Dark Disciple(科幻战争)-第40部分

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before。　It　was　capable　of　firing　the　spines　from　its　palms；　and　the　merest　scratch　of　one　of　the　quills
would　cause　a　slow　and　painful　death。　The　haemonculus　Rhakaeth　had　been　particularly　proud　of
that　creation。
Drazjaer　waved　them　aside　with　a　languid；　dismissive　motion；　and　the　pair　of　grotesques　backed
away　from　the　portal；　still　hissing　at　the　incubi。
“Stay　here；”　Drazjaer　said　to　his　bodyguards；　in　his　soft；　dangerous　voice。　The　incubi　bowed
their　helmeted　heads　in　respect　of　his　wishes　and　stood　to　attention；　taking　up　a　position　opposite　the
grotesque　bodyguards；　the　ruby…red　crystal　lenses；　hiding　their　eyes；　glittering　menacingly。
Drazjaer　strode　into　Rhakaeth’s　chambers；　the　bladed　arcs　of　the　door　slicing　closed　behind　him；
and　gazed　around。
He　avoided　the　haemonculus’s　private　chambers　whenever　possible；　and　it　had　been　some　years
since　he　had　last　set　foot　in　this　part　of　his　ship。
The　only　light　within　the　room　was　a　dull；　pulsing　glow　that　emanated　from　the　floor　and
ceiling；　throbbing　like　the　beat　of　Khaine’s　heart；　Rhakaeth’s　eyes　were　particularly　sensitive　to
bright　lights。　The　walls　of　the　circular　chamber　were　smooth　and　the　colour　of　dried　blood　and
bladed　stands　atop　which　was　spread　a　veritable　cornucopia　of　curios　and　torturous　implements
hovered　above　the　floor。
There　was　no　obvious　order　to　the　mess　of　objects　strewn　across　the　levitating　stands。　The
hollowed　skulls　of　eldar；　carved　with　runes；　lay　alongside　blades　covered　in　rust…like　flecks　of　dried
blood；　jars　filled　with　blinking　organic　creatures　that　squirmed　within　their　confinement；　and
decomposing　severed　limbs　and　organs　left　to　rot。
Drazjaer　moved　to　one　of　the　hovering　stands　and　lifted　up　a　cube　the　size　of　a　child’s　skull。　Its
sides　were　covered　in　stretched；　flayed　eldar　skin；　and　as　he　held　it；　faces　began　to　push　from　within；
straining　to　escape。　They　opened　their　mouths　wide　in　silent　cries　of　torment。
“That　was　a　gift　to　me　from　my　old　master；”　said　a　hollow　voice；　and　Drazjaer　turned　to　see　his
haemonculus；　Rhakaeth；　ghost　into　the　room；　his　impossibly　thin；　skeletal　frame　seeming　to　glide
across　the　floor。　Blood　was　splashed　across　one　emaciated　cheek；　shockingly　bright　on　his
monotone　countenance。
The　haemonculus　folded　his　wasted　arms　across　his　chest；　skeletal　fingers　covered　in　blood
scratching　idly　at　the　emaciated　flesh　of　his　upper　arms。
“Before　you　killed　him？”　asked　Drazjaer。
“Indeed。　It　is　a　crucible。　The　soul…spirits　of　an　entire　seer…council　of　our　brothers　of　Ulthwe　are
housed　within　it；”　said　Rhakaeth。
“It’s　very　nice；”　said　Drazjaer；　placing　the　cube　back　upon　the　hovering　stand。
“But　you　did　not　come　here　to　admire　my　collection；”　said　the　haemonculus；　“you　came　here　to
pay　witness　to　my　work。　Please；　my　lord；　come　through。”
Drazjaer　followed　him　through　to　a　side　room　and　gazed　upon　the　two　bloodied　bodies　that　were
held　aloft　by　a　multi…legged　mechanism；　their　limbs　pierced　by　the　blade…arms　of　the　machine。
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The　two　figures　were　immense；　as　tall　as　eldar；　but　easily　three　times　the　weight；　their　bodies
bulked　out　with　thick　slabs　of　muscle。　Blood　was　everywhere　in　the　circular　room。　It　had　sprayed
across　the　walls　and　ceiling；　was　pooling　on　the　floor；　and　covered　the　bodies　and　the　mechanical
arms　that　pinned　them　in　place。
The　dark　red　armour　plates　of　the　mon…keigh　were　scattered　across　the　floor。　Drazjaer　moved
one　of　them　with　his　foot。　It　was　heavy　and　inflexible；　a　brutal　and　crude　form　of　armour　for　a　brutal
and　crude　race。
Returning　his　gaze　to　the　two　human　bodies　impaled　upon　the　bladed　arms　of　the　mechanical
apparatus　that　held　them；　Drazjaer　saw　that　one　of　them　was　clearly　lifeless；　and　anger　blossomed
