Ice Guard(科幻战争)-第40章

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size。
A　hole　had　been　knocked　through　the　wall　of　the　small　cave。　Palinev　had　to　lie　on　his　stomach　in
order　to　squeeze　through　it。　He　lowered　himself　feet　first；　and　dropped　the　last　half…metre　into　the
tunnel　below。　He　landed　on　a　precarious　ledge；　its　brickwork　slimy　with　sewer　water　—　and
immediately；　dark　shapes　rose　around　him。
Raising　his　lamp…pack；　he　identified　those　shapes　as　his　comrades。　Anakora　and　Mikhaelev
greeted　the　scout’s　return　with　relief；　and　quickly　woke　Sergeant　Gavotski　as　they　had　been
instructed。　The　Ice　Warriors　had　been　taking　the　opportunity　to　catch　up　on　their　sleep；　spread　out
across　the　ledge；　while　they　awaited　the　outcome　of　Palinev’s　scouting　mission　—　although　of
course　they　had　left　two　troopers　on　watch。
Everyone　was　cheered　by　the　news　that　both　Wollkenden　and　Steele　were　alive。　Beside　that；　the
matter　of　rescuing　them　seemed　almost　inconsequential。　Palinev　had　to　remind　himself　that　they　still
had　much　to　do。
“We　could　go　in　there　now；”　said　Gavotski；　“but　it　sounds　as　if　the　colonel　and　the　confessor　are
well…guarded；　and　we’re　dog…tired。　We　can’t　take　out　two　squads　of　traitors；　not　before　they　can
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raise　the　alarm　and　surround　us。　I　suggest　we　wait　until　this　ceremony　of　theirs　has　started。　At　least
then　we’ll　know　where　most　of　the　heretics　are；　and　that　they’ll　be　distracted。　We　should　have　the
run　of　the　palace。”
“Until　we　reach　that　courtyard；”　said　Mikhaelev；　as　always　sounding　the　first　note　of　caution。
“Then　we’ll　have　to　fight　our　way　through　the　heretics；　and　they’ll　outnumber　us　by　hundreds　to
one。”
“You’re　right；”　said　Gavotski；　ile。　“They　won’t　know　what’s　hit　them。”
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CHAPTER　SEVENTEEN
Time　to　Destruction　of　Cressida：　04。22。14
Steele　wished　he　could　close　his　senses　to　it　all。
He　wished　he　couldn’t　hear　the　baying　of　the　heretics　—　hundreds　of　them　were　packed　into　the
courtyard；　standing　in　the　arched　doorways；　even　hanging　out　of　the　surrounding　windows。　He
wished　he　couldn’t　feel　the　touch　of　the　cultists　that　had　gathered　around　him；　preparing　him；
painting　their　vile　symbols　on　his　face　and　his　exposed　chest。　He　wished　he　couldn’t　smell　the　stink
of　the　incense　burner　that　Furst　carried；　waving　it　under　Steele’s　nose　as　if　it　were　some　kind　of　a
trophy；　or　feel　the　evil　presence　of　the　Chaos　Space　Marine　lurking　behind　his　right　shoulder。
And　he　wished　he　couldn’t　hear　Wollkenden；　to　his　left；　still　chained　to　the　eight…pointed　ice
pillar　as　was　Steele；　but　whimpering　and　pleading　for　mercy。　The　so…called　saviour　of　the　Artemis
system；　his　demeanour　shaming　his　legend。
Steele　wasn’t　afraid　to　die。　Even　now；　he　would　have　given　his　life　gladly　in　exchange　for　the
confessor’s　freedom。　But　he　could　think　of　nothing　worse　than　this：　to　die　a　failure。
He　closed　his　good　eye；　tried　to　blot　it　all　out；　tried　to　cast　his　mind　back　to　a　happier　time；　a
more　serene　time；　a　more　welcome　ceremony。　It　seemed　like　months　—　although；　in　fact；　little　more
than　a　day　and　a　half　had　passed　—　since　he　had　stood　beside　the　Termite　borer；　his　head　bowed；　to
receive　the　blessing　of　an　Imperial　priest。
Had　the　Ecclesiarchy　known；　then；　that　this　was　to　be　his　fate？　Had　they　sanctified　his　soul　to
deny　it　to　the　Chaos　gods？　He　prayed　that　this　might　be　the　case。　He　prayed　as　hard　and　as　loud　as
he　could；　tried　to　fill　his　own　head　with　the　uplifting　sound。
“Your　Emperor　can’t　save　you　now；”　Furst　hissed　spitefully　in　Steele’s　ear。
The　mutant’s　master；　Mangellan；　was　on　the　dais　too；　strutting　around；　circling　his　captives；
waving　his　sceptre；　playing　to　the　crowd。　His　voice　rose　and　fell　as　he　half…chanted；　half…sang　words
in　some　ancient；　evil　language　—　words　that　Steele　didn’t　understand；　didn’t　want　to　understand。　He
knew　that　his　augmented　brain　wouldn’t　let　him　forget　those　words；　he　couldn’t　bear　that　they
would　be　captured　inside　him；　a　part　of　him。　They　were　dark　words；　cold　words。　Words　that　seemed
to　distort　space　itself；　to　punch　open　a　channel　to　a　more　malignant　realm。
