# Liar Within, Foe Without



## Anne Marie (Aug 13, 2012)

This story is both a belated gift to Belazikkal who paints Iron Warriors and directs her 14th Grand Company; it also started because of this thread and the challenge is came with.

All the Iron Warrior characters are property of Belazikkal. The lying Thousand Son is mine.

________​
The saviour pod was a perceived threat. Twenty bolters held in sure grips aimed at the pod’s hatch. If its inhabitant was dangerous – and the master of the _Chronos_ hoped not – they would never get beyond three paces. Warsmith Todt knew the menaces the galaxy presented. A lone saviour pod transmitting from a debris field in the Remnant nebula could mean anything.

“Was it necessary to rescue this pod?” Xavier asked. “We should be rid of it. It has no value.” 

“I disagree. It holds a great deal of significance.” Todt’s yellow eyes studied the saviour pod. “The debris field was not here the last time the _Chronos_ passed. Whatever incident happened in this region, the occupant can supply answers. Answers that could work in our favour.”

Warsmith Todt believed his actions were prudent. If there was a shift in power, perhaps an emerging warband looking to expanding their power base, it was critical for the Iron Warriors to know. The 14th Grand Company, while a sizable force, was best prepared when it knew its opponents weaknesses. Todt loathed confronting a rival without understanding what he was up against. To commit to an ultimately victorious action, one had to know their opponents strengths and weaknesses. The saviour pod’s signal had been found by chance; heavy magnetic interference from the nebula played havoc on the _Chronos_ sensor arrays. Once it was taken onboard, the Warsmith had rallied his Chosen, the Technomancer, and a handful of other Iron Warriors to investigate. 

A weak signal light indicated the pod’s life-support systems were still active, and a sensor scan revealed whoever – or whatever – was in there was alive. The hull of the saviour pod was pitted and charred black. Numerous dents attested to it being knocked through the debris field but its structure was sound.

“We have no idea how long they were in the Remnant nebula. What if the occupant’s mind is addled?” Xavier asked. “Worse, what if they’re daemon-bound?”

“That, Technomancer, is what you are here for,” replied Todt.

Stepping towards the saviour pod, Todt readied his power mace. His Chosen carefully levelled their bolters on the hatch. Unless the person came from an enemy Legion or had sworn oaths to the Imperium, no harm would be done. Todt exercised caution even as he practiced good manners. A vox-feed had quickly been patched into the pod; given the vox-caster, Todt spoke.

“To the pod’s occupant,” Todt commanded. “You will come out unarmed and you will make no attempt to fight. If you do not follow my orders, you will be dealt with as a threat.” 

Minutes passed. Todt mentally counted the time ticking away, and with it his tolerance. He gestured for the closest Iron Warriors to wrench the pod’s hatch off when it released by itself with a hiss of pressurized air. Vapourous clouds rolled over the pod, obscuring the Iron Warriors view. They tightened their grip on their weapons and waited for the occupant to step out. As the clouds thinned, Warsmith Todt saw the glint of sapphire battle plate with burnished gold trim, the heraldry of a serpent devouring its own tail and the eye of Tzeentch. 

“Thousand Sons,” hissed Xavier in disgust. He gestured to the Chosen; bolters locked on to the unknown Astartes. The Iron Warriors were not charitable to psykers, even as they tolerated the few in the Grand Company. 

“A past grievance, Technomancer?” He kept his gaze locked on the Thousand Son. The warrior-mage held no weapons but that did not mean he was not a threat. Todt was grateful his unique gift would negate any sorcery against him. Being an Untouchable had its merits.

“I encountered one before you led the Grand Company.” Xavier kept his voice low enough for only the Warsmith to hear. “They are not to be trifled with. Never trust what the sons of Prospero say. I advise extreme caution, my Lord Todt.”

Todt gestured with his power mace to the Thousand Son. “Remove your helm. No one boards my ship without showing their face.”