within　him。　What　good　were　they　to　him　if　they　were　dead？
As　if　feeling　his　master’s　anger　bloom；　Rhakaeth　stepped　away　from　the　dracon；　putting　the
bodies　between　them。　The　eyes　of　the　still　living　human　flicked　towards　the　dracon；　fires　of　rage　in
his　lidless　orbs。　The　man’s　flesh　had　been　stripped　from　his　body；　and　his　chest　cavity　was　open　to
the　air；　organs　pulsing　within。
“My　lord　dracon—”　Rhakaeth　began　in　his　deep；　hollow　voice；　but　Drazjaer　cut　him　off。
“I　told　you　to　keep　them　alive；”　the　dracon　said；　his　voice　low　and　deadly。
“This　one　did　not　die　as　a　result　of　my　ministrations；　my　lord　dracon；”　said　Rhakaeth。　“The
mandrake；　Ja’harael；　delivered　it　half…dead。　It　was　all　that　I　could　do　to　keep　it　alive　for　as　long　as　I
did。”
“Ja’harael。　It’s　all　Ja’harael’s　fault；”　said　Drazjaer；　sneering。　“I’ve　heard　that　before；　from　the
snivelling　sybarite　rotting　in　your　cells。　I　do　not　wish　to　hear　any　of　your　excuses；　haemonculus。”
“Whether　you　wish　to　hear　me　or　not；　my　lord　dracon；　I　speak　the　truth；”　said　the　haemonculus；
his　voice　devoid　of　fear。　Indeed；　Drazjaer　had　rarely　heard　any　emotion　in　his　servant’s　voice。
“And　this　one？”　asked　Drazjaer；　leaning　over　the　massive　form　of　the　still　living　human
creature。　It　pulled　at　its　restraints；　massive　muscles　bulging　as　it　stared　at　him　in　hatred。　The　dracon
was　unmoved；　and　peered　with　interest　inside　the　figure’s　exposed　torso。
“Living；　and　strong；　my　lord　dracon。　The　potency　of　its　soul…essence　is　worth　a　hundred；　a
thousand　of　the　lesser　mon…keigh　breed。”
Drazjaer　licked　his　thin　lips。　He　had　already　gathered　almost　ten　thousand　souls　for　his　lord　and
master；　the　dark　lord　Asdrubael　Vect；　but　this　did　not　yet　meet　the　extortionate　tribute　the　high　lord
of　the　Black　Heart　cabal　had　demanded　of　his　vassal。
When　Vect　had　butchered　the　cabal　leaders　of　the　Bleeding　Talons；　the　Vipers　and　the　Void
Serpents　in　one　dark　night；　Drazjaer　had　been　cast　adrift；　vulnerable；　now　that　his　lord　had　been
slaughtered　in　the　murderous　plot。　He　had　been　forced　to　kneel　before　Asdrubael　Vect　in　chains；　and
had　been　asked　if　he　would　submit　to　his　rule；　if　he　would　join　the　Black　Heart。　Only　once　he　had
sworn　his　warriors　to　the　Black　Heart　over　the　soulfires　of　Gaggamel　did　Vect　lay　down　his　terms。
Drazjaer’s　time　was　running　short。　The　Great　Devourer　hive　fleet　would　overrun　the　system
within　the　day；　and　his　harvest　would　be　over；　his　tribute　not　yet　fulfilled。　There　was　no　running
from　Asdrubael　Vect。　No　matter　where　Drazjaer　went；　no　matter　how　far　from　Commoragh　he　fled；
Vect　would　find　him。
However；　if　he　could　gather　more　of　these　enhanced　mon…keigh；　these　Space　Marines；　he　mighty
yet　gain　Vect’s　favour。　Perhaps　the　dark　lord　would　even　raise　him　to　the　exalted　status　of　archon；　in
command　of　an　entire　slave　fleet。
“Their　physical　makeup　is　interesting；”　the　haemonculus　was　saying；　“clearly　the　result　of　geneconditioning
and　surgical　enhancement。　It　is　offensively　crude　work；　with　little　subtlety　or　grace；　but
I　feel　that　I　could　harvest　their　organs　to　create　a　superior　blend　of　eldar　warrior。”
Drazjaer　barely　heard　the　sibilant　hiss　of　Rhakaeth’s　voice；　lost　in　his　own　thoughts　of　greed　and
desire。
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“Do　whatever　pleases　you；　Rhakaeth；”　he　said。　“Just　see　that　that　one　does　not　die。　I　believe　that
it　is　time　to　unleash　Atherak　and　her　wych　cult　upon　the　Imperial　world。”
“The　bitch’s　arrogance　knows　no　bounds；”　said　the　haemonculus。
“Indeed；”　agreed　Drazjaer。　“Let　us　see　if　her　boastfulness　is　founded。　Let　us　see　if　she　can　bring
back　more　than　two　of　these　mon…keigh。”
“I　will　look　forward　to　working　upon　more　of　these；”　said　the　Rhakaeth；　indicating　the　pair　of
altered　humans　strung　up　before　him。
