Editing The War Rose (section)

== Part Two ==
===Deathwolf's Haven===

For a week it seemed they travelled without respite, struggling through the weather, adding extra burden to their weary bodies. Cnute seemed to know where he was going, though it seemed a peculiar path to Sanna. Sometimes he would just pause and sniff the air, redirecting their entire course based on some mystery he had ferreted out of the wind. They scaled rock face and ice stream, once anxiously crossing a frozen lake that seemed ready to give way at the softest misstep. But ever dependably Cnute found the safe path.

He was in his element forging through the hip deep snow. When they would stop (only for the shortest of rests) he would appear in the morning with fresh caught meat to eat. Sanna devoured meat half cooked on the march, a better option than the hard rations that sat like lead in her belt.
Darius recovered quickly, his miracle biology knitting up bones and restoring his strength, but even from her limited experience she could see he moved a step slower. It would take a period of proper rest for even a super-human to recover from the tortures he had endured. Cnute and Darius did not quarrel openly, but the young scout bristled under Cnute's order to remain behind when the older man would scout ahead. A young stallion chafing at the bit.

There was little time for talk or song, but Sanna said a prayer for both her companions in the brief stops. Not long or complicated, brief appeals that settled her heart.

Cnute drew them close at the end of a windswept plain.

"He is close, the Morkai," he said, eyes cast far afield.

Darius followed his gaze. "I see nothing, no armies or Wolves."

Cnute nodded. "My eyes are sharp even for the Rout, and Morkai hides well. I do not expect you to see." He stood tall, stepped forward and brandished his axe high overhead, the sun light catching off it like a beacon. Cnute raised his head high. It started low in his gut, and drew up and forth, higher and louder as it continued. A howl that sent prickles across the back of Sanna's neck.

His eyes cast bronze and his mouth more muzzle, Cnute looked bestial as he called out to the distant pack.

His howl drew out across the wilderness in a chambering echo even as it died in his throat.

They waited, until a similar call returned to them.
"Magni!" Cnute seemed pleased.

Darius gave a wry look. "Very interesting, we prefer to use a vox."

Cnute soldiered on, ignoring the dig.

They followed after.

For all that Cnute had said the Morkai was near, it took a day and night to find the first outlier of his camp.

At first there was nothing, no sign of life but the birds wheeling overhead, but on cresting a mound they found them. A small camp of three. An old beard slept with heavy bolter in hand, a young bronze haired man sat oiling a chain-sword and a third man, a silver streaked blond, rose to greet them.

Hands found wrists and Cnute was dragged into a fierce embrace.

'Magni' and 'Cnute' were the only word she caught as they exchanged words in thick Fenrisian. When Cnute gestured to them Magni gave a dismissive nod before clapping Cnute again on the shoulder, gesturing to his companions. The same dismissive nod given to his companions was returned by Magni's pack.

Their conversation was not long. Cnute broke away and turned to them.

"The Jarl is close, and awaiting report. I mislike that," a troubled look crossed Cnute's face. That could only mean the other scouts had not reported in. The worst scenario was a frightening one.

"Any word of the Sixth?" Darius asked, very much the boy in his anxiety.

"Mayhap others know," was all Cnute said as he continued on.

This journey had pushed Sanna harder than any she had thought possible. A weary affliction the veterans had neglected to mention in their lectures. she was ready to sleep for a week. The fact their trek would soon be over was all that kept her moving.

But Space Wolves had a different measure of 'close' than others. Just as their natural counter-part kept to far-ranging territory so did they. It was another day before they found the camp-proper, and it was very much a camp on the move.

Tents of quick construction and quick removal had been thrown up, camouflaged to hide warmachines from prying eyes. She had not seen them until she was amongst them. They covered the motorized element of the force more than the men, who kept to small pack clusters around dug out subterranean warrens. Disappearing beneath the deep snow and into dens, they left no trace on the world above.

News of their arrival had brought some snow covered heads out. Fifteen in all and they were a wild looking sort. If there was one thing uniform about the Wolves that came to greet them it was their lack of it. One beardless boy had fangs tied through his hair, and two chain-swords at his hip. Across his armour he had scratched crude runes with a dagger, pagan wards of protection. Another grey beard was the picture of Marine professionalism save the long dropping moustache he sported.

