Prospero Burns by Dan Abnett

Author:Dan Abnett
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Science Fiction
ISBN: 9781844167760
Publisher: The Black Library
Published: 2010-12-31T13:00:00+00:00

EIGHT

Longfang’s Dream of Winter

‘WE ARE THE Allfather’s killers,’ said the rune priest.

‘You’re soldiers,’ said Hawser. ‘You’re Astartes born. Astartes are the finest warriors Terra has ever manufactured. You’re all killers.’

Longfang coughed. Blood from the mist he was exhaling was beginning to collect around his mouth and soak his beard. It dripped onto the gossamer-white pelt he wore.

‘That’s too simple a view,’ he said. ‘I told you this. A role for each primarch-son. A role for each primarch’s Legion. Defenders and champions, storm troops and praetorians… we all have our duties. Sixth Legion are the executioners. We are the last line. When all else fails, we are the ones expected to do whatever is necessary.’

‘Isn’t that true of all Legions?’ Hawser asked.

‘You still don’t understand, skjald. I’m talking about degree. There are lines that other Legions will not cross. There are divides of honour and fealty and devotion. There are some acts so ruthless, some deeds so unpalatable, that only the Vlka Fenryka are capable of undertaking them. It’s what we were bred for. It’s the way we were designed. Without qualm or sentiment, without hesitation or whimsy. We take pride in being the only Astartes who will never, under any circumstances, refuse to strike on the Allfather’s behalf, no matter what the target, no matter what the cause.’

‘It’s why the Sixth Legion Astartes is considered so bestial,’ said Hawser.

‘That’s secondary,’ Longfang replied. ‘It’s a by-product of our ruthlessness. We are not feral savages. It’s just that two centuries of doing things that other Legions find distasteful have earned us that reputation. The other Legions think we are untamed, untrained dogs, but the truth is that we are the most harshly trained of all.’

Longfang was about to say something else, but a tremor ran through him. He closed his eyes for a moment.

‘Pain?’ asked Hawser.

‘Nothing,’ Longfang replied with a dismissive wave of his right hand. ‘It’ll pass.’

He wiped the blood from his mouth.

‘We are the Allfather’s killers,’ he repeated. ‘It is a matter of honour that we will face anything down. This also may explain why others may regard us as deranged. We deny fear. It plays no part in our lives. Once we deploy, fear is gone from us. It doesn’t ride with us. It doesn’t stay our hands. We exclude it from our hearts and from our heads.’

‘So the stories?’ asked Hawser.

‘Think of the extremity of our lives,’ said Longfang. ‘The unremitting punishment of Fenris, the unstinting combat against mankind’s foes. Where do we find release from that? Not in the dainty pleasures of mortal men. Not in wine or song, or womenfolk, or banquet feasting.’

‘What then?’

‘The one thing denied to us.’

‘Fear.’

Longfang chuckled, though the chuckle was half-drowned in blood.

‘Now you understand. In the Aett, at the hearth-side, when the skjald speaks, then and only then do we allow the fear back. And only if the account is good enough.’

‘Letting yourself feel fear? That’s your release?’

Longfang nodded.

‘So what sort of account? A tale of war, or of hunting an ocean orm and—’

‘No, no,’ said Longfang.

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