The sounds of fighting receded a little. They passed into sections held by heavy Vlka Fenryka presence. Wolf packs guarded the approaches to the deck, garrisoning captured fortifications and makeshift defences.

A closed airlock into the embarkation deck was ahead, wires trailing from open instrument panels plugged into VI Legion equipment. Neither Bjorn nor the primarch was wearing a helmet. A spare breathing mask for Russ' suit was sourced from the Iron Priests accompanying the Varagyr. Bjorn had none.

'There is no atmosphere beyond, you know that?' said Grimnr, nodding at the door.

'I know,' said Bjorn. 'I will stay here.'

'He! you will,' said Grimnr. 'Russ ordered you to stay by his side. I don't want to be the one to explain that his favourite wyrd-mark went off to a glorious end without his permission.' The huscarl removed his own helm and held it out to Bjorn.

'I will not take it,' said Bjorn.

'You will, because I'm ordering you to,' said Grimnr. His single eye squinted. Gunfire sounded from further down the line. The howls of Vlka in combat grew louder. 'Go on, take it!' he snarled.

Bjorn stared at him defiantly.

'By the Allfather, you are a stubborn skjitna pjokej. They are coming. You have to leave. Now.'

Hesitantly, Bjorn took the helm.

Grimnr nodded and slammed Bjorn hard on the pauldron. 'Good luck, One-Handed. This is where we part ways for the time being.' He racked a bolt into his gun. 'I shall see you soon. First I have a small matter to discuss with the Warmaster.'

The atmospheric recycler opened onto a large circulation hall, where refreshed air was drawn and mixed before being pumped around the vessel. It was a huge space where dozens of pipes terminated in arrays like the barrels of gatling cannons. They hooted softly, the noise of a pipe organ played by the wind.

'The lungs of the ship,' said Bror. 'Now this would be a fine target.'

'If we had the time, or the charges,' said Enrir. He limped across the deck. Blood and hydraulic fluid spotted the floor behind him. Ragner pointed upwards.

'More maleficarum,' he said. Some of the pipes had changed from metal into sagging flesh tubes that opened and shut with wet clicks. 'The crew is breathing air that has gone through that filth. Do you think that it speeds the spread of corruption?'

Bror shrugged. 'I am no gothi.'

'Would that you were, you would never have dared come back here,' said a sneering voice. A shaft of light snapped on, illuminating a deck raised over a set of large sealed pipes. Upon it was a group of Justaerin Terminators dressed in black and gold, their plates decorated with eight-pointed stars and Horus' unblinking eye. There had been nobody there a moment before, and none of the tell-tale signs of teleportation to announce them.