The Space Wolf Omnibus (Space Wolves) - site edition by William King. Download it once and read it on your site device, PC, phones or tablets. From savage tribesman in the cold wastes of Fenris to superhuman warrior of the Space Wolves Chapter, this tale charts the beginnings of the Young Wolf, the. Includes the novels 'Space Wolf, 'Ragnar's Claw' and 'Grey Hunter'. Lord, but how did he come to join the Space Wolves in the first place? Find out here. eBook Written by William King, the Space Wolf Omnibus is a searing collection of the.
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A WARHAMMER 40, NOVEL SPACE WOLF William King William King « Space Wolf» IT IS THE 41st millennium. For more than Author: William King. Author: King William Title: The Space Wolf Omnibus Warhammer Year: Link download. Space Wolf book. Read 42 reviews from the world's largest community for readers. These three classic SF stories follow the adventures of Ragnar the Space.
Space Wolves aren't actually werewolves, but they have been implanted with the gene-seed that gives them wolf like characteristics, but I still think of them as werewolves in space: We see through Ragnar's eyes and all his confusion at the new worlds and new possibilities opening up before him. In the second book Ragnar is a Blood Claw, the lowest rank among the Space Wolves and we are allowed to live his first off world mission with him. Then in the third book Ragnar is just seasoned enough to almost be a Grey Hunter and we see him go to war with the whole chapter of Space Wolves to retrieve one of their sacred relics from the forces of Chaos.
As far as I am concerned each book was better than the next. I enjoyed the first book, but I found Ragnar's ignorance of everything around him a little jarring.
Then the second book is exciting and had me continually coming back for more, and finally the third book I didn't want to put down. The only thing I could have lived without were some of the battles. They became a little repetitive in places but that's probably just me - I'm not much of a battle person: However, there is plenty of other, much more interesting stuff around the battles, so this isn't a big issue for me. After all it is called Warhammer, so I had to expect some epic battles: Ragnar is a great character.
He has doubts and flaws, but he's still a fantastic warrior and he's especially good when teamed up with his friend Sven, because they play off each other really well.
In the first book he's more alone and isolated, which is part of why I think I prefer the later books, because Sven is there as well. These books exist in a very interesting universe that I find fascinating as well, which really helps keep me interested. They have good characters, good plot and good world building.
The way Ragnar learns everything gives the reader a way to learn everything as well, which is a very useful device. I am looking forward to when the new omnibus arrives. The one thing I had to wonder though Ragnar is attracted to a female character at one point, but it never comes to anything. I had to wonder what happened to their sex drives. Also, a very male orientated book, simply because of the setup there are virtually no female characters.
May 28, Jerod Dunn rated it it was ok Shelves: This review has been hidden because it contains spoilers. To view it, click here.
I just couldn't get into this book. I didn't really ever like the characters, never really felt very Warhammery and the ending really pissed me off.
What the hell happened?! Oct 01, Nick rated it liked it. Three novels about, umm, space wolves. I'm going to review all three novels included here. This entire novel is a flashback showing how our hero, Ragnar I kept thinking of the guy from Dragon Quest IV became a Space Wolf, opening with him as a normal dude and ending as he's completed his initiation and is ready to head out into the galaxy to fight. I was going to complain about the fact that we know that he doesn't die because this is the first novel in the omnibus, but the novel it Three novels about, umm, space wolves.
I was going to complain about the fact that we know that he doesn't die because this is the first novel in the omnibus, but the novel itself spoils this by having him get whacked on the head and flash back, so you know he's gonna be okay.
No, the real issue I have is that the writing is what could charitably be called workmanlike and perhaps more accurately be called pedestrian; this is a interesting book because of the novel-sized depth given to becoming a Space Marine, not necessarily because it's well-written. I'd probably only recommend this to people on the ends of the 40k fan spectrum: It's a good place to get started or an interesting read if you're really into the setting.
Ragnar's Claw: Goofily enough, this is another novel-length flashback, this time with a older Ragnar flashing back to his first deployment. King seems to be working off some old, no longer in canon idea of what a Space Marine is, as Ragnar meets a Inquisitor who is "almost as tall as [Ragnar] is" - no small feat considering Space Marines are usually 8 - 10 feet tall without shoes.
