitus or Caetrus?

 

'They are noted to be the most cooperative of the Oathbrethren in many ways, and have a long record of inter-Chapter cooperation up until recently.' I paused for thought. 'Honestly, Captain, I'm not sure what to expect. Some records paint them as being one step from the Sons of Russ, and others as the fiercest of brothers, nearly as zealous and pure as we.'

 

Anteas nodded gravely, and took a breath as the doors began to open, swirls and skirls of vapour leaking out. 'Thank you, Acastus. I will doubtless require your knowledge again.' If Anteas felt the same conflict, he didn't show it. His face was an impassive mask, as though he was focusing his attentions inwards.

 

'Let us hope they have someone equally...helpful, too,' Punitus said, his usual derision returned.

 

As the portal opened, we filed through the umbilical into the Fortress-Monastery. I could feel a perceptible temperature drop; the cold crawled across the back of my neck as I wondered what lay ahead. As Codicier, one of my principal duties lay in knowing the lore of the twelve Chapters of the Oathbrethren, even the despised and fallen Reapers. Many of the remaining eleven members of the Oath had not had contact with the Castigators for centuries, if not millennia. Others, like the Judicators, were relatively well known to the Castigators. The Thousand Swords, however, were a mystery to me, as much of the knowledge I had found in our Librarium seemed at times conflicting or even outright contradictory. What all sources agreed on, though, was that our brethren were impressive fighters, but had little time for devotion, piety and worship.

 

The march down the umbilical ended so abruptly, spilling us into a wide, empty bay, that I was jerked out of my reverie by what awaited us. In serried ranks, their bolters held in salute and their armour gleaming, stood an entire Company of the Thousand Swords. A hundred Space Marines arranged in rigid lines in a horseshoe. Consider details? Banners, etc.? We were surrounded, and I doubted it was accidental.

 

To the fore of this reception committee stood two Captains, one in the yellow of the Second Company, the other displaying the red of the Third. Captains Xharp and Bomilkar - both names I had read before. Their armour was a deep red, like ours but darker, as though they were covered in drying blood, while their arms and the aquilas embossed on their breastplates were a rich gold colour. Both wore long capes, as did Anteas, but where my Captain was adorned in purity seals, litanies and honour badges, they had few signs of faith upon them. Instead, they each wore two swords and their armour was decorated with campaign badges, kill tallies and oft-repeated icons of swords and blades. Physical descriptions of Xharp and Bomilkar.

 

The two Captains strode forwards to greet us, followed by their standard bearers. They drew to a halt with parade-ground precision just a few feet from us, and crashed their fists against their breastplates in salute. A second later they were followed by the rest of the assembled Marines, a martial din that quite overwhelmed our return salute. It was clear the Thousand Swords were keen to impress their authority upon us.

 

Xharp dipped his head in an amicable nod to Anteas. 'Brother Captain, welcome to our home.'

 

If Anteas was daunted by this show of force, he didn't show it. He returned the gesture and replied. 'Thank you, brother. You do us much honour with this greeting.'

 

---------

 

You do us much honour with this greeting. I see your reputation for hospitality is not unwarranted."

 

Xharp raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware we had one, actually. We were not expecting a delegation from the Castigators at this time." The Captain was almost uncomfortably blunt, as those he had no time or patience for social mores.

 

As if sensing the true nature of our visit, and an uncomfortable one it was to admit, the other Captain stepped forwards and addressed Anteas. "What my gracious brother means," he said in a gravelly voice that was tinged with irony, "Is that we are surprised by your arrival, and pleased to see our Oathbrethren once again. You have traveled far, and doubtless have reasons for doing so, but that can wait. For the moment, let us go inside." He turned, and led the way through the bay, the assembled Marines parting before us. I took the chance to study the two Thousand Swords as we walked.

 

 

 

---------

 

 

 

We passed through a heavy set of blast doors, and entered a long, steel corridor devoid of decoration. "Tell me, Captain Xharp," Punitus asked after a moment of silence, "Do you greet all your visitors with a fleet and a full company of Marines?"

 

The Captain, his bristly warrior crest of hair at odds with his stern, introverted aspect, appeared to think for a moment. "No," he said at last, "only the ones we think aren't who they say they are." For some reason, Punitus found that amusing.

