SABBAT WAR Read online

  • GAUNT’S GHOSTS •

  Dan Abnett

  THE FOUNDING

  BOOK 1: FIRST AND ONLY

  BOOK 2: GHOSTMAKER

  BOOK 3: NECROPOLIS

  Also available as an omnibus

  THE FOUNDING

  THE SAINT

  BOOK 4: HONOUR GUARD

  BOOK 5: THE GUNS OF TANITH

  BOOK 6: STRAIGHT SILVER

  BOOK 7: SABBAT MARTYR

  Also available as an omnibus

  THE SAINT

  THE LOST

  BOOK 8: TRAITOR GENERAL

  BOOK 9: HIS LAST COMMAND

  BOOK 10: THE ARMOUR OF CONTEMPT

  BOOK 11: ONLY IN DEATH

  Also available as an omnibus

  THE LOST

  THE VICTORY

  BOOK 12: BLOOD PACT

  BOOK 13: SALVATION’S REACH

  BOOK 14: THE WARMASTER

  BOOK 15: ANARCH

  Also available as an omnibus

  THE VICTORY – (Part One)

  More tales from the Sabbat Worlds

  SABBAT WAR

  An anthology edited by Dan Abnett

  SABBAT CRUSADE

  An anthology edited by Dan Abnett

  SABBAT WORLDS

  An anthology edited by Dan Abnett

  URDESH: THE SERPENT AND THE SAINT

  A novel by Matthew Farrer

  BROTHERS OF THE SNAKE

  A novel by Dan Abnett

  DOUBLE EAGLE

  A novel by Dan Abnett

  TITANICUS

  A novel by Dan Abnett

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Backlist

  Title Page

  Warhammer 40,000

  Introduction

  THIS IS WHAT VICTORY FEELS LIKE (FOREVER THE SAME)

  WHOSE VOICE IS HEARD NO MORE

  GLORY FLIGHT

  THE DEATH OF THE PROPHET

  NINETEEN-THREE COREWARD, RESOLVED

  THE TOMB OF VICHRES

  DEEP

  ARMADUKE

  INDOMITABLE SPIRIT

  01

  02

  03

  04

  05

  FROM THERE TO HERE

  About the Authors

  An Extract from ‘Urdesh: The Serpent and the Saint’

  A Black Library Publication

  eBook license

  For more than a hundred centuries the Emperor has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He is the Master of Mankind. By the might of His inexhaustible armies a million worlds stand against the dark.

  Yet, He is a rotting carcass, the Carrion Lord of the Imperium held in life by marvels from the Dark Age of Technology and the thousand souls sacrificed each day so that His may continue to burn.

  To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruellest and most bloody regime imaginable. It is to suffer an eternity of carnage and slaughter. It is to have cries of anguish and sorrow drowned by the thirsting laughter of dark gods.

  This is a dark and terrible era where you will find little comfort or hope. Forget the power of technology and science. Forget the promise of progress and advancement. Forget any notion of common humanity or compassion.

  There is no peace amongst the stars, for in the grim darkness of the far future, there is only war.

  INTRODUCTION

  Welcome to the Sabbat Worlds Crusade. Welcome to the Sabbat War.

  Introductions are usually a place where we might pause and reflect, and ruminate, ‘How did this all happen?’ and ‘How did we get here?’ A place where we might, traditionally, contemplate the past.

  But this (I can hardly believe it) is the third volume of the Sabbat Worlds anthology series, and in the introductions to the previous two, I’ve spent a lot of time discussing the past, and asking ‘How did we get here?’. By and large, at this stage, I have a feeling we all know.

  I’ve been writing the Gaunt’s Ghosts novels since I began writing for Black Library, which would be some time during the Triassic Period. A long time ago, is what I’m saying, and there are a lot of books to show for it: fifteen full Gaunt’s Ghosts novels, numerous short stories, and somewhere in the region of ten more related books that tie into, or supplement, the core sequence. It is the longest ongoing ‘thing’ I’ve ever written, and I’m pleased to say that I still enjoy it… And I’m still thinking of new things to do with it. I feel a very deep connection to this saga, and to the many characters involved.

  The most recent Gaunt’s Ghosts book, Anarch, was not the last, but it was a serious piece of punctuation. It was the fourth and final book of the fourth arc, and it brought to a close a sequence called ‘The Victory’. And there was a victory, a major one. The novel finished off quite a few ongoing storylines, some of them (sorry!) in quite terminal ways. As is my wont.

  Anarch represented closure, mainly so I could take a deep breath, rest the series at a point where readers wouldn’t howl, ‘But what happens NEXT?!?’, and spend a little time on other projects (a small matter called the Siege of Terra, anyone?). There will be more Gaunt’s Ghosts novels – a new arc, in fact – but that’s down the line from here. Anarch was a good moment to give the poor Ghosts a well-earned break.

  But Ghosts get restless. The next arc is already nagging away at my thoughts, and there are some unexpected side projects that are likely to please fans of the Tanith First, some of which are appearing alongside this volume. So what better time to produce another of these anthologies? It’s been six years (six!) since the last one, after all.