This gets even sillier when they meet a guy who is taller than a Space Marine who is "tall even for a Space Marine", which by my math would make this guy a normal human who is over ten feet tall. More than that, these guys don't really act a lot like Space Marines, as I found myself incredulously reading about them farting and then teasing each other for who produced the most impressive gas. In a way, this is interesting in itself, but it runs against one of the more interesting themes in W40k, which is how the Space Marines' super-humanity sets them apart from the average human for a more nuanced take on this subject, I recommend, of all things, A Thousand Sons.
The heroes of this book are just guys who can smell well and don't get tired, and this combined with the nothing special plot results in a novel that isn't bad, but doesn't really have much to recommend. Grey Hunter: Unbelievably, the omnibus goes three for three with flashbacks, as this novel too opens with a page of Ragnar in the present day and then the rest of the book is a huge flashback. I'm not really sure I have much to say about this novel; free of the first novel's unusual focus on the making of a space marine and the second novel's weird obsession with farting, this is just a straight up average old W40k novel.
The basic plot is that some Chaos guys stole a MacGuffin that the Space Wolves want back, so they go and shoot and stab a bunch of people. It's perfectly serviceable and there's nothing wrong with it, but a few days after reading it I'm struggling to remember anything interesting about it at all.
There's nothing really wrong with this collection, but even at such a cheap price for so much, there's some really excellent W40K material out there that this omnibus just can't stack up against. View 2 comments. May 18, Oscar rated it it was amazing. The first book in the space wolf omnibus is all about how young men from the land of Fenrus are trained to fight for there land against all the other tribes.
One day the young boy named Ragnar finds out that he is chosen by the angels that watch during battle. But what the angels really are is all but unknown to them until they are revived on the ship in space of Feruses orbit. They are found out to be the savage but powerful Space Wolves. These space marines are arguably the most powerful space The first book in the space wolf omnibus is all about how young men from the land of Fenrus are trained to fight for there land against all the other tribes.
These space marines are arguably the most powerful space marines that ever existed in the Space marine legions. Ragnar is sent through rigorous training that finally leads to his last part of training. He must drink from a holy cup that allow one to begin becoming a space wolf, but there is one twist, one must be able to hold the inner wolf at bay to become a space wolf, if they can not do this they will become wild and uncontrollable and therefore unable to become a space wolf.
The story is a magnificent start to the series, and i rate it highly, defiantly recommend it to any of my friends that dig warhammer, or also anyone that is starting to get into warhammer Jun 03, Tucker rated it really liked it. I finally got around to reading the 1st book in this 3 book Omibus.
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The story is set on the war-savaged world known as Fenris. Everything is all fine and dandy for war hero Ragnar til his village gets pillaged by Orcs.
Everyone is killed except for Ragnar. Ragnar kills off 3 orcs than takes a crushing blow to his chest. He knocked out but all of the orcs think he is dead. He awakens to see his family dead. While the rest of the village is also murdered. Soon after he realizes he is alone a Witch I finally got around to reading the 1st book in this 3 book Omibus. Soon after he realizes he is alone a Witch Hunter named Styjborn appears in front of a sad Ragnar and tells him that since he survived the pillage he is allowed to fight along side the Space wolves- an elite military force.
So, Ragnar becomes a Space Wolf and the book just continues as Ragnar fights along side the Space Wolfs trying to end the Emperors reign of tyranny over the space colonies. Between the maelstrom of war and the excitement that comes with this book I would highly reccomend it to any person that likes anything Sci-Fi. This is by far the best omnibus in the Warhammer series. Dec 16, Bahman Naraghi rated it really liked it.
As usual, fun, high-action, low-brow read from the Black Library. I like the omnibus editions because you get the whole series all at once. The downside of the format is that, at least in the case of this series, the frame stories between each book are told from the POV of the main character, so you kind of already know he survives.
Would have probably been a 4 star read for me because I really enjoyed the book, however there are so many mistakes in the editing of the book that it is borderline maddening. For Russ! For the Wolf time! Dec 30, Chip Hunter rated it it was amazing.