Only one of the entire throng wore the helm of his power armour, and it had been heavily converted into a snarling wolf's head.

There was nothing of the boisterous reputation in their greeting. They appeared, appraised them, and departed to their stations. Cnute took this as a matter of course and carried on through the camp, sniffing away. Did they communicate as much through scent as sound? Sanna couldn't be sure.

They found a man working on a bike in one of the tents. He was in the process of replacing a tire. His hair ran down his back in a single long plat, and his beard was likewise knotted. It was not wild, it was carefully maintained with utmost precision. The same was said of his work. He replaced the broken tire with a steady, careful hand.

When he looked up he glared through golden eyes.

"Whisper me your secrets, Blood-Drunk, what news do you bring?" the Morkai said, voice like wind on ice.

Cnute stood frozen beneath that gaze, and he only seemed to relax when it passed on to the companions. Sanna felt like meat before that predator gaze. If the Jarl wished, he could kill her, and she could do nought to stop him. A cold and terrifying fact that his body roared in silence. There was no softness in this creature, this was not a man that shared songs around the fire. 

Murder was his work, and murder had found a welcome home in his heart.

She only started breathing again when his gaze shifted to Darius, she had not realised she was holding her breath.

Darius tried to remain stoic but also faltered. She could see the Ultramarine was not immune to this creature.

Cnute spoke his native tongue, and rattled off his news quickly. Morkai continued working on the machine, checking the guns in particular.
He spoke as if he had not heard a thing Cnute had said.

"See your friends to the priests Blood-Drunk, they need attention."

It was all they got as a dismissal and he did not watch them leave.

It was only when they were well away that Sanna finally broke her silence.

"Your jarl disturbs me," she was not ashamed to say it.

"He is not my jarl," was the reply given.

"What did he mean when he called you Blood-Drunk?" Darius asked as Cnute led them across the camp and into a distant camouflaged tent. Cnute did not answer his question, but brought them before a man seated by a squat rhino. A thick black tangle of hair covered a dark skinned face, pipe clamped between yellowed teeth creating a bright split in the black haired mane. Cnute knelt before the dark man in chaplain's black.

"Stand straight young man and share my mjod," as he extended a cup with one hand his eyes flicked to the others. He spoke plain gothic for their benefit, no doubt.

"Master Bragi, my heart swells at the sight of you," Cnute took the cup carefully and knocked back its contents in one swallow.

"The mjod probably doesn't hurt either," he replied through a grin.

Cnute lowered the cup and sat back on his haunches. "Master Bragi was my chooser, it was not known to me he was amongst the Morkai's company." He said it as if they should understand what he meant. Bragi stood and took Sanna by the shoulder. She gave a startled squawk as he lifted her up into a great embrace. Settling her down he did the same with Darius. Sanna gave the man a flustered look, hands running across her thighs. A most unorthodox welcome.

"To see my Cnute with a pack again makes -my- heart swell," he said this over his shoulder to Cnute himself. The Wolf's eyes widened and he stuttered something in Fenrisian. "Speak so that your pack can understand," he chided.

Cnute fell silent, embarrassed and as red as his hair. Sanna chuckled. Pagans were a funny lot.

Bragi took up a large clay bottle and a pair of wooden cups. He poured a thick black liquid into each and offered one to Darius while taking up the other. Darius took it gingerly, looking down at the murky water uncertainly. Bragi sipped his while climbing to his feet, the chair offered to Sanna. Not expecting such a gentlemanly offer she could hardly refuse. The stool was tall and hardy, built for astartes frames, and left her legs swinging like a child's on a high stool.

"Mjod would kill you to drink it my lady, but there is honey mead in my skin," he passed the bag from his hip and she took it eagerly.

"Thank you Master Chaplain," she squirted a mouthful of the delicious wine onto her tongue. It was richer than the brew Cnute had carried. Or perhaps her travel wracked body simply increased the taste. Thirst was a powerful sweetener.

The astartes all sat on the ground and she got the rare experience of sitting head and shoulders above them. Darius sipped his drink and made a sour face. None the less he took a second sip, followed by a third.