 

The two Captains led us to a smaller antechamber, occupied only by a round table and chairs, off of the corridor, just before it ended in a door that was at least twenty feet tall and cast with a bas-relief of a Space Marine holding a two-handed sword almost as tall as he. Bomilkar ushered Anteas, Punitus and I into the chamber, then turned to a dour-faced Sergeant who had followed him. "Sakarbal, why don't you see if the Third are willing to play host for a while?" The Sergeant nodded, and turned to lead our honour guard away. It was only after a nod from Anteas that Bericus and the rest followed. "Now then," Bomilkar said, waving the door closed and seating himself in one of the chairs, his back to the door. Xharp did similar, and then Anteas and I joined them. Punitus remained standing behind Anteas. "What can the Thousand Swords do for the Castigators?"

 

Anteas and I shared an uneasy look. Asking for aid does not come easily to the Castigators, not even when asking it of the Oathbrethren. "As you noted, Captain Xharp," Anteas began, looking at the other Captain, who inclined his head in return, "we are a long way from Loscano Secundus and in truth we are not meant to be. We were engaged in a punitive action against an Ork raiding fleet when our main drive was damaged, and we ended up blown far off course. On the recommendation of my Codicer, Acastus, we were able to make the shorter transit here, in hopes that you would provide us a temporary berth while we effect repairs."

 

Xharp and Bomilkar shared a meaningful look, then turned back to us. Bomilkar leaned forwards, resting his hands on the table. "I'm afraid we can't allow you to simply sit in space and try to 'effect repairs', as you say." Anteas opened his mouth to speak, but Bomilkar held up a hand and kept talking. "As you may have noticed, much of our fleet is out at the moment, along with Master Zeuxis and the rest of the Chapter, as we're on high alert for a kabal of reaver Eldar that decided to come visiting two weeks ago. Because of this, our drydock is nearly vacant, and we would be honoured to make our facilities available to you. We will also billet your men here in the Fortress alongside my company, and the Second." Xharp nodded his agreement.

 

There was a pause, as Anteas and Punitus looked to each other, communicating without words. After a moment, Punitus inclined his head, and Anteas turned back to the two Thousand Swords. "Your generosity does your name credit, brothers. We would be honoured to accept."

 

Bomilkar grinned, slapping the table and saying, "Excellent. We could do no less for the Oathbrethren." Xharp, I noticed, maintained his slightly sour expression. I couldn't tell whether he didn't like the idea of strangers, even fellow Astartes and Oathbrethren, roaming the Fortress-Monastery. Bomilkar rose, followed by Xharp and then we three Castigators. "Come, brothers, we'll show you where we'll billet you, and introduce you to the Thousand Swords." The door swung open again, this time by a human in white surcoat emblazoned with a down-turned black sword; a Chapter serf, I assumed. The serf stood aside, bowing from the waist, as we trooped out. Bomilkar lead us across the corridor, passing by the enormous iron door again, through another side hatch and down a long, unadorned hallway. "I am bypassing all the parts of the Fortress that a visitor might like to behold, but the way to the Third Company barracks is otherwise torturous and if we come there unannounced, you may get to see a thing." He didn't explain, and I didn't feel comfortable asking. From their expressions, Anteas and Punitus were similarly curious.

[/s]

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

III

 

Following Bomilkar, we passed through a set of open blast doors, operable only from the inside, and began climbing a switchbacking staircase that was clearly designed to be heavily defensible. The climb would have been exhausting for any without the endurance of the Astartes, and those advancing up the stairs would be exposed to the interlocking fields of fire from each landing with precious little cover. To make it worse, the stairs themselves were short and narrow so that barely half our booted feet fit. We had to pay careful attention to our footing lest we slip and fall, for there were no railings to lean against or catch the unwary. Anteas, no doubt noticing the same thing, remarked upon it. Bomilkar chuckled. 'Each of the ten Company barracks are built like this - though no two are exactly alike. Each is a fortress unto itself, and we often stage assaults on each other as part of routine training.' I was intrigued. Even in the interior of their most precious, sacrosanct fastness, the Thousand Swords thought only of the martial. Every room and corridor seemed to look like the last, and I began to realise that any invader would quickly find themselves disoriented, robbed of navigational landmarks and easy prey for the defending forces. This air of unceasing vigilance and preparedness seemed only to reinforce the quietly suspicious attitude that had been extended towards us thus far.

 

Finally we reached the top of the stairs; by my count, there had been seven hundred and seventy-seven. We stood before another massive door embossed with a heroic relief of a Space Marine. This one stood atop a mound of leering skulls, and was indeed chilling to behold. We did not enter it, though - instead we were led into a side corridor and up another flight of steps, this one cramped and poorly-lit. Finally, another antechamber. The stern Sergeant, Sakarbal, stood by double-doors that, if my sense of direction wasn't wrong, led into the same room as the larger doors below. Bomilkar nodded to the Sergeant, who struck the rune of activation beside the door. With a soft hiss, they swung open and we passed into a new hall.