This omnibus collection contains the first three of five and would serve as an excellent place for WH40K first-timers to get an introduction to the world and setting. Through reading of the ascension of Ragnar Blackmane and by witnessing his trials and battles throughout the Imperium, much can be learned about space marines and the WH40K universe.
The first book of this omnibus edition, Space Wolf Warhammer 40, Space Wolf , chronicles the rise of Ragnar. From a young member of a small islander tribe of Fenris to the glory of an ultimate warrior of the Imperium, this is a tale of growing and learning. Because Ragnar is devoid of any knowledge about the universe and proceeds to learn and observe, this book serves as an excellent introductory book to the WH40K world. Principally, this first book serves as an introduction to Ragnar and the Space Wolves, and nothing much more.
The shell which had been aimed directly at his heart exploded instead within his chest. Pain blasted through his body. Messengers of agony raced along his nerve endings. He fell forward into a molten lava pit of torment. Already the voices sounded as if they were coming from the top of a huge well. It seemed to him that he was falling downwards, towards the cold hell of his people, there to be greeted by all his family and his friends, and all the old enemies he had sent there himself.
It was odd, he thought, that he should be dying so far from home, so long after he had expected to die. There was something comforting about this strange sensation. He knew what to expect. He ought to. After all, he had died before. Icy clarity possessed his spirit. His memory flooded back. His soul ventured back through the centuries. Lightning slashed through the sky of Fenris, illuminating the man's tormented face. Sheer terror made his shout audible even above the roar of the wind and the thunder of the waves against the ship.
The driving rain running down his face looked uncannily like tears.
Shocked at being hit by a youth barely old enough to have the down of manhood on his cheeks, Yorvik reached for his axe, his fear momentarily forgotten. Ragnar shook his head and glared at the older man with his cold grey eyes. Yorvik stopped, as if realising where he was and what he was doing. They stood in full view of all the warriors on the prow of the ship.
Attacking the son of his captain would gain him no credit in the eyes of the gods or the crew. The flush of shame came to Yorvik's cheeks and Ragnar looked away so as not to embarrass the man further. Ragnar tossed his head to get his mane of long black hair from his eyes. Squinting through the lash of the wind and the salt-spray of the storm-tossed sea, Ragnar silently agreed with Yorvik.
They were going to die unless a miracle occurred. He had been going to sea since he was old enough to walk, and never had he seen a storm this bad. Sullen dark clouds scudded across the sky. It was dark as night even though it was noon. Spray billowed as the prow of the ship cleaved through another enormous wave.
The dragonhide of the deck echoed like an enormous drum with the force of the impact. He struggled to keep his balance on the constantly moving deck.
Even over the wind's daemon shriek, he could hear the creak of the ship's bones. It was only a matter of time, he decided, before the sea killed the vessel. It was a race to see whether the force of the waves smashed the Spear of Russ into a thousand pieces, or whether it simply stripped the cured dragonhide from the ship's skeleton and left them to founder and drown.
Ragnar shuddered and not just from the chill, sodden wetness of his clothing. For him, as for all his people, drowning represented the worst of all possible deaths. It meant simply sinking into the clutches of the sea daemons, where his soul would be bound in an eternity of servitude. There would be no chance of earning his place among the Chosen. He would not die with spear or axe in hand. He would not find himself a glorious death or swift passage to the Hall of Heroes in the Mountains of the Gods.
Looking back along the rain-lashed deck Ragnar saw that all the massive warriors were as frightened as he, though they hid it well. Tension was written on every pallid face, and visible in every blue eye. Rain matted their long blond hair and gave them a hopeless bedraggled look.
They sat huddled at their benches, useless oars held at the ready, massive dragonskin rain-cloaks thrown around their shoulders or flapping in the wind like the wings of bats. Each man's weapons lay beside him on the soaking deck, impotent against the foe that now threatened their lives. The wind howled, hungry as the great wolves of Asaheim. The ship plunged down the far side of another enormous wave. The dragon tooth on its prow smashed through the foaming water like a spear.
Overhead, the sails struggled and flexed. Ragnar was glad that they were made from the purest dragongut; nothing else would have survived the storm's rending claws. Ahead another massive mountain of water loomed. Somehow it did not seem possible that the ship could survive it crashing down on them. It seemed that his short life was over almost before it started. He would not live even to see his entry into manhood next season.
