Storm Of Iron(科幻战争)-第64章

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life　hangs　by　the　most
slender　of　threads　and　it　is　probable　you　will　die　tomorrow。　If　it　is　to　be　so；　die　well。'
'Forrix；　I　have　fought　beside　you　many　times　and　we　have　shed　the　blood　of　millions　together。　Whole　sectors　cursed　our　names；
and　legions　of　the　dead　await　to　walk　with　you　on　the　road　to　hell。　You　will　be　a　legend　amongst　the　Iron　Warriors。'
'Kroeger…　Kroeger；　for　you　I　see　nothing　beyond　the　slaughter　of　these　walls。　You　will　go　places　I　shall　never　see；　but　I　do　not
know　whose　is　the　greater　loss。'
Honsou　could　not　understand　all　the　Warsmith's　words；　but　knew　there　was　great　significance　in　every　one。　He　had　barely　heard
the　words　directed　at　the　other　captains；　so　intent　was　he　on　fathoming　the　meaning　of　those　directed　at　him。　Was　he　to　die
tomorrow？　Would　he　yet　live　to　make　more　worlds　of　the　False　Emperor　bleed？
Such　concerns　were　beyond　his　ability　to　comprehend；　yet　he　felt　a　terrible　vindication　as　he　received　the　Warsmith's　acceptance。
HIS　FOOTSTEPS　WERE　loud　against　the　smooth　stone　steps；　but　Magos　Naicin　knew　there　was　no　one　to　hear　them。　Even　had　there
been；　he　could　easily　have　explained　away　his　presence　here。
The　dark　tower　was　a　black　spear　against　a　garnet　sky　and　Naicin　rubbed　a　gloved　hand　against　the　metal　of　his　bronze　mask；
feeling　its　edge　chafe　against　the　tissue　beneath。　It　would　be　pleasing　to　finally　be　rid　of　the　augmentations　enforced　by　his　role
and　feel　air　against　his　true　flesh　again。
Naicin　felt　a　thrill　of　anticipation　course　through　his　body　at　the　thought　of　the　task　before　him。　Until　now　his　greatest　challenge
had　been　to　mislead　and　confuse　an　already　disorientated；　barely…human　machine　priest　who　grew　easier　to　influence　with　each
Graham　McNeill　？Storm　of　Iron？
passing　day。　Since　the　day　he　had　replaced　the　real　Naicin；　nearly　a　century　ago　on　Nixaur　Secundus；　the　threat　of　discovery　had
been　negligible；　and　it　was　a　testament　to　how　blindly　the　dogmatic　machine　priests　could　be　manipulated　and　fooled。
All　it　required　was　the　correct　symbols；　a　few　ritualistic　lines　of　doggerel　and　they　would　believe　you　were　one　of　their　own。　It
was　galling　to　think　that　an　organisation　that　could　be　so　easily　deceived　was　one　of　the　foundations　the　cursed　Imperium　rested
upon。　The　sooner　his　master　destroyed　it　the　better。　United　under　the　yoke　of　Chaos；　humanity　would　be　the　stronger　for　its
absence。
Naicin　reached　the　top　of　the　slope　and　looked　back　upon　the　wasteland　of　Hydra　Cordatus。　The　Iron　Warriors'　attack　would　come
with　the　dawn；　and　a　storm　of　iron　would　engulf　the　citadel；　against　whose　wrath　none　could　stand。　The　men　struggling　on　the
walls　below　were　fighting　bravely；　but　he　wondered　if　they　would　fight　as　hard　knowing　the　truth　of　what　had　happened　to　this
world；　why　it　was　such　a　desolate　wilderness。　Or；　indeed；　what　was　happening　to　their　own　bodies　even　now。
He　raised　his　eyes　to　the　opposite　flank　of　the　valley；　wondering　again　where　the　body　of　that　troublesome　soldier　Hawke　lay。　His
survival　had　almost　alerted　Leonid　to　the　truth　of　how　the　Adeptus　Mechanicus　had　deceived　them　all；　but　Naicin　had　briefed　his
underlings　well　and　the　colonel　had　emerged　from　the　Biologis　infirmary　none　the　wiser。
He　strode　towards　the　doors　of　the　Sepulchre；　sputtering　torches　guttering　in　their　sconces　either　side　of　the　portal；　and　pulled
them　open；　smelling　the　distinctive　tang　of　blood　and　death　the　instant　he　opened　the　door。　This　place　was　a　tomb；　and　thus　he　was
not　surprised　at　the　latter　stench；　but　the　former　was　a　newcomer　to　the　Sepulchre。
Naicin　stepped　into　the　well…lit　outer　chambers；　marvelling　at　the　images　on　the　stained　glass　windows　above　him。
Depicting　anonymous　Space　Marines　in　battle；　the　utter　ruthlessness　they　displayed　was　out　of　all　proportion　to　their　enemies；　the
savagery　frightening　in　its　intensity。　No　loyalist　Space　Marines　these；　but　a　tangible　warning　of　how　easy　it　was　for　even　those
raised　above　all　others　to　fall　from　grace。
The　irony　of　the　windows'　subject　matter　was　not　lost　on　Naicin；　given　that　he　knew　the　truth　of　this　place　and　the　true　identity　of
