Storm Of Iron(科幻战争)-第45部分

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re　he　and　Eshara　returned　to
the　citadel。
They　visited　Vincare　bastion；　the　curtain　wall；　the　breach　and　Mori　bastion；　heaping　praise　on　the　soldiers　and　exhorting　them
with　tales　of　valour　from　the　other　sections　of　the　citadel。　Each　body　of　men　vowed　to　outdo　the　others；　and　by　the　time　Leonid
returned　to　his　temporary　billet　in　the　gate　towers　he　was　exhausted　and　a　little　light　headed　from　the　amount　of　amasec　his　men
had　forced　upon　him。
He　lay　down　on　his　simple　pallet　bed　and　fell　into　a　dreamless　sleep。
TWO
JHAREK　KELMAUR　CLIMBED　the　blasted　mountain　of　Tor　Christo；　picking　his　way　confidently　across　the　rubble；　despite　the
darkness。　His　head　scanned　from　side　to　side；　as　though　searching　for　something；　while　a　red…robed　figure　followed　behind　him；
hands　clasped　beneath　its　robes　and　head　bowed。　The　robed　figure's　physique　was　swollen　and　disproportionate；　with　broad
shoulders；　grossly　misshapen　arms　and　a　barrel　chest。
The　sorcerer　crested　a　ridge　of　jagged　rock　and　scanned　the　ground　before　him。　His　tattooed　skull　bobbed　as　he　hunted　for
something　within　the　wreckage　of　the　mountain。　Something　that；　for　now；　eluded　him。
'It　should　be　here；'　he　muttered　to　himself；　withdrawing　a　tattered　scroll；　its　gold　lettering　faded　and　almost　illegible。　His
frustration　was　growing　and　he　knew　he　did　not　have　much　time　left。　His　vision　had　promised　him　a　hidden　chamber　beneath　the
rock　of　Tor　Christo；　so　where　was　it？　He　descended　into　a　huge　crater　of　loose　stone　and　scarred　rock；　his　footing　sure　even
through　the　black　night　and　rough　ground。
His　silent　companion　dutifully　followed　him；　its　footsteps　surprisingly　heavy　for　a　being　of　such　mass。
The　moonlight　pooled　around　the　curious　pair；　bathing　them　in　vermilion　light。　Kelmaur　circled　the　crater　with　increasing
desperation。　Behind　him；　the　robed　figure　stopped　abruptly　and　lifted　its　head　to　stare　directly　towards　a　huge　slab　of　rock；　toppled
from　the　mountain　and　lying　flush　with　the　blasted　rockface。
Without　any　word　to　Kelmaur；　the　figure　strode　across　the　crater　towards　the　rock；　halting　ten　metres　from　the　slab。
Jharek　Kelmaur　smiled。
'You　sense　it；　don't　you？'　he　whispered　and　watched　as　the　figure　unclasped　its　arms　and　extended　them　towards　the　slab。　The
fabric　of　its　robe　rippled；　as　though　some　monstrous　motion　disturbed　it；　and　something　black　and　glossy　extended　from　the　ends
of　the　sleeves。
The　crater　was　suddenly　bathed　in　light　as　twin　beams　of　incandescent　fire　shot　from　the　figure's　arms　and　the　rock　exploded　into
fragments。　As　the　dust　dissipated；　Kelmaur　rejoiced　at　the　sight　of　an　ancient；　verdigris…stained　bronze　gate。　Again　the　searing
beams　stabbed　out　and　the　gate　exploded　into　molten　chunks；　revealing　a　darkened　passageway　that　led　deep　into　the　mountain。
Kelmaur　felt　his　heart　race　in　excitement。　Here；　he　would　walk　passages　that　had　not　known　the　tread　of　man　for　ten　thousand
Graham　McNeill　？Storm　of　Iron？
years。　The　robed　figure　clasped　its　arms　once　more　and　set　off　towards　the　revealed　passage。　Kelmaur　followed　and　the　pair　made
their　way　through　the　remains　of　the　gate　and　into　the　mountain。
Neither　Kelmaur　nor　his　fellow　traveller　required　light　to　see。　The　sorcerer　marvelled　at　the　precise；　geomantic　precision　of　the
tunnel　as　it　descended　for　hundreds　of　metres　into　the　rock　of　Tor　Christo。
Eventually；　the　tunnel　emerged　into　a　wide；　domed　chamber；　lit　by　a　diffuse　glow　that　radiated　from　the　walls。　The　floor　was　a
broad　disc　of　solid　bronze；　almost　thirty　metres　in　diameter；　with　an　intricately　designed　pattern　etched　onto　it。　It　was　familiar　to
Kelmaur；　but　he　could　not　remember　why。　Reluctantly；　he　tore　his　senses　away　from　its　beguiling　pattern。