His voice had barely broken and now he was doomed to be lost at sea. He shielded his eyes and gazed out into the storm, hoping to catch sight of the longship of his kinfolk. They were nowhere to be seen. Most had likely gone to the bottom. Their bodies would become food for the dragons and the kraken, their souls would provide thralls for the daemons.
He turned and aimed an angry glance at the stranger who had brought them to this. There was some satisfaction in knowing that if they died, he would too. That is if he were not a sorcerer, or some sea daemon in disguise sent to lure the Thunderfist folk to their doom. Watching the way the old man stood on the water-covered deck, fearless and unafraid, that seemed all too possible at the present moment. There was something supernatural about this gnarled ancient.
He looked strong as a warrior in his prime despite all the furrows age had ploughed in his brow and he held his balance better than many a seafarer half his age despite the white in his hair.
Ragnar knew that he was a sorcerer. Who but a sorcerer would wear the pelts of those enormous wolves around his shoulders and that strange metal armour encasing his entire body, so unlike the leather tunics of the sea folk?
Who but a sorcerer would carry all those strange amulets and charms around his person? Who but a sorcerer could offer his father and their kin enough ingots of precious iron to attempt the near suicidal passage of the Sea of Dragons in this, the Season of Storms?
Ragnar saw that the stranger was pointing at something. Was this some sorcerer's trick, he wondered, or was the stranger casting a spell? Ragnar turned to see and felt his mouth go dry with fear. Lightning flared once again. In the flash Ragnar saw a huge head had broken from the waves next to the ship, almost as if the stranger had summoned it. A nightmare face filled with teeth the size of daggers loomed above them.
The long neck flexed and the head descended searching for prey. It was a sea dragon, and no mere hatchling but a full-sized monstrosity, large as the ship, stirred from the sea bottom by the fury of the storm.
The thunder spoke its angry words.
Death struck an arm's length from Ragnar. He felt the wind of its passage as the huge jaws of the dragon closed on Yorvik. Great fangs pierced the tough leather of Yorvik's armour as if it were paper. Bone gave way. Blood gouted. The screaming man was lifted into the air, arms flailing, the harpoon dropping from his fist. A sneer curled Ragnar's lips. He had always known Yorvik was a coward and now he had proof.
He would find himself a place in the cold hells of Frostheim. The dragon bit down and gulped and part of Yorvik disappeared down its throat.
The other part splattered down on the deck near Ragnar. The rushing waves cleansed him of blood and bile. The warriors swarmed from their benches, raising their axes and their spears in defiance. Ragnar could tell that in their hearts they were glad. Here was a quick death and a heroic one, fighting a monster from the depths.
To many it must seem as if Russ had answered their prayers, and sent them this beast to grant a great doom. The enormous head began to descend once more. At the sight of it, several of the warriors froze. As if it had been sent to weed out cowards, the beast struck them down, biting them in two with its rending fangs.
Other Thunderfist warriors lashed out at it with their weapons. Axes bounced futilely from the heavy armoured scales. A few spears bit deep into flesh but the creature paid as much attention to them as a man might pay to a pinprick. The pain merely goaded it to greater fury. It opened its maw and let out a terrifying bellow, audible even over the thunder of the waves. The sheer volume of it paralysed all the warriors. They froze as if overwhelmed by a sorcerer's spell. Ragnar could see that the creature had reared half out of the water.
Its enormous length towered over the boat. It had merely to fall forward and its huge bulk would break the ship in two. Something snapped within Ragnar. His anger at the storm, at the gods, at this enormous beast and his cowardly kinsman bubbled over. He reached down and picked up the harpoon Yorvik had dropped. Not pausing to think, not pausing to aim lest fear of those enormous dripping jaws should freeze him, he threw the harpoon directly into the creature's eye.
It was a good cast. The bonetipped spear flew true and buried itself up to the shaft in the dragon's eye. The monster pulled itself up still further, screaming in rage and pain.
Ragnar thought he would be deafened by the chill evil of its cries. He was certain now that he was going to die, that the entire ship was going to be smashed to flinders by the enraged beast.
