Aboard the ship, after the meeting, Shadows of Order and the Space Wolves went their separate ways. Wolf Lord Amlodi Skarssen Skarssensson headed straight back to the mid-decks.
"Okafor, before we reach Stafford, we should talk."
Seeing Okafor stop, Wyrdmake continued.
"There are too many differences between our Legions, but that stems from a lack of mutual understanding."
"You and I can break through each other's prejudices."
Wyrdmake shook his long staff, topped with a silver and gold eagle emblem, and said with impassioned tone.
"Imagine it, the bonds of friendship we forge will be remembered."
Okafor gazed at Wyrdmake, at the simple leather cap on his shaved head. Unlike other Wolves, he had no beard and seemed friendlier.
But his Father's command made the psychic examine Wyrdmake with a more prudent eye.
Beneath his enthusiastic exterior lurked the shadow of a viper.
Okafor glanced at the talismans hanging on his iron-grey armor. The Rune Priest wore more than any other Wolf.
Most of them corresponded to runes recorded in the Librarius, obtained by the Primarch's Aide from the barrows of the Fenrisian First Kings.
He identified five among the talismans that offered psychic defense. Cautiously, he did not extend his consciousness to probe Wyrdmake's thoughts.
"Wyrdmake, come with me."
Wyrdmake stepped towards Okafor, his iron-grey armor almost brushing against the black ceramite.
"Fenrisians call us Sons of the Storm. To us, the Sea of Souls is as familiar as the ocean around Asaheim."
"The tides of time surge and ebb, sometimes gathering, sometimes dispersing, but forever intertwined with the great legends of the vast universe."
Okafor listened intently to Wyrdmake's understanding of psychic power, aspects not found in the runes.
The Fenrisian understanding of psychic power, compared to the systems of other Legions based on Vlaka and Aeldari lore, and the Thousand Sons system, was much shallower, yet it also offered fresh, insightful perspectives.
Wyrdmake candidly spoke all the way until Okafor opened the door to his quarters and entered the meditation chamber, believing he had already gained some of the others' trust.
"Okafor, now I would very much like to hear your insights."
Okafor stared at Wyrdmake and voiced the words he had already prepared.
"Father once said, knowledge contains power."
"Reading the geometrically expanding possibilities, surveying the ripples caused by the entire knowledge system."
"Each combination generates eleven different outcomes, no matter how similar the starting conditions. He calls this fractal geometry."
Hearing that this came directly from Nareth, Wyrdmake's eyes immediately lit up. He weighed each word.
'Fractal. Eleven, one hundred twenty-one, one thousand three hundred thirty-one…'
'Rapid expansion, but ultimately losing control and declining, just like Shadows of Order's pace of conquest.'
Thinking this, he asked suggestively.
"The collision of fractal patterns, causing geometric expansion, knowledge fission?"
Okafor smiled and glanced at Wyrdmake. "Correct."
As Wyrdmake's eyes brimmed with light, Okafor continued.
"But the primary lesson Father taught me is that adhering to the precepts of order is most important."
"The mysteries one peers into require a strong will to control."
Okafor, having just completed the path of "Mystic," said with feeling.
"For this reason, he comprehended techniques to temper the will from the philosophy of Telema."
The light in Wyrdmake's eyes was overlaid with a grey shadow.
One standard ship hour later, Wyrdmake trudged heavily back to the sixth level of the mid-decks.
Entering the deck, Wyrdmake immediately felt an absence of any outsiders' disturbance here.
Sanchez's Honor Guard, Librarians, and other Chapter members resided on the upper decks.
The Wolves received no preferential treatment from the brother Chapter. The officers of the Catachan Jungle Fighters and Attilan Rough Riders occupied the first through fourth levels of the mid-decks.
The Wolves were placed on a single level of the mid-decks, with Chapter servants on the levels above and below.
Aside from necessary actions like meals, no one willingly approached their den.
Wyrdmake walked into the shadows. Four giant wolves with bristling fur approached him.
Their muscles were taut, like pistons on the flight deck ready to engage.
Wyrdmake nodded to the tall warriors in iron-grey armor who emerged behind the wolves, then walked into the camp.
Skarssenson, heedless of the shipmaster's preferences, had removed all non-structural elements, opening up the entire deck.
He had arranged his warriors in concentric circles according to their custom, placing himself at the center.
Totems made from giant wolf skulls stood, hung with wolf tails as long as a man's leg and blade-like wolf fangs.
Wreckage burning in promethium cans served as Fenrisian hearths.
Lumen lights were deliberately and sporadically smashed, creating a den-like gloom.
Scanning systems monitoring temperature and other conditions had been located and completely smashed.
Wyrdmake knew this was Skarssen's way of venting his dissatisfaction with Shadows of Order, Nareth, and especially Sanchez.
He approached his Wolf Lord. Skarssen, using the battle-tongue, one of the two Fenrisian languages, rather than the everyday hearth-tongue, asked coldly.
"Did you find their dark secrets?"
"No. Okafor is very cautious." Wyrdmake shook his head, sat down, picked up a bowl of Fenrisian mead, and downed it.
"I told you, your plan won't work," Skarssenson said coldly.
"The only way Sanchez can hope to defeat me is by using their sorcerous tricks."
"We'll naturally get the evidence we need."
"They used to be called Reapers. Even if they're now called Shadows of Order, it's just a name change. Sanchez's whelps won't be able to restrain their power."
Wyrdmake nodded. "You are right. Sanchez still calls himself the Reaper Lord."
"I'm sure they'll expose their abuse of sorcerous power on the battlefield."
"You don't need to worry about winning, my Lord. I have ways to help you."
"Stop talking. I have no patience for it now." Skarssenson swirled the mead in his bowl.
