God-Machines, page 90
The Knights retaliated, Icarus fire sending three of the ork planes spiralling away to explode amongst the lower valleys.
‘They’ll return,’ voxed Tolwyn. ‘I’m reading another wave of xenos in the pass. We strike now.’
‘Wait, Tolwyn,’ said Gerraint. ‘What is that on the auspex? It’s huge…’
Markos felt his heartbeat quicken as a moment of ominous silence filled the vox.
‘Skarjaw…’ breathed Tolwyn.
Markos followed the designator rune that had blinked up on his retinal display. Emerging from the darkness of the pass was an immense beast of war. As tall at the shoulder as a Knight’s carapace, the huge monster lumbered along on four muscular legs that ended in clawed hooves. Its bloated bulk was covered in scales as thick as tank armour, and its foam-flecked jaws were filled with enormous tusks. On its back was an armoured howdah like a small castle, thronging with orks. A huge cannon jutted from it, and enthroned atop the howdah was an ork of remarkable size and ugliness – Warlord Skarjaw, the greenskin despot who had launched the invasion of Adrastapol and cost this world millions of lives.
Behind the monster came two more like it, also fitted with swaying howdahs. Fresh waves of orks charged into battle around their trampling feet.
‘Crusaders, Wardens,’ said Tolwyn. ‘Bring the pass down, now.’
‘By your command, Gatekeeper,’ replied Lady Bellah, her voice icy calm.
‘The orks are too close,’ said Gerraint, echoing Markos’ panicked thoughts.
‘I know,’ replied Tolwyn, accelerating his steed into a charge. ‘We’ve got to hold them until the avalanche begins. With me!’
Markos poured power into his steed’s actuators and broke into a loping run. Sires Gerraint, Hectour, Daeved and Archivauld followed suit, while Lady Bellah coordinated the fire of the Wardens and Crusaders.
So few against the horde. It was the stuff of tales and tapestries, but it was nothing like Markos had imagined. Tales didn’t tell of the disorienting din, the confusion of smoke and flame, and the pounding jolt of the Knights’ footfalls or the gut-wrenching terror of staring straight at your own death. Tales, it seemed, rarely matched reality.
A storm of firepower whipped overhead, missiles and shells tearing at the walls of the pass to blast loose huge boulders and spread cracks across the rock faces.
Down below, the orks levelled their own firestorm. Sire Daeved swore as Skarjaw’s howdah fired its cannon. The shell punched through Daeved’s shield and tore off his steed’s chainsword in a shower of sparks. Another of the howdah guns put a round into Sire Gerraint’s leg, reducing his steed to a limp. The ork planes swept overhead, ploughing furrows of gunfire through their own forces in their eagerness to destroy the Knights.
Then Markos was into the melee, and everything was madness. He trampled a mob of orks, kicking their claw-fisted leader a hundred yards as he remembered Daeved’s warning. He bored a crater in the nearest monster with his fusion blaster. Shots rang from his Knight’s hull, striking from every side. A sea of brutish faces surrounded him, roaring in mindless ferocity.
A rocket exploded against Markos’ generator housing, and he swore vehemently as he was forced to shut down a leaking plasma feed. He stomped through a swarming mass of greenskins, fighting to dislodge the axe-wielding xenos that were trying to scale his Knight’s shins, while deflecting a barrage of energy blasts with his shield.
A Knight doesnotfightalone lookto your lancemates young Knight
Markos snatched a glance at the wider battle, just in time to see Skarjaw’s monstrous steed gore Sire Archivauld’s Knight Paladin. The war engine was hurled from its feet by the monster’s bullish charge, before being crushed and trampled beneath its hooves. Archivauld’s Knight shuddered with secondary detonations, and Skarjaw bellowed in triumph, his bestial features underlit by the fires of the burning Knight.
Markos was moving before he realised it, angling his shield to absorb the worst of the enemy fire as he accelerated towards Skarjaw. Sire Tolwyn got there first, shouting a challenge through his steed’s vox amplifiers. Skarjaw roared in reply, directing a hail of shots into Fyreheart. The howdah cannon boomed but Tolwyn swatted the shot aside with his shield, then stepped deftly around the monster’s lunging tusks to ram his reaper chainsword into its neck. Sparks flew. Adamantium cutting teeth met iron-hard scales and ripped right through. Blood sprayed Tolwyn’s steed as he drove his blade deep into the monster, churning through flesh, muscle and bone.