For a long moment, the Thousand Son looked at the Warsmith with an almost challenging air before slowly reaching up and removing his jackal-shaped helm. For all the rumours following the Warp-touched Sons of Magnus, Todt was disappointed to see how plain this one was. The Astartes could have been of any rank and file soldier, with cropped black hair framing an angular face. Deep-set brown eyes gazed steady at the occupants on the embarkation deck. Todt had the impression the sorcerer was assessing the situation as though looking for a weakness to exploit.

“Great thanks to the Iron Warriors for my salvation.” The Thousand Son gave a minor bow as he spoke, with a slight air of insincerity that rankled the Warsmith. “I had been drifting for days and was about to give myself to death when you appeared.” 

“You will speak when ordered!” Xavier’s voice thundered. The Chosen closest to the Technomancer flinched, knowing the Technomancer had used the Warp to amplify his voice. 

“As allies in the Long War, shouldn’t we treat each other as equals?” The Thousand Son continued undaunted. “Aren’t we all dedicated to the Ruinous Powers? That was what the glorious Warmaster intended, for us all to become a united brotherhood.”

“Silence!” Xavier slammed the base of his staff on the floor. “Kneel before Ludwig Todt, Warsmith of the 14th Grand Company, by the grace of Primarch Perturabo.”

Something flickered for the briefest of moments across the Son’s face. Closest to him, Todt saw it ripple under the man’s olive skin and past his eyes before vanishing. The smile he gave was no longer warm. “I kneel only to my superiors and my Primarch, _Technomancer_.” The word was laced with venom. “Would that you understand, but the Iron Warriors aren’t known for their wisdom. And I will only tell of what happened to someone of my own Legion. Why should I give such information when you bring nothing to the bartering table?”

Todt raised a hand to stall Xavier’s heated counter. Gesturing to the saviour pod, the Warsmith took a commanding step forward. “Aboard my vessel, you will speak when spoken to and answer questions when asked. You will tell us how you came to be in your current predicament without regard to Legion alliances or ties.”

“It is all rather simple how I came here, Warsmith. You retrieved my saviour pod, I stepped out of it, and now I am here, on board your ship.” The Astartes deliberately slowed his words as if he were speaking to an imbecile. He looked around the hangar. “Is this a Mars-class? Dictator-class? ”

Todt raised an eyebrow, mechatendrils coiling in annoyance. He took another step forward and smiled under his rebreather when the sorcerer flinched. The Son looked almost nauseated. “Don’t be obtuse or play semantics, sorcerer. If you do not offer the information willingly, there are other ways I can obtain it.”

“Orthodox Iron Warrior mindset,” the Thousand Son spat. His hands twitched nervously. “Never ambassadors, always tyrants, and failing in the role of mediators.”

“Your diplomacy doesn’t help you. “ Todt levelled his power maul at the sorcerer. He was in no mood for word games, not if he wanted the information this Thousand Son had. Only the Dark Powers knew where the _Chronos_ was headed, and Todt did not want to jeopardize the safety of his ship or his Grand Company. “You will be interrogated. Perhaps you will find your tongue loosened and memory sharp once you’re strapped to an iron rack.” 

Todt motioned with his power maul; Chosen Gistavus, Reinhart and Tawreich Io stepped forward with bolters aimed at the Thousand Son’s head. In response to the obvious threat, the warlock only smiled. Reinhart shoved the sorcerer forward. Still grinning, the sorcerer followed his guards to the interrogation cell, leaving the deck without commotion.

“You should kill him.” Xavier said as he came alongside Warsmith Todt. “Whatever information he has, we don’t require it.”

“If we take that course, then you will first read his mind to find out what you can,” the Warsmith countered. “Then you may kill him.” 

Xavier considered the Warsmith's proposition before giving the barest perceptible shake of his head. There was no way for him to know what guards and mind locks a Thousand Son created to protect their thoughts. 

