Ice Guard(科幻战争)-第14部分

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His　guidance。　When　the　chapels　fell；　He　led　us　into　these　tunnels。”
“You　should　have　stayed　and　fought；”　grumbled　Blonsky。
“We’re　fighting　now；”　Tollenberg　assured　him；　“fighting　to　keep　our　minds　pure；　learning　how
to　use　what　weapons　we　can　scavenge；　preparing　for　the　day　when　the　Imperial　army　arrives　to
retake　our　home。　On　that　day；　we　will　emerge　into　our　streets　again；　into　the　traitors’　midst；　and　we
will　die　for　that　glorious　cause。”
His　words　swelled　something　in　Pozhar’s　heart。　He　wished　he　could　tell　this　eager　young　man
that　salvation　was　on　its　way；　that　the　Ice　Warriors　were　merely　the　vanguard　for　a　far　larger　force；
and　that　the　loyalists　of　Cressida　had　not　been　abandoned。　He　wished　he　could　join　them　in　their
fight；　a　glorious　cause　indeed。
“We　have　a　mission；”　said　Gavotski；　skirting　the　issue；　“a　very　specific　mission。　We　have　come
here　to　rescue　one　man。”
“Confessor　Wollkenden；　yes。”　Tollenberg　nodded。　“We　know　about　him。”
“Then　you　know　we　have　to　get　to　the　Ice　Palace。”
“And　you’re　leading　us　away　from　it；”　said　Grayle；　suddenly。　He　had　been　inspecting　his
compass　in　the　yellow　lamplight；　but　he　was　not　as　adept　with　it　as　Palinev　would　have　been；　and　it
had　taken　him　some　time　to　confirm　his　suspicions。
They　had　been　walking　along　a　narrow　ledge；　in　single　file；　but　now　the　brickwork　tapered　away
and　they　were　forced　back　into　the　water。　Pozhar　thought　he　felt　something　—　a　cold；　wriggling
something　—　brushing　against　his　foot。
“The　direct　approach　is　dangerous；”　said　Tollenberg。　“Mangellan　may　not　have　men　down　here；
but　there　are　other　things；　dreadful　things；　in　the　dark　—　and　the　closer　you　get　to　the　Ice　Palace；　the
worse　the　corruption　becomes。”
“We’re　not　afraid　of　any　stinking　mutants！”　grumbled　Pozhar。
Tollenberg　fixed　him　with　a　long；　narrow…eyed　look　that　the　young　trooper　couldn’t　quite　read。
Then；　quietly；　he　said；　“No；　I　am　sure　you’re　not。　Still；　we　can　help　you　avoid　the　worst　of　the
dangers　—　if　you　trust　us。”
There　was　something　wrong。
Blonsky　knew　it　as　soon　he　emerged　into　the　candlelit　chapel；　as　soon　as　he　was　able　to　stand
upright；　and　his　hand　went　to　his　lasgun。
They　had　climbed　another　ladder　—　a　short　one；　this　time　—　and　Tollenberg　had　rapped　on　the
underside　of　a　manhole　cover　at　its　top：　the　same　signal　as　before；　three　taps；　then　a　pause；　then　two
more。　The　cover　had　been　scraped　aside；　and　the　silhouette　of　another　smock…clad　man　had　loomed
over　them；　against　a　circular　background　of　flaring　light。　The　man　had　reached　down　a　hand　towards
them。
Blonsky　had　been　the　second　of　the　Ice　Warriors　to　be　hauled　up　out　of　the　hole；　behind　Pozhar
—　and　immediately；　he　had　detected　the　stench　of　Chaos。　But　reeking　as　he　was；　as　they　all　were；
from　the　sewer　water；　he　couldn’t　pinpoint　its　source　—　and；　casting　around；　he　could　see　no
immediate　threat。
Perhaps；　he　thought；　his　senses　were　reacting　to　the　desecration　of　this　once…holy　place。　Some
effort　had　been　made　by　the　loyalists　to　reclaim　the　building；　to　reconstruct　the　altar　and　to　scrub　the
disgusting　Chaos　sigils　from　the　walls　—　but　still；　he　couldn’t　help　but　feel　that　the　spirit　of　the
God…Emperor　had　withdrawn　from　here　and　that　no　amount　of　restitution　could　induce　its　return。
At　one　end　of　the　chapel；　two　ornate　pillars　had　been　shattered；　bringing　about　a　partial　collapse