Markos fired his thermal cannon, burning through the monster’s hide. Still the creature stayed on its feet, maddened by pain. It barged forward, impaling itself further on Tolwyn’s blade but crunching its tusks into his steed’s chest. Tolwyn cried out in pain. His steed staggered. If the Knight fell, he would meet the same fate as Archivauld.
Markos wouldn’t reach the fight in time. Yelling incoherently, he opened fire.
A column of searing energies decapitated Skarjaw’s monstrous beast, burning away its flesh and bone. Tolwyn’s blade came free, glowing with heat wash, and the headless monster staggered. Warlord Skarjaw was still howling in fury when his steed slumped sideways. Its massive weight crushed the howdah into the ground, cooking off its cannon ammo in a devastating fireball. Gore and flesh rained down, all that remained of Skarjaw and the monster he rode.
As Markos’ ears stopped ringing, he heard another sound swelling through the clangour of battle. It was the thunderous rumble of falling stone.
‘The pass is coming down,’ voxed Lady Bellah. ‘Sires, pull back now or be buried.’
With the orks in confusion and the rock walls collapsing, the surviving Knights fled, angling their shields behind them to catch the enemy’s last desperate shots.
Dust billowed as the fury of the mountains pounded down upon the orks and trapped them, cutting them off from the Draconspire once and for all.
Sire Markos sat back, smirking at the squires’ rapt expressions.
‘And that,’ he said, ‘is the story.’
‘So you saved my father from being crushed by a rampaging monster,’ said Danial. ‘My thanks, Sire Markos. Without your heroism that day I wouldn’t even be here.’
‘Well,’ said Markos. ‘You’re welcome, I’m sure. But as I say, that’s the story.’
Luk frowned.
‘What do you mean, sire?’
The Herald leaned forward, and his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.
‘If you repeat this to anyone, you’ll wish you’d had it as easy as the Tyrant of Farhaj. Understood?’
They nodded.
‘By the time we got back to the Draconspire, my tale was already set in stone. The tapestry was woven, as they say. A half-dozen witnesses swore they saw me kill the monster. Me, a Knight that had just Become, saving the firstborn son of House Draconis. An inspirational tale of heroism to broadcast far and wide. And so they did, and I’d like to think it helped us win the war that much faster. Throne, perhaps it even put some steel in the spines of those Pegasson dogs. Later, when the war was done and the taletellers had embellished some more, it turned out to be a great tool for inspiring young squires. So I let it lie. But it’s not the truth.’
Danial frowned.
‘Then what…?’
‘In that last moment when I fired, my throne overwhelmed me. I couldn’t even aim my shot, let alone fire it.’
‘So who killed the beast?’ asked Luk. ‘My father told me that you ripped a tooth from the ork’s jaw to keep as a trophy!’
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Markos. ‘Could have been the ghosts fired my weapon for me. Could have been one of my comrades did the deed. For all I know the orks did it themselves. Half the time their guns don’t work, and the other half they can’t aim straight. It doesn’t matter. My point is that I, and by extension your father, were either very lucky that day or very blessed. There’s a lesson in it for you both. Becoming isn’t just a rite, and nor is it easy. Show weakness, prove unworthy and you’ll end up like poor Lorrence. But even then you can’t just rely on skill alone. Our steeds are vast, powerful machines and the ghosts of our thrones help us to be wise, but by itself that isn’t enough either. What I’m saying, lads, is that even once you’ve Become, even if you rise to be the greatest warrior of your age, you still need the Emperor’s favour. Every day. Without the good luck He sends, even the mightiest of us will fall. Do you understand?’
Danial and Luk nodded solemnly.
‘Good. Then you’ll understand, too, why it’s time you got off your arses and to your prayers. Consecrate your minds and souls, then get a good meal and a few hours’ sleep. You’ll need it. When next I see you, you’ll have Become.’