“I need to know how he ended up in the debris field. It is imperative, Technomancer, to know these things if there’s a power struggle starting in this expanse. Whoever is arrogant enough to challenge the Thousand Sons is someone I don’t want jeopardizing my power. Run scans over the debris field and this nebula to find these upstarts. Have Magos Sierck aid you to see what can be found. I will oversee this interrogation.” 

Escorted by his remaining Chosen, Warsmith Todt of the 14th Grand Company left to unravel the Thousand Son’s ambiguous words.

________​
Slightly elevated on a cross rack of cold iron, the sorcerer watched the interrogation tools being prepared. Vices, clamps, and other instruments were precisely lined up in neat, ordered rows, and much like the room, the metal blades designed to slice skin and peel back layers of muscle looked cold and sterile. The interrogation cell reflected the _Chronos_ master’s persona: taciturn, cold, completely devoid of personality. Flexing his arms, the Thousand Son exhaled loudly as he tested the strength in the adamantium bands encasing both his legs and arms. The fetters held.

They had taken his power armour. The warlock rose above the humiliation and concentrated on other matters. “How long have you been a part of this Grand Company?” The sorcerer asked the two Chosen guarding him. He received no answer. 

Heavy footfalls resounded out in the hall. Eyes moving toward the hatch, the Son kept his face impassive as the door swung inwards. Warsmith Todt stepped into the interrogation cell. His lack of being hit the sorcerer like a cold gale. The Chosen saluted at their commander, unaffected by the aetheric change. Looming over the Thousand Son, gunmetal-grey armour as bland as the cell, Todt watched the psyker flinch as though struck.

That was good. Interrogation was a mental siege that could take hours or days depending on the tactics. Unsavory as interrogation was, Todt employed it to achieve success. He already held the upper hand. “Do you know what a Pariah is, sorcerer?”

The man grimaced. “As well as you know how to treat a guest. I’ve met more amicable Night Lords.”

“If you want this to end now,” Todt leaned closer, “you only have to explain how you ended up in the Remnant nebula.” Todt watched the muscles of the Son’s facial muscles twitch.

Despite the growing pain in his body and his strength being drained at the same time, the sorcerer smiled. “I speak to my superiors. Knowledge is never given freely. As I loathe the Imperium, those lackeys were right on the principle of guarding knowledge.”

“Not even for your life?” One of Todt’s mechatendrils snapped close to the sorcerer’s left ear. It would be easy to tear off his flesh. Then his nose would follow. The las-scalpel would slice off the eyelids; fingers sectioned into pieces. The warlock started laughing. Believing he was being mocked, Todt whipped out another mechatendril to score a wound across the Astartes shoulder, a strip of flesh and muscle torn away. It only made the Son laugh harder.

“Belail,” he chuckled as the blood dripped on to the iron floor.

Todt closed his hand into a fist. “Excuse me?”

“I know Pertrabo’s sons give the most basic introductions before attacking their opponents. That’s expected. However, I suppose that gene-trait does not extent to you. As many other things of the Iron Warriors do not ring true.”

Todt growled. How could the warlock dare suggesting something so outrageous? It was deeply unsettling in the way Belail stated it as a fact. The Warsmith extended the same bloodied mechatendril millimeters from Belail’s right eye. “I suggest,” said Todt, “if you want to keep your sight intact, start talking.”

The joviality fled from Belail. Clearing his throat and watching every movement of the mechatendril, the sorcerer spoke. “The vessel _Anum Luxor_ was travelling through the Rembrant nebula.”

“What class was it?”

“I can’t remember that.” The mechantedril’s tips grazed Belail’s sclera, cutting across the thin membrane. He spasmed, huffing loudly before exclaiming, “It was a Despoiler-class battleship with a crew over thirty thousand. We were returning from a raid.” Belail blinked quickly at Todt snapped the mechantendril away.

“_Was_?” Todt’s voice rasped out of his rebreather. “Where is it now?”

The sorcerer feebly gestured with his head to a space beyond the _Chronos_. “Your starship is flying through its remains. It self-detonated. No one was prepared. There was no time! By the grace of Tzeentch I survived!”

