Roadwarden by Liane Merciel
Author:Liane Merciel
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-03-16T07:01:22+00:00
About the Author
Liane Merciel lives in Philadelphia with her husband, two big unruly mutts and her preschooler, the unruliest of them all. She is the author of the novels The River Kingâs Road and Dragon Age: Last Flight. Her work for Age of Sigmar includes the novella Red Claw and Ruin that featured in the portmanteau novel Covens of Blood.
An extract from Dawn of Fire: Avenging Son.
âI was there at the Siege of Terra,â Vitrian Messinius would say in his later years.
âI was thereâ¦â he would add to himself, his words never meant for ears but his own. âI was there the day the Imperium died.â
But that was yet to come.
âTo the walls! To the walls! The enemy is coming!â Captain Messinius, as he was then, led his Space Marines across the Penitentâs Square high up on the Lionâs Gate. âAnother attack! Repel them! Send them back to the warp!â
Thousands of red-skinned monsters born of fear and sin scaled the outer ramparts, fury and murder incarnate. The mortals they faced quailed. It took the heart of a Space Marine to stand against them without fear, and the Angels of Death were in short supply.
âAnother attack, move, move! To the walls!â
They came in the days after the Avenging Son returned, emerging from nothing, eight legions strong, bringing the bulk of their numbers to bear against the chief entrance to the Imperial Palace. A decapitation strike like no other, and it came perilously close to success.
Messiniusâ Space Marines ran to the parapet edging the Penitentâs Square. On many worlds, the square would have been a plaza fit to adorn the centre of any great city. Not on Terra. On the immensity of the Lionâs Gate, it was nothing, one of hundreds of similarly huge spaces. The word âgateâ did not suit the scale of the cityscape. The Lionâs Gateâs bulk marched up into the sky, step by titanic step, until it rose far higher than the mountains it had supplanted. The gate had been built by the Emperor Himself, they said. Myths detailed the improbable supernatural feats required to raise it. They were lies, all of them, and belittled the true effort needed to build such an edifice. Though the Lionâs Gate was made to His design and by His command, the soaring monument had been constructed by mortals, with mortal hands and mortal tools. Messinius wished that had been remembered. For men to build this was far more impressive than any godly act of creation. If men could remember that, he believed, then perhaps they would remember their own strength.
The uncanny may not have built the gate, but it threatened to bring it down. Messinius looked over the rampart lip, down to the lower levels thousands of feet below and the spread of the Anterior Barbican.
Upon the stepped fortifications of the Lionâs Gate was armour of every colour and the blood of every loyal primarch. Dozens of regiments stood alongside them. Aircraft filled the sky. Guns boomed from every quarter. In
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