  The Sabbat Worlds is a significant region of the Imperium overrun by the Archenemy, and the setting of the Gaunt’s Ghosts novels. Here, an Imperial crusade has been slugging away at the enemy for decades, slowly driving them out of the Sabbat Territories. If you want to know more about the place, there’s a handy (and luxuriously illustrated) guide, and even a map. It’s a corner of the Imperium of Man that I have spent a considerable amount of time creating and fleshing out… Much like a campaign setting that a game master might develop for his intrepid role-players. Indeed, I think one of the reasons I have enjoyed it so much, and come back to it so often, is that it reminds me of the days when I was a DM, home-brewing worlds on a regular basis.

  The real proof of a campaign setting, of course, is the stress test: can it stand the pressure of other imaginations playing with it? That’s the main reason these anthologies began. They were an opportunity to let other authors visit the Sabbat Worlds, and contribute stories to fit inside the continuity of the war. Both previous volumes, Sabbat Worlds and Sabbat Crusade, showcased some amazing work by some prodigiously talented writers, who each brought their own take and invention to the crusade, and took ideas in directions I couldn’t have imagined. Both volumes were real joys to work on; it’s wonderful to have other people come into the sandpit and play alongside me. And it’s gratifying that the Sabbat Worlds are interesting enough that they wanted to do that.

  So here’s volume three. And, boy, have we lined up a great roster of authors: some veterans, some new, all at the top of their game. Some of these stories, as with the previous volumes, look back at incidents from the crusade’s past, picking up on threads that were left dangling, or concepts that were mentioned in passing and remain unexplored. But others are looking forward. A surprising number of these stories are set in the ‘now’ of continuity, at the time of Anarch, or just after. They are not reflective; they push the crusade onwards, and open up new vistas and new possibilities. Anarch may have been an end-stop and a piece of punctuation, but it was also a platform, a foundation on which the next phase of adventure could be built, and that phase starts right here. Anarch was a plinth, and I say that simply so I can use the word ‘plin
th’, which I am inexplicably fond of. Also ‘badger’ and ‘Antioch’, but I digress…

  I’d like to thank all the authors for their work. Each story has blown me away as it’s come in. I would also like to thank the regular ‘without whom’ department: Nick Kyme, Jess Woo and Nik Vincent, and also Kate Hamer, who has not only done great work shepherding this project, but has also been seriously fun to collaborate with, especially during the enforced isolation of The Year That We Shall Not Speak of Again. My, the Google Hangouts conversations! My, my, the jokes! Lockdown life (and I write this as we come out of the second one in the UK) has been very different, to say the least (though, from an author’s point of view, not that different from anything else – sitting alone at your desk writing is still sitting alone at your desk writing). But I am heartened that, as a small positive among all the bad things and struggles it has caused, the bubble-living of The End of The World has amplified the desire to read. Reading has offered a form of escape for many stuck in isolation. Enforced distancing seems to have reminded people that books are whole worlds, right there in your pocket.

  Here, then, are a few more escape routes. And it’s not The End of The World, even if it regularly feels like it out in the Sabbat Territories. Sanitise your hands, slip on your favourite reading mask, pull up your favourite chair, and buckle on your favourite heavy-duty reading trousers. We’re off, and there’s a war to win. No looking back now, the future awaits…

  Dan Abnett

  Maidstone, December 2020

  THIS IS WHAT VICTORY FEELS LIKE

  (FOREVER THE SAME)

  WRITTEN BY DAN ABNETT

  PREFACE

  I’ll get the ball rolling, just to show them how it’s done, eh? (I joke: read the other stories and you’ll see no one needs to be ‘shown how it’s done’).

  This is a new Gaunt’s Ghosts story, set in continuity, which is to say it follows on directly from the end of Anarch. Anarch was a bit of a beast – the longest Gaunt novel so far, and there was inevitably a feth-tonne of stuff to be wrapped up at the end. Unwilling as I was to do an Extended Director’s Cut and write an ending that went on and ever on, I tried to keep it all mercifully concise.

  So this anthology has offered me the opportunity to elaborate, to tie up some things, to answer a few questions, and to visit the Ghosts as they plan their future. I was also able to incorporate a couple of great ideas from Nik (who, let’s face it, essentially has to live with the Ghosts as much as I do), for which I am extremely grateful. This story is, I suppose, an epilogue to Anarch, an extra final chapter that didn’t make the cut. But it’s also a complete story in its own right and, in some ways, is the first chapter of the next book.

  We’ve seen the Ghosts in war, we’ve seen them struggle and fight. But we’ve never really seen what happens when they win, and what happens after that. What does that feel like? Does it feel good, a relief, or is it actually difficult to process? What good are victories and glories if you’re not in a position to enjoy them?

  This, then, is what The Victory feels like…

  They were burning the dead again. Third day running.

  Viktor Hark managed to ignore the smell for a while. He was hardened to the dispiriting odours of the battlefield. Career Militarum, you learned to just block them out and get on with your business.

  And he had business aplenty to get on with. He adjusted his chair, picked up his stylus, and returned his attention to page seventy-six of the Munitorum requisition briefing.