But　the　words　were；　he　sensed；　coming　to　an　end。　Mangellan　had　whipped　his　audience　into　a
frenzy。　He　was　gesturing　at　the　pillar；　at　the　readied　sacrifices　—　the　colonel　and　the　confessor　—
with　the　sceptre　in　one　hand　and　a　large；　ornamental　dagger　clutched　by　the　jewelled　hilt　in　the
other。
And　now　he　turned　to　Steele；　rested　the　dagger’s　point　on　his　chest；　traced　the　outlines　of　the
symbols　that　had　been　daubed　onto　his　skin　—　and　Mangellan　sighed；　and　in　his　calm；　honeyed
voice；　he　said；　“You　should　have　joined　us　when　I　gave　you　the　chance。　A　shame　that　such　a　spirit；
such　an　intellect；　as　yours　should　have　been　wasted　on　a　lifetime　of　servitude　to　an　ungrateful
master。　You　could　have　been　anything　you　wanted　to　be；　Colonel　Steele。”
Steele　looked　him　in　the　eye；　and　he　said；　“I　was。”
And　at　that　moment；　a　ray　of　sunlight　streamed　into　the　courtyard；　through　the　network　of　iceformed
branches　above　their　heads；　and　glinted　off　the　dagger　as　Mangellan　drew　it　back；　let　the
crowd　see　its　blade　for　a　final　time　as　he　prepared　to　plunge　it　into　its　first　victim。
“Do　it；　master；”　breathed　Furst　eagerly。　“Do　it　now！　Cut　out　their　hearts！”
That　was　when　the　first　bomb　went　off。
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Grayle　and　Palinev　had　timed　their　ascent　to　the　dais　perfectly。
Cloaked　in　their　purloined　robes；　they　had　given　themselves　enough　time　to　reach　Wollkenden
and　Steele　respectively　—　but　not　quite　enough　for　the　cultists　to　realise　that　their　numbers　had　been
swelled　by　two；　to　start　asking　questions。
The　explosion　ripped　through　the　courtyard；　incinerating　heretics　by　the　score　in　a　great　blossom
of　fire。　They　hadn’t　seen　it　coming；　hadn’t　spotted　that　their　enemies　were　walking　among　them　in
disguise。　And　Mikhaelev　had　placed　his　demolition　charge　well。　It　collapsed　two　huge　ice　trees；
their　razor　branches　falling　clear　of　the　dais　and　into　the　crowd；　where　they　sliced；　dismembered　and
decapitated。　Grayle　just　hoped　that　his　comrade　was　not　among　the　casualties；　that　he　had　had　time
to　get　clear。　He　concentrated　on　his　own　task；　concealing　his　lasgun　as　best　he　could　with　his　body
as　he　placed　its　muzzle　to　Wollkenden’s　chains。
The　heretics　were　screaming；　surging　away　from　the　site　of　the　first　blast…　to　where　the　second
was　waiting。
The　courtyard　became　a　seething　mass　of　panic。　None　of　the　heretics　knew　which　way　to　run；
but　they　trampled　each　other　in　their　haste　to　run　somewhere。
A　hand　came　down　on　Grayle’s　shoulder；　he　was　spun　around　to　face　a　suspicious　cultist；　whose
eyes　widened　at　the　sight　of　a　stranger’s　features　beneath　the　hood。　The　cultist　opened　his　mouth　to
yell　a　warning　that　might　have　been　heard　by　the　augmented　ears　of　the　Chaos　Space　Marine　even
over　all　the　noise。　Two　las…beams　struck　him　in　the　head；　one　more　in　the　shoulder；　and　he　went
down。
More　beams　flashed　from　the　surrounding　windows；　and　the　cultists　on　the　dais　cried　out；
scattered；　leapt　into　the　turmoil　around　them　rather　than　remain　sitting　ducks。　Grayle　prayed　that　his
comrades　knew　who　they　were　shooting　at；　that　they　wouldn’t　mistake　him　and　Palinev　for　their
targets。
Most　of　their　fire；　in　fact；　was　directed　at　Mangellan　—　but　he　was　well…protected；　by　the　Traitor
Guardsmen　around　him；　bustling　him　away　down　the　dais　steps。　Furst　scurried　along　behind　them；
keeping　close；　benefiting　from　their　armour；　although　Grayle　couldn’t　tell　if　the　traitors　had　even
seen　him　in　their　wake。
And　then　there　was　the　Chaos　Space　Marine。
He　leapt　from　the　dais；　reaching　the　edge　of　the　courtyard　with　one　powerful　spring。　He　smacked
into　the　palace　wall；　punching　through　the　ice　to　make　handholds　for　himself；　started　to　haul　himself
upwards。　Grayle　saw　Blonsky’s　face　in　a　window；　paling　as　a　gauntleted　hand　clamped　onto　the　sill
in　front　of　him。　He　drove　his　gun　butt　into　the　Chaos　Space　Marine’s　fingers；　but　couldn’t　dislodge
them。　He　turned　and　ran；　disappearing　from　Grayle’s　vieassive　form
through　the　small　window　after　him。
In　the　confusion；　no　one　had　thought　to　secure　the　would…be　sacrifices。　Perhaps　Mangellan
thought　them　secure　enough；　hadn’t　realised　that　his　enemies　had　already　got