“And you,” Todt caustically replied, “are the only survivor?”

“Are you interrogating anyone else from the debris field?” Todt’s fist pummelled Belail. His ears rang. Fresh blood trickling from a gash in his forehead, and vision dazed, the sorcerer saw Todt pull back his fist for another strike. “In the name of Tzeentch, I haven’t done any harm!”

“Don’t twist words, especially my own.” Todt punched the Thousand Son again, the crunch of bone resounding in the chamber. Belail’s head snapped back, his nose askew. “Tell the truth, sorcerer.”

Belail spat blood on the floor. “I do not speak falsely.”

Todt turned to the interrogation tools. Selecting a large vice with razors imbedded on the inner cuff, the Warsmith held it up. Circling the Thousand Son like a shark, Todt secured the vice around Belail’s left wrist, just below the fetter. “This vice can break open power armour and reinforced bones at the same time. Without your armour,” Todt let the idea hang in the air. “I will give you one more chance to speak the truth before I start turning.”

Belail’s eyes darted from the vice to Todt’s impassive face. His breathing accelerated, twin hearts pounding. His stomach roiled and he felt he would be sick being so close to the Untouchable. He managed an unnerving smile. “I swear, the _Anum Luxor_ was destroyed and I am its sole survivor.”

Todt believed Xavier’s words. He knew how powerful these sorcerers were, even against his unique ability, and did not want to jeopardize the _Chronos_. A mind could be constructed like a fortress. It could be buffeted and solidified, or just as easy have cracks worked into the foundation and come undone. It was time to create the cracks. 

He twisted the vice’s skull-headed screw. Outside the interrogation cell, Chosen Reinhart and Gistavus flinched hearing the sorcerer scream.

________​
It did not make sense. To a practitioner of Chaos, it was logical when nothing was understood. Better to leave it to the gods than dwell on the impossible. To a devotee of cold logic, emotionless circuits, and precise results, the screed of information was indecipherable. Mechadendrites moving at a frenetic pace across the cogitator array and augers, Magos Sierck’s lips were set in a thin line. Xavier realised the whine was not coming from a trundling servitor’s gears but the Magos’s lips the closer he got.

“This is annoying,” Sierck spat. His outburst made the enginseers around him pause. “What are you all doing? Get back to work.”

Sierck’s attitude deterred many. The _Chronos_ bridge crew was running diagnostics across the Remnant nebula and the debris field, and they scurried out of Xavier’s path as the Chaos warrior approached Sierck. The augmented man switched his gaze from the vessel’s view screens to his data-slate as Xavier came up beside the tall spindly human. The Technomancer regarded the data-slate as though he understood the information scrolling past.

“Most of this is beyond my area of experience,” the Magos declared to Xavier. “I can only do so much with what I have to work with.” Sierck’s words snapped the air like a rubber band. He gave a quick bow before returning to the augurs. 

“Explain what you know, Magos Sierck.”

Sierck waved a hand at the augers. “The Remnant nebula is filled with disorganized magnetic readings. The thermal composite remnants of this nebula can’t be adequately scanned by the _Chronos_ sensors. Most are coming up with ghost readings that I can’t identify. I assume it’s the nebula’s dead heart, or perhaps pulsar winds.”

Xavier looked out the port windows at the violet and magenta nebula. It shifted like a miniature model of an ocean, swirling over the _Chronos_ hull, billowing curtains hiding far-off stars from sight. Sierck jabbed a finger at his data-slate.

“Again! Another echo from the Remnant nebula. It’s as if a starship were…“

“Are you suggesting a ship was obliterated in the nebula?”

Sierck surprised Xavier by giggling. “Of course, that would explain the magnetic readings and the discovery of that saviour pod. The debris field, too. Unless the nebula’s winds blew it from somewhere else. It would have to be a large ship, a cruiser at least, to leave such odd readings. And it happened very recently too, now that I can recompile the data.” The figures on the Magos’s data-slate changed. “I would say less than one hundred sixty hours have passed since this event.”

