Space Wolf 03 - Grey Hunter by Warhammer

Author:Warhammer [Warhammer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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matter how temporary. He knew that, despite his doubts, he would not have. Although part of him

was near paralysed by the thought of his new responsibilities, another part of him revelled in the fact

that he had been picked out from among so many worthy warriors and given this opportunity. It was

a great honour to be singled out in such a way by Berek Thunderfist. He knew that he was being

tested in the field, and that if he did well here, he could expect further recognition, perhaps one day

even become part of the Wolf Guard. Did Berek see that potential in him? Would that not be a great

thing?

He paused for a second to consider it. Once there had been a time when it had seemed a great

enough honour merely to have been selected to be one of the Wolves. Now, he wanted more. Was

his whole life destined to be like this? Would it always be a case of climbing one mountain, only to

discover a greater peak lay beyond, and that he must climb that too? Where would it end — when he

was a Wolf Lord, when he was Great Wolf? He smiled at the thought, even though he knew that part

of his mind was seriously considering it. And why not? Someone had to be Great Wolf. Even Logan

Grimnar had been a Blood Claw once, difficult as that was to imagine now.

He allowed himself to consider it for a while. He pictured himself on Logan’s throne, issuing

orders to the Wolf Lords, listened to respectfully by the warriors of the whole company,

commanding a fleet, standing as an equal to any of the great lords of the million worlds of the

Imperium of Man. He pictured himself not as he was now, but grown old and grey and ragged, with

features hewn from stone, and a voice that sounded like granite cracking. He pictured himself giving

orders that affected the fate of worlds, striding heroically through desperate battles on a hundred

planets, writing his name in the annals of Chapter history. He saw himself immortalised here in

statue and tapestry and painting. There was a thought that thrilled his young heart, and not his alone.

He knew that every Wolf, even Sven, must think these things sometimes.

He strode on for a dozen paces wrapped in his dreams of glory, but as he did so, other thoughts

filtered into his mind, less bold, less bright, more chilling. He turned and looked up at the massive

oil painting of the Battle of Balinor, a canvas depicting one of the most famous fights of the 38th

millennium. Beneath it stood the statue of Great Wolf Fenrik Grimheart. The statue held a battered

old helmet under one arm, and a notched chainsword in the other. It was the same sword that the

painter had depicted covered in blood in the picture.

Where was Fenrik now, wondered Ragnar? Gone, along with all the others whose statues lined

this corridor. They had found glory and they had found greatness, but in the end the grave had

claimed them too. No matter how famous, men had still sung their funeral songs, and toasted them

with the burial cup.

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