Storm Of Iron(科幻战争)-第46部分

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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　you；　did　I　not？'　sneered　the　Warsmith；　turning　and　leaving　the　hideously　mutated　body　of　Jharek
Kelmaur　hissing　in　mindless　torpor　on　the　floor　of　his　tent。
Amongst　the　gibbering　ruin　of　distorted　flesh；　a　single　unblinking　human　eye　stared　out　in　horror　and　incipient　madness。
THREE
THE　ATTACKS　ON　the　walls　continued　for　another　three　days；　with　thousands　of　men　throwing　themselves　at　the　citadel　and　dying
in　droves。　Casualties　amongst　the　Jourans　were　lighter　than　on　the　first　day；　the　weakest　men　having　fallen　in　the　early　assaults。
On　the　third　day；　at　the　height　of　the　attack；　the　embrasures　were　removed　from　the　earthwork　that　ran　the　length　of　the　third
parallel　and　in　a　jet　of　exhaust　fumes　one　hundred　and　thirteen　Vindicator　siege　tanks　moved　into　position　and　opened　fire　with　an
ear…splitting　crack。
The　walls　of　the　citadel　and　bastions　disappeared　in　a　rolling　bank　of　grey　smoke　and　fire。　Before　the　echoes　had　begun　to　fade；　a
second　volley　of　shots　battered　the　walls。　Soldiers　from　both　forces　were　pulverised　in　the　massive　barrage　as　shell　after　shell
hammered　the　walls　and　breach。
Whole　swathes　of　unstable　structure　tore　free　from　the　breach；　hundreds　of　tonnes　of　rubble　crashing　downwards；　carrying　scores
of　men　to　their　deaths　and　burying　yet　more　beneath　the　falling　blocks。
The　bombardment　continued　for　two　punishing　hours；　undoing　the　repair　work　undertaken　by　the　Imperial　Fists　and　the　Jourans　to
the　ramparts。　Hundreds　died　before　they　were　able　to　take　shelter　in　the　bombproof　shelters　and　the　screams　of　the　wounded
carried　as　far　back　as　the　statue…lined　road　that　led　towards　the　Sepulchre。　The　face　of　the　Mori　bastion　crumbled　under　the
onslaught；　tonnes　of　shattered　masonry　crashing　into　the　ditch　and　forming　a　steep；　but　practicable　breach。　But　by　this　time；　there
was　no　one　left　alive　in　the　ditch　to　exploit　it。
Broken　by　the　twin　blows　of　the　stubborn　defence　of　the　Jourans　and　the　betrayal　of　their　masters；　the　Iron　Warriors'　soldiery
turned　and　fell　back　from　the　walls　in　disarray。
As　the　bloodied　survivors　of　the　attack　stumbled　away　from　the　citadel；　shell…shocked　and　insane　with　terror；　they　broke　and
swirled　around　a　giant　figure　in　iron…black　armour。　A　clear　space　surrounded　the　giant；　who　stood　as　still　as　a　statue　amongst　the
fleeing　soldiers　of　his　army。
The　Warsmith　marched　through　the　mob；　the　soldiers　parting　before　the　bow…wave　of　corruption　that　travelled　before　him。　He
carried　an　arrow…headed　icon　bearing　the　skull…masked　symbol　of　the　Iron　Warriors；　which　he　planted　in　the　blood…soaked　earth　at
the　edge　of　the　ditch。
Leonid　lowered　his　bloody　power　sword　and　watched　the　giant　figure　with　a　terrible　sense　of　foreboding。　Who　this　warrior　was；
he　had　no　idea；　but；　instinctively；　he　feared　him。
He　turned　to　Corwin。　The　Space　Marine　Librarian's　armour　was　scored　with　dozens　of　lasblasts；　and　blood　ran　from　a　gash　torn　in
his　upper　arm。
'He　is　their　Warsmith；　the　leader　of　this　army；'　said　Corwin。
The　Warsmith　was　well　within　weapons　range；　yet　not　one　amongst　the　garrison　could　raise　his　gun　to　open　fire。
They　watched　as　the　Warsmith　pointed　to　the　icon　and　then　towards　the　fortress。　Then　he　lifted　an　enormous　axe　from　a　shoulder
scabbard　and；　in　a　rasping　voice　that　carried　the　weight　of　ages　said；　'You　have　until　tomorrow　morning　to　satisfy　your　honour　and
fall　upon　your　swords。　After　that；　your　souls　belong　to　me　and　I　promise　I　will　send　every　man　alive　within　these　walls　to　hell。'
The　enemy　commander's　voice　should　not　have　been　able　to　carry　across　the　walls；　but　every　soldier　of　the　Jourans　felt　the　terror
of　the　Warsmith's　words　lodge　like　a　splinter　in　his　heart。
Leonid　watched　the　Chaos　warlord　turn　and　march　back　through　the　earthworks；　the　lingering　nausea　in　his　gut　fading　to　a　dull
ache　as　the　Warsmith　vanished　from　sight。
Graham　McNeill　？Storm　of　Iron？
NIGHT　WAS　FALLING　as　the　Warsmith's　champions　gathered　beneath　his　intricate　pavilion。　They　knelt　before　the　master　of　the　Iron
Warriors；　in　awe　at　the　changes　rippling　through　his　form。　Honsou　watched　as　a　darkening　shadow　ghosted　behind　the　Warsmith's
body；　rippling　the　air　with　its　passing；　like　mighty　wings　beating　the　air；　or　at　least　the　suggestion　of　wings。　The　roiling　souls
spinning　within　his　armour　were　silent；　their　cries　drowned　out　by　the　unheard　crescendo　of　change　writhing　within　the　Warsmith。
'A　time　of　great　moment　is　upon　us；　my　champions'　began　the　Warsmith。