“Fine；”　said　Drazjaer；　turning　and　striding　from　the　haemonculus’s　chambers。
Outside；　his　incubi　were　still　eyeing　up　the　grotesque　guards；　and　a　third　warrior　had　joined
them；　another　of　his　sybarite　captains。
“What　is　it？”　asked　Drazjaer。
“My　lord　dracon；”　said　the　warrior；　bowing。　“The　traitor　returns。”
Solon　Marcabus　knew　that　the　end　was　near。　They　were　running　low　on　food；　down　to　the　last
protein　bar；　and　his　strength　was　fading。
Dios　seemed　neither　to　tire　nor　despair；　and　he　pressed　on　through　the　snow　with　grim
determination　while　Solon　often　lagged　behind；　and　it　was　Dios　who　rubbed　warmth　into　Solon’s
frostbitten　fingers　and　toes　whenever　they　set　up　camp。
He　was　determined　to　see　Dios　on　a　shuttle　away　from　Perdus　Skylla；　and　though　he　had　never
been　a　pious　man；　Solon　swore　that　he　would　devote　his　life　to　the　Emperor　if　he　only　allowed　the
boy　to　survive　this　nightmare。　Dios　would　have　a　future　somewhere；　on　some　distant　planet；　far
from　the　threat　of　xenos　incursions。　Solon　was　fixated　on　the　completion　of　what　had　become　an
epic　pilgrimage　towards　the　Phorcys　spaceport；　and　he　would　fight　to　his　dying　breath　to　see　the　boy
safely　off…planet。
Dios　could　have　the　life　that　Solon’s　son　had　been　denied。
The　ice　crunched　beneath　his　laboured　steps。　He　could　barely　feel　his　arm；　and　though　it　was　a
relief　to　be　free　of　the　throbbing　pain　of　his　wound；　he　knew　that　it　was　a　bad　sign。
He　heard　a　sound　like　thunder　rolling　towards　them；　over　the　blinding　gale；　but　he　gave　it　little
thought；　just　more　bad　weather　heading　in　their　direction　he　thought　grimly。　He　kept　plodding　along
through　the　snow；　putting　one　foot　in　front　of　the　other。
The　sound　got　louder；　and　Dios　cried　out。　Solon　lifted　his　head　to　see　the　boy　gesturing　wildly
into　the　air。
A　shuttle　roared　out　of　the　banks　of　billowing　snow　and　ice；　flying　low　and　fast　through　the
storm。　It　was　hit　with　a　blast　of　wind　and　dropped　metres　through　the　air　as　it　was　buffeted　to　the
side；　and　for　a　moment　Solon　thought　it　was　going　to　crash；　but　the　pilot　compensated　and　the
shuttle　righted　itself；　engines　screaming。　Solon　waved　his　arms　above　his　head；　attempting　vainly　to
get　the　attention　of　the　pilot；　hoping　and　praying　that　the　shuttle　would　stop。　It　passed　low　overhead；
blocking　out　all　sounds　of　the　wind；　and　Solon　stared　up　in　awe　and　amazement　as　the　shuttle
screamed　past；　making　the　ground　shudder　with　the　power　of　its　engines。
Then　the　shuttle　was　past　them；　its　retro…burners　blazing　with　blue　flame。　Solon　whipped　his
head　around　as　the　shuttle　roared　over　their　heads。　He　could　feel　the　heat　from　the　plasma…core
engines　even　through　his　exposure　suit；　and　he　relished　the　almost　forgotten　sensation。　Stabiliser
burners　fired　on　the　underside　of　the　shuttle；　lifting　it　over　an　outcrop　of　ice。
Dios　was　standing；　staring；　his　eyes　filled　with　wonder　as　he　watched　the　shuttle　disappear　once
more　into　the　concealing　storm。
Solon　felt　a　sudden　surge　of　hope。　They　had　come　for　them！　They　had　come　looking　for
survivors！　He　was　certain　that　he　had　sensed　the　shuttle　slowing　down。　The　pilot　must　have　seen
them！
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“Hurry；　Dios！”　he　shouted；　filled　with　a　sudden　surge　of　energy；　and　he　set　off　in　pursuit　of　the
shuttle；　pounding　through　the　snow　and　ice；　his　fatigue　forgotten。　They　had　come　for　them！　They
must　have　picked　up　the　blinking　distress　beacon　in　Solon’s　exposure　suit　that　he　had　activated　as
soon　as　the　raiders；　the　ones　that　Dios　called　the　ghosts；　had　departed。
Dios　was　falling　behind；　and　Solon　paused　to　wait　for　the　boy　to　catch　up；　his　heart　thumping。
Scooping　the　boy　up　in　his　arms；　who　whooped　in　excitement；　Solon　set　off；　pounding　through　the
snow；　running　madly　towards　where　t