Brothers of the Snake

  Brothers

  Of The Snake

  A Warhammer 40,000 Novel

  Dan Abnett

  Warhammer 40,000

  IT IS the 41st millennium. For more than a hundred centuries the Emperor has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth.

  He is the master of mankind by the will of the gods, and master of a million worlds by the might of his inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. He is the Carrion Lord of the Imperium for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day, so that he may never truly die.

  YET EVEN in his deathless state, the Emperor continues his eternal vigilance.

  Mighty battlefleets cross the daemon-infested miasma of the warp, the only route between distant stars, their way lit by the Astronomican, the psychic manifestation of the Emperors will.

  Vast armies give battle in his name on uncounted worlds. Greatest amongst His soldiers are the Adeptus Astartes, the Space Marines, bio-engineered super-warriors.

  Their comrades in arms are legion: the Imperial Guard and countless planetary defence forces, the ever-vigilant Inquisition and the tech-priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus to name only a few. But for all their multitudes, they are barely enough to hold off the ever-present threat from aliens, heretics, mutants - and worse.

  TO BE a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruellest and most bloody regime imaginable. These are the tales of those times.

  Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be re-learned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods.

  Fear not the Snake for his guile, nor his silence, Fear him for his speed at striking, The clenching strength of his coils, The armour of his scales, And the sharpness of his bite.

  Fear the Snake, oh enemies of Man, For his coils encircle us And his bright eyes, unblinking, Watch over us forever.

  - from The Lays of Proud Ithaka

  In those days, there was a circle of brothers, warriors of a mettle unsurpassed in all the worlds of the Reef Stars, and they were called the Iron Snakes of Karybdis. And an oath they swore, a great undertaking, that for as long as their circle endured, they would stand watch over all the Reef Stars and, by force of arms, protect them from all the manifold powers of Ruin. And they would know no fear.

  - from The Karybdiad

  CONTENT

  Part One Grey Dawn

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  VI

  VII

  VIII

  IX

  X

  XI

  XII

  Part Two Black Gold

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  Part Three White Heat

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  Part Four Red Rain

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  VI

  Part Five Crimson Wake

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  VI

  VII

  Part Six Blue Blood

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  VI

  VII

  VIII

  Part Seven Greenskin

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  VI

  VII

  VIII

  IX

  X

  XI

  XII

  XIII

  XIV

  XV

  XVI

  XVII

  XVIII

  XIX

  XX

  XXI

  XXII

  XXIII

  XXIV

  XXV

  XXVI

  About The Author

  Part One

  Grey Dawn

  Undertaking To Baal Solock

  I

  In the last days of the Ripening Season, in the northern cantons of Pythos, harvesters working late one hot, thundery evening in a field of swinecorn and eating lily, saw a piece of lightning fall down onto the world behind the Pythoan Hills.

  They knew it was a piece of lightning, for what else could it have been? It made a streak of white light across the soft, blue evening clouds that was so bright that it left a memory of itself on their vision when they closed their eyes. When it landed, far away and out of sight, it made a crack like thunder. In the warm, sultry hours of those late days, summer storms regularly rumbled in and out of the sky and sometimes broke with great violence. And now a piece of one had torn loose and fallen out of the air. So the story passed from village to village.

  In due time, a day or two after the event, the story reached the court of Samial Cater Hanfire, First Legislator of the Pythoan Cantons, brought into his zinc palace on the hill, along with a box of berries, by a talkative fruiterer delivering from the produce market. It came to Hanfire by way of a kitchen boy, two gossiping maid-slaves and a dutiful butler. Legislator Hanfire was a wise and educated man, as one might expect a man of his station to be. He had been schooled in the Academy at Fuce and had travelled widely in his day, once as far as the thistle forests on the Western Tip. He was educated enough to know that lightning was not a solid commodity that simply fell from the sky from time to time.

  A slave was sent down to the produce market, which was by then closing its shutters for the day, and the fruiterer was summoned back to the palace. There, he retold his story to Hanfire. He was a small, humble man, cowed by the presence of authority, and unduly ashamed of his hands, which had been stained almost blue by the juices of the fruit he traded in. He tried to keep them concealed in the folds of his patched apron.

  Hanfire listened carefully, and then made the man repeat the story while the little metal golem at the foot of the First Legislator's wooden throne recorded the account on a clattering hand press. Hanfire then thanked the fruiterer and offered him some wine and a plate of food, which the fruiterer refused, and three electrum coins, which the fruiterer hastily accepted before fleeing the zinc palace.

  Hanfire dined alone, reading back through the ink-impressed sheets that had rolled out of the golem's hand press, and by the time his steward brought the fruit posset and the small, crystal thimble of amasec, he knew what was now expected of him.

  A rider was sent, without delay, to the High Legislator at Fuce, bearing a report written in Hanfire's own hand, requesting that the official Receiver of Wreck attend Pythos with all haste.

  The Receiver of Wreck, a tall, hard-boned man called Hensher, arrived by fleet coach with his entourage two days later. After consultation with First Legislator Hanfire, the Receiver went up-country into the hills to make his survey. Hanfire accompanied him. This was not usual, but Hanfire was an educated man, and wonderfully curious about out-worldly matters.