The Space Wolf Omnibus
Then he heard another sound, a stuttering roar that came from the back of the ship. He risked a glance at the stranger and saw that he was the source of the noise. The ancient had drawn some kind of massive iron icon from his side, which he held aloft and pointed at the beast. A searing blast of fire spurted from the end of the holy charm along with the roaring sound.
Looking back at the dragon Ragnar could see that huge gaping wounds were stitched across its torso - testimony to the strength of the stranger's magic.
It opened its mouth to scream in pain and the stranger raised his talisman still further. A hole appeared in the roof of the dragon's mouth and the top of its head exploded. The creature tumbled backwards to vanish beneath the waves. The stranger threw back his head and laughed. His booming mirth drowned out the sound of the storm. Ragnar felt a shiver of superstitious fear. He could see that two enormous fangs jutted downwards from the stranger's mouth.
He bore the mark of Russ! In him flowed the blood of the gods. Truly, he was a sorcerer or something more. Crouching low on the deck, keeping his balance easily despite the motion of the ship, Ragnar turned and moved back towards the helm. Spray ran down his face like tears.
When he licked his lips he tasted salt. As he moved past the stranger, a huge wave broke over the ship. He felt the pressure of tons of water and floundered. The force of the wave lifted him clear of the deck and send him tumbling. In the waves' fury he could get no clear view of where he was. He simply knew he was going to be swept overboard and carried to his doom. He growled with rage and restrained fear.
It seemed that he had survived the dragon's jaws only to be taken by the sea daemons. Then iron-strong fingers clamped on his wrist. Enormous strength fought against the power of the sea. Then the water was gone. In a moment Ragnar floundered on the deck, saved by the stranger who had banished the dragon. Nor is it yours, I think.
He stood there gazing forward like some elder god. Filled with fear and a strange superstitious reverence, Ragnar made his way to the place where his father stood.
Looking up he saw understanding there. Ragnar knew no further explanation was necessary. As if the killing of the dragon had broken an evil spell, the sea began to calm. Mere hours later, it was as smooth as glass and the measured beat of the oarmaster's drum was the only sound save the quiet sloshing of the waves against the ship's hull.
The stranger still stood at the prow, as if keeping guard against the daemons of the sea. He scanned the far horizon, shading his eyes with one gnarled hand, seeking something only he could see.
Overhead the sun beat down. It was not the pale small sphere of winter. Now it was a huge fiery orb that filled the sky with its golden light. The Eye of Russ was fully open, surveying his chosen people as they endured the terrors of Fenris's long hard summer.
The remaining water steamed from the decks under its gaze. The warriors were quiet. Awe had overcome them. There was none of the usual chat and boasting that one would normally hear from those who had survived such a terrible storm. There was none of the mirth or the singing either. Ragnar's father had not ordered the ale cask broached in celebration.
A reverence that was close to terror seemed to have taken hold of the crew. Ragnar could easily understand why. They had seen the stranger dispatch a dragon by the power of his spells. With a blast of his magic he had destroyed one of the terrors of the deep. With his gaze he had pacified the storm.
Was there nothing he could not do? Still there were questions here, Ragnar thought. If the stranger were so powerful why had he needed to hire their ship, paying in precious iron and promising more, to get to his destination? Why had he not used sorcery? Surely he could have used his mastery of the runes to summon a skyship or a winged wolf to carry him to his goal.
Was there some sinister ulterior motive to this journey? Ragnar tried to dismiss this thought. Perhaps the sorcerer had earned the enmity of the storm daemons and could not fly.
Perhaps his lore mastery did not run to control of such runes. How was Ragnar to know? He had no knowledge of spellcraft, nor had anyone he knew, except the Thunderfist's old skald, Imogrim, and he had looked on the stranger with superstitious awe and refused to say anything of him, except to tell his people that the stranger must be obeyed. Ragnar doubted that even the superstitious awe that surrounded the stranger like a cloak would have made any of his people undertake this voyage if the skald had not recommended it.
Their destination, the island of the Iron Masters, was shunned by all the sea folk except during the season of trade, during the spring.
