Dark Disciple(科幻战争)-第9部分

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world？”　asked　the　Warmonger。
“I　do；”　said　Marduk。　“It　is　held　within　the　mind　of　a　servant　of　the　false　Machine…God。”
“You　base　that　belief　only　on　the　word　of　another　servant　of　the　Machine…God；”　snarled　Kol
Badar。　“The　Enslaved’s　loyalty　does　not　lie　with　the　Legion。　For　all　you　know；　he　may　be　leading　us
into　a　trap；　to　deliver　the　device　unto　his　Mechanicus　brethren。”
“The　Enslaved　is　mine；”　growled　Marduk。　“It　has　no　will　of　its　own　any　more。　It　is　not　capable
of　such　duplicity。”
“Speak　with　respect　to　your　First　Acolyte；　Kol　Badar；”　chided　the　Warmonger。　“Marduk；　if　you
trust　the　knowledge　you　have；　then　the　path　is　clear。”
“The　Infidus　Diabolus　cannot　approach　Perdus　Skylla；”　said　Kol　Badar；　changing　tack。　“If
anything；　we　should　return　to　the　Eye　and　gather　the　Hosts　to　our　cause。　Then　we　can　return；　and
take　the　moon　by　force。”
“The　xenos　threat　will　have　obliterated　it　by　then；”　snapped　Marduk。　“We　have　both　seen　worlds
ravaged　by　their　kind；　nothing　is　left　behind。　The　secrets　will　be　lost　forever。”
“You　do　not　need　my　council；　then；　disciple　Marduk。　Kol　Badar；　if　brute　force　will　not　suffice；
explore　more　subtle　ways　of　gaining　victory　for　your　First　Acolyte。”
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Marduk　smiled　as　he　saw　Kol　Badar’s　jaw　twitch　in　anger。
“As　always；　Warmonger；　you　are　the　voice　of　wisdom；”　said　Marduk；　bowing。　“My　purpose　is
clear；　you　have　allayed　my　fears　and　stripped　away　the　shadow　of　doubt。　I　am　confident　that　my
loyal　Coryphaus　will　find　a　way　forward。”
“One　last　thing；　Marduk。　I　am　disturbed　that　there　are　those　within　the　Legion　who　doubt　your
holy　right　to　lead　them。　I　would　have　it　known　that　I　fully　endorse　your　appointment。”
The　Warmonger　shifted　its　immense　weight；　servos　and　gyro…compensators　hissing。　It　turned　on
the　spot；　each　step　making　the　floor　shudder；　and　reached　out　with　its　immense　power…claw；
scooping　something　up　in　its　grasp。　Then　it　turned　back　towards　Marduk；　and　the　First　Acolyte
strained　to　see　what　the　Warmonger　held。
The　sickle…bladed　talons　of　the　Dreadnought’s　power　claw　opened；　and　Marduk　saw　a　gleaming
helmet；　its　porcelain　features　moulded　into　the　form　of　a　grimacing　skull。　An　eight…pointed　star　of
Chaos　was　carved　into　its　forehead；　and　its　sharpened　fangs　were　fixed　in　a　grinning　rictus。　A　crack；
not　battle　damage；　but　rather　a　carved　affectation；　ran　across　the　left　brow　and　continued　below　the
glimmering　eye…piece　onto　the　cheek。
It　was　a　revered；　ancient　artefact　of　the　Legion；　and　had　been　crafted　by　the　finest　artisans　of
Mars　in　the　years　before　the　commencement　of　the　Great　War　for　the　Warmonger　himself。
Marduk　stared　at　the　sacred　helmet　with　covetous　eyes。
“I　ordered　my　helmet　removed　from　its　stasis　field　within　the　bone…ossuary；”　said　the
Warmonger；　“though　at　the　time　I　did　not　understand　what　it　was　that　urged　me　to　do　so。　I　see
clearly　now　that　it　was　the　will　of　the　gods　for　you　to　have　it；　young　Marduk。”
The　First　Acolyte　stepped　forwards　and　lifted　the　helmet　from　the　Warmonger’s　outstretched
claw；　marvelling　at　the　mastery　with　which　it　had　been　rendered。　The　morbid　visage；　a　dark
reflection　of　the　helmets　worn　by　the　chaplains　of　those　blinded　Legions　that　had　not　joined　with　the
Warmaster；　was　a　potent　symbol　of　death；　the　face　of　damnation　for　all　those　who　refused　to　cow　to
Lorgar’s　word。
Marduk　placed　the　helmet　over　his　head；　and　he　heard　a　mechanical　whine　as　it　adjusted　to　fit
his　cranium。　It　fitted　firmly　in　place；　and　there　was　a　hiss　as　coupling　links　connected。　Then　all
sound　was　blanketed　out；　before　the　integrated　auto…senses　powered　up　and　his　hearing　returned。　He
breathed　deeply；　sucking　in　a　lungful　of　recycled　air；　and　registered　the　flickering　array　of　sensory