of　the　vaulted　ceiling。　A　little　daylight　spilled　in　through　a　broken　window　frame；　and　glinted　off
fragments　of　coloured　glass　amid　the　rubble。　Wall　hangings　had　been　torn　down　and　burnt。
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There　were　more　figures　here；　thirty　or　forty　of　them；　their　blue　worker’s　smocks　beginning　to
look　like　a　kind　of　uniform。　They　were　scrubbing　the　floors　or　trying　to　piece　together　the　remnants
of　broken　treasures；　or　just　kneeling　at　the　altar　in　silent　prayer。　All　of　them　started　to　react　to　the
arrival　of　four　strangers；　to　clamber　to　their　feet；　to　stare　in　both　awe　and　hope。
They　began　to　close　in　around　the　Ice　Warriors。
And　that　was　when　Blonsky　realised　what　was　happening：　when　he　saw　the　figures’　odd；
shambling　gaits　and　glimpsed　a　tuft　of　grey　fur　protruding　from　a　blue　sleeve。　And　he　drew　his
lasgun；　and　spun　around　and　shot　the　red…headed　woman　through　the　head　as　she　was　helping
Gavotski　up　from　the　ladder。　She　fell；　a　look　of　wounded　surprise　on　her　face；　and　Blonsky　turned　to
deal　with　Tollenberg。
He　had　been　beaten　to　it。　Their　fair…haired　young　guide　was　lying　at　Pozhar’s　feet；　his　hands
clutched　to　his　throat；　blood　welling　between　his　fingers。
“I　warned　you；”　Pozhar　snarled。　“I　told　you　what　I’d　do　to　you。”　And　as　Tollenberg　died；　his
smock　slipped　from　his　left　shoulder；　and　Blonsky　saw　a　bright　green　mole　on　his　skin；　proof　that　he
had　been　right。
By　now；　Grayle　was　reaching　for　his　weapon　too。　Gavotski　scrambled　to　his　feet；　looking　as
surprised　as　the　woman　had　been；　and　Blonsky　spelled　it　out　to　him：
“It’s　an　ambush；　sergeant。　They’re　mutants；　all　of　them。　They’re　stinking　mutants！”
This　was　getting　to　be　a　habit；　thought　Steele：　facing　his　own　death；　making　peace　with　it；　only　to　be
given　a　very　rude　awakening。
This　time；　even　the　mechanical　parts　of　his　brain　had　shut　down。　His　memories　ended　with　the
battle；　with　the　chainsword　that　had　shredded　his　armoured　greatcoat；　and　the　flesh　beneath　it。
Bleeding　from　the　chest；　Steele　had　fallen　onto　his　face；　and　blacked　out。　The　Chaos　Space　Marine
could　have；　should　have；　finished　him　off　there　and　then。　He　didn’t　know　why　he　hadn’t。
He　couldn’t　feel　his　legs。　He　was　surrounded　by　Traitor　Guardsmen。　They　were　pressed　up
against　him；　holding　his　arms；　half…carrying　him　so　that　his　feet　dragged　along　the　street　behind　him。
His　greatcoat　hung　open；　no　more　than　a　few　ragged　strips　of　plasfibre　now。　His　chest　and　his
stomach　were　stiff　with　synth…skin。
“He’s　awake！”　a　voice　grunted；　somewhere　near　his　ear。
“Yeah？　Then　why　are　we　still　carrying　him？”　He　felt　the　muzzle　of　a　lasgun　in　his　back；　and　the
second　voice　snarled；　“Get　walking；　Emperor…lover！”
Steele’s　response　to　this　was　short　and　succinct；　but　it　effectively　conveyed　his　thoughts　on　the
question　of　taking　orders　from　a　heretic。
The　heretic　in　question　made　to　lash　out　with　his　gun　butt；　but　one　of　his　fellows　stayed　his
hand。
“You　can’t　risk　it；”　he　said。　“He’s　already　damaged　goods。　You　could　break　his　skull；　spill　his
brains　out　onto　the　street；　and　what　would　he　say　then？”
Steele　smiled　tightly　to　himself。　The　traitors　had　confirmed　what　he　had　already　guessed；　that
their　leader　in　Iota　Hive　wanted　him　alive。　Most　likely；　Mangellan　intended　to　question　him　about
his　comrades：　their　numbers；　their　plans　and　their　current　whereabouts。　Not　that　it　would　do　him　any
good。