“Were there signs of an engagement in this nebula?” Xavier knew Todt wanted results, the more specific the better.

“I require more time.” Spindly fingers tapped out a tempo on his data-slate, the Magos’s mechadendrites hovering over the cogitator’s panels. “With all this new information, further questions have appeared. Distressing, I say.”

Xavier’s forehead wrinkled with concern. A chunk of debris spun past the _Chronos_, caught in its wake. “The engagement must have been a titanic fight.”

“If there was an engagement, Lord Xavier. Give me time and I can reconstruct the events. A quicker answer could be gathered if we move closer to the heart of the nebula. It seems that’s where the greatest magnetic readings are coming from.”

Xavier allowed it. As the _Chronos_ dove deeper into the Remnant nebula, the Iron Warrior opened a secure vox-link to the Warsmith. 

______​
As Belail writhed in pain on the iron rack, Todt listened to Xavier. Todt cut the link and turned back to the Thousand Son. The sorcerer, in pain both from the torture and doubly again because of the Warsmith’s dead aura, weakly raised his head. 

“One more time. Just how long were you in the saviour pod, sorcerer?” 

“My armour’s chrono stopped working.” Belail’s left wrist was shattered. The air held the tang of copper. “I can’t say, a week at the least.” Blood trickled down Belail’s forehead freely, his skin flayed away. 

Todt growled. “You will tell me what happened in the battle. My council reports there was an engagement in the Remnant nebula.”

Belail coughed, spat out bloodied phlegm. “It was not a battle that you would think.” 

“And just what,” Todt coolly replied, “should I think, sorcerer?” His grip closed over his power maul. Todt could see the foundation of Belail’s mind cracking, opening up.

“You should consider listening to my words,” Belail spoke vehemently. “And be cautious of the region your ship currently moves through.” Belail was loyal to his Legion but was steadfast to his continued existence. “The _Anum Luxor_ was travelling through the Remnant nebula. We did not know until we were in the nebula that another life form inhabited it. I suppose they felt threatened and attacked.”

“A life form residing in the nebula?”

“We have both heard and seen stranger things, Warsmith. Why should this information be so odd to accept?”

“How did it board your vessel?”

“I am not a Tech-Marine or Magos. The fact remains that my brothers, some powerful empaths, didn’t even notice these aliens – things – until it was too late.” Belail licked his cracked lips. “The Thousand Sons were blind to the invasion.” 

Todt inclined his head. “How did these xenos destroy your vessel?”

“I contemplated that. The problems began on the munitions decks. Imagine, Warsmith, enough armaments to bring a world to its end. Then imagine something eating at the chemicals found within the munitions until that balance,” Belail lolled his head, “was undone. I think you know how strong the hull of a Despoiler-class ship is.” 

Todt’s eyebrows drew up sharply. “That defies logic.”

“Logic doesn’t exist in or around the Eye.” Belail seemed to reprimand the Iron Warrior. “The explosions began on the munitions deck. The reactors soon followed. Fires were everywhere.” Belail closed his eyes. “I couldn’t save my brothers. None could be saved, not with the panic and confusion.”

“So you escaped aboard the saviour pod. You admit to cowardice.” Contempt laced the word and rang hollow over the bare walls.

“I was lucky and knew the limits of my power.” Belail breathed the last word as a benediction. “But your vessel is in danger because you came into the nebula.”

“How far was your vessel in the Remnant nebula before your ship was destroyed?” Todt’s mind worked quickly, calculating back from the time frame Xavier had given. The blood drained from his face when the warlock spoke.

“We were on the fringe. In less than forty-eight hours the _Anum Luxor_ was obliterated.” Todt’s eyes widened for a split second. His mind absorbed the weight of the information just told. Belail saw the flash of dread. “Your ship is flying through the Remnant nebula now, isn’t it?”