"Wolf Lord, the wager between the Wolf King and Lord Nareth is about the deeds of you and Sanchez."
"It's not limited to Stafford, but the entire war."
"Let Shadows of Order be the spearhead while we learn about these xenos prey. Then you can hunt freely."
"I don't need such petty tricks." The image of Sanchez's irritating expression and tone in the Wolf King's palace on Fenris flashed through Skarssenson's mind.
Back then, he could only watch angrily. Now he was a son of the Wolf King, a true Space Wolf.
Skarssenson pulled the great axe from his back and slammed it down before Wyrdmake.
The axe split the deck, embedding itself over a dozen centimeters.
"You will eventually win and reclaim the Russ Wolf Helm."
Twenty-five standard ship cycles later, the joint fleet had routed the xenos fleet and initiated planetary assault.
Wyrdmake's gloomy expression vanished the moment he set foot on the surface with Okafor.
"Librarian, we should carry out the commands of Lord Nareth and the Wolf King, and cleanse the xenos."
"Correct." The assault was underway. "Wyrdmake, listen. The sound of hoofbeats."
The rumble like thunder reached the Space Wolves' ears. Blowing sand rolled across the sky.
Wyrdmake looked around, quickly climbed a slope, and gained a broader view.
Wyrdmake knew Shadows of Order commanded several powerful Auxilia regiments. Legends said some of them were no less effective than the elite of the Solar Auxilia.
He didn't believe it, nor did he think these mortals were anything special.
Mortals couldn't keep up with the Wolves' swift pace. That was why his Wolf Lord never fought alongside them.
Prompted by duty from the Wolf King's mission and curiosity, Wyrdmake scrutinized the Attilan Rough Riders.
Wyrdmake was first drawn to the horses. Compared to the warhorses he had seen before, the Attilan mounts were stockier, more like beasts.
The Librarian saw signs of bio-augmentation on them, clearly bred and trained for battle.
They had savage faces, weathered features somewhat similar to Fenrisians, giving Wyrdmake a sense of familiarity.
Their similarly weathered faces all bore prominent ritual scars, and sported small moustaches different from the Fenrisians' thick beards.
Their scent was strong, to a mortal nose perhaps similar to the Wolves'.
Most Attilan Rough Riders wore leather or fur coats, leather riding gloves and boots, and their traditional, distinctive wide-brimmed fur caps.
Wyrdmake saw them formed into squads of ten, gathering with other units into a broad line.
Rank after rank of riders, like the Fenrisian Ocean, surged in a tidal wave towards the slave army.
A glint of admiration crossed Wyrdmake's eyes. He had to admit, the sight of over a hundred thousand riders charging as one was shocking.
At the very front, dozens of company commanders swung their sabers forward.
The first rank of Attilan Rough Riders simultaneously leveled their lances, manufactured on Incaladion. The hunting lances, carrying the momentum of the charge, struck the enemy.
The fragmentation spearheads detonated, instantly blasting enemies into bloody shreds.
Wyrdmake saw the enemy line torn apart in an instant.
Okafor walked past him and leaped straight down. "Move."
The Rune Priest excitedly followed the Librarian. His iron-grey armor slammed heavily onto the ground.
Running, he saw the Attilan Rough Riders had already scattered into groups of varying sizes, wheeling and striking, dividing the slave army into isolated pockets.
As Wyrdmake pondered, he kept pace with Okafor.
He saw the Librarians raise their staves in unison. His eyes widened with excitement.
The next instant, he saw the humans enslaved by neural collars fall into chaos.
Nearly half hesitated and milled about. About a third dropped their weapons. The rest charged forward.
Wyrdmake's mind reeled. He stared wide-eyed at Okafor.
"You freed the enslaved humans?"
"Correct." Okafor withdrew his Osiron mind staff. The full-power release of psychic power made his temples throb.
He immediately switched from the Magnus state of mind to the Telema state of mind, calming the pain.
Wyrdmake's thoughts stalled. Just as he was wondering how to carry out his mission, he saw over a dozen xenos burst from the slave army.
The Rune Priest's eyes lit up. He raised his staff.
Crackling lightning struck several xenos, while he also noted the ones charging Okafor.
The newly promoted "Melee Scholar" was unfazed. He swung his Osiron mind staff, felling one xenos, then sidestepped a lashing claw, clenched his right fist, and smashed it into the creature's head.
Wyrdmake watched Okafor rapidly dispatch several xenos and was momentarily stunned.
Distracted, he felt a xenos claw slash towards him.
With a crack, three of his talismans shattered. He was sent flying.
Wyrdmake, instead of fear, felt joy. He fixed his gaze on the monster as it swung its claws, lunging at Okafor.
The "Melee Scholar" parried the claw with his staff while swinging his arm, slamming into the xenos.
With a crack, the Overlord's personal energy shield flickered.
The "Melee Scholar" activated his "Eyes of Mystery Prying." The invisible energy shield became a patchwork of barriers of varying shades.
The "Melee Scholar" kicked, retreating amidst the crackle, then followed up with a rapid series of blows.
Wyrdmake watched the Librarian, like a skilled Wolf in close combat, a Bolga, sometimes ferocious, sometimes swift, pummeling the xenos Overlord without any chance to fight back.
Amidst a rapid series of cracks, he finally finished with a vicious uppercut that crushed the Overlord's head.
Wyrdmake, his expression complex, walked towards Okafor.
Suddenly, a rushing wind sounded in his ears. He turned to see a giant wolf, far larger than his Wolf Lord Skarssenson's, bounding towards them.
Wyrdmake recalled the scene in the camp and immediately recognized it as the Thunderwolf Sanchez had tamed on Fenris.
The beast, over six meters long, carried its master. Cold glints shone from its huge yellow eyes.
Wyrdmake stepped aside, silently speculating.
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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