Danial and Luk thanked Markos, rising from their thrones and hurrying away. As he stepped through the arched doorway, Danial glanced back. His eyes widened as he saw Sire Markos reach into the neck of his tunic, fishing out something that hung on a leather thong around his neck and looking at it with a wry smile.
It was a long, cracked ork tooth.
KNIGHTSBLADE
ANDY CLARK
THE NOBLE HOUSES OF ADRASTAPOL
HOUSE DRACONIS
High King Danial Tan Draconis – Oath of Flame
First Knight Jennika Tan Draconis – Fire Defiant
Herald Markos Dar Draconis – Honourblaze
Sire Garath Dar Draconis – Iron Drake
Gatekeeper Lady Suset Dar Draconis – Embersword
Sire Percivane Dar Draconis – Firestorm
HOUSE CHIMAEROS
Alicia Kar Manticos (Consort to the Viscount Tan Chimaeros)
HOUSE PEGASSON
Marchioness Lauret Tan Pegasson – Oracle
Lady Eleanat Dar Pegasson – Sagasitus
HOUSE MINOTOS
Grandmarshal Kurt Tan Minotos – Gustev’s Revenge
Herald Wilhorm Dar Minotos – Merciless
OTHER NOTABLE CHARACTERS
THE EXILES
The Knight of Ashes – formerly known as Luk Tan Chimaeros – Sword of Heroes
Sire Ranulf Vo-Geiss – Void
Lady Maia Kastarada – Wrath Inescapable
Lady Ekhaterina Hespar – Duty Unending
Sire J’madus Hw’ss – Crimson Death
Captain Shas – Captain of the former navy cruiser Unbroken
Commissar Hauptvier
First Officer Mister Klem
THE INQUISITION
Inquisitor Tane Massata
Captain Raniaraz
Interrogator Nesh
Shanema and Shemara – Death Cult Assassins
Lintiguis Mortens – Autosavant
Kasrkin Sergeant Kaston
Astropath Venquist
D’bu’ko the Jokaero
Introductory Note on Titles of Adrastapolian Noble Houses
‘Proudly do the Knightly Households of Adrastapol uphold their customs, codes and forms of address. Though the value of such sacred traditions is beyond question, their labyrinthine complexities can lead to a degree of difficulty when integrating with other Imperial institutions.
At its most basic, the Adrastapolian form of address prefixes the surname (that of the Noble House) with an honorific that denotes status. Though unusual or localised prefixes proliferate, three key terms should be quickly learned and understood by outsiders wishing to comprehend the station of our Knights at war.
Tan – This prefix is reserved for those of direct royal descent. The master of each Noble House has the privilege of using the Tan prefix, as does their immediate family. Examples include High King Tolwyn Tan Draconis and Viscount Gerraint Tan Chimaeros.
Dar – The most common Knightly prefix. This term translates most simply to ‘of House’ or ‘belonging to House’. Any Knight who has successfully Become earns the right to this form of address. For example, if squire Willem of House Minotos survives his Becoming ritual, he will be formally recognised thenceforth as Willem Dar Minotos.
Kar – An altogether rarer and less salubrious title, the Kar prefix is applied only to those who have lost their original Noble House. Whether the House itself has been destroyed as an institution, or the Knight or other noble has been exiled from it (see Appendix VII for a full examination of Freeblades and their role in Adrastapolian society), the Kar prefix permanently replaces whatever honorific came before.
Rarely is this a mark of anything but shame.
– Extracted from the writings of Sendraghorst,
Sage Strategic of Adrastapol, vol III,
A Treatise on the Noble Houses of Adrastapol
and Militaristic Imperial Integration.
PROLOGUE
Danial Tan Draconis stood in the gloom of his throne room. He gripped the hilt of his draconblade, willing strength back into his limbs. Every breath came with pain. His wounds gnawed at him. Fatigue threatened to force him to his knees.
His warriors pressed close with their weapons drawn. They were little more than shadows in the dark. Many were injured. Some wouldn’t see another dawn. Yet they stood resolute, and Danial drew strength from theirs. Militia crouched behind barricades all through the chamber, autoguns and heavy weapons aimed at the doors. Civilians huddled at the rear of the hall. Some brandished improvised arms. Some merely crouched in terror; weeping, shaking and shielding their loved ones with their bodies.