  ‘Feth it,’ he said. He put the stylus down, and got to his feet. The smell was truly foul. He stomped to the window of his large tower office. It was a fine day; that’s why he’d left the window open. The mass cremations were underway about six kilometres away, but the coastal wind was driving the smoke, and the stench, across the Great Hill and into the precincts of the Urdeshic Palace. He leant out to close the window. Fair enough to endure the reek on the battlefield, but this wasn’t the battlefield. Not any more. This was liberated Urdesh, the hour of triumph, and this was not what the world was supposed to smell like.

  It was not what victory was supposed to smell like.

  The window was small and old, and he was large and formidable, but it fought back anyway. Hark muttered ‘Feth it’ again, twice, followed by a ‘Feth this’, and a testy ‘Feth it all’, before the window finally submitted to the authority of the Prefectus and the power of his augmetic arm.

  He returned to his desk and resumed his seat. The stink still hung in the room, permeating the limewash and the filing crates and the unfathomable oil paintings left behind by his predecessor. Permeating his clothes.

  ‘Fething feth it,’ he said. He wondered if the mess was open yet.

  There was a knock at the door.

  ‘Open!’ he barked, not looking up, expecting Ludd with more papers. It wasn’t. It was Baskevyl.

  ‘A moment?’ Baskevyl asked.

  ‘Of course, of course,’ replied Hark, beckoning enthusiastically as he made a quick margin note on the requisition briefing. Then he suddenly leapt to his feet and stood to attention.

  ‘What… are you doing?’ asked Baskevyl, cautiously.

  ‘Standing up. Sir.’

  ‘Because…?’

  ‘Guardsmen of all rank, from file to senior, will stand attentive when the commanding officer enters the room. My sincere apologies. That was absolutely inexcusable.’

  Baskevyl narrowed his eyes slightly and regarded the rigidly upright commissar with great wariness.

  ‘Is this some kind of…’ he said. ‘Are you taking the piss, Viktor?’

  ‘Sir. No, sir.’

  ‘Oh, for Throne’s sake… Viktor…’

  ‘I am senior Prefectus officer of the Tanith First, and you are the regiment’s colonel.’

  Baskevyl sighed.

  ‘Sit down,’ he said.

  Hark sat down.

  Baskevyl wheeled over another chair and sat facing him.

  ‘Don’t be doing that,’ Baskevyl said wearily. ‘We’re friends. I think that allows us a certain degree of informality.’

  ‘It is my responsibility to maintain and exemplify formal protocols,’ said Hark, ‘and if I don’t get in the habit, we can hardly expect any hairy-arsed lasman to–’

  ‘It’s a habit I’d prefer we didn’t get into,’ said Baskevyl.

  ‘You are colonel.’

  ‘Acting.’

  ‘Even so. We have standards.’

  ‘He will be back.’

  Hark nodded. ‘Yes. Of course he will. But Ana says Rawne could be out for six months. Six minimum.’

  ‘Well, I tell you this much,’ said Baskevyl, ‘when he does come back, Rawne won’t like you doing that any more than I do. Because he doesn’t want to be colonel any more than I do.’

  ‘Well,’ replied Hark philosophically, ‘what any of us “want” has never really factored into the scheme of things, has it?’

  ‘In the regiment?’

  ‘In the Astra Militarum.’

  Baskevyl nodded. He sagged in his chair.

  ‘It should have been Gol,’ he murmured.

  Hark wasn’t sure how to reply. Before he had to, Baskevyl sat up again and said, ‘What is that stench?’

  ‘Burning bodies,’ said Hark. ‘They’re using a derelict manufactory site out at Kadish Hill, but the wind’s in the wrong direction.’

  ‘Enemy dead?’

  ‘But of course,’ said Hark. ‘We’re not barbarians. Our fallen are being treated with the respect they are due. But mass disposal is necessary. The local population is stringing up Sekkite corpses in the street, so I hear. Pelting rocks at them. All part of the manic festivities. Also disgraceful, and a public health issue. So… the Munitorum is processing.’

  ‘You can’t blame the Urdeshi,’ said Baskevyl. ‘This is a turning point for them. They’ve suffered under Archonate occupation way too long.’

  ‘They have,’ said Hark. ‘And, my friend, this is a big moment for us too. Th
is is victory. The greatest since Balhaut. We have delivered the grace of the Throne, and restored the Pax Imperialis. We have made good on pledges sworn on the eve of the crusade to deliver the Sabbat Worlds from the malign grip of the Archenemy–’

  ‘Spare me the propaganda…’

  ‘I’m saying, Bask, this is what victory feels like.’

  ‘Maybe. It’s not done yet,’ said Baskevyl.

  ‘No,’ Hark admitted. ‘No. A few years more, perhaps. But the Anarch’s dead. The Archon stands alone. We enter the endgame. We should at least celebrate that.’

  ‘Well, we could start by you not jumping up like an idiot every time I walk into a room.’

  ‘I… can accommodate that.’

  Hark looked across the desk at Baskevyl. The Belladon seemed to be fascinated by a patch of carpet, and Hark couldn’t remember the carpet being all that interesting when he took the office over.

  ‘What’s on your mind, Bask?’ he asked.