information　and　integrity　checks　being　relayed　onto　the　front　of　his　irises。　Servos　whined　as　he
stretched　his　neck　from　side　to　side；　and　an　enticing　targeting　matrix　appeared　before　him；　locking
onto　Kol　Badar　as　he　turned　to　look　upon　the　Coryphaus。　The　towering　war　leader　was　scowling；
and　Marduk　grinned。　He　dismissed　the　targeting　matrices；　somewhat　reluctantly；　with　a　blink；　and
dropped　to　one　knee　before　the　Warmonger。
“I　have　not　the　words　to　express　the　honour　you　do　me；　Warmonger；”　he　said；　his　voice
growling　from　the　vox…grills　cunningly　concealed　behind　the　fangs　of　the　death　mask。
“Leave　me　now；　my　captains；”　said　the　Warmonger。　“The　preparations　for　the　final　push　against
Terra　must　be　made。　Join　your　brothers；　and　rejoice　in　prayer　and　exaltation　for　within　the　month；
we　shall　assail　the　walls　of　the　Emperor’s　Palace。”
“Rest　well；　Warmonger；”　said　Marduk；　and　he　and　Kol　Badar　backed　away　from　the　towering
Dreadnought；　recognising　that　the　ancient　one’s　lucidity　was　slipping。　Often　it　was　this　way；　as　the
Dreadnought　relived　battles　of　days　past。
The　pair　left　the　crypt；　leaving　the　Warmonger　to　relive　his　memories。　Marduk　strode　out　in
front；　a　triumphant　strut　to　his　walk。　Kol　Badar　stalked　behind；　a　deep　scowl　on　his　face　as　he　glared
at　the　First　Acolyte’s　back。
Cowled　slaves　pushed　the　skull…inlaid　doors　wide；　and　Marduk　stalked　out　into　one　of　the　expansive
docking　bays　of　the　Infidus　Diabolus。　The　entire　Host　was　gathered　there；　and；　as　one；　the　warrior
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brothers　dropped　to　their　knees　as　the　First　Acolyte　strode　through　their　serried　ranks；　heading
towards　the　stub…nosed　transport　ship；　the　Idolater。
Indentured　workers；　their　bodies　augmented　with　ensorcelled　mechanics　and　their　eyes　and
mouths　ritualistically　sutured　shut；　hurried　to　ready　the　ship；　pumping　fuel　into　its　gullet　through
bulging　intestine…hoses　and　daubing　its　armoured　hull　with　sacred　oils　and　unguents。　Four　Land
Raiders；　massively　armoured　tanks　that　had　borne　the　warriors　of　the　Host　into　battle　on　a　thousand
worlds；　were　moved　into　position　beneath　the　stubby　wings　of　the　Idolater；　and　reinforced　clamps
locked　around　them　from　above；　securing　them　for　transport。
Marduk　was　wearing　the　deaths…head　helmet　gifted　to　him　by　the　Warmonger　for　the　first　time
in　front　of　the　Host；　and　he　felt　awe　and　reverence　ripple　out　across　the　gathered　warriors。　Passages
freshly　scribed　upon　the　flayed　flesh　of　slaves　hung　from　devotional　seals　fixed　to　his　armour；　and
he　felt　savage　pride　as　he　looked　upon　the　warriors　of　the　Legion。
He　stalked　to　the　front　of　the　assembly；　where　a　group　of　thirty　warrior　brothers　knelt　facing　the
rest　of　the　Host。　These　warriors　uniformly　bowed　their　heads　as　Marduk　came　to　a　halt　in　front　of
them；　his　gaze；　hidden　behind　the　inscrutable　red　lenses　of　his　helmet；　sweeping　over　them。
With　a　nod　to　Burias；　the　icon　bearer　stood　to　attention　and　slammed　the　butt　of　his　heavy　icon
into　the　floor。　The　sound　echoed　loudly；　and　with　an　imperious　gesture；　Marduk　motioned　for　the
thirty　warriors　to　stand。　Kol　Badar　stepped　out　of　their　ranks　and　began　to　prowl　along　the　lines；
inspecting　them　with　a　grim　expression　on　his　broad　face。
The　thirty　warriors　were　gathered　into　four　coteries　and　Marduk’s　gaze　travelled　over　the
waiting　warrior　brothers；　reading　their　eagerness　for　the　forthcoming　descent　towards　the　Imperial
planet　in　their　faces　and　their　stances。
Each　holy　Astartes　warrior　stood　armed　for　war；　his　helmet　held　under　his　left　arm；　and　weapons
readied。　They　stood　motionless　and　attentive　as　they　awaited　Marduk’s　word；　their　heads　held　high。
Each　was　fiercely　proud　to　have　been　selected　to　accompany　the　First　Acolyte。