They　had　taken　Steele’s　weapons；　his　field　rucksack；　even　his　fur　hat。　They　had　turned　out　his
pockets。　They　thought　he　was　helpless。　They　were　wrong。
Steele’s　greatest　weapons　were　inside　him。　His　mechanical　shoulder　was　still　in　working　order；
and　his　bionic　eye　had　almost　completed　its　repair　cycle。　He　could　see　with　it　now；　albeit　through　a
faint　blur。　He　could　call　up　its　HUD；　which　told　him　that　the　eye　would　be　fully　functional　in　just
fifty…eight　minutes’　time。
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In　the　meantime；　the　traitors　were　doing　him　a　favour。　A　prisoner　he　may　have　been；　for　now　—
but　they　were　taking　him　just　where　he　wanted　to　go。
They　were　taking　him　to　the　Ice　Palace…　to　Confessor　Wollkenden。
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CHAPTER　FOURTEEN
Time　to　Destruction　of　Cressida：　14。33。04
They　were　sitting　ducks。
Gavotski　cursed　himself　for　having　trusted　the　redheaded　woman　when　she　had　called　to　him
and　Blonsky　out　in　the　street。　He　had　followed　his　instincts　about　her；　not　stopping　to　interrogate　her
further　despite　his　comrade’s　misgivings。　But　then　the　Traitor　Guard　had　been　so　close　on　their
heels；　and　his　instincts　had　never　steered　him　wrong　before。
His　instincts　were　telling　him　something　now。
The　chapel　was　filled　with　the　retorts　of　lasguns。　They　echoed　from　the　vaulted　ceiling　to　return
to　their　wielders’　ears　with　deafening　force。　But　the　only　guns　being　fired　belonged　to　the　Ice
Warriors。　The　mutants　were　not　fighting　back；　few　of　them　were　even　armed。　They　were　cowering；
whimpering　behind　stone　columns　and　the　remains　of　splintered　pews；　behind　the　altar　itself。
“Cease　fire！”　yelled　Gavotski　over　the　clamour。　“I　said　cease　fire；　that’s　an　order！”
Grayle　was　the　first　to　obey；　although　he　turned　to　his　sergeant　with　a　puzzled　frown。　Pozhar
looked　like　he　was　a　second　away　from　mutiny；　while　Blonsky…
Blonsky　didn’t　exactly　aim　his　gun　at　Gavotski　—　he　held　it　at　a　downward　angle；　pointed　at　the
floor　between　them　—　but　the　muscles　in　his　arms　were　tensed；　ready；　as　his　black　eyes　searched
and　probed。
“With　respect；　sergeant；”　he　said；　“may　I　ask　the　reason　for　that　order？”
“Look　at　them！”　said　Gavotski。　“Does　this　look　like　an　ambush　to　you？　No　one　has　attacked　us。
They’ve　done　nothing　but　defend　themselves。”
“They　are　mutants；”　spat　Blonsky。　“Their　existence　is　offence　enough！”
Gavotski　returned　his　glare　evenly。　He　wasn’t　about　to　be　intimidated。　“Ordinarily；　yes；”　he　said；
“but　these　are　extraordinary　circumstances。　I　don’t　think　our　guides　lied　to　us。　These…　these
‘people’　have　information　we　can　use。　They　have　ways　into　the　Ice　Palace　and　knowledge　of
Mangellan’s　capabilities。”
“In　the　circumstances；　sergeant；”　said　Blonsky；　“I　think　it　is　my　duty　to　ask　if　you’re　protecting
these　abominations　because　of　some　misguided　sympathy　with　them？　Can　you　swear　that　you　are
still　loyal　to　the　God…Emperor？”
Gavotski　hit　him　with　the　butt　of　his　lasgun。　He　hit　him　so　hard　and　so　fast　that；　even　though
Blonsky　had　been　watching　for　such　a　move；　he　was　taken　by　surprise　and　floored。
“When　you　can　prove　an　accusation　like　that；”　growled　Gavotski；　standing　over　him；　“then　I
expect　you　to　shoot　me　dead。　Until　then；　you　will　keep　your　mouth　shut　and　do　as　I　tell　you。　Is　that
understood；　trooper？”
“They　were　praying；”　said　Pozhar　in　a　small　voice。　“They　were　praying　to　the　Emperor。”　The
