Ice Guard(科幻战争)-第29部分

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not　to　catch　anybody’s　eye。　When　the　crowd　yelled　out　anti…Imperium　slogans；　he　pretended　to　join
in；　although　he　couldn’t　bring　himself　to　give　voice　to　the　words。
A　huge　stone　dais　stood　in　the　centre　of　the　courtyard　—　and　from　this；　there　rose　an　ice　column；
eight…pointed　like　the　Chaos　star；　its　sides　engraved　with　sigils　that　hurt　the　naked　eye　to　look　at
them。　Steele　and　Wollkenden　were　thrust　against　two　of　the　column’s　points；　secured　to　them　with
chains。
That　was　when　Mangellan　appeared；　with　an　imposing　figure　marching　at　his　shoulder。　The　lone
cultist　recognised　the　Chaos　Space　Marine；　and　could　tell　that　he　had　been　in　a　fight　since　last　he
had　seen　him。　His　black　power　armour　was　damaged；　his　face　bloodied。　Still；　the　crowd　parted　as　he
moved　through　it；　even　the　heretics　keen　to　give　this　abomination　a　wide　berth。
Shuffling　at　Mangellan’s　heels　was　his　disgusting；　mutated　little　servant；　his　head　bandaged。　The
lone　cultist　had　heard　that　his　name　was　Furst；　that　he　was　a　man　of　scant　intellect　—　but　favoured
by　Mangellan；　perhaps　for　that　very　reason。　The　rumours　had　been　rife　since　the　attempted　escape　of
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Steele　and　Wollkenden　that　it　was　Furst　who　had　let　them　go。　It　seemed　that　Mangellan　either　didn’t
believe　those　rumours　or　did　not　care。
As　the　high　priest　mounted　the　dais；　Wollkenden　seemed　to　recognise　him；　to　realise　where　he
was　at　last；　and　he　started　to　yell　out；　to　struggle。　Mangellan　ignored　him；　turning　to　his　audience；
raising　his　hands　for　silence。　It　took　a　moment　for　the　clamour　to　subside；　and　then　Mangellan
assembled　a　squad　of　Traitor　Guardsmen　and　instructed　them　to　patrol　the　courtyard　for　the　rest　of
the　night；　to　keep　a　close　eye　on　the　prisoners。　The　Chaos　Space　Marine　had　taken　up　a　position　at　a
back　corner　of　the　dais；　and　it　looked　like　he　intended　to　stay　put　too。
“Our　guests　will　not　trouble　us　much　longer；”　Mangellan　assured　his　flock。　“Our　plans　remain　as
they　were。　In　four　hours’　time；　we　will　meet　here　to　begin　the　ceremony。　As　the　first　light　of　dawn
touches　the　courtyard；　we　will　deliver　not　one　but　two　noble　souls　to　our　gods。”
The　lone　cultist　had　heard　enough。
The　crowd　was　shouting；　roaring　its　approval　of　Mangellan’s　plan。　The　cultist　slipped　with
surprising　ease　through　the　crush　of　bodies；　heading　for　the　archway　through　which　most　of　them
had　entered。　He　didn’t　want　to　be　the　first　to　leave；　so　he　waited　nervously　for　the　crowd　to　begin　to
disperse；　to　return　to　their　rooms　or　their　duties　in　twos　and　threes；　chattering　about　the　undoubted
spectacle　to　come。
He　retraced　his　steps　through　the　Ice　Palace；　trying　not　to　appear　too　hurried。　As　the　other
cultists　peeled　off　around　him；　streaming　up　staircases；　he　was　left　on　his　own　for　a　moment。　He
ducked　into　a　side　passageway；　narrow；　dark；　uncarpeted；　its　floor　smooth　and　slippery　in　contrast　to
the　well…trodden　paths　elsewhere。
An　iron　door　caught　in　its　ice　frame；　and　it　took　all　the　cultist’s　strength　to　wrench　it　free。　He
stepped　through　onto　a　flight　of　stone　steps；　and　produced　a　lamp…pack　from　beneath　his　robes　to
light　the　way　down　into　a　dank　cave。
This　unnatural　system　extended；　as　far　as　he　had　been　able　to　tell；　beneath　the　whole　of　the　Ice
Palace。　The　dungeons；　he　had　learned；　were　housed　in　a　part　of　it　—　a　part　that；　after　much
searching；　he　had　reluctantly　accepted　could　not　be　reached　except　through　the　palace　itself　—　as
were　various　wine　cellars　and　treasure　troves　housing　the　spoils　of　the　Chaos　army’s　recent　victory。
This　cave；　however；　had　not　found　a　use　yet。　Indeed；　the　cultist　had　seen　no　sign　that　anyone　had
passed　this　way　before　him。
It　was　with　some　relief；　then；　that　he　shucked　off　his　purloined　robes；　and　became　Trooper
Palinev　of　the　Imperial　Guard　again。
He　squeezed　through　a　niche　in　the　rock　wall　into　a　tiny　antechamber。　Lying　there；　where　he
could　not　be　seen　from　the　steps；　was　the　corpse　of　a　defrocked　cultist；　his　throat　slit。　The　man　had
made　the　fatal　error　of　passing　the　wrong　door　at　the　wrong　moment。　And　of　being　about　Palinev’s
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
t