Nick Kyme: Salamander

'As worthy an account as that is, brother,' replied Dak'ir, 'I think that now is not the time for a recitation.'

Chastened, Emek lowered his head.

'My apologies, brother-sergeant.'

'None are necessary, Emek.'

Adopting an attitude of penitence, Emek nodded and cast his own offering into the fire. For a few moments, the three were joined in silent reverie, the crackling of the votive flame a chorus to their solitude.

'My brothers, I…' Emek began, but whatever he was about to say caught in his throat when he looked past the flame to the figure standing beyond it.

'Kadai's death has hit us all hard, brother,' Dak'ir told him, having followed Emek's gaze, 'Even him.'

'I thought his heart was cut from stone.'

'It would seem not,' offered Ba'ken, mouthing a silent litany before rising to his feet.

'This enmity with the renegades has exacted a heavy toll. Do you think this is an end to it?'

Dak'ir was interrupted before he could reply.

'Not for us,' snarled Tsu'gan, his belligerence unmistakable.

Dak'ir got to his feet to face his fellow sergeant, who was stalking towards them across the obsidian plaza.

'Or for them,' Dak'ir added, eyes narrowing when he saw Iagon following behind, the ever faithful lackey.

Iagon was gaunt and slight, his face etched with a perpetual sneer. He blamed this affectation on an encounter during the Gehemnat Uprising on Kryon IV when, during the cleansing of a genestealer infestation, a brood creature's bio-acid had severed some of the muscles in his face, leaving his mouth permanently down-turned.

Dak'ir thought it appropriate for one such as Iagon. He kept his gaze on the two approaching Salamanders, vaguely aware of the immense presence of Ba'ken at his back.

'This retribution is old, Emek,' Dak'ir told the other battle-brother. 'It goes back to Moribar when Ushorak died. I don't think Nihilan or the Dragon Warriors will easily lay the death of their captain to rest. I doubt even Kadai's destruction would have slaked their thirst for vengeance. No,' he decided, 'this will end when one of us is dead.'

'Annihilated,' added Tsu'gan unnecessarily, by way of elaboration for Emek's benefit. 'The entire Chapter - them or us.'

'Are you expecting a long war of attrition then, Brother Tsu'gan?' Dak'ir asked.

Tsu'gan's lip curled in distaste.

'War is eternal, Ignean. Though, I would expect no less from one of your craven ancestry to desire eventual peace.'

'There are many upon this planet and others across the Imperium who would welcome it,' Dak'ir returned, his ire rising.

Tsu'gan sniffed his contempt.

'They are not warriors, brother, like us. Without war, we are obsolete. War is my clenched fist, the burning in my marrow. It is glory and renown. It gives us purpose. I embrace it! What would we do if all the wars were to end? What use are we to peace?' He spat the last word, as if it stuck in his mouth, and paused. 'Well?'

Dak'ir felt his jaw tighten.

'I shall tell you,' Tsu'gan whispered. 'We would turn on one another.'

Silence followed, charged with the threat of something violent and ugly.

Tsu'gan's smile was mirthless and goading.

Dak'ir's hand went almost of its own volition to the combat blade sheathed at his hip.

The smile turned into a malicious grin.

'Perhaps you have some warrior's blood in you after all, Ignean…'

'Come now, brothers.' Iagon's voice dispelled the red haze that had settled over Dak'ir's vision. He spread his arms in an expansive gesture, ever the ostensible conciliator. 'We are all kin here. The Vault of Remembrance is no place for recusation or rancour. The temple is a haven, somewhere to absolve one's self of guilt or self-recrimination, isn't that so, Brother-Sergeant Dak'ir?' He added the barb with a viper's smile.

Ba'ken bristled, poised to act, when Dak'ir extended a steadying hand to placate him. He had already released his grip on the combat blade, seeing the act for what it was - a simple taunt. Emek, uncertain what to do, merely watched impotently.