its　architects；　but　he　was　not　here　to　admire　the　aesthetics　of　the　Sepulchre；　he　had　a　more　vital　errand。
Thin　slivers　of　red　light　were　making　their　way　across　the　floor　as　night　released　its　grip　on　the　valley　and　the　dawn　of　the　Iron
Warriors　began。　It　was　time。
Gripping　the　handles　of　the　Ossuary's　door；　Naicin　took　a　moment　to　savour　the　significance　of　this　moment；　etching　the
sensations　of　each　second　on　his　memory　before　pulling　wide　the　inner　doors。
A　tall；　weirdly　baroque　leviathan　stood　on　the　other　side；　thick；　cable…like　arms　hanging　by　its　side　and　clad　in　robes　that　rippled
with　barely　concealed　motion。　Naicin　could　see　the　face　of　the　corrupted　Adept　Cycerin　below　its　hood；　the　skin　of　his　face　alive
with　writhing　mecha…organic　circuitry　as　it　wove　into　new　and　more　evolved　patterns　in　his　subcutaneous　layer。　The　colour　had
drained　from　Cycerin's　face　and　his　skin　was　a　flat；　metallic　white　with　crawling　mercurial　veins。　A　terrible　power　radiated　from
the　former　machine　priest　and　Naicin　felt　a　suffocating　fear　rise　in　his　chest　at　the　monstrous　creature　before　him。　He　stepped　back
in　awe。
Cycerin's　arms　raised；　fluidly　morphing　into　wide　barrelled；　biomechanical　weapons　as　his　eyes　tracked　Naicin's　movements。　For
a　second；　Naicin　was　sure　Cycerin　was　about　to　destroy　him；　but　some　unknown　algorithm　in　the　adept's　altered　brain　must　have
identified　that　he　was　not　a　threat；　and　the　weapon　arms　lowered。
Naicin　gulped　away　his　fear　and　indicated　the　doors　that　led　down　the　mountainside　towards　the　citadel。
He　said；　'Adept　Cycerin；　I　have　come　to　take　you　home。'
FOUR
DAWN　WAS　AN　hour　old　as　Honsou　watched　spears　of　light　break　over　the　top　of　the　earthworks。　His　sense　of　urgency　mounted
with　the　sun　as　the　red　sunlight　spilled　over　the　valley；　throwing　the　shadow　of　the　citadel　out　across　the　ditch　and　making　his
gunmetal　armour　shine　like　bloodstained　silver。　An　artillery　duel　was　underway　between　the　Imperial　gunners　and　the　siege　tanks
of　the　Iron　Warriors；　throwing　up　plumes　of　earth　and　smoke。　It　was　an　unequal　struggle　as　the　siege　tanks　methodically
dismounted　the　citadel's　guns　one　by　one。
Honsou　crouched　with　his　warriors　behind　the　siege　tanks。　The　noise　was　phenomenal　and　the　ground　shook　with　the　violence　of
their　firing。　In　moments　he　would　unleash　his　warriors　over　the　earthworks　and　attack　the　Primus　Ravelin；　capturing　the　outwork
and　preventing　its　guns　from　flanking　warriors　from　Forrix　and　Kroeger's　companies　to　his　right。　Forrix　had　been　granted　the
honour　of　attacking　the　breach　in　the　curtain　wall；　while　Kroeger　and　his　berserkers　were　poised　to　storm　the　tear　blasted　in　the
Mori　bastion。　But　both　attacks　would　surely　founder　without　the　fall　of　the　ravelin。
Once　the　ravelin　had　fallen；　he　was　to　lead　his　men　across　the　ditch　and　follow　Forrix　through　the　breach。　After　that；　any　strategy
or　plan　was　irrelevant　as　the　soldiers　who　had　fought　through　the　hell　of　a　storming　would　be　so　blood…maddened　that　almost
nothing　could　stop　a　rampage　of　colossal　proportions。　Honsou　looked　forward　to　it。
Forrix　and　his　men　gathered　in　the　approach　trench　that　zigzagged　its　way　back　from　the　third　parallel；　and　Honsou　could　see　the
veteran　captain　was　becoming　more　used　to　his　mechanised　body　with　each　step。　At　the　far　end　of　the　parallel；　Kroeger　stood
motionless　before　the　firing　step　of　the　earthwork；　staring　intently　towards　the　breach　he　would　soon　be　attacking。　Normally
Kroeger　would　be　strutting　up　and　down　the　length　of　the　parallel；　boasting　of　his　prowess　and　heaping　scorn　upon　Honsou；　but
there　was　nothing　now；　merely　a　sinister　silence。
Honsou　had　approached　Kroeger　as　dawn　had　broken；　sensing　the　change　that　had　overtaken　his　nemesis　more　clearly　than　ever。
'The　Warsmith　honours　you；　Kroeger；'　he　had　said；　but　Kroeger　had　not　answered　him；　nor　even　acknowledged　his　presence。
'Kroeger？'　repeated　Honsou；　reaching　up　to　grip　the　edge　of　Kroeger's　shoulder　guard。
As　soon　as　Honsou's　hand　touched　the　metal　of　the　armour；　Kroeger's　hand　shot　up　and　gripped　his　wrist；　wrenching　it　away　and
pushing　h