 

After the poorly lit antechamber, the bright light of this new room was dazzling. Before my eyes adjusted, a tumult of raised voices filled my ears. I could hear dozens or more, roaring and yelling in a chaos I couldn't make sense of. We had stepped out onto a balcony overlooking a large, circular hall. A gallery ran around the second floor, with deep-set doors leading off of it. Above each door, a banner hung, each older than the last. All of them bore variations of the colours of the Third Company banner I'd seen in the docking bay. From what I could discern, this was likely the main hall of their barracks.

 

I moved to the balcony's railing and looked down. The doors I had seen earlier, with the chilling image of the Space Marine, were beneath us and once again I was stuck by the underlying purpose of the room. Anyone breaching those doors would be exposed to the fire from the gallery and would have no cover in the wide, barren room. The centre of the room was a sunken pit, stepped on the sides to make an arena with seating for at least two hundred. Those steps were crowded with Marines, all jostling and yelling - the sort of raucous din one would expect from a horde of Orks. I recognized the heraldry of the Third and Fourth Companies in the main, with scattered examples of most of the others. In the centre of the arena were two Marines, dressed only in thermal shorts and circling each other, blades drawn.

 

'Ah,' Bomilkar said with a self-satisfied tone, turning to us. 'I was right. Brothers, you are privileged to see something few others have seen, a challenge for the rank of Knight-Champion.' As he spoke, the two combatants charged each other, the ring of steel on steel filling the air. They traded strokes for a moment, then broke apart and resumed circling each other. The noise grew, alternating between cheers and jeers as each spectating Marine urged on his favourite and hurled abuse upon the other. Though we Castigators of course have our own traditions of inter-company honour duels, never would we descend into such undisciplined brawling. Anteas looked grim at the sight, and Punitus was openly sneering at the display. The Thousand Swords, however, watched the contest avidly and I noticed Sakarbal's hand twitching unconsciously, as though he longed to be in the ring.

 

Trying not to think about how our honoured brethren were so enamoured of this savage display, I studied the combatants. They both wore the same bristly warrior-stripe of hair, and were both covered in tattoos and scars. One, a member of the Third Company judging by the heraldry tattooed across his shoulders, had a curved scar under one eye that told a tale of something puncturing his helmet. The strong-boned, high-cheekboned features and olive skin tone of the Thousand Swords gave him a heroic look, only enhanced by the wide, toothy and slightly savage grin plastered across his face. He carried a short sword, perhaps two feet long, that was shaped like an attenuated leaf. His opponent was taller and leaner, his tattoos marking him as a member of the Eight Company, and he carried a long, slender sabre with a wicked cutting edge. Despite the disparity in reach, the two fighters seemed evenly matched.

 

Bomilkar, not taking his eyes off the fight, began to speak again. 'Most of the population of our homeworld is concentrated in seven plateau city-states, and each of those cities has the ancient right to a Knight-Champion. The Knight-Champion is a Marine, no higher than the rank of Battle-Brother, who fights in the interests of the city he represents in cases where two cities wish to resolve a dispute during the farming season, or when it is a not a matter to be resolved by formal war. The Knight-Champion must be an excellent fighter, as the title can be challenged for at any time in a ritual combat. The rules of the combat are simple; no armour and no weapons but personal blades. The first to draw blood from the torso wins. In this way we strengthen our ties to our recruiting populace, and encourage strength of arms.'

 

There was a great shout from below, and we returned our attention to the contest. The two fighters were locked together, each with a hand clamped on the other's blade-arm and they were fighting for dominance. The handsome Marine with the short sword, slab-like muscles bunched, was overpowering his opponent, and the tip of his blade was slowly inching towards the other's neck. Suddenly, the Eighth Company Marine did something too fast for me to catch, and had his leg hooked around the other's knee and jerked back, trying to spill his opponent to the ground. The shorter Marine moved his leg with the tug and slammed his knee up, but the Assault Marine was faster still, using the momentum to smash his head forward. There was an audible crack of bone, and a spray of blood as the shorter Marine's nose broke. Dazed, he staggered backwards and managed to parry the Assault Marine's renewed offensive twice, but then the longer, faster sabre hooked inside his guard and left a thin ride stripe up his torso.