The last spring had ended over five hundred days ago and the trade time was long gone. Who knew how the mysterious smiths of the islands would welcome strangers now? They kept themselves to themselves mostly and defended their mines of precious iron the way a troll guards its hoard. Still, Ragnar wondered, if the stranger had demanded to be taken, even without his handsome payment, could they have refused him?
Ragnar doubted that even the entire village of brave Thunderfist warriors could stand against the magic the stranger had shown. Ragnar doubted that their weapons could even pierce the second skin of metal that surrounded his body. There was something fascinating about the old man, and Ragnar longed to talk with him and question him. The stranger had saved him and spoken to him and surely that must mean something.
Even so, Ragnar stood rooted to the deck. The idea of talking to the sorcerer was more intimidating than facing the jaws of the dragon. He remained frozen for a moment then mustered all his resolve. Don't be foolish, he told himself.
You have not even thanked him for saving your life. Silently Ragnar walked forward. Cautious as a man stalking a wild goat, he advanced towards the prow of the ship. Ragnar froze in shock. Here was yet more proof of the stranger's sorcerous powers. Ragnar knew that he had moved quietly. His feet had made no sound on the deck. He was considered a great hunter among his people. Yet the stranger had known he was there, and he was Ragnar, without even turning his head.
Ragnar felt assured that he must possess something akin to the second sight. There was no anger in his voice, just authority. He sounded like a man who was used to having his own way.
There was something odd about his speech too. He spoke very slowly, and his accent was antiquated. It reminded Ragnar of the way the skald would speak when quoting the epics of Russ and the All Father. It seemed to Ragnar that this old man might have stepped straight from one of those sagas. There was a quality about him that one of the old heroes might possess. There was something strange about the old man's face, he realised.
It was long and feral, the nose was huge with massive flared nostrils. The leathery skin sunken over his cheeks gave him an even more wolf-like appearance. And what was the significance of those three studs set into his forehead, Ragnar wondered? And how had they got there?
Among his own people, he could think of no way of doing such a thing that would not result in gangrene and the spirits of infection setting in. How could the stranger possibly know that, Ragnar wondered. The stranger was silent for a while, and Ragnar feared that he was not going to answer. Just then the sorcerer pointed.
Ragnar could see that his finger was shod in metal, and reflected the sunlight. He looked at what the stranger was pointing to and caught his breath.
Ahead of them mighty peaks rose over the horizon, a great battlement of spears that pierced the clouds. The walls of the peaks were white and something like ice glittered along their slopes even where they flowed down into the sea. The stranger had all but admitted that he was a supernatural entity. No man of Fenris, not even the oldest greybeard, lived more than thirty-five years. The stranger shook his head and grinned down at Ragnar with those alarming fangs.
Ragnar said nothing, merely looked at him and then at those distant mountains. Bear to starboard and follow the coast. We will get to our destination the sooner. For the next two days they sailed along the coast of Asaheim.
Two days of quiet seas and cold winds, and a stillness broken only by the crash of huge chunks of ice falling from the mountains and drifting out to sea. This was indeed Asaheim to the north of them, the place where the great icebergs were birthed, the frozen land from which the icy floating mountains came. Overhead, mighty sea eagles soared and occasionally the men spotted the spouts of the great orca herds as they rose from the cold, pure waters.
They passed the mouths of great fjords, places of astonishing beauty, and sometimes saw the stone villages of the people of the glacier perched high on their slopes. They rowed swiftly then, for the folk of the fjords were fierce, some said troll-blooded, and were rumoured to devour their prisoners rather than taking them thrall.
Such a fate made even the sea daemons' clutches seem tempting. During the whole time they passed the coast, the stranger never left his post at the ship's prow. At sunset he stood there limned by the Eye of Russ's dying rays. At dawn he would still be there, as the daywatch arose. Ragnar talked with the night watch and was not surprised at all when they told him the stranger had not slept.
If he felt any weariness, the stranger showed no sign. His eyes remained as clear and bright as they had the day of the battle with the dragon. Ragnar had no idea why he watched, he merely felt glad that the old man did so. While he stood guard, Ragnar felt that no evil could touch them. Then once more the land fell away behind them, and they were on the open sea.