Synapses fired. The information Xavier had given – what he had ordered – bubbled to the surface. Rounding on his Chosen, the Warsmith ordered Reinhart to remain watching the sorcerer while the others followed. Thundering down the _Chronos_ wide halls, Todt informed Xavier on a closed channel what he learned. Todt envisioned the micro-organisms, billions upon billions of them, eating through his armory. All the munitions on every deck of the heavily armed Retaliator-class starship could explode at a moment’s notice.

Xavier’s voice crackled over the vox-bead in Todt’s ear. “Do were eject all of our armaments?”

Would it take the alien organisms longer to destroy the _Chronos_ considering the vessel’s class? No, Todt could not afford taking that chance. The Warsmith acted. Orders were sent; through machine-code and across the vox-horns the crew complied. The _Chronos_, usually a hive of sedate activity, now flared with increased urgency. 

“This explains the confusing readings from before. Little insignificant micro-organisms never noticed until it’s too late. How ingenious the galaxy is!” Sierck said while organizing the disposal of their supposedly tainted supply of armaments. He was apparently unfazed by the information.

Todt’s plan to dispose of the potentially tainted munitions was being carried out on the largest embarkation deck and the smaller ones. Munitions from the _Chronos_ were placed into containers and loaded onto smaller carriers. Flown by servitor-pilots away from the vessel and into the Remnant nebula, the Warsmith would see if they detonated. In his unfailing paranoia, Todt did not trust the Thousand Son’s words entirely. Tracking beacons on the carriers would help the Iron Warriors locate them the warlock’s words were false. That did not mean people were treating this as a game. The souls onboard knew the risks – the 88th Steel Legion’s boots shook the deck as their Colonel barked orders. Making up in number what they lacked in physical strength, the mortals quickly gathered their munitions and brought it to the carriers.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” voiced Xavier.

“Be quiet,” snarled Todt, flexing his hand around the haft of his power maul. It galled him to see his Grand Company’s armaments’ literally thrown into space. Despising the weakness of being vulnerable in the Eye, the Warsmith’s mechatendrils twitched in frustration. 

“Perhaps you should order an evacuation.”

“Know your place, Technomancer. I will not abandon the _Chronos_ until I know for an absolute certainty that we have averted danger. You admitted all Thousand Sons are liars.”

“Who might tell the truth when their life is at stake,” the Technomancer responded. Work continued. Todt moved to each deck, overseeing what he could as time permitted. Warheads from torpedoes were carefully lowered on cranes and loaded into plasteel crates. Boxes of ammunition were carried by servitors and the Steel Legion. Demolitions were sealed. Iron Warriors were divested of their bolters, flamers, anything that could be carrying the micro-organisms. Even the _Chronos_ gun batteries were not spared. 

The last of the Iron Warriors munitions were stored in the carriers. The embarkation deck was cleared as warning sirens rang. Moving to the command deck, Warsmith Ludwig Todt was given a data-slate to track the carriers plotted course. He had set them himself and knew where they could be found. Sitting in his black iron throne, Todt grimaced behind his rebreather, watching the carriers and his munitions fly into the bruise-coloured gases. When they vanished into the nebula, the Warsmith continued tracking them on the data-slate. 

For the first time in his life, the Warsmith was without any sort of firepower. Todt felt devoid of his armour, no weapon at his side, against an infinite blackness with the monsters closing in. It would take extreme guile to not be found by other warbands until he could resupply. The thought of replenishing everything he had lost caused the Warsmith’s thoughts to turn dark. Tension strung the air until one voice said, “Oh dear.” Magos Sierck looked at his data-slate.

“What is it, Magos?” Todt was on his feet, his face a thunderhead of anger. His munitions must have exploded, though it hadn’t registered on his data-slate or the view screens yet. 

“The metallic readings in the nebula… have increased. The ghost readings and echoes are growing.” Sierck indicated the blooming displays of energy across the different spectra of his data-slate. “The readings coalesced at precisely the same time the last carriers left the _Chronos_.”

“Is it coming from the carriers?” Xavier’s armour servos growled as he swung around to look at the view screens. Static distorted the pict-feeds, the intense heat of the nebula confusing readings. Debris spun past, the _Chronos_ voidshields rebuffing it.