‘Feel the draconsfire within you,’ said Danial, his voice firm amidst the rasp of his warriors’ breathing and the scuff of their feet on the flagstones. ‘Even if it is only embers. Find it. Stoke it. We’re all that remains now. Draconis’ last hope. The Emperor expects.’
A boom echoed through the throne room. The dracon-inscribed doors shuddered from a ferocious impact.
‘They’re right outside,’ hissed a voice. Danial couldn’t place whose.
A second crash rolled like thunder, causing the men and women around him to flinch.
‘Emperor preserve us,’ came another voice.
‘House Draconis, hold your nerve,’ commanded Danial.
The doors bowed inwards. From beyond them came monstrous roars.
At another impact, the doors groaned as their hinges and locks strained. A multitude of feral war cries rose beyond them.
‘Warriors of Adrastapol,’ cried Danial. ‘Lords and Ladies of the Draconspire. Ignite!’
Danial thumbed the rune on his blade’s pommel. As one, his Knights followed suit. With a whooshing snarl their draconblades lit up, fuel reserves burning hot to wreath their swords in fire.
A last, titanic impact smashed the doors from their hinges, and the monsters came for them.
ACT ONE
CHAPTER 1
Luk Kar Chimaeros, the Knight of Ashes, pursued his quarry across the stars. The sorceress Alicia Kar Manticos was ever one step ahead. Alicia had brought ruin upon his Noble House, had led them into damnation and left Luk an outcast. Did she flee his wrath, or did she lure him on towards what she hoped would be his own tragic end? Most likely it was both, for wherever the Knight of Ashes went, his erstwhile stepmother had already departed, leaving destruction and mayhem in her wake.
Son of the disgraced Viscount Gerraint Tan Chimaeros, Luk had taken the Freeblade oath in order to distance himself from his father’s heresy. Yet the deeds of House Chimaeros hung over Luk like a darkened cloud. Their descent into rebellion and daemon worship, their willing alliance with arch-heretics and witches, their murder of High King Tolwyn Tan Draconis and their attempts to usurp the crown from its rightful owners – these were deeds in which Luk had not been complicit, but by which he was tainted through association.
Thus, after the conquering armies of Adrastapol returned to their world in triumph, Luk did not tarry long. As his childhood friend, Danial Tan Draconis, ascended to take the mantle of High King and restore order to their fractured lands, Luk departed to begin his hunt. He left upon a fast ship with a small compliment of Sacristans and serviles – all that he would need to keep his Knight, Sword of Heroes, in fighting condition while he tracked down Alicia Kar Manticos and administered the Emperor’s justice.
Yet the hunt soon proved a more complex and challenging affair than the Knight of Ashes had anticipated. From Ghamdor to the Tyvorian Spiral he went. From there he went on to Undul, Sacramentus and Pydos. Always he found rebellion fermented, dark sorcery unleashed, madness and horror to be confronted. Always his quarry was gone, leaving nought but mocking echoes.
Along the way, the Knight of Ashes gathered a band of followers, fellow Freeblades alongside whom he fought, and who saw in his hunt for redemption a chance to earn their own. They were heroes all, despite their outcast status, and they did much good together. Still their quarry eluded them.
At last, on U’latu, Luk found the information that might end his bitter pursuit. An aging gas-prospector spoke of a world of shifting sands and fiery mountains. There dwelt the Oracle of the Silver Eye, whom Luk had long sought.
Five years sidereal had passed since Luk departed Adrastapol on his quest. Five long, bitter years of frustration, anger and unceasing battle against the machinations of Chaos. Finally, the Knight of Ashes had a chance to end his hunt. Believing that this shadowed figure might hold the key to concluding his pursuit, Luk turned his small fleet for the world of Kandakkha.
– Extracted from the writing of Sendraghorst,
Sage Strategic of Adrastapol,
vol XX ‘The Hunt for Redemption’.
D’atsub drove his heels into his lanka’s flanks. The leathery beast croaked and increased its pace, sand spraying as its hooves dug into the dune. D’atsub hung on to his steed’s harness, wincing as something exploded yards to his left.