 

The cheers were defeaning, and Bomilkar swore and pounded his fist on the balcony railing. 'Always the headbutt with that boy, he always misses it.' Xharp said something in a language I didn't know, but it sounded snide, and Bomilkar flushed angrily. 'The Eighth can't hold that title forever! I'll have a second Knight-Champion in my company before long!' Sakarbal looked similarly angry, and was scowling at the defeated Marine. An Apothecary wearing the colours of the Third pushed fowards, along with two other Marines, one of whom was the biggest Astartes I'd ever seen. The Apothecary prodded the long slash, apparently decided it didn't need tending, and reset the Marine's broken nose with a swift and callous tug. He patted the Marine on the cheek, condescendingly, and joined the flow of Marines leaving the arena.

 

We waited a moment, until those not of the Third had left the barracks, and then Bomilkar nodded to Sakarbal. Drawing in a breath, the Sergeant bellowed, 'Attention! Captain on the deck!' Without a hint of surprise, making me question whether the Marines below had actually been ignorant to our presence, they snapped to their feet, assuming the straight-backed stance and crashed their fists to their chests. It might be nice to mention even Marharbaal stands, despite his injuries? Bomilkar returned the gesture, and his Company broke out into a cheer that surprised me in its intensity and feeling. The Captain was very obviously loved by his men.

 

'My sons, my brothers,' he began, quieting the cheers. 'As you witnessed this day, we are party to a great honour. Our Oathbrethren, the mighty Castigators, sons of Baraquiel, do us the honour of visiting these storied halls. This,' he continued with a wave of his hand towards us, 'is Captain Anteas and his comrades, of the Castigators Fifth Company. Some will be sharing out quarters for a time, and I would that you make them as welcome as you would each other.'

 

A Marine, a Sergeant with a hair crest on his helm, stepped forwards from the mass, and shouted, 'All hail the Castigators, Oathbrethren and victors of the Achenite Apostasy!' The rest of the Thousand Swords took up the cry, a stentorian chant of 'Hail! Hail! Hail!' I was surprised by the shout, as our victory against the Achenite Apostates had been one of the first campaigns led by Anteas. Anteas stepped to the rail, and spoke.

 

"You do me honour, Oathbrethren, and I look forwards to standing beside the heroes of the taking of Fort Ilghur!" The cheers came again at Anteas' mention of their most recent, and perhaps most terrible, victory.

 

As the crowds began to disperse, Bomilkar turned to us. 'Captain Anteas, if you'd join me we can see about getting the Radiant Light into dry-dock and your men billeted. In the mean time, Chaplain Punitus, Codicier Acastus, would you care to see more of our Fortress?' I nodded my agreement, keen to learn more about these peculiar warriors. Punitus also assented, after a moment of thought. 'Excellent,' Bomilkar said, turning to Sakarbal. 'Sergeant, find guides for the Chaplain and the Librarian. Use your discretion as to who.' As the grim-faced Sergeant walked away, the Captain turned back to Anteas. 'Captain, if you and your retinue would join me?' The two Captains, trailed by Bericus, Caetrus and the honour guard, left the way we'd come.

 

Punitius and I waited in awkward silence, neither of us willing to speak. I passed the moments in studying the banners hung from the walls, attempting to discern the campaigns in which each originated and the meaning behind the various honours they bore. Now that the room was almost empty, I saw other trophies from famous actions. Greater detail!

 

After a few minutes, Sakarbal returned, followed by two Marines who wore identical squad markings upon their armour. One of them was tall, darker of skin and eye than most of the Thousand Swords I'd seen thus far. At his waist was belted a very strange sword, like a scythe blade attached to a short staff, but with the blade pointing out like a spear instead of perperpendicularly like a scythe. Unlike the others, his arms and a chest eagle were a glossy black, as was the helmet hanging from his waist. The most striking thing about him, though, were the scars. Into his forehead has been carved a finely detailed Imperial aquila, whilst each cheek bore a pair of crossed swords. He had the burning eyes of a zealot, a look I'd seen often among the Chaplains of the Castigators. The other Marine, I realised with a start, was the defeated fighter. His short-sword was scabbarded on his right hip, an archaic-looking chainsword on his left, and the helmet hung over the chainsword had a white stripe down the centre.

 

Sakarbal spoke without preamble. 'This is Chaplain-Novus Tabnit.' he said, indicating the Marine with the scars. 'Chaplain Punitus, he'll be your guide. Tabnit is a fierce devotee of our Chapter's cult, and will answer any questions you might have. He will also take you to our Reclusiam.' Tabnit nodded perfunctorially to Punitus. Sakarbal, meanwhile, indicated the other Marine. 'Codicier, this is my combat squad leader, Maharbaal.' That explained the stripe upon his helmet, I realised. 'He'll be your guide for the duration of your stay with us.'

