Nick Kyme

Book 5 in the Warhammer 40,000 mega series, Dawn of Fire. A war-weary Battle Group Praxis arrives at the Knight world of Kamidar, ruled by the Iron Queen Orlah, to return the queen’s slain daughter and heir, who died fighting in Guilliman’s name. In truth, the Imperium’s mission here is twofold: to strip Kamidar of its resources in order to resupply the flagging armada, and prepare the Ironhold Protectorate to become part of the defensive Anaxian Line, a crucial bulwark for the Indomitus Crusade. With Kamidar having survived many years without the Imperium’s aid, what should have been a simple reunion between allies soon becomes a vicious feud. As division turns loyal souls against one another, the agents of Abaddon move in the shadows, seeking to manipulate this growing rift to their own ends. Can the Imperium bring itself back from the brink before it’s too late, or will the Hand of Abaddon arise triumphant, halting the Avenging Son’s reclamation in its path?

The Iron Kingdom

Giovanni Silva

After killing Parnius, Lareoc had wandered in a daze. Adrift at first, a lost soul in the underworld of his own grief, he managed to anchor himself with anger for the old priest. Albia had gone though, as if spirited away on the breeze by Hurne himself, and his wrath for the mendicant had raced off unfettered. A wildness overtook him and even as the sky above Kamidar began to crowd with drop-ships, Lareoc raged on without purpose. The other Knights of Hurne stayed with him, albeit at a respectful distance. In the few moments of lucidity he had, Lareoc saw Klaigen nearby, close enough that the seneschal could keep an eye on him. He couldn’t remember clambering back into Heart of Glory but proximity to the ancient machine restored some of his cognisance. The red haze lifted a fraction and he could think again. He wanted to vent his wrath and shed blood and oil, find a worthy foe to challenge. In that, perhaps, he could find again his honour. Thankfully, the invasion provided an abundance of targets. 

Although he headed unerringly in the direction of the palace, Lareoc and his Knights hunted and slaughtered every enemy they came across. He remembered little of the kills, aside from the roaring exultation and weeping despair that came with every one. It took Lareoc a few moments to realise they were his shouts and his tears. He had only wanted his world restored to what it had been before the darkness, a fair and just world free of tyrants, yet he found himself making a different bargain.

Really hope she lives, time for the final battle 💪🏽

A Knight Valiant, Lioness was a peerless war engine clad in white and gold, its royal-blue banners emblazoned with the lioness of Kamidar. She should have run diagnostics on her armaments, a brutal pairing of thundercoil harpoon and conflagration cannon, but Orlah’s mind drifted, flitting between reverie and dream. To old days of the glory of Kamidar; of Jessivayne in her arms as a babe; of Uthra in his prime before the sickening took him; of a kingdom in flames, brought back from the brink, and the triumph that followed. She saw feasts and the graves of noble warriors. She saw nightvein petals fluttering on an icy wind and felt the memory of its chill. She walked amid forests ablaze from Harnfor all the way to Wessen, a great serpentine trail of amber light, the smoke so thick she could barely see. And she crawled amongst endless fields of bones, the ossuary mounds climbing to the height of a mountain, their hollow-eyed skulls mocking. 

And she wept for the passing of her world, the culture and history that would be forever lost.

By the time true consciousness found her again, the long and purposeful strides of Lioness had brought Orlah to the edge of a battlefield. Here she saw the burnt-out carcasses of Imperial tanks and the corpses of soldiers strewn across the ground like leaves. It was quiet, like only a place of death can be, and only a single enemy remained. To the east, a red sun was rising like a bloody eye and it framed the other Knight ominously.

Orlah felt her life slowly bleeding out through the tear in her side, the interior of her Knight reeked with it, but she had enough about her still to recognise an old foe and spit through clenched teeth.

‘A sundered name, for a sundered house…’

Heroic last stands, love em. Even if I didn't like the admiral 

He glanced around at the carpet of dead, the broken and dismembered bodies in a red slurry about the bridge.

‘Will you surrender?’ he said in Gothic.

The old man, fear and anger warring on his ashen face, drew a ceremonial sabre from the scabbard at his waist and held it before him in a swordsman’s salute.

Herek sighed in resignation, sheathing his sidearms but pulling Harrower from his back. She would feast after all, albeit only on a morsel.

Lareoc was a fool but its always sad to see someone fall to chaos unwittingly. 

Then he faced Albia and the stricken Parnius, still cowed and beaten on the ground.

Lareoc took the knife, crouched down to his haunches and slit the bonds around Parnius’ ankles and wrists.

‘This is not honourable,’ Lareoc said, his voice low and dangerous as he turned his eyes on the priest. It was as if a fog had parted, offering a glimpse of truth. 

The other Knights of Hurne started forwards, some went to their weapons, but Albia held up his hand.

Parnius, trembling as Lareoc tried to help him to his feet, spat a curse and in one deft move drew the oighen from Lareoc’s sheath and struck the old priest down. 

‘No!’ Lareoc cried out, lunging for Parnius, trying to reach him.

Albia fell back, a strange smile on his lips, and without his will to restrain them the Knights of Hurne swept forwards, blades scraping against leather… and then stopped.

Parnius coughed, once, and then again, and on the second occasion spat up a thick wad of blood. It stained his tunic and he gazed down to where Lareoc had jabbed the knife in his side. 

‘No…’ Lareoc’s voice was scarcely a whisper, as he regarded first the wound and then the bloody knife. His hands felt like a stranger’s. Then Parnius’ legs buckled, he collapsed onto his side and breathed no more.

Lareoc sank beside him, cradling his old friend’s head, wiping the sweaty strands of hair from his ashen face. ‘No…’ he whispered. ‘Parnius…’

The Knights of Hurne surrounded him and he waited for them to strike him down, he willed them to. Klaigen laid a hand on his shoulder, so did Henniger and Martinus, until every knight was touching their lord.

‘Sacrifice,’ said Albia, as the old priest walked calmly into the circle of warriors, unharmed, untouched, whole.

Lareoc’s eyes widened as he realised the depths of his damnation, the knife in his hand heavy with Parnius’ blood.

Great story, cool to see an independent world survive without the Imperium. Excellent addition to the new 40k lore! Also it has Black Templars in it, definitely not biased at all because of that.

The Iron Kingdom

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