  The rising country was hot and dry. Summer storms lingered about the high places, and the sky was bruised with clouds like the skin of a windfall fruit. The string of coaches made good progress up the winding trackways, stopping at villages along the way to gather news. At each place, the locals came out in great crowds. They had never seen such important men in the flesh before, nor such finely garbed soldiers or such magnificent vehicles. They had never seen tailored clothes, or laslock rifles, or anything as inconceivable as the little metal golem.<
br />
  They humbly told the First Legislator and the hard-boned Receiver everything they knew, as well as many things they didn't. The story had grown and it had been embellished, and trimmings of the very finest rumour had been attached to it. Yes, a piece of lightning had fallen from out of the sky. A great, splitting noise it had made when it fell. Where? Well, beyond the hills there, towards the vale known as Charycon. Now it rolled about there, grinding and grumbling, lost and bewildered, sometimes lighting up the sky at night with firework flashes.

  Hanfire listened attentively. The Receiver of Wreck had his own golem make careful notes, and seemed little impressed. At the hamlet of Peros, beside the tumbling headwater of the Fythoa, the locals solemnly swore that the piece of lighting had set fire to great spaces of wilderness wood behind Charycon, an inferno that had raged for days and nights, until a storm downpour had quenched it. AtTimmaes, a tiny place of low stone crofts, the inhabitants told of noises after dark and strange figures seen at a distance by shepherds on the hill pastures.

  The hamlet of Gellyn, when they passed through it, was strangely empty, as if it had been vacated in a hurry.

  'Simple folk fear things.’ the Receiver told Hanfire as the coaches rattled onwards. 'It is their way, as we might expect.'

  Hanfire shrugged, sitting back in his suede upholstered seat to feel the cool breeze of the coach's air fans.

  'They would flee their homes? Run off into the night?'

  'A piece of lightning has fallen from out of the sky.’ the Receiver said, smiling the first smile Hanfire had seen cross his face. 'It could be dangerous.'

  'But it's not?' asked First Legislator Hanfire.

  'You wouldn't have summoned me if you thought so.’ replied the Receiver, going back through the pages of the report his golem had produced during the day. You did the right thing, of course by sending for me. I admire your worldliness, sir.'

  Hanfire knew he had just been complimented, but he wasn't quite sure how. 'I'm sorry?'

  The Receiver looked up, peering through his half-moon spectacles. 'It's quite clearly a ship. A vessel that has foundered and crashed, just as you surmised. In the name of the High Legislator and the God-Emperor who preserves all, we must locate the site and secure it.’

  'Is it dangerous then?' Hanfire asked.

  The Receiver took down a zinc box from the luggage rack. It was a measuring device of some type and it had been clicking like a cricket for the past day and a half.

  'See?' said the Receiver.

  'I'm not sure...' replied Hanfire.

  The Receiver adjusted a dial and the clicking became louder and more intense. 'Residue.’ he said. 'Contamination. It has permeated this landscape. Probably the spill from a drive system. Once we've found the site, the area should be confined.’

  'You've done this before?' asked Hanfire.

  'I am the Receiver of Wreck.’ the other man said. This is my job. Things fall from the heavens all the time, and thanks to men such as yourself, they are brought to my attention. There are fabulous treasures to be secured, in the name of the High Legislator. Technologies. Devices. Precious metals. And if it is a vessel of our Holy Imperium, there may be good human people in dire need of rescue.’

  Hanfire had been very much enjoying his journey into the hills with the Receiver. It was a welcome change for him to spend time in the company of a learned, finely educated man, but now he felt some alarm. He was out of his depth. The Receiver was so much more cosmopolitan than he was. He knew such things. He knew of wonders beyond the mortal sphere. He knew of space and its mysteries. He spoke of them matter-of-factly, as if they were commonplace.

  'Have you ever...' Hanfire began.

  'Have I ever what, sir?' the Receiver asked.

  Hanfire felt rather silly asking the question, but he needed to know. 'Have you ever been... beyond Baal Solock?'

  The Receiver of Wreck smiled again. 'I was born on Eidon, sir, and came here as a child.’

  The full, dizzying burden of that confession silenced First Legislator Hanfire for an hour or more.

  When he spoke again, in the rocking, bouncing carriage, it was to ask the other question that had been gnawing away at the edges of his thoughts.

  What if it isn't?'

  The Receiver of Wreck had been annotating the pages of the golem's report with a silver quill. He looked up at the First Legislator.

  'Sir?'

  Hanfire took off his gloves and rubbed his hands, though the night was warm. What if the vessel is not ours? What if it is... other?'

  The Receiver of Wreck sat back and put his papers aside. The term we use is xenos, sir. Alien in origin. It may be, but such occurrences are very, very rare.’

  'But what if it is?' asked Hanfire. He scolded himself inwardly for being so silly. It was just that he had never considered the idea before.

  The Receiver reached up and pulled the communication thread. The fleet coach came to a halt, and the entire procession stopped around it. Hensher raised the window blinds and called out a command.