Including　Marduk；　Burias　and　the　enslaved　daemon…symbiote　Darioq；　they　would　number　thirtytwo。
It　was　an　auspicious　number　that　equalled　the　number　of　the　sacred　books　penned　by　Lorgar。　It
augured　well。　Marduk　had　read　the　sacred　number　in　the　entrails　of　the　squealing　slave…neophyte　he
had　butchered　in　the　blooding　chamber　not　an　hour　earlier；　and　he　knew　that　the　gods　had　blessed
his　endeavour。
“Brothers　of　Lorgar；”　said　Marduk；　addressing　the　thirty；　though　his　voice　was　raised；　so　that　it
carried　to　every　member　of　the　Host；　“you　are　blessed；　for　amongst　all　the　glorious　Host　you　have
been　chosen　to　be　my　honour　guard；　to　accompany　me　in　doing　what　must　be　done　to　ensure　that
victory　is　ours；　for　the　glory　of　blessed　Lorgar。”
Marduk　strode　along　the　line　of　warriors；　seeing　the　fire　of　religious　fervour　and　devotion　on
their　faces。　They　stared　at　him　passionately；　fanaticism　in　their　eyes。
Each　member　of　the　four　coteries　was　a　veteran　of　a　thousand　wars　fought　across　a　thousand
battlefields；　and　each　had　been　tested　and　found　worthy　time　and　again　in　the　forge　of　battle。　These
were　the　most　vicious；　fanatical　and　devoted　of　all　the　vicious；　fanatical　and　devoted　warriors　of　the
Host。　Each　was　a　holy　warrior；　who　would　follow　his　word　without　question；　for　his　was　the　voice
of　the　gods；　and　through　him　their　infernal　will　would　be　enacted　without　question　and　without
remorse。　Devout；　holy　warriors；　they　would　not　flinch　in　their　duty；　and　their　fervour　lent　them　great
strength。
Each　of　the　four　coteries　was　led　by　a　favoured　warrior　champion　of　the　Host。
Kol　Badar　stood　before　four　of　his　anointed　brethren；　each　of　them　enormous　in　their　heavy
Terminator　armour。　The　other　coteries　consisted　of　eight　warriors　each。　Towering　Khalaxis；　his
cheeks　covered　in　ritual　scars；　stood　before　his　17th　coterie；　brutal　warriors　all。　Namar…sin；　shorter
than　his　brothers；　though　he　made　up　for　this　deficiency　with　sheer　bulk；　stood　before　his　warriors　of
the　217th　coterie；　Havoc　heavy　weapon　specialists。　Last　of　the　champions　was　Sabtec；　who　led　the
highly　decorated　13th　coterie。　Neither　as　tall　as　Khalaxis；　nor　as　broad　as　Namar…sin；　Sabtec　was　a
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lean　warrior　whose　tactical　nuances　had　won　countless　glorious　victories　for　the　Host。　A　row　of
horns　protruded　from　the　skin　across　his　brow；　a　clear　mark　of　the　god’s　favour　upon　him；　and　his
hand　rested　upon　the　hilt　of　his　power　sword；　gifted　to　him　by　Erebus。
“Kneel；”　commanded　Marduk；　and　the　gathered　warriors　dropped　to　their　knees　instantly。　He
placed　his　fingertips　upon　the　forehead　of　each　champion　in　turn；　murmuring　a　benediction。　He　felt
heat　radiate　beneath　his　fingers；　and　the　smell　of　burning　flesh　rose。　The　imprint　of　his　fingertips
remained　on　each　champion’s　brow；　five　searing　points　where　the　skin　had　blistered　away　to　the
bone。
Having　completed　the　ritual；　Marduk　turned　towards　the　remainder　of　the　Host；　gathered　in
silence　as　they　witnessed　the　blessing。　He　saw　yearning　and　jealousy　in　the　eyes　of　the　warrior
brothers　who　had　not　been　chosen　to　accompany　him。　Their　champions　would　castigate　the　coteries
not　chosen；　and　when　next　they　entered　the　field　of　war；　they　would　fight　with　redoubled　ferocity。
“Look　upon　your　chosen　brothers　and　feel　pride；　my　brethren；”　roared　Marduk；　spreading　his
arms　out　to　each　side。　“Glory　in　their　successes　as　if　they　were　your　own；　for　they　fight　as
representatives　of　you　all。　Pray　for　them；　that　your　strength　may　buoy　them　in　the　days　to　come；　for
they　will　return　victorious　or　not　at　all。　In　the　true　gods　we　place　our　trust。”
Burias　slammed　the　butt　of　his　icon　onto　the　floor　once　more；　and　the　Host　as　one　hammered
their　fists　against　their　chests　in　response；　the　sound　echoing　through　the　docking　bay。
Turning