Bragi and Cnute spoke for a time on past experience, catching up on missed events about people Sanna did not know. Darius asked for word on the Sixth and Bragi gave it. Last intelligence had the heart of the Sixth still in Mambrino hive, fallen back to the palace and holding it against all assault. A valiant stand, but one under intense pressure. Space-ward surveillance told the tale of twenty-four hour battle, unbroken for a week.

A brand of hope in the heart of darkness.
Darius gave a joyful snarl, the word of enemy dead an elating one.

Sanna shared his joy. This was pleasant if desperate news for all.

"And the Order of the Bloody Rose has soldiers on route," he said to Sanna, "A thousand sisters and war machines besides, riding in the van of a Guard procession. We will crack this Hive open, if these mountains do not stop us."

"They will not," Cnute said. His face was bright and glistening. A waxy drunk expression. Darius was worse, a broad grin ripped open with eyes turned bloodshot.

"Wolves are hard bastards, us Ultras are harder. We'll be the anvil, you'll be the hammer," his words slurred together, and he needed a hand placed backward to keep from toppling over. Sanna giggled at the sight. An angel of death capering like a common souse.

Bragi's brows arched. "That was Jarl Erik's thinking," he had drunk more mjod than both, but seemed unaffected.

"You are a good sort, for an Ultramarine," Cnute said to the grinning scout.

"For an Ultramarine?" the scout snorted, "Pound for pound, Ultramarines are the superior chapter. But you Wolves aren't so bad, second best."

"Second best?" Cnute stumbled to his feet, "A warrior needs only these." He raised his fists. "You ultras are so busy reading your book your bodies have grown weak!"

"Weak?" Darius climbed to his feet and raised his own fists, "The Macragge wrestling arts are the best in the Imperium. But a drunk brawler like a Wolf wouldn't recognise quality if he saw it."

Cnute's fist found Darius' nose and made it even worse. He coughed and stumbled back.

"'Fist unseen is the fist that hits hardest' - Leman Russ," Cnute barked.

Darius came back with a full tackle that sent them to the hard packed earth. Darius' arm knotted around the Wolf's neck. "'Get 'em pinned and break 'em in half' - my wrestling instructor!" Cnute's face turned a shade of purple before his elbow came around, smashing the smaller scout of his back. They both lay panting, swinging limp backhands at each other as they caught their breath.

"Mjod!" Darius said it like a curse as he rolled over, emptying his guts.

Cnute raised his fist in victory. "Battle be damned, Wolves are the superior drinkers!"

Darius looked up from the puddle and spat the last drips of vomit and blood in Cnute's direction. 

Bragi drew Darius up, offering him the corner of his cloak. "Sleep it off in the rhino, you'll be sober soon enough." Darius replied with a drunk cough. With a sigh the old chaplain drew the young scout around to the back, leaving Sanna and Cnute alone.

As she slipped off the chair and skirted over to the wolf it became apparent to her she was very drunk. The wine bag, meant for an astartes thirst, was now empty and the world was indistinct around her. She managed to reach the fallen warrior but fell across him. He looked down at her under a heavy brow, eyes forming deep golden pits.

"Your lip is bleeding," she skirted up his broad chest and touched at the thin trail. Her finger tips stained red, she drew the aquila on his cheek. 

His chest was heaving, his duel hearts forming a drum beat she felt through the armour. Drawing back she placed the side of her head against that broad chest and closed her eyes, listening intently. It thrummed with an intensity, the beat welling up and seemingly enveloping her. It was mesmerising. A beat and counter beat interplaying.

"Sanna," was that the first time he had said her name? "Sanna, get off me. You're drunk."

"Hnn," was her only reply, a smile for him through a curtain of white-dyed hair. He sat up and she slid down into his lap, rolled over onto her back.
A Wolf has twisted features even by the standards of a Marine. Their jaw was twisted to make room for the long fangs they developed, their nose morphed to drag in more delicate smells. But beneath those changes there was something still very human about them. And handsome, in Cnute's case.

"You need food, and sleep," he was stern now, his boisterousness evaporated. He picked her up as he stood, the wine-skin slipped from her limp fingers. She curled up against his chest as he carried her back to where Darius had been taken.

A Rhino stood open. She was familiar with the machine, though like all Marine issue this one was larger by a measure. Darius was snoring on the metal studded floor, a wolf pelt thrown over him. Cnute lowered her down beside the young scout, took her armaments and propped them against the hull.

