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The White Scars moved fast most of the time, but stopped often, abruptly and without warning, jarring Anat in Sogetai’s ceramite-encased arms. Then Temechi would dash around the corner to shoot, and they’d be off again, past the bodies of their foes.
They were never surprised by the Wolves. Every time, they knew where the enemy would be. Every time. How did they know?
He wanted to know and he didn’t dare ask. (If he was wrong, would they take it as an insult? If he was right, would they be angered at any comparison between them?)
Eventually, their luck ran out.
(If it was luck.)
Sogetai stopped dead—Temechi did so a moment later, falling back to his side—and a Space Wolf squad burst around the corner they’d been about to turn.
Anat recognized the chief rune priest by his unhelmed face and the bones bound to his staff, and he shrank in on himself in Sogetai’s arms.
Go ahead and shoot, he thought.
But of course they didn’t. The captain would be angry, and anyway, they couldn’t hope for a turn at him if he was so much mangled meat for their damn wolves.
Temechi was shooting—had been since they turned the corner—but the rune priest laughed, and the shot slowed in the air, falling in a slow arc to the deck.
“So eager. Didn’t think you could impress the captain enough to earn a chance at his toy? Maybe you were right. I don’t remember seeing either of you on the front lines…”
“As if we’d fight alongside the likes of you,” Temechi said, his voice poisonous.
(He didn’t sound frightened, even as the rune priest’s power forced him to his knees. Know no fear… How long since Anat could say those words and mean them?)
Sogetai was silent. The Wolves had probably already discounted him, out of the action, arms full and not dropping his stolen prize to fight. But Anat felt a familiar tingle across his skin, every hair standing on end.
(He should close his eye. He knew that. But he wanted to know.)
Then came familiar burning-bright light, and heat, and the smell of ozone, and through momentary blindness Anat felt a kind of triumph. He’d been right.
Anat hadn’t been anywhere near real lightning since his own. It was terrifying, not being in control of it, knowing that he could do nothing to keep Sogetai from using it against him—but it was heady, too.
It was the closest he’d come in—in however much time—to his old self.
By the time he got his vision back, Temechi was on his feet again, gun in hand, checking the… the bodies. The Space Wolves were all down. Without his powers Anat couldn’t tell if that meant dead.
Well. Certainly dead now.
Once that would have horrified him—these were Space Marines, not Drukhari. But…
Most of these men had never had a chance at Anat. But they’d wanted one. And he’d heard them talk about what they’d done to his brothers.
He didn’t actually know how good Space Wolf apothecaries were. Maybe these would be mercy killings. But they couldn’t afford to leave enemies alive behind them. And even if it was a better death than they deserved, at least they’d be dead.
“Do you want to keep any heads?”
With a jolt, Anat realized that Temechi was talking about the White Scars’ rumored trophies. He’d thought… Well, he’d been wrong about the Wolves too.
“They weren’t much of a fight,” Sogetai said dismissively. “Besides, you haven’t been taking any.”
“… Didn’t want to upset Anat.” Temechi shrugged as much as a man could, in that armor. “And as you say, they weren’t impressive foes.”
Impressive foes…
Psykers always had something to prove.
“You should take that one. With the staff. He’s… he held a high rank.” Anat cringed a little. If they already knew that, if they didn’t want to hear from him…
“If you think we should, then we will. They’re your enemies before ours, after all.” He was certain, now, that Temechi really was was trying to make his voice gentle.
Even though the chief stormseer (Anat would not think his name, he was dead and dust and his name would be forgotten along with all those he had destroyed—) had done them the favor of wearing no helmet, the armor he did wear made the process hard, the angles awkward. Temechi struggled, a bit. (Of course. Drukhari wore no such armor, and nor did orks…)
But when it was done, he held up what was left (even avoiding the face with the knife, the lightning had done him no favors; would anyone even believe it was him?) for his brother to see, and Sogetai laughed. “This one’s for you, eh?”
It was those words, finally, that made Anat flinch from the gory spectacle of his dead enemy.
(Yes. Enemy. He held that word fiercely in mind. You were my enemy and you are dead and I am still alive.
He could not quite keep himself from adding, And they did not even want to bother with taking you as a prize.)
“Sogetai!” Temechi hissed.
“What? I can dedicate the kill to him if I want!”
To him. To Anat. What did that mean?
Temechi gave Anat a long look, uninterpretable behind his visor. (Did he disapprove? Was this some honor Anat was unworthy of?) “We’ll talk about this later, when there are fewer distractions about.”
“I won’t let anyone sneak up on us!”
“You just did.”
“Psykers.”
“Can you say there aren’t more psykers on this ship? Ones that fool didn’t want promoted into his spot, perhaps?”
As far as Anat knew none of the other rune priests were particularly bright. But… “There are others,” he whispered.