His　wordless　companion　moved　to　the　chamber's　centre；　reaching　up　with　glistening；　black　hands　that　seemed　just　a　little　too
large；　and　pulled　back　the　hood　of　its　robes。
Beneath　was　a　face　that　had　once　been　human；　but　was　now　disfigured　beyond　all　recognition。　Adept　Etolph　Cycerin's　face　was
alive　with　crawling　bio…organic　circuitry。　Even　the　augmentations　grafted　on　by　the　Adeptus　Mechanicus　had　transformed；　their
mechanical　structure　hideously　altered　by　the　techno…virus。　Cycerin　turned　expectantly　to　face　Kelmaur　and　raised　his　other　arm；
the　flesh　of　the　limb　running；　liquefying　and　transforming　from　the　shape　of　a　weapon　into　a　hand。　The　hand　pointed　at　Kelmaur
and　the　sorcerer　frowned　at　such　impatience。
Had　the　transformation　obliterated　any　sense　of　awe　or　reverence　Cycerin　once　had？
Kelmaur　removed　the　tattered　scroll　once　more　and　unravelled　it；　clearing　his　throat　before　chanting　a　series　of　guttural　and
clicking　harmonics　in　a　language　that　had　not　been　spoken　in　ten　millennia。　The　chant　consisted　of　syllables　no　human　mouth　was
ever　meant　to　give　voice　to；　sliding　between　the　air；　pulling　its　fragile　structure　further　and　further　apart。
Whipcord　arcs　of　purple　lightning　flickered　around　the　circumference　of　the　bronze　disc；　growing　in　brightness　as　Kelmaur's　chant
continued。　The　air　in　the　chamber　grew　dense；　like　the　heavy　overpressure　before　a　thunderstorm；　and　the　actinic　tang　of　ozone　set
his　teeth　on　edge。
The　chant　neared　its　end；　the　lightning　arcs　whipping　upwards　and　joining　in　a　tensing　web　of　magenta　that　spun　faster　and　faster
around　the　disc's　perimeter。
As　the　last　syllable　passed　Kelmaur's　lips；　crackling；　whirling　lightning　exploded；　flaring　outwards　with　a　powerful　coronal
discharge。　The　sorcerer　was　hurled　from　his　feet　and　slammed　into　the　cavern　wall；　slumping　to　the　floor　in　a　bruised　pile。
Dazed　and　in　great　pain；　Kelmaur　raised　his　head　and　smiled。
The　creature　he　had　created　from　Adept　Cycerin　had　vanished。
A　BLAZE　OF　light　flared　in　the　centre　of　the　glowing　disc；　a　dancing　crackle　of　energy　swirling　around　the　chamber　as　the　pulsing
afterimages　slowly　faded。　Adept　Cycerin　turned　his　head　left　and　right；　orientating　himself　with　the　location　he　had　been
transported　to。　The　scent　of　Jouran　incense　filled　the　air；　and　his　altered　eyes　precisely　mapped　out　the　exact　trigonometric
properties　of　the　chamber　he　found　himself　in。
He　wondered　if　he　had　set　foot　here　in　his　previous　life；　but　could　not　remember。　He　could　only　remember　the　imperatives　that
thundered　in　his　brain；　firing　along　strange；　new　inorganic　dendrites　infesting　his　skull。
The　chamber　stretched　high　above　him；　black　and　studded　with　reliquaries。　He　stood　on　a　floor　of　bronze；　on　a　disc　identical　to　the
one　he　had　just　left。　Two　tonsured　priests　hurried　towards　him；　their　faces　lined　with　frantic　worry。
The　priests　stopped　at　the　edge　of　the　disc　and　shouted　at　him；　the　words　were　unintelligible；　part　of　his　previous　existence。　He
could　only　converse　in　the　machine　language　of　the　techno…virus　now　and　the　priests'　banal；　limited　form　of　verbal　communication
was　utterly　inimical　to　him。
He　raised　his　arms；　the　black　surface　of　his　limbs　writhing　as　the　virus　within　him　moulded　his　machine…flesh　into　a　new　form。
Metallic　barrels　and　hissing　muzzles　formed　from　the　engorged　substance　of　his　arms　and　Cycerin　opened　fire　with　his
biomechanical　weaponry；　blasting　the　two　priests　from　their　feet　in　a　storm　of　shells。
Dozens　of　urns　in　the　lower　levels　of　the　Ossuary　shattered；　spreading　the　bones　of　former　castellans　across　the　floor。　Skulls
grinned　up　at　Cycerin　as　he　passed；　making　his　way　to　the　Sepulchre's　exit。
At　the　door　to　the　outer　chambers；　he　stopped；　lowered　his　arms　and　waited。
