The Eisenhorn TrilogyXenos(科幻战争)-第39章

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Its　talons　ripped　into　my　left　shoulder　and　down　my　flank；　ripping　my　body…armour　into　tatters。
Blood　cascaded　down　inside　my　clothes。
I　swung　again；　trying　for　an　uin　ulsar。　It　gripped　my　blade　fast；　in　its　one　good　hand。　Smoke　rose　from　the　clamping　fist　around　the
blade。
It　clenched　its　teeth　in　pain。　'The　wards…　hurt…　but　they　are　no…　stronger…　than　the　weapon…　you　should　learn　to…　make　your
weapons　sounder…　next　time…'
'Not　that　there　will　be…　a　next　time…。'　it　added。　The　hanger　had　become　so　hot；　I　let　it　go　with　a　howl。　Prophaniti　tossed　the　buckled；
molten　steel　aside。　It　had　burned　its　hand　terribly；　but　it　didn't　seem　to　notice。
'Now　comes　death；'　it　said；　reaching　for　me。
THE　NEXT　FEW　seconds　are　burned　in　my　memory。　I　will　never　see　such　heroism　again；　I　am　sure。　Captain　Echbar　and　two　of　his
Kasrkin　troopers　assaulted　Prophaniti　from　the　rear。　Their　lasguns　wouldn't　fire　because　Bequin　and　I　were　in　their　range…field。
Echbar　body…tackled　the　daemonhost；　smashing　it　away　from　us。　Prophaniti　hurled　him　aside；　and　then　incinerated　the　second　Kasrkin
mid…leap　with　its　eyes。　The　third　jammed　his　Cadian　bayonet　up　to　the　hilt　in　Prophaniti's　breastbone。　Fire　exploded　back　from　the
wound；　down　the　trooper's　arm　and　engulfed　him。
He　fell　back　screaming　as　Echbar　came　in　again；　a　ragged　hole　in　his　cheek　and　throat。　His　knife；　clenched　double…handed；　split
Prophaniti　open　down　the　back　bone。　The　warp…energies　that　boiled　out　blew　Echbar　apart。
Screaming；　Prophaniti　writhed　away　through　the　air。
I　knew　it　wasn't　dead。　I　knew　it　couldn't　really　die。
But　the　Cadian　elite　had　given　me　an　opening　by　sacrificing　their　lives。　They　had　fallen　in　the　service　of　the　God…Emperor；　which　is
what　every　Cadian　is　born　to　do。
'Aegis！　By　scarlet　inferno！　Thorn　redux！'
I　screamed　the　words　into　my　vox；　clinging　on　to　Bequin's　hand。
Prophaniti　came　hurtling　towards　us。
Lights　blazing；　the　gun…cutter　surged　in　overhead　in　a　killing　run。　The　downdraft　blasted　the　icy　bracken　flat　and　threw　us　over。　Medea
was　low；　so　low…
The　gun…servitors　trained　wing　and　chin　turrets　on　the　charging　daemonhost。
When　they　opened　up；　their　firepower　was　so　monumental；　they　vapourised　it。
The　light　went　out。
I　pulled　Bequin　to　me　as　the　drizzle　of　liquidised　host…form　rained　on　us　out　of　the　cold　night。
I　could　hear　Fischig　calling　my　name。
'Help　her；'　I　said　to　Fischig　as　I　rose；　and　he　scooped　Bequin　up。
I　looked　around。　The　place　was　littered　with　dead；　most　of　them　cultists。　Inshabel　had　found　Neve；　lacerated　but　alive；　twenty　metres
up　the　slope；　and　was　calling　for　a　medic。
The　aft　thrusters　of　the　gun…cutter　winked　hot…white　in　the　night　sky　as　Medea　banked　around　out　of　her　ran　to　come　down　again。
Nayl；　who　had　taken　a　flesh　wound　to　the　arm；　leaned　against　the　pylon　and　shut　off　his　whirring　cannon…drum。
'We…　we　need　to　regroup；'　I　said。
'Agreed；'　said　Fischig。
'You　have　no　idea　what　you're　up　against；　do　you？'　asked　Husmaan。
We　all　turned。　The　old　skin…hunter　from　Windhover　was　stalking　down　the　moor　slope　towards　us；　his　long…las　slung　over　one　crooked
arm。　Fierce　graupel　had　begun　to　fleck　down　from　the　clouding　sky。
'Do　you？'　he　hissed　again。　I　felt　Bequin　tense。
It　wasn't　Husmaan。
Husmaan　looked　at　me。　White　light　shone　from　his　eyes。　His　voice　was　Prophaniti's。
'Not　the　slightest　clue；'　he　said。　'You　can　destroy　my　physical　host；　but　you　cannot　break　the　links　to　the　master。'
'Husmaan！'　Inshabel　cried。
'Not　here　any　more。　He　was　the　most　open　mind；　so　I　took　him。　He　will　serve　for　a　while。'
I　took　a　step　forward。　Husmaan　raised　a　hand。　'Don't　bother；　Eisenhorn；'　said　Prophaniti。　'I　could　kill　you　all　here；　now…　but　what's
about　to　happen　is　far　more　interesting。'
Husmaan；　his　arms　held　out　from　his　body　and　his　head　back；　suddenly　rose　into　the　air；　dropping　his　prized　long…las。　Steadily；　he
floated　away　into　the　sky　until　he　had　vanished　over　the　moors　into　the　dawn's　counter　glow。
'What　did　he　mean？'　asked　Bequin。
'I　don't—'
Floodlights　mobbed　over　the　rise　and　we　suddenly　heard　the　clank　of　armoured　tracks。