He　turned　his　gaze　towards　the　hazily　lit　silhouette　of　the　citadel；　barely　visible　over　the　lip　of　the　earthwork。　Flashes　of　artillery
fire　lit　the　sky　as　Imperial　mortars　dropped　shells　on　the　Iron　Warriors'　camp；　but　it　was　undirected；　and　the　vehicles　and　troops
were　protected　from　all　but　direct　hits　in　their　reinforced　bunkers。
'The　future　is　becoming　less　tangled　now；　its　paths　unravelling　and　revealing　their　ultimate　destinations　to　me。　It　is　a　wonderful
thing　to　see　and　to　know　that　Perturabo　chose　the　right　path。　To　see　the　enemy's　palaces　in　ruins；　to　see　his　warriors　hung；　broken
and　defeated　from　stakes　lining　the　roadways　from　here　to　the　gates　of　Terra　vindicates　everything　we　have　done。　I　have　seen　this
and　more；　victories　and　slaughters　magnificent　in　their　scale。　It　is　pleasing；　and　the　poor　fools　we　must　destroy　will　not　accept　this。
Like　most　mortals；　the　true　majesty　of　Chaos　turns　them　into　frightened　children。　Such　limited　understanding　and　vision　is　to
blame　for　what　their　Emperor　has　brought　them　to。'
Honsou　felt　his　pulse　rising　in　time　with　the　cadence　of　the　Warsmith's　voice。　Each　word　dripped　with　potential。　The　battle　here
was　almost　at　an　end　and　the　Warsmith　was　promising　them　victory。　The　human　soldiers　had　fulfilled　their　appointed　task　and
now　the　honour　of　taking　the　citadel　would　fall　to　the　Iron　Warriors。　It　would　be　soon；　the　Warsmith　would　not；　could　not；　wait
any　longer。
Any　fool　could　see　that。
Even　the　faintly　disturbing　presence　of　Kroeger　beside　him　could　not　dampen　his　enthusiasm　for　the　coming　fight。　Kroeger　had
not　spoken　a　single　word　to　anyone　for　several　days　and　while　normally　Honsou　would　have　been　grateful　for　such　a　reprieve；　his
suspicions　were　aroused。　Though　he　could　not　see　his　face　beneath　his　helmet；　Honsou's　warrior's　eye　could　tell　that　there　was
something　different　about　Kroeger。　He　moved　with　a　confident；　easy　grace；　rather　than　the　bullish　swagger　he　usually　affected；
more　like　a　fighter　than　of　a　simple　butcher　and　Honsou　did　not　like　the　change　one　bit。
He　glanced　over　at　Forrix；　the　ancient　veteran　shifting　painfully　under　the　weight　of　his　new　bionics。　The　Chirumeks　had　worked
wonders　to　reconstruct　his　body　in　so　short　a　time；　and　daemonic　sorceries　had　brought　his　life　back　from　the　brink　of　the　void。
The　Warsmith　approached　them　again　and　Honsou　steeled　himself　for　the　aching　cramps　and　nausea。
'I　now　know　the　truth　of　the　universe；'　began　the　Warsmith。　'Only　Chaos　endures。　The　web　of　action　and　reaction；　cause　and　effect
that　has　brought　us　to　Hydra　Cordatus　began　many　thousands　of　years　ago；　though　in　this　universe　nothing　ever　really　begins　or
ends。'
The　Warsmith　turned　and　spread　his　arms　before　him；　encompassing　the　extent　of　the　citadel。
'Towards　the　end　of　the　Great　Crusade　I　helped　build　this　citadel；　working　shoulder　to　shoulder　with　the　great　Perturabo　himself。
We　raised　its　magnificence　towards　the　heavens　for　the　glory　of　the　Emperor。　But　Perturabo　knew；　even　then；　that　the　Emperor
would　one　day　betray　us；　and　fashioned　it　with　great　cunning。　What　I　created；　you　will　now　put　asunder。'
Honsou　was　amazed。　The　Warsmith　had　built　the　citadel？　Now　he　began　to　understand　the　true　genius　behind　its　construction。
Had　this　been　any　other　fortress；　it　would　have　fallen　much　sooner。　The　finest　siege　engineers　of　the　day　had　built　it　and　it　would
take　the　finest　warriors　to　tear　it　down。
'Billions　upon　billions　of　potential　consequences　spread　out　from　the　here　and　the　now　and　each　is　capable　of　being　massively
shaped　by　the　tiniest　action；'　continued　the　Warsmith。　'Each　of　you　will　play　a　part　in　that　future　and　you　will　not　fail　me。　You　will
not　fail　me　or　you　will　die；　by　my　hand　or　the　enemy's；　it　matters　not。　Some　of　you　will　die；　and　some　of　you　have　died　already。'
Honsou's　brow　wrinkled　as　he　pondered　the　Warsmith's　words。　Was　he　going　to　tell　them　the　outcome　of　tomorrow's　battle？　As
though　hearing　his　thoughts　the　Warsmith　answered　Honsou　directly。
'Only　the　Great　Conspirator　himself　knows　the　infinite　possibilities　the　future　can　bring；　but　I　have　seen　tantalising　glimpses　of　the
shape　of　things　to　come。　The　myriad　complexities　of　alternate　histories　yet　to　be　written　lie　open　to　my　sight。'
The　Warsmith　stood　before　each　of　his　champions　and　bade　them　stand　with　a　curt　gesture。
'Honsou；　you　have　proven　yourself　to　be　a　worthy　leader　and　though　your　blood　is　polluted　beyond　redemption　with　the　seed　of
the　very　enemy　we　face；　you　are　a　true　son　of　Chaos　and　I　see　worlds　that　will　yet　burn　in　your　name。　Your　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　dogg