“No,” Sierck responded. “It’s coming from the _Chronos_ port side.” The augurs of the Retaliator-class grand cruiser struggled to compute the information. Armoured hands reflexively reached for bolters that were no longer there. “Roughly five hundred thousand kilometers, inbound.”

“What is it?” Todt demanded, suspicion flaring. His eyes rapidly moved from the screens to the ship’s view ports.

One of the _Chronos_ helmsmen stated coolly, “Vengeance-class grand cruiser detected. We indicate the ship is moving into an attack run.” 

Emerging from the nebula’s colourful emissions and debris like a dagger cleaving into the heart of its target, the grand cruiser closed the distance towards the _Chronos_. Shrill klaxons rung across the _Chronos_ as the Warsmith saw the ancient vessel approach. The sensors displayed an image. The Iron Warriors glared with absolute hatred at the mark of Tzeentch gracing the sapphire prow of the enemy starship. It mattered little that both vessels were the same class. Unarmed, Todt could only flee or risk being boarded. 

“How did it appear?” Todt’s shout caused even Sierck to jump. “How did it escape our augers?” 

The helmsman on the bridge, the crew, even the slaves, held their tongues. No one looked at the feared Warsmith or the assembled Iron Warriors. Xavier turned to Todt, his face lined in worry. “It hid in the cloud’s energies, using the magnetic fields--“

“We would have found it before now,” Todt stated.

“What do you presume it to be, my lord?” Xavier kept his tone controlled. “Would you believe it to be magic that stopped us from finding this ship?” The silence following Xavier statement brought everything into focus. Below in the depths of the _Chronos_ the engines began to thrum, accelerating the Iron Warriors away from their foe. Even from the distant enginarium, the deck started rattling.

“The sorcerer,” Todt cursed. 

There had never been any micro-organisms. It had been a well-laid trap from the beginning, and he had fallen into it. But Todt refused to become its victim. 

“Check on the prisoner,” Todt ordered Xavier. “He might be of further use.” Xavier quickly left the bridge with a squad of Iron Warriors. Todt hardly thought the sorcerer could be much use to parley with unless the Thousand Son held considerable clout with his battle-brothers. Todt turned to keeping his ship unharmed and its crew alive. 

The Retaliator could hope to outrun the Vengeance-class. Todt did not want to be within range of its broadsides. He imagined firing solutions already being worked out aboard the grand cruiser, the Thousand Sons commander ready to fire. 

“Three hundred thousand kilometers and closing!” the helmsman shouted over the rising din.

Todt thought again. Every battle, when confronted with seemingly insurmountable wall, could still be broken open with a well-laid plan. As the _Chronos_ hurtled wildly through the nebula the Warsmith turned to his data-slate. He drew up the carriers’ flight plan. 

“Xavier!” Todt shouted over the vox-link as around him the metal of the _Chronos_ hull began to shriek against the acceleration forces. The engines were burning white-hot in a desperate bid to race ahead of the Thousand Sons. Reports were flooding in from the enginarium of the reactors reaching critical levels. 

“My Warsmith?” Xavier sounded tinny over the vox-link.

The _Chronos_ heaved to port as a lance of white energy fired past them. It vanished into the swirling gases of the nebula. Another lance of energy struck closer. The void shields absorbed the impact but the _Chronos_ still shuddered under the hit. Another klaxon blared; blast doors slammed shut across the vessel. The aft of the Retaliator grand cruiser was hit. There was a brief burn from the thrusters and the _Chronos_ nudged down slightly, barely avoiding the next energy lance.

“Have you secured the sorcerer?”

Metal screeched over the vox; the hull was stressed to the point of fracturing. “Chosen Reinhart was found unconscious. The prisoner escaped when the mechanics holding him short-circuited.” 

“That’s not possible. How did he break out? How could he have overpowered Reinhart with one broken hand and no armour?” 