The weather remained favourable. The stranger sniffed the wind and pronounced that the sea would remain quiet until they reached their destination. As if afraid to disobey him the sea complied. After two days at sea, they saw smoke ahead of them, and fires lit the night sky. The men prayed to Russ in superstitious awe, but were afraid he would not hear them. They knew they were entering an area sacred to the fire giants, and here Russ and the All Father held little sway.
The next day, as they approached the islands, Ragnar could see that they were afire. Their tops blazed. The molten orange spittle of the fire giants ran down their black sides and sizzled and steamed as it entered the water.
The roaring of the imprisoned giants made them shake. Filled with trepidation, Ragnar approached the sorcerer once more. He was reassured to see that the ancient showed no signs of fear, merely a quiet pleasure and a certain sadness, like that of a man who has been enjoying a journey and is not looking forward to its end.
Despite his fear, he was excited. Never before had he sailed this far with his father. His curiosity overcoming his reverence. The stranger looked down at him and smiled. He did not seem displeased by the question. Russ did not bind them. No one could. Not even the Emperor - the All Father himself - in the days of his glory. After all, Russ had fought them in the dawn ages before he had banished his people from Asaheim. He was surprised to be told that they had been born millions of leagues away.
It was a distance he could not conceive. For you have no idea of its true significance. If it is your destiny to know such things, you will find them out soon enough. To his surprise the stranger merely laughed. Ahead of them dark clouds rose, and the sea was stained an oily black. To the west, the mountain shook, and a huge jet of fire emerged from its tip. Ragnar looked at his Wolfbrother and shook his head. He was forced to admit that he had not.
The harbour was vast and strange, a huge deft in the black cliffs which led to a massive lake enclosed by a black beach. There was room enough there for a thousand dragonships to dock at once without it ever being crowded, and Ragnar knew that during the trade time it was so. People came from all across the great ocean to barter for axe heads, spear points and all manner of metal goods.
It was not the sheer scale of the harbour that held Ragnar's attention so raptly. It was the buildings that surrounded it. The smallest of them was twice the size of the great long hall back home, which was the largest structure Ragnar had seen in his whole life.
Much more strange was the fact that they were built from stone. Stone, thought Ragnar and shuddered. It was near inconceivable. What if one of the great earthquakes came and sent them tumbling to the ground?
Would not everyone inside be crushed to bloody pulp by the avalanche of falling rock? Those huge sootblackened structures were death traps.
Everyone knew it was only sensible to build a house as you would build a dragonship from dragonhide leather around a frame of dragonbone. Or for sacred structures you might consider using precious wood, though it might burn if an oil lantern got tumbled in the quake. Ragnar had seen such things happen. Everyone had. The islands of Fenris were unstable and had been since before Russ had led his chosen people here.
It was madness to build out of stone but these people had. And not just from stone piled upon stone, the way you might make a drystone dyke. No, these buildings were made from huge blocks of dressed rock, carved into perfect cubes and placed in interlocking patterns. And judging by the great layers of soot encrusted on the buildings and the blackened moss on their sides, these structures were ancient. They looked old, weather-worn, like the most ancient runestones in the great ring atop Thunder Mountain.
And the skald claimed those had been there since the dawn of time. It was not just one huge building but there were hundreds of them, some large as hills. Through the roofs of others protruded mighty chimneys from which black smoke belched and giant flares of flame gouted. These people assuredly did not fear fire either. They must be mighty magicians indeed, not to fear the trembling of the earth or the threat of fire.
And how had they built these enormous halls? Did they use magic to sing the stones into place? Or did they make their captive daemon thralls do all the work?
The power and skill at work here was awe-inspiring. Still, Ragnar was not sure he would have liked to live here. The air tasted foul and acrid with the same chemical stink that came from the tanneries back home, only magnified and a thousand times worse.
Billows of soot like black snowflakes drifted through the air and settled in their hair and clothing. The water was an odd colour, black and viscous-looking in some places, in others coloured red or green by effluents belched out of the black pipes that ran all the way to the harbour. It was a tower built all of iron, one of the most precious of metals. It rose from the water's edge.
Looking at it closely, Ragnar could see the construction was odd. It was not solid. It was like a latticework of metal beams, like the skeleton around which a hall would be built. Except that here there was no dragonhide stretched around it.
