Battle for the Abyss (The Horus Heresy Book 8) by Ben Counter

Author:Ben Counter [Counter, Ben]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Black Library
Published: 2016-01-20T08:33:04+00:00

ELEVEN

Survivors

Aftermath

I will break him

Buoyed upon hot currents of air vented by the Furious Abyss, what was left of the assault boats carrying the Astartes strike force made their escape from Bakka Triumveron XIV and back to the Wrathful held in orbit around the moon.

Cestus was waiting for the atmospheric craft in the tertiary docking bay when a single vessel touched down. Its outer hull shielding was badly scorched and its engines were all but burned out as it thunked to an unwieldy stop on the metal deck.

One assault boat, thought the Ultramarines captain, waiting with Saphrax and Laeradis, the Apothecary ready with his narthecium injector. How many casualties did we sustain?

Engineering deck-hands hurried back and forth, hosing down the superheated aspects of the boat with coolant foam, and brandishing tools to affect immediate repairs. One of the officers stood at a distance with a data-slate, already compiling an initial damage report.

Cestus was oblivious to them all, his gaze fixed on the embarkation ramp as it ground open slowly with a hiss of venting pressure. Brynngar and his Blooded Claws stepped out of the compartment.

The Ultramarine greeted him cordially enough.

‘Well met, son of Russ.’

Brynngar grunted a response, his demeanour still hostile, and turned to one of his charges.

‘Rujveld, bring him out.’

One of the Claws, a youth with bright orange hair worked into a mohawk and a short beard festooned with wolf fetishes, nodded and went back into the crew compartment. When he returned, he was not alone. A pale-faced warrior was with him, his hands and forearms encased by restraints linked by an adamantium cord, his face fraught with cuts, and a massive purple-black bruise over one eye the size of Brynngar’s fist. Bent-backed and obviously weak, he had a defiant air about him still. He wore the armour of the XVII Legion: the armour of the Word Bearers.

‘We have ourselves a prisoner,’ Brynngar snarled, stalking past the trio of Ultramarines without explanation, his warriors with their prize in tow.

‘Find me an isolation cell,’ Cestus overheard the Wolf Guard say to one of his battle-brothers. ‘I intend to find out what he knows.’

Cestus kept his eyes forward for a moment, striving to master his anger.

‘My lord?’ ventured Saphrax, the banner bearer clearly noticing his captain’s distemper.

‘Son of Russ,’ Cestus said levelly, knowing he would be heard.

The sound of the departing Space Wolves echoing down the deck was the only reply.

‘Son of Russ,’ he bellowed this time and turned, his expression set as if in stone.

Brynngar had almost reached the deck portal when he stopped.

‘I would have your report, brother,’ said Cestus, calmly, ‘and I would have it now.’

The Wolf Guard turned slowly, his massive bulk forcing the Claws close by to step aside. Anger and belligerence were etched on his face as plain as the Legion symbols on his armour.

‘The assault failed,’ he growled. ‘The Furious Abyss is still intact. There, you have my report.’

Cestus fought to keep his voice steady and devoid of emotion.

‘What of Antiges and Skraal?’

Brynngar was breathing

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