“Blind luck?” offered Xavier. “I have squads searching now, Warsmith. This sorcerer will be brought to heel.” Todt’s enclosed his fury with cold rationality. His fingers tapped rapidly across the data-slate, counting out numbers and vectors as he listened to Xavier’s excuses. 

“Eighty thousand kilometers!” the helmsman reported. 

One of the cogitators in the pit below exploded in gout of flames and sparks. The slaved servitor screeched in machine-code, making Sierck wince. Crewmen were already dousing the flames as another shudder wracked the _Chronos_. Passing under a piece of spinning debris a kilometer long, the vessel’s pilot ran through the heart of the debris field, moving daringly close to the wreckage. Todt opened a link to the _Chronos_ Navigator.

“Create a Warp translation at the edge of the Remnant nebula.”

“My Warsmith, creating a vector at this speed will--“

“I require you obedience and nothing else.” Closing the link, Todt opened one to the enginarium. “Bring the _Chronos_ reactors to full output. I will not see this vessel crawling with daemon-pact sorcerers.”

Issuing the last of his commands, Ludwig Todt, Warsmith of the 14th Grand Company, confirmed on his data-slate the carriers new route. The _Chronos_’ machine spirit groaned about him as it barrelled on. The debris field spun and twisted about them, a testament to other ambushed and captured vessel, only to afterwards be destroyed. Todt instinctively flinched as the _Chronos_ hull scrapped against a large part of debris the pilot could not avoid. 

There was atmospheric bleed in the lower decks of the ship. Todt sealed off the areas, regardless if crew were there or not. His eyes flicked to his data-slate, then to the view screens where the Vengeance-class starship dominated. He could not see them, but the carriers were moving toward the Thousand Sons ship. Todt continued to watching the pict-feeds as the _Chronos_ shook and rattled.

Across the ship a new alarm sounded. The countdown to Warp translation began. 

Thirty seconds. Another barrage was fired, blowing away a chunk of debris mere kilometers from the _Chronos_ starboard. The charred slag clattered against the Iron Warriors ship. 

Twenty seconds. The pilot shifted the vessel quickly; everyone lurched, unprepared for the sudden maneuver. That quick action saved the _Chronos_ as torpedoes streaked past. 

Ten seconds. The debris ahead of the vessel exploded in a blossoming ball of fire. As the vessel shifted to avoid the collision, damage reports flooded the screens. The nebula rolled over and around the _Chronos_ and its pursuer. Todt’s eye caught one flashing icon. A saviour pod had been launched.

One saviour pod. It was too late to do anything.

A gash of searing white light, cold and dismal, opened before the _Chronos_. The Navigator took control. Before going black, the pict-feeds on the rear of the _Chronos_ caught the image of the carriers impacting against the void shields of the enemy vessel. Hitting the prow in quick succession, the first wave overloaded the shields. They shimmered for seconds, moments between protection and a crippling blow, and then winked out. 

The craft was open to the second wave hurtling from above, piercing the weaker armaments vulnerable to close range attacks. A luminous, billowing explosion – not enough to utterly destroy the grand cruiser – but leaving it crippled in the void. Unable to continue the hunt, the Thousand Sons watched as the Iron Warriors vanished into the Warp. 

“Xavier,” Todt opened the vox-link. “Stop the hunt for the sorcerer. He’s no longer aboard.”

“My Warsmith?”

“I doubt we will find him.” Todt looked to the shuttered windows, then at the wreckage around the command deck. “When we return to Mendrengard…” 

The Warsmith did not finish his thought. There were only so many places in the galaxy where one could hide. Todt had time, and the will, to find the sorcerer and make him regret the day their paths had crossed.


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## BlackGuard (Sep 10, 2010)

A very good read!


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## Myen'Tal (Sep 4, 2009)

Very awesome :grin:!


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## Anne Marie (Aug 13, 2012)

First time writing anything about the Iron Warriors; I'm relieved to know it's been well-received. Still have a soft spot for Thousand Sons but it was nice to write outside of my comfort zone.


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