As he drew back she caught him by the tooth necklace that hanged around his neck.

"Cnute," she said.

He frowned. "Yes?"

"No, I just wanted to say your name." It was a strange one, hard to say.

His frown deepened. Gingerly he brushed the hair from her face. He retreated from the rhino with a huff, the hatch coming down behind him. Sanna smiled in the darkness, the alcohol thrumming through her body. She licked the blood that stained her finger tips before slipping off into sleep.

She awoke in darkness, blind to the hour. The darkness inside the rhino was only broken by the small lights on the control station attached to the wall. Head groggy she slumped up and hit the dial, ejecting the ramp. Light blared in like a trumpet, staggering her backward.

"Throne preserve," she grumbled, tasting the cotton in her mouth.

Darius groaned behind her. As he struggled to his feet he blinked up at the light and over at her.
"What did-," but he never finished his sentence, just shook his head and struggled to his feet. "I feel like the Bell of Lost Souls is ringing in my head, for the Emperor himself." Sanna let his blasphemy slide as they stumbled out of the transport.

The chaplain Bragi sat as he did before, smoking his pipe and reading a heavy bound tome. He gave them a companionable nod. "Fresh breakfast for the raw recruits," he said, motioning to a table set up with seats beside him.
Mounds of grox meat freshly grilled sat with plates of butter-milk cakes dipped in a thick syrup. Jugs of [[recaf]] and water with cups for drinking.

Sanna settled in with the biggest steak she could manage and poured herself a tall cup of recaf. Darius didn't even manage that amount of decorum. He pounced on a fat plate of food with a ravenous hunger. Steaks ripped beneath his shattered teeth, syrup flew as he gulped down cake after cake. It was a display of gluttony that would have made a fat man sick.

Sanna was only half way through her own dish of steak and cake when Darius had finished the rest of the table. He took up a pitcher of recaf and literally poured the whole thing down his throat, save for the piping hot liquid that splashed down his jaw. If it burned he made no sign of caring.

"Mjod!" it really was a curse, "Never again!" He slammed the pitcher back down. Sitting back he clutched his head, the throb visible in the vein across his forehead. Sanna was personally refreshed in comparison. She would have taken cider over recaf, but the brew was good for the chill.

Bragi settled his book down with a smile, tapped the residue out of his pipe.

"Good to see the young enjoy life," he said, "The centuries are long and hard, take the joys you can when you can afford to."

Sanna thought it churlish to argue over a breakfast table, but her tongue could not be stilled. "Devotion is all. Joy is the path to pleasure, which leads to corruption." It was something an older sister had said once, on catching the orphans playing with toys in the Schola Progenium. She had said it with a smile, while smashing a clay doll to pieces.
Bragi snorted. "Devotion without a joyous heart is empty, it is just recital. A Sister told me that once. Perhaps their teachings have changed."

Sanna managed to bite her tongue this time. It -had- been churlish. The chaplain had been gracious enough to prepare a hot meal in the middle of a cold wilderness. A mean feat. Instead she wiped the syrup from her chin and nodded. Sometimes the only way to win a convert was with pleasant manners.

There was blood on her fingernails. Strange.
Cnute came barrelling back into the tent with a package thrown over his shoulder. It looked as if he had cleaned himself thoroughly, even his notched armour looked as if it had been given an extra coat of polish. He said something to Bragi, who shrugged. Cnute dropped the package at Darius' feet.

"You are lucky there was some spare," he said, untying the strings.

Scout armour sat, a new suit in Space Wolves grey.

Darius hefted it up, drummed his knuckles on the snarling wolf in the centre of the chest. "My thanks, but it would be dishonourable to wear another chapter's colours."

It was a casual dismissal that dragged down Cnute's face. Sanna caught an indignant look on Bragi but he smothered it quickly. None the less the room had grown noticeably more hostile. Cnute drew up to his full height before the scout.

"Fight naked if you want, but you'll not object to arms," Cnute drew a large combat knife and pinned it on the table. It would have been a sword in both Sanna's hands, but Darius drew it up in one. He grinned as he scanned the keen edge.

"This I will carry with pride," he said. Cnute's grin came unbidden but disappeared as he passed over the scabbard, knelt down and took up the discarded armour. He paused as he picked at a tooth that had been embedded into the chest plate. 