  The retinue of twenty men-at-arms hurried forward and assembled outside the coach, snapping to attention. Receiver Hensher had brought them with him from Fuce. They were very excellent men indeed, tall and strong, plated in quality field armour of khaki metal. They bore the finest and most modern laslocks that Hanfire had ever seen.

  'Ordinate Klue.’ the Receiver called from the coach window, 'what is the principal order of the detachment?'

  To make safe the wreck and exterminate anything that is xenos.’ the master-at-arms barked from behind his visor.

  The Receiver looked around at Hanfire. These are good men. The best. Specialists, you might say. I pity the alien scum that meets with them in dispute. We are quite safe.’

  They are splendid indeed.’ Hanfire said. He took his seat again.

  'Carry on, Klue.’ Hensher called, and the procession began to roll forward again.

  'I haven't allayed your fears, have I, sir?' Receiver Hensher asked after a while.

  Hanfire smiled. 'I have heard such things, sir: stories, murky rumours: warning tales of the Ruinous Powers, and the dread greenskins. They say they fall upon worlds and slay them utterly. I have been told, especially, of the thin, dark ones-'

  'Ah, the primuls. They are just a bad memory now.’

  'Stories say that they have stripped many worlds in the Reef Stars with their cruelty.'

  'The primuls may once have been fact. But they are not here. I don't believe they exist any more. They are legends, stories, First Legislator.’

  Hanfire couldn't let it go. 'But if they were... your fine detachment would be no match for them, would it?'

  Receiver Hensher sighed. 'No, sir, not if the stories were true. But there is always ultimate salvation.’ He leaned forward, and showed Hanfire his signet ring. It was curiously wrought, and marked with a double-looped serpent symbol.

  'If doom ever came to Baal Solock, this would be our answer.’

  Hanfire looked at the signet ring for a moment and then burst out laughing.

  'Now you're telling me stories, sir! The sign of the snake? That's a folk tale! Children are taught that the coils of the snake enfold us and that its eye watches over us, unblinking... but that's just nursery talk.’

  'Why?'

  'Because it is, Hensher! Just a myth! Supreme warriors in grey armour, waiting to sweep in and guard us? A child's tale!'

  'Is the God-Emperor of Mankind a myth too, First Legislator?'

  'Of course not!'

  'Have you ever seen him?'

  'No!'

  'Yet you believe in him?'

  'Upon my life, sir.’ said Hanfire.

  'Do not dismiss the Snakes of Ithaka, then. They are real. They have made an undertaking to guard us, until the end of time. I believe this and so should you. If we find calamity here, if my fine detachment of guards cannot cope... if, if, if... then I will send instruction to Fuce and a petition will be made to the Brotherhood of the Snake. They are ho
nour bound to answer.’

  'Has that ever been done?' Hanfire asked.

  'Of course.’ said the Receiver of Wreck.

  'When?'

  Hensher frowned as he thought. 'If memory serves, it was last done six hundred and thirty-three years ago, in the time of High Legislator Ebregun.’

  'And the Snakes of Ithaka came to Baal Solock's aid?'

  'So the annals say.’

  Hanfire shrugged and sat back. He didn't believe a word of it.

  The night was warm and light. Thunder rolled like a rock around the drum of the sky, and gentle sheet lightning lit the hills with an almost constant radiance, like a flickering twilight. It was high time they stopped for the night and rested the teams of quadruped servitors drawing the coaches. First Legislator Hanfire informed the Receiver of Wreck that a hamlet called Tourmel lay just another half an hour away up the track. There, they might find lodging, or at least a space to pitch their dormitory tents.

  'The Vale of Charycon is less than an hour away beyond Tourmel. We can be on it at first light.’

  This plan met with the Receiver's approval. The procession rattled on, its lanterns lit now, through the fragrant groves of musk trees and sandalwood.

  And then it stopped.

  Hanfire climbed down out of the fleet coach after the Receiver. The men-at-arms stood by the trackside, peering out into the dark woodland beyond the road. They had their weapons raised. Thunder rolled. In the shivering glow of the sheet lightning, they looked like statues.

  What is it?' Hanfire asked, and the Receiver shushed him. Hanfire swallowed. His unease returned. His pulse began to race.

  'Ordinate Klue?' The Receiver whispered.

  'Something in the trees, sir.’ the soldier replied quietly. 'It's been following us for the last ten minutes.’

  'Probably a lost goat or a-' Hanfire began lightly.

  'Please, sir.’ Hensher whispered. 'Quiet.’

  One of the other soldiers suddenly raised his hand and pointed out into the dark. Klue nodded, and gestured for his men to move in. In a wide line, they stole forward into the trees. Hensher followed them.

  He glanced back at Hanfire. 'Stay with the coaches, First Legislator.’

  Hanfire obeyed. In a moment, both the men-at-arms and the Receiver of Wreck had vanished into the thickets. A silence descended, stirred only by the grumbling storm and the wheezes of the servitor teams. Hanfire walked back to the fleet coach. Coachmen and servants had climbed down from their seats, and stood around in small groups, quietly watching the woods. Hanfire could tell many of them were scared.