 

Maharbaal flashed me a wide smile, cracking the crusts of dried blood on his upper lip, and extended a hand. 'Hail, Oathbrother Acastus.' Despite the growing reservations I had been regarding the Thousand Swords, his camaraderie was infectious, and we gripped each other's forearms in the age-old warrior greeting, our vambraces crashing together. The greeting between Tabnit and Punitus, I noticed, was far more restrained.

 

'Come, brother,' Maharbaal said, guiding me back through the door to the balcony with a slap on my pauldron. 'You've seen enough of bare metal walls, no doubt. Time for something interesting.'

 

 

* * *

 

 

IV

As we walked down that terrible staircase once more I asked Maharbaal about the Third Company's great victory at Fort Ilghur. He proved only too happy to indulge my curiosity. I noticed that, whilst the Captain spoke Gothic flawlessly, Maharbaal had a distinct accent of flattened vowels and hard consonants. A remnant, I presumed, of his homeworld. Given that he lacked even a fifty-year service stud it seemed that the accent likely faded in time. Or that Bomilkar had greater experience communicating with those not of the Chapter.

 

Maharbaal's storytelling was similarly single-minded, focusing on the intricate details of the smallest of skirmishes, yet omitting anything beyond his immediate experience. Given the relish with which he described the cut and thrust of a trench action, I guessed it was a symptom of the Thousand Swords' obsessive focus with the immediate and martial and their disregard for all else. By the time we arrived at that great, embossed iron door once more he had only reached the second week of the siege.

 

This time, the corridor was not empty. Two more serfs stood astride the door. Whilst they wore the same white surcoat emblazoned with a black sword I had seen before, the unmistakable blockiness of carapace armour could be made out beneath their them. Both held matte-black hellguns across their chests. They eyed me blankly for a moment before looking to Maharbaal. The Thousand Sword made a vague gesture at the door, and grinned at me over his shoulder. One of the serfs muttered something into his earbud vox, and the doors split and began to grind open. We passed through.

 

'Well,' Maharbaal said with an expansive gesture at the chamber beyond, 'what do you think?'

 

I must admit I was speechless for a moment. We had stepped into a vast, octagonal room topped by a dome of reinforced blast-windows that exposed the lush, green sweep of the planet above our heads. Framed against this vista stood an effigy of colossal proportions. Standing fifty feet tall on a plinth at least twice my height was a statue of carven, veiny marble. It was a Space Marine in mid-charge, with a sword nearly as tall as he raised in one hand, and a round storm shield held out as a battering ram. The statue's bearded, scarred face was in full roar, features twisted in rage and battle-lust. A cape of breathtaking detail, still in marble, flowed weightlessly behind it. The statue had no right to exist, it defied the laws of gravity and physics. I suspected that there must have been hidden suspensors cunningly built into the stone. At the figure's feet, in a vast pile reaching nearly to its thighs, was a pile of what I at first took to be rubble, as though the figure had burst, fully-formed, from the living rock. As my eyes adjusted to the radiant, greenish light reflected from the planet hanging heavy in the space above our heads like an impossible cloud, I realized the rubble was a massive votive mound of trophies.

 

Skulls, bones, helms and weapons were all piled together with seemingly little regard. Almost enemy of the Imperium I could think of seemed to be represented; beneath the clutter of rusted weapons and yellowing skulls I saw what looked like a Tau Battlesuit, and the track assembly of a Land Raider on which I could dimly make out the heraldry of our hated enemies, the Reapers. I continued to gaze at the pile with a mingled sense of awe and horror, making out the skulls of a pair of Hive Tyrants, and what I could swear was the complete, flesh-stripped skeleton of a Carnifex.

 

Maharbaal took my stare for wonder, and he flashed white, predatory teeth in another grin. 'Abydos, our first Chapter Master and Founder, as he was at the Battle of the Fens of Dylathleen, where he was elevated to the Emperor's side.' The Marine's voice was thick with emotion. Pride, grief and, beneath it all, fury, as though he wanted to join the statue in some eternal battle. It made a sort of poetic sense, I thought. Abydos, their first hero, stood forever in death as he doubtless had been in life: knee-deep in the dead. My guide stood staring at the statue as though he, too, was gazing upon it for the first time. I noticed he gripped the hilts of both sword and chainsword tightly.

 

After a long moment, he shook himself and turned back to me, that casual camaraderie back in his eyes. 'This is the central hub of Tower Primus.' He pointed at a series of doors set in the walls around us. 'The one we came through leads to the docking bay, as you know. The barracks for all four Battle-Companies are located here, as is the primary access to the drydock...