Prying it out he passed it to Sanna.

"This will guard you," he said. She took it hesitantly. A pagan fetish meant to conjure spirits for protection against magic. She slipped it into a pouch, wary of it all the same. He looked about the room, snorted and slung the packaged armour over his shoulder. Sanna watched him leave with a strange twist in her gut.

"If I could get a pistol, or a bolter, I'm determined to fight my way back into Mambrino to stand with my brothers," Darius told a clearly disinterested Bragi. The chaplain had returned to his book, one she finally caught the title of: 'Faith of the Cicaron Sector'.

It had been required reading pre-departure for all the Sisters. Detailing local interpretations of the Imperial Creed, to better hunt down heretics trying to hide in plain sight. She had not liked what she read, many of the more obscure traditions stank of enemy taint. The Faith took many forms throughout the Imperium, but some forms were simply unacceptable.

The Order intended to stamp it out, with a power armoured boot. If this world could be saved it would be in dire need of new shepherds.
Not that Sanna had any right to judge the worthy after her own transgression. Like a thorn caught in her armour it pricked her still, a nasty bur in the back of her head.

She finished her meal lost in thought. It was only at Darius’ prod that she broke free.

“What is to become of you now my lady?” he asked over his second stein of recaf. “We are amongst friends again, but foreign ones. Shall we head further down the line to rendezvous with your comrades?” 

She was taken aback. The thought of being once again amongst her sisters was a powerful lure, but a terrible one. “We, Darius? Do you intend to escort me all the way home?” it was playfully meant but the young scout’s expression was intense.

“It is Ultramar custom to see a lady safely escorted.”

“This shall keep me safe,” Sanna replied, patting the bolter at her hip with a grin. Darius scratched his forehead, looking the pensive youth. She had known many a nervous boy at the Schola Progenium. He looked like one wanting to ask her to dance.

He slapped a hand to his miscoloured chest.

“I am honour bound to escort you to safety. You rescued me from the clutches of the traitor, it is only just I see you returned to your own number.”
A funny sort of dance he wanted to take her on.

“You’ve no weapons but that small knife and no armour at all, maybe I’ll be the one doing the escorting,” a gentle tease, but again his reaction was severe.

“If all I can do is spare you the blow from enemy assault, they are wounds well earned,” it came with his own sagely nods, as if he had said something quite profound. Sanna was quite flattered by his earnest chivalry, so much she was lost for words.

“The Order of the Bloody Rose is scarcely close,” Cnute interjected, “All back at Hive Mahal, mustering with newly arrived Guard regiments. Only Cicaron loyalists lie in the Morkai’s wake.” It had been two months by transport to get so far out, to get back by foot could be half a year. Cnute did not seem distressed. “Remain with the Wolves until the mountains at least. There is no place safer on the planet.” He might have meant it for both of them, but he only looked to Sanna.

A desperate howl broke the morning reverie, a cry cut short. Cnute's axe and pistol came in hand and the crozius at Bragi's side crackled to life. The four of them burst from the tent as bursting cries rang across the field.

They found the Morkai waiting astride his bike, spear in hand. His eyes were far afield. No rage or worry was writ there, but a pensive anticipation.
"It would seem your ambush comes early," he said. His iron expression broke into a blood thirsty rictus. The look who cast Cnute had Sanna fall into a firing stance, only for Bragi to forcefully lower her gun. "You've led us into a trap, Blood Drunk. History repeats itself."

Cnute shook visibly.

"It can't-"

"Spare me your excuses and ready for a fight. The air stinks of blood and brass." With that Morkai spared Cnute no more attention, but raised his spear and gave a howl. Marines rose from resting place ready for war, and the howl was returned from farther afield. His camp was wide ranging, the sound of howls echoing back and forth from every direction could have mustered several hundred warriors. Far more than she could have anticipated.

"The safest place on the planet," Darius mimicked in low imitation of Cnute's voice. "Honour can wait, I'll take that armour now."

Cnute threw the plate down, face set in pained lines.

The brass trumpets of war called out, a blasting counter-point that cut through the Wolves' howls, and an unholy battle-cry was heard.

[[Category:Stories]] [[Category:Warhammer 40,000]]