'It is more than that, Iagon,' Dak'ir replied, side-stepping the snare Iagon had laid for him. He turned his attention back to Tsu'gan, making it clear that the lapdog was beneath his concern.

Dak'ir drew close, but Tsu'gan held his gaze and didn't flinch.

'I know what you are doing,' he said. 'N'keln is a worthy captain for this company. I warn you, do not besmirch Kadai's memory by opposing him.'

'I'll do what is best for the company and the Chapter, as is my right and duty,' Tsu'gan returned vehemently. Stepping closer still, he snarled through clenched teeth, 'I told you once I would not forget your complicity in my brother-captain's death. Nothing has changed. But question my loyalty and devotion to Kadai again, and I will cut you down where you stand.'

Dak'ir knew he'd gone too far with that last remark, so capitulated at once. Not out of fear, but shame. To challenge Tsu'gan was one thing; to call his fealty and respect for their old captain into doubt was unfounded.

Satisfied he'd made his point Tsu'gan backed down too and went to move around his brother.

'How long has he been here, like that?' he asked, looking beyond the memorial flame. There was the faintest trace of sadness in his voice.

The Vault of Remembrance was laid bare to the elements at its north-facing wall. An archway of white dacite engraved with the effigies of firedrakes led out onto a long basalt promontory that overlooked the sun-bleached sands of the Pyre Desert. Silhouetted in the evening glow was Apothecary Fugis, as motionless as a sentinel.

'Since we arrived,' said Dak'ir, and felt the spark of belligerence between them ebbing, if only for a few moments. 'I haven't seen him stir even once.'

'His grief consumes him.' Emek had turned to watch the Apothecary too.

Tsu'gan's face creased into a disdainful scowl and he looked away. 'What use is grief? It affords us nothing. Can grief smite our enemies or protect the borders of our galaxy? Will it resist the predations of the warp? I think not.' With barely concealed contempt, he nonchalantly cast the votive scroll he had clutched in his fist into the memorial fire. It slipped and fell out of the flame's caldera where the rest of the ash gathered, only half-burnt. For a moment, Tsu'gan almost went to retrieve it but then stopped himself. 'I have no use for grief,' he muttered quietly. Then he turned and left the Vault of Remembrance, Iagon following in his wake.

When Tsu'gan's back was turned Dak'ir did it for him, mouthing a silent oath of remembrance as the parchment was consumed.

Fugis stared out across the vastness of the Pyre Desert. He was standing upon an overhang of dark rock that was often used as a natural landing pad for the Salamanders' gun-ships and other light vessels. The strip was empty today, apart from the Apothecary, and Fugis welcomed the solace.

To the north beyond the arid desert region was the Acerbian Sea. Fugis saw it as a dim black line where the tall spire of Epimethus, Nocturne's only ocean-bound Sanctuary City, jutted like a dull blade. It was surrounded by other, much smaller satellites, the numerous drilling rigs and mineral harvesting platforms that raked the ocean floor or mined its deepest trenches for ore.

Out on the barren sands of the Pyre, he witnessed a sa'hrk, one of the desert's predator beasts, stalking a herd of sauroch. The lithe, saurian creature slithered low across the desolate plain, scurrying from the scattered rock clusters to draw close enough to its prey to strike. Oblivious to the danger, the sauroch herd ploughed on, their bulky, gristle-thick bodies swaying as they marched in file. The sa'hrk waited for the end of the cattle trail to reach it, then pounced. A bull-like sauroch was wrestled bodily to the ground, hooting plaintively as the predator levered aside the bone-plates encasing its neck to reach the soft flesh beneath. It gorged itself quickly, tearing strands of bloody meat with its iron-hard jaws and chugging them down its bloated gullet. The rest of the herd mewled and snorted in panic. Some of the cattle-beasts stampeded; others merely stood petrified. To the sa'hrk, it mattered not. It took its fill and merely sloped away, leaving the carcass to rot in the sun.