Twenty　Cadian　APCs　crested　the　brow；　their　floods　beaming　down　at　us。　Cadian　shock　troops　scrambled　down　the　slope；　covering　us
with　their　guns。
'What　the　hell？'　Nayl　cried。
I　was　stunned。　This　was　the　last　thing　I　had　expected。

'Inquisitor　Eisenhorn；'　boomed　a　vox…amped　voice　from　the　lead　APC。　'For　crimes　against　the　Imperium；　for　the　atrocity　at　Thracian；
for　consorting　with　daemonhosts；　you　are　hereby　arrested　and　condemned　to　death。'
I　recognised　the　voice。
It　was　Osma。
SIXTEEN
THE　HAMMER　OF　WITCHES。
THREE　MONTHS　IN　THE　CARNIFICINA。
FLIGHT　FROM　CADIA。
FLANKED　BY　SIX　robed　interrogators　reading　aloud　from　the　Books　of　Pain　and　the　Chapters　of　Punishment；　Inquisitor　Leonid　Osma
came　down　the　moorland　slope　towards　me。　Pink　dawn　light　was　beginning　to　spear　lengthways　across　the　bleak　heath；　and　the　gorse
and　bracken　was　stirred　by　the　early　morning　breeze。　Distantly；　heath　grouse　and　ptarcerns　were　whooping　and　calling　to　the
midwinter　sun。
Osma　was　a　well…built；　broad…shouldered　man　in　his　one　fifties。　He　wore　brass　power　armour　that　glowed　almost　orange　in　the　ruddy
dawn。　Ornate　Malleus　crests　decorated　his　armour's　besagews　and　poleyns　and　six　purity　seals　were　threaded　around　his　bevor　like　a
floral　wreath。　A　long　cloak　of　white　fur　played　out　behind　him；　brushing　the　tops　of　the　heather　and　gorse。
His　face　was　blunt　and　pugnacious。　His　eyes　were　glinting　dots　set　in　puffy　lids；　fringed　by　heavy；　grey　eyebrows。　His　bowl…cut　hair
was　the　colour　of　sword…metal。　Some　years　before；　he　had　lost　his　lower　jaw　during　a　fight　with　a　Khornate　berserker。　The　augmetic
replacement　was　a　jutting　chin　of　chrome；　linked　into　his　skull　by　feed　tubes　and　micro…servos。　The　emblem　of　the　Inquisition　rose
above　his　head　on　a　standard　mounted　between　his　shoulder　blades。　In　one　hand　he　carried　a　power　hammer；　the　mark　of　his　ordo。
In　the　other；　a　sealed　ebony　scroll　tube。　I　recognised　it　at　once。　A　carta　extremis。
'This　is　insanity！'　Fischig　growled。　The　Cadians　around　us　stiffened　and　jabbed　with　their　weapons。
'Enough！'　I　warned　Fischig。　I　turned　to　my　companions。　They　looked　so　lost；　so　miserable；　so　dismayed。
'We　will　not　fight　our　own；'　I　told　them。　'Surrender　your　weapons。　I　will　soon　have　this　laughable　error　resolved。'
Bequin　and　Inshabel　handed　their　weapons　to　the　Cadian　guards。　Fischig　reluctantly　allowed　the　storm　troopers　to　divorce　him　from
his　riot…gun。　Nayl　undipped　his　drum…cannon's　ammo　feed；　slid　out　the　magazine　box　and　passed　that　to　the　waiting　troops；　leaving　the
disabled　heavy　weapon　strapped　around　his　torso　on　its　harness。
I　nodded；　satisfied。　'Thorn　bids　Aegis；　by　cool　water；　soft；'　I　whispered　into　my　vox　and　then　turned　to　meet　Osma。
He　raised　his　power　hammer　in　a　brief　gesture　and　the　mumbling　interrogators　fell　silent　and　closed　their　books。　'Gregor　Eisenhorn；'
he　said　in　precisely　enunciated　High　Formal　Gothic；　'In　fealty　to　the　God…Emperor；　our　undying　lord；　and　by　the　grace　of　the　Golden
Throne；　in　the　name　of　the　Ordo　Malleus　and　the　Inquisition；　I　call　thee　diabolus；　and　in　the　testimony　of　thy　crimes；　I　submit　this
carta。　May　Imperial　justice　account　in　all　balance。　The　Emperor　protects。'
I　slid　my　storm…gun　out　of　its　holster；　ejected　the　clip　and　handed　it　to　him　grip　first。
'I　hear　full　well　thy　charge　and　thy　words；　and　make　my　submission；'　I　responded　in　the　ancient　form。　'May　Imperial　justice　account　in
all　balance。　The　Emperor　protects。'
'Dost　thou　accept　this　carta　from　my　hand？'
'I　accept　it　into　mine；　for　that　I　may　prove　it　thrice　false。'
'Dost　thou　state　thy　innocence　now；　at　the　going　off？'
'I　state　it　true　and　clear。　May　it　be　so　writ　down。'
Vox…drones　idling　by　the　shoulders　of　the　interrogators　had　been　recording　all　this；　but　the　youngest　interrogator　was　transcribing　it　all
with　a　holoquill　into　a　dispositional　slate　suspended　before　him　on　a　grav　plate。　I　noted　this　detail　with　some　satisfaction。
Preposterous　though　the　charges　were；　Osma　was　prosecuting　with　total　and　precise　formality。
'I　ask　of　thee　thy　badge　of　office；'　Osma　said。
'I　deny　thy　asking。　By　the　code　of　prejudice；　I　declare　my　r