Deathwing Read Free Page B

Deathwing, the
     bearer of the
     Warriors from the
     Sky. They
     must have
     been desperate to attempt such a summons. 'They trusted
     us
     to protect
     them. We never
     came."
    Cloud Runner heard
     Weasel-Fierce growl. "We
     will avenge
     them." he said.
    Lame Bear nodded
     agreement. "We
     will go in and
     scour
     the
     city."
    "We
     number only thirty, against possibly
     an entire city of Stealers. The Codex is quite
     clear on situations
     like
     this.
     We should
     virus
     bomb
     the
     planet
     from
     orbit."
     Cloud
     Runner
     said,
     listening
     to
     the
     silence
     settle.
     Lame
     Bear
     and Weasel-Fierce
     looked at him, appalled.
    "But what of
     our
     people?
     They
     may
     still
     survive,"
     Lame
     Bear
     said,
     like
     a
     man
     without
     much
     hope.
     "We
     must
     at
     least consider
     that
     possibility
     before we cleanse
     our homeworld of life."
    Weasel-Fierce
     had
     gone
     pale. Cloud Runner had
     never
     seen
     him look so
     dismayed.
    "I cannot
     do it."
     he
     said
     softly.
     "Can
     you.
     Brother
     Captain?
     Can
     you
     give
     the
     order
     that
     will destroy
     our
     world
     -
     and our people
     - forever?"
    Cloud Runner felt the
     weight of terrible responsibility
     settle
     on him. His duty
     was clear. Here
     on
     this
     world
     was
     s
     great threat
     to the
     Imperium. His word would condemn
     his entire people
     to oblivion. He tried
     not
     to
     consider
     that
     Lame
     Bear might be right, that
     the
     People
     might
     not
     yet
     be
     totally enslaved
     by
     the
     Genestealers.
     But
     the
     thought nagged
     at
     him most of all because
     he hoped
     it was true. He stood
     frozen for a moment, paralysed
     by the
     enormity of the
     decision.
    "The
     choice
     is not yours
     alone. Cloud Runner."
     said
     Weasel-Fierce. "It is a matter for all the
     warriors of the
     People." Cloud
     Runner
     looked
     into
     his
     burning
     eyes.
     Weasel-Fierce
     had
     invoked
     the
     ancient
     ritual;
     by
     rights,
     it should
     be answered.
     The Terminator Captain looked at Lame Bear. The giant's
     face was grim.
    Cloud Runner nodded.
     "There
     must be a Gathering." he said.
     
* * *

Chapter II
     
     
    Two Heads
     Talking saw a commotion break out across
     the
     square.
     A squad
     of bluecoats
     forced the
     maimed beggars
     to one
     side. People were crushed
     underfoot
     as
     they
     pushed through
     the
     throng
     like a blade through
     flesh.
    The Librarian dropped
     back toward the
     entrance
     of
     a
     tavern.
     A
     surly
     bravo
     with
     fresh-scarred
     cheeks
     came
     too
     close. He raised his truncheon
     to
     strike
     Two
     Heads
     Talking, obviously
     perceiving
     him
     as
     one
     of
     the
     throng.
     It bounced
     off the
     carapace
     of his Terminator armour. The bluecoat squinted
     in astonishment
     at him, and
     then
     backed
     away.
    A
     palanquin
     borne
     by
     two squat,
     shaven-headed
     men
     in
     brown
     uniforms
     moved through
     the
     path
     cleared
     by
     the bully-boys.
     Two Heads
     Talking looked at the
     sign
     of a
     four-armed
     man
     on
     its
     side
     and
     a
     thrill
     of
     fear
     passed through him. His worst
     suspicions
     were justified.
    "Alms
    ;
     Elder,
     give
     us
     alms."
     the
     crowd
     pleaded,
     voices
     merging
     into
     one
     mighty
     roar.
     Many
     had abased
     themselves and
     kneeled, stumps
     and
     grasping
     hands
     outstretched
     in supplication
     towards
     the
     palanquin.
    A
     curtain
     in
     its
     side
     was
     pulled
     back,
     and a
     short,
     fat
     man
     stepped
     out.
     His
     pale
     skin
     had
     a
     bluish
     tint,
     and
     he
     was wearing a rich suit
     of black cloth, a white waistcoat
     and
     high, black
     leather boots.
     A
     four-armed pendant