“Thank you,” Temechi said, suddenly gentle again. To Sogetai, he said, “Let’s get him out.”
Apparently that was enough to put an end to their argument, because they were off again.
They were never surprised by the Wolves. Every time, they knew where the enemy would be. Every time. How did they know?
He wanted to know and he didn’t dare ask. (If he was wrong, would they take it as an insult? If he was right, would they be angered at any comparison between them?)
Eventually, their luck ran out.
(If it was luck.)
Sogetai stopped dead—Temechi did so a moment later, falling back to his side—and a Space Wolf squad burst around the corner they’d been about to turn.
Anat recognized the chief rune priest by his unhelmed face and the bones bound to his staff, and he shrank in on himself in Sogetai’s arms.
Go ahead and shoot, he thought.
But of course they didn’t. The captain would be angry, and anyway, they couldn’t hope for a turn at him if he was so much mangled meat for their damn wolves.
Temechi was shooting—had been since they turned the corner—but the rune priest laughed, and the shot slowed in the air, falling in a slow arc to the deck.
“So eager. Didn’t think you could impress the captain enough to earn a chance at his toy? Maybe you were right. I don’t remember seeing either of you on the front lines…”
“As if we’d fight alongside the likes of you,” Temechi said, his voice poisonous.
(He didn’t sound frightened, even as the rune priest’s power forced him to his knees. Know no fear… How long since Anat could say those words and mean them?)
Sogetai was silent. The Wolves had probably already discounted him, out of the action, arms full and not dropping his stolen prize to fight. But Anat felt a familiar tingle across his skin, every hair standing on end.
(He should close his eye. He knew that. But he wanted to know.)
Then came familiar burning-bright light, and heat, and the smell of ozone, and through momentary blindness Anat felt a kind of triumph. He’d been right.
Anat hadn’t been anywhere near real lightning since his own. It was terrifying, not being in control of it, knowing that he could do nothing to keep Sogetai from using it against him—but it was heady, too.
It was the closest he’d come in—in however much time—to his old self.
By the time he got his vision back, Temechi was on his feet again, gun in hand, checking the… the bodies. The Space Wolves were all down. Without his powers Anat couldn’t tell if that meant dead.
Well. Certainly dead now.
Once that would have horrified him—these were Space Marines, not Drukhari. But…
Most of these men had never had a chance at Anat. But they’d wanted one. And he’d heard them talk about what they’d done to his brothers.
He didn’t actually know how good Space Wolf apothecaries were. Maybe these would be mercy killings. But they couldn’t afford to leave enemies alive behind them. And even if it was a better death than they deserved, at least they’d be dead.
“Do you want to keep any heads?”
With a jolt, Anat realized that Temechi was talking about the White Scars’ rumored trophies. He’d thought… Well, he’d been wrong about the Wolves too.
“They weren’t much of a fight,” Sogetai said dismissively. “Besides, you haven’t been taking any.”
“… Didn’t want to upset Anat.” Temechi shrugged as much as a man could, in that armor. “And as you say, they weren’t impressive foes.”
Impressive foes…
Psykers always had something to prove.
“You should take that one. With the staff. He’s… he held a high rank.” Anat cringed a little. If they already knew that, if they didn’t want to hear from him…
“If you think we should, then we will. They’re your enemies before ours, after all.” He was certain, now, that Temechi really was was trying to make his voice gentle.
Even though the chief stormseer (Anat would not think his name, he was dead and dust and his name would be forgotten along with all those he had destroyed—) had done them the favor of wearing no helmet, the armor he did wear made the process hard, the angles awkward. Temechi struggled, a bit. (Of course. Drukhari wore no such armor, and nor did orks…)
But when it was done, he held up what was left (even avoiding the face with the knife, the lightning had done him no favors; would anyone even believe it was him?) for his brother to see, and Sogetai laughed. “This one’s for you, eh?”
It was those words, finally, that made Anat flinch from the gory spectacle of his dead enemy.
(Yes. Enemy. He held that word fiercely in mind. You were my enemy and you are dead and I am still alive.
He could not quite keep himself from adding, And they did not even want to bother with taking you as a prize.)
“Sogetai!” Temechi hissed.
“What? I can dedicate the kill to him if I want!”
To him. To Anat. What did that mean?
Temechi gave Anat a long look, uninterpretable behind his visor. (Did he disapprove? Was this some honor Anat was unworthy of?) “We’ll talk about this later, when there are fewer distractions about.”
“I won’t let anyone sneak up on us!”
“You just did.”
“Psykers.”
“Can you say there aren’t more psykers on this ship? Ones that fool didn’t want promoted into his spot, perhaps?”
As far as Anat knew none of the other rune priests were particularly bright. But… “There are others,” he whispered.
“Thank you,” Temechi said, suddenly gentle again. To Sogetai, he said, “Let’s get him out.”
Apparently that was enough to put an end to their argument, because they were off again.