JHAREK　KELMAUR　PICKED　his　way　painfully　down　the　rocky　slopes；　pleased　that　he　had　answered　the　potential　of　his　vision。　He
did　not　know　what　part　Adept　Cycerin　had　yet　to　play　in　the　unfolding　drama　on　Hydra　Cordatus；　but　was　satisfied　that　he　had
been　instrumental　in　its　fulfilment。
As　soon　as　Cycerin　had　vanished；　the　pattern　etched　in　the　bronze　disc　in　the　floor　had　begun　to　fade　along　with　the　glow　in　the
walls；　until　any　hint　that　either　had　existed　was　gone。　The　scroll　had　crumbled　to　dust　and；　with　it；　any　means　of　using　the　ancient
device　again。　Kelmaur　knew　it　didn't　matter：　Cycerin　was　where　he　needed　to　be　and　his　involvement　with　him　was　over。
He　groaned。　The　expenditure　of　so　much　power　had　left　him　drained　and　his　bones　hurt　where　Cycerin's　explosive　teleportation
had　thrown　him　against　the　chamber　wall。　His　''near…sense''　was　weakened　and　he　stumbled　several　times；　losing　his　footing　on　the
slippery　rocks　and　loose　rubble。
As　he　reached　the　bottom　of　the　slope　he　straightened　his　cloak　and　set　off　towards　his　tent；　his　strides　becoming　more　confident
as　he　found　himself　among　more　familiar　surroundings。
Acolytes　bowed　as　he　passed；　but　he　ignored　them；　too　intent　on　rest　and　recuperation。　As　he　ducked　below　the　low　entrance　to　his
abode；　painful　cramps　seized　his　stomach。　Immediately　he　sensed　the　Warsmith's　presence。
'You　were　successful；'　said　the　Warsmith。　It　was　a　statement；　not　a　question。
Kelmaur　bowed　extravagantly。
'Yes；　my　lord。　The　servant　of　the　machine　with　but　one　hand　has　gone。　The　secret　chamber　was　below　the　mountain；　just　as　I　had
foreseen。'
'Good；'　hissed　the　Warsmith；　raising　himself　up　to　tower　over　Kelmaur。　The　sorcerer　turned　his　head　away；　unable　to　look　directly
Graham　McNeill　？Storm　of　Iron？
at　the　roiling　metamorphosis　of　the　Warsmith's　face。　The　lord　of　the　Iron　Warriors　reached　up　and　cupped　Kelmaur's　chin　in　one
massive　gauntlet。
Kelmaur　gasped　in　pain　at　the　Warsmith's　searing　touch；　squirming　against　his　grip　as　black　discolouration　spread　from　where　his
master　held　him。　The　tattoos　on　his　skull　danced　as　Kelmaur　cried　out；　his　face　contorted　in　agony。
'Now；　Jharek；　is　there　anything　you　wish　to　tell　me？　Anything　you　have　kept　from　your　Warsmith？'
Kelmaur　shook　his　head。　'No；　my　lord！'　he　wheezed。　'I　swear　I　have　told　you　true　every　vision　I　have　had。'
'Is　that　true？'　asked　the　Warsmith；　his　disbelief　plain。　No　answer　was　forthcoming　and　he　sighed　in　feigned　regret。
The　Warsmith　said；　'You　achieve　nothing　by　lying　to　me；　Jharek；'　and　reached　out　his　hand；　pressing　a　burning　palm　against　the
sorcerer's　temple。
Kelmaur　screamed　in　agony　as　his　flesh　hissed　and　melted；　filling　the　tent　with　the　sickening　stench　of　burned　meat。
'You　have　one　chance　to　live；　Jharek；'　promised　the　Warsmith。　'Tell　me　anything　else　you　have　kept　from　me　and　I　will　not　kill
you。'
'Nothing！'　gasped　Kelmaur。　'I　have　kept　nothing　from　you；　my　lord；　I　swear！　I　see　nothing　more　than　that　which　I　have　told　you！'
The　Warsmith　said；　'Then　you　are　of　no　more　use　to　me；'　and　exhaled　a　foetid　breath　of　dazzling　orange　and　green。
Kelmaur；　already　hyperventilating　in　fear；　took　a　huge　breath　of　the　Warsmith's　corrupt　substance　and　began　convulsing。
Kelmaur　burned　with　horrific　change　and　his　screams　were　music　to　the　Warsmith's　ears。　Evolutionary　anarchy　ripped　through　the
sorcerer's　frame。　Kelmaur's　body　spasmed；　grotesque　changes　warping　through　his　flesh　in　a　tornado　of　mutation。　Tentacles；
pincers；　wings　and　other　more　unnameable　organs　burst　from　every　part　of　his　rebellious　anatomy；　his　body　now　unrecognisable
as　human　in　the　soup　of　aberrant　growths。
Within　seconds；　all　that　remained　of　the　sorcerer　was　a　seething　pile　of　pulped　meat　and　bone；　too　grossly　misshapen　to　survive。
'I　promised　I　would　not　kill　yo