The frame was open to the air and to the elements, and you could see the intricate machinery it enclosed. There were huge cogwheels and great metal arms that rose up and down in a regular rhythmic movement like the pulsing of a great heart. Black stuff, liquid and slimy, bubbled from pipes on the tip of the tower and rolled down long tubes to be gathered in wooden vats around the base.
Small figures moved around constantly shifting the vats and emptying them with buckets.
It was at once the oddest, most impressive and most baffling structure Ragnar had ever seen. They will be for many more. The concept was awesome. A land which did not constantly shake and quiver like a leashed beast. A place where there was no threat of the earth opening and swallowing you.
A haven from the greatest and most commonplace of all the disasters that afflicted Russ's people. Could the inhabitants of these islands really be so blessed? Another thought struck Ragnar, the natural thought that would occur to any of his war-like people. The clans would kill to own such a safe haven. How have these people survived for so long without being overwhelmed?
You'll see soon enough. War raged across galaxy, pitting Astartes against their battle-brothers in a struggle where death was the only victor. But long before that, the Legions struggled with their identities and the demands of the Great Crusade.
From battles with alien invaders to conflicts within a Legion, and even dealing with a wayward Primarch , these stories show the battles fought as the Great Crusade draws to a close and the Horus Heresy begins With news of Horus 's treachery spreading across the galaxy, the Great Crusade grinds to a halt as the Primarchs and their Legions decide where their loyalty lies - with the Emperor , or with the rebel Warmaster.
The Dark Angels , too, face a time of testing, both among the stars and on their home world Caliban. Luther , once Lion El'Jonson 's trusted second-in-command, now languishes as an exile in all but name while his master struggles to thwart the traitors' advance upon the forge world Diamat.
But an ancient evil gathers its strength beneath the surface of Caliban, and the First Legion will soon be thrust into a deadly conflict where all that they know will be cast into doubt. A Thousand Sons - All is dust Censured at the Council of Nikaea for his flagrant use of sorcery, Magnus the Red and his Thousand Sons Legion retreat to their homeworld of Prospero to continue their use of the arcane arts in secret.
But when the ill-fated Primarch foresees the treachery of Warmaster Horus and warns the Emperor with the very powers he was forbidden to use, the Master of Mankind dispatches fellow Primarch Leman Russ to attack Prospero itself. But Magnus has seen more than the betrayal of Horus and the witnessed revelations will change the fate of his fallen Legion, and its Primarch, forever. After the horrors of Istvaan V , Horus declares outright war against the Imperium.
In the shadows of the Imperial Palace , powerful figures convene. Their plan is to send a team of assassins to execute the arch-traitor Horus and end the war for the galaxy of mankind before it's even begun. But what they cannot know is that another assassin is abroad already, with his sights firmly set on killing the Emperor. Amidst the galaxy-wide war of the Great Crusade , the Emperor castigates the Word Bearers for their worship.
Distraught at this judgement, Lorgar and his Legion seek another path while devastating world after world, venting their fury and fervour on the battlefield. Their search for a new purpose leads them to the edge of the material universe, where they meet ancient forces far more powerful than they could have imagined.
Having set out to illuminate the Imperium , the corruption of Chaos takes hold and their path to damnation begins. Unbeknownst to the Word Bearers, their quest for truth contains the very roots of heresy The Emperor is enraged.
Primarch Magnus the Red of the Thousand Sons Legion has made a terrible mistake that endangers the very safety of Terra. With no other choice, the Emperor charges Leman Russ , Primarch of the Space Wolves , with the apprehension of his brother from the Thousand Sons' home world of Prospero.His muscles ached from the exertion, and his breath came in gasps. At first he thought as the girl had that it was a falling star but then he noticed the comet trail of fire that followed it. The exhaust stink became near-overpowering to his nostrils.
War of the Fang. Ragnar fumbled frantically among the possessions until he found a shield and an axe. It was like a sign his body was prepared for the encounter. Ragnar moved quickly now for cover, knowing that it was all too possible that the drive systems of the tank would go up in the explosion.
Ragnar could not begin to guess at its purpose. The great flower on top of the building had started to move, to face away towards distant Asaheim.