the old floorboards. He reached a door, and halted, preparing to kick it in.
Before he could, the door splintered in towards him, throwing him backwards. A snout, two metres long, shoved its way through the shattered opening. Shere yelped.
The crocodilian was a massive thing, the sort of creature that simply had no business existing on the second floor of a domestic house. It rammed its way forwards, its colossal skull swinging left and right as it came on. Its huge, scuted body and immense tail trailed back across the bridge into the neighbouring building. The house shook under its gigantic mass as it moved.
Herzog tried to drag himself back out of its path. Shere retreated, slipping over on the scurrying house lizards that were darting underfoot. Grammaticus grabbed him and hauled him to his feet, smacking the wriggling, biting things off Shere’s robe with his bare hands.
The remaining operative fired twice at the advancing monster. The crocodilian lunged forwards, extending its white-scaled neck, and took the operative like a grazer at a waterhole, snatching him up in a huge V of jaws. The man tore open, screeching, as the jaws shook him apart like a straw doll.
Herzog, on his back, fired his boltgun, and blew out one of the crocodilian’s eyes. It thrashed in pain, slamming its vast body to and fro into the walls of the bridge and the corridor, shattering plaster and shaking the building. The mangled corpse of the operative tumbled out of its jaws and it snapped forwards, seizing Herzog by the leg. Mail rings cracked and pinged away as the gigantic teeth bit down.
Herzog roared.
Grammaticus had never heard an Astartes cry in pain before. He decided he never wanted to hear the sound again. He pushed Shere aside against the moving wall of lizards and adjusted his ring. It was an Old Kind digital weapon, a gift from Gahet.
He triggered it. An incandescent blue beam lanced out from it and exploded the crocodilian’s braincase in a wet blast of meat, bone and tissue.
‘Come on!’ Grammaticus yelled.
Herzog pulled his leg free of the ruptured jaws, and got to his feet. Limping, he led Grammaticus and Shere across the bridge. They had to clamber over the apparently endless bulk of the dead crocodilian. It was still twitching.
They reached the stairs of the neighbouring house and headed down. Herzog’s leg was badly lacerated from the bite, and he was faltering. Behind them, they could hear the advancing patter of the lizard tide. The first few green shapes were appearing above them, scurrying out across the ceiling, some falling like drops of water down the stairwell around them.
‘Where did you get that?’ Herzog yelled at Grammaticus. ‘What?’
‘That weapon!’
‘Does it matter?’
‘You could have used it on us earlier,’ Shere said, scrambling down the stairs beside Grammaticus.
‘The fact that I didn’t might persuade you that I’m serious,’ Grammaticus replied.
They snatched open the main street door of the house, and came out into bright sunlight, and into the middle of a gun battle. Two Astartes warriors in purple power armour – one of them, Grammaticus was certain, the giant who had questioned him earlier – were exchanging shots along the dusty, sunlit street with gangs of nurthadtre ground troops. Crowds of braying Nurthene civilians were urging the nurthadtre on, hurling cobbles and other missiles. Half a dozen mail-sleeved operatives, anonymous in their desert shawls, were supporting the outnumbered Astartes. Las-rounds and ballistic loads streaked up and down the narrow thoroughfare.
‘Pech?’ Herzog called out.
The armoured giant glanced around. So, not Alpharius then, Grammaticus thought, unless ‘Pech’ was some nickname or surname unknown to the Cabal.
‘Get out, Thias!’ the giant yelled. ‘We’ll hold them here and rendezvous as soon as we can!’
‘For the Emperor, Pech!’ Herzog shouted, pausing to add his bolter fire to the fight for a
Before he could, the door splintered in towards him, throwing him backwards. A snout, two metres long, shoved its way through the shattered opening. Shere yelped.
The crocodilian was a massive thing, the sort of creature that simply had no business existing on the second floor of a domestic house. It rammed its way forwards, its colossal skull swinging left and right as it came on. Its huge, scuted body and immense tail trailed back across the bridge into the neighbouring building. The house shook under its gigantic mass as it moved.
Herzog tried to drag himself back out of its path. Shere retreated, slipping over on the scurrying house lizards that were darting underfoot. Grammaticus grabbed him and hauled him to his feet, smacking the wriggling, biting things off Shere’s robe with his bare hands.
The remaining operative fired twice at the advancing monster. The crocodilian lunged forwards, extending its white-scaled neck, and took the operative like a grazer at a waterhole, snatching him up in a huge V of jaws. The man tore open, screeching, as the jaws shook him apart like a straw doll.
Herzog, on his back, fired his boltgun, and blew out one of the crocodilian’s eyes. It thrashed in pain, slamming its vast body to and fro into the walls of the bridge and the corridor, shattering plaster and shaking the building. The mangled corpse of the operative tumbled out of its jaws and it snapped forwards, seizing Herzog by the leg. Mail rings cracked and pinged away as the gigantic teeth bit down.
Herzog roared.
Grammaticus had never heard an Astartes cry in pain before. He decided he never wanted to hear the sound again. He pushed Shere aside against the moving wall of lizards and adjusted his ring. It was an Old Kind digital weapon, a gift from Gahet.
He triggered it. An incandescent blue beam lanced out from it and exploded the crocodilian’s braincase in a wet blast of meat, bone and tissue.
‘Come on!’ Grammaticus yelled.
Herzog pulled his leg free of the ruptured jaws, and got to his feet. Limping, he led Grammaticus and Shere across the bridge. They had to clamber over the apparently endless bulk of the dead crocodilian. It was still twitching.
They reached the stairs of the neighbouring house and headed down. Herzog’s leg was badly lacerated from the bite, and he was faltering. Behind them, they could hear the advancing patter of the lizard tide. The first few green shapes were appearing above them, scurrying out across the ceiling, some falling like drops of water down the stairwell around them.
‘Where did you get that?’ Herzog yelled at Grammaticus. ‘What?’
‘That weapon!’
‘Does it matter?’
‘You could have used it on us earlier,’ Shere said, scrambling down the stairs beside Grammaticus.
‘The fact that I didn’t might persuade you that I’m serious,’ Grammaticus replied.
They snatched open the main street door of the house, and came out into bright sunlight, and into the middle of a gun battle. Two Astartes warriors in purple power armour – one of them, Grammaticus was certain, the giant who had questioned him earlier – were exchanging shots along the dusty, sunlit street with gangs of nurthadtre ground troops. Crowds of braying Nurthene civilians were urging the nurthadtre on, hurling cobbles and other missiles. Half a dozen mail-sleeved operatives, anonymous in their desert shawls, were supporting the outnumbered Astartes. Las-rounds and ballistic loads streaked up and down the narrow thoroughfare.
‘Pech?’ Herzog called out.
The armoured giant glanced around. So, not Alpharius then, Grammaticus thought, unless ‘Pech’ was some nickname or surname unknown to the Cabal.
‘Get out, Thias!’ the giant yelled. ‘We’ll hold them here and rendezvous as soon as we can!’
‘For the Emperor, Pech!’ Herzog shouted, pausing to add his bolter fire to the fight for a
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