Blood Pact

EPILOGUE The Ninth Day

The Oligarchy Gate, on the afternoon of the ninth day, at Slaydo’s left hand. Ahead, the famous Gate, defended by the woe machines of Heritor Asphodel. Mud lakes. Freak weather. The chemical deluge triggered by the orbital bombardment and the Heritor’s toxins. Molten pitch in the air like torrential rain.

Gaunt kept his head down as the shells rained in.

Wire barbs skinned the air. The thuk of impacts, so many impacts. Clouds of pink mist to his left and right as men were hit. Ahead, below the Gate, the machines whirring again.

They were dug in opposite a small gatehouse with distinctive finials shaped like aquilas. The bombardment was so severe that Gaunt doubted the building would be standing in another day, or even another hour. It would be erased from the world and from his memory.

His sergeant, beloved Tanhause, yelled out over the onslaught. Formation moving up!

Gaunt looked back. PDF units were advancing to the front, scurrying, heads down. He had to admire their resolution. Often, they had little more than bolt-action rifles and bayonets, but still they threw themselves into the front line.

‘How are we doing?’ the young PDF officer yelled over the roar of the bombardment as he ducked into cover.

‘Pretty decently,’ Gaunt yelled back. ‘If we can rally here and press on, we may have a good day yet!’

He looked up. The Tower of the Plutocrat was the most massive structure he’d ever seen. Nothing in the universe could topple it.

‘Ah, who knows what we can do,’ the young PDF officer returned. ‘We might even bring that terrible big bastard down!’

‘I like the sound of that,’ Gaunt grinned. He held out his hand.

‘I’m Gaunt,’ he said.

The young PDFer grasped Gaunt’s hand and shook it.

‘Jaume.’

Gaunt smiled.

‘Good to know you,’ he said. ‘Let’s finish this.’