resentment　had　drained　from　him；　and　he　looked　confused；　even　afraid。　Gavotski　hadn’t　expected
that。　He　had　expected　Pozhar　to　disapprove　of　his　decision　as　vociferously　as　Blonsky　had。
And　the　mutants　—　the　human…looking　mutants　—　were　picking　themselves　up；　re…emerging
from　their　hiding　places；　and　closing　in　around　the　Ice　Warriors；　emboldened　by　their　inaction。
Gavotski　brought　up　his　gun；　and　focused　it　on　the　nearest　of　them。
“That’s　far　enough！”　he　snapped；　and　the　mutant　came　to　a　halt；　raised　its　hands。
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“We　understand　your…　suspicions；　blame　you　for　being…　repulsed。”　The　voice　was　a
lumbering　baritone；　and　it　came　from　behind　Gavotski。　He　turned；　and　felt　his　throat　tightening。　The
speaker　stepped　out　of　the　shadows：　a　shambling　monster　with　grey　fur；　its　fingers　twisted　into
claws；　its　eyes　a　burning　red；　its　brow　unnaturally　pronounced。　“We　repulse　ourselves；”　it　said；　“but
none　of　us…　chose　this。　Didn’t　want　to　be　this　way。　Chaos；　so…　so　strong…　in　the　water；　the　air…
It　has　taken　a　hold　of…　our　bodies。”　He　swallowed　painfully。
Gavotski　remembered　what　Tollenberg　had　said。
“But　you’re　fighting　it；　fighting　to　keep　your　minds　pure。”
“If　you　are　so　loyal；”　grumbled　Blonsky；　massaging　his　jaw　as　he　climbed　to　his　feet；　“then　you
know　your　duty。　The　Emperor’s　edict　on　impurities　is　clear。　There　is　only　one　way　you　can　be
purged。”
“And　we　know　we　must…　die；”　the　mutant　said；　“but　want　it　to　be　for　a…　purpose。　We　want
to…　want　to　strike　against　the　heretics。　They　did　this　to　us。　They　did　this　to　our…　world；　to
Cressida。”　It　was　having　trouble　breathing；　and　it　broke　off　its　speech　as　it　groaned　and　wheezed；
sucking　air　into　its　lungs。
“You　knew　we　were　coming！”　Grayle　realised。　“You　sent　out　spies；　into　the　mountains　and　the
forest。　I　saw　one　of　them。　You’ve　been　watching　us！”
“Just…　sorry；”　said　the　mutant；　“we　could　not　approach　sooner…　before　the　sniper　on　the　lake；
before　you　lost　your…　comrade　at　the　landing　site…　before　the　Traitor　Guardsmen…　Had　to　choose
our　moment　carefully；　as　you　will…　as　you　will　appreciate。　So　hard；　these　days；　to　know　who　can
be…　trusted。”
Gavotski　followed　the　mutant’s　sorrowful　gaze；　down　to　the　floor；　to　the　body　of　the　Ice
Warriors’　erstwhile　guides；　and　to　the　others　—　six　of　them　—　cut　down　before　he　had　called　for　his
ceasefire。
“We　can’t　save　your　world；”　he　said　quietly。　“That’s　not　what　we’re　here　for。　But　with　your
help；　we　can　save　one　man。　An　important　man。”
“Then　we　will　give…　what　help　we　can；”　the　mutant　promised。　“We　will　fight　in　the
Emperor’s…　service；　and　pray　that；　when　we　reach　the　afterlife；　He　will…　look　upon　our　tainted
souls　with…　with　understanding。”
The　Ice　Palace　was　as　huge　as　Grayle　had　described。　It　rose　up　high　above　Steele　—　higher　than　he
could　see；　held　as　he　was。
He　was　starting　to　get　his　strength　back；　though　he　was　concealing　this　fact　from　his　captors；
letting　them　half…carry　him；　letting　them　think　him　still　weak。
The　traitors　bustled　him　down　a　stone　staircase；　flight　after　flight　—　all　the　way　down；　he
guessed；　to　the　next　hive　level。　As　they　stepped　out　into　another　street；　as　the　traitors　repositioned
their　grips　on　him；　Steele　was　let　go　for　a　second　and　he　feigned　a　collapse；　taking　the　chance　to
steal　a　glance　upwards。
He　saw　grand　towers　and　turrets；　and　the　broad　undersides　of　bridges　of　ice。
The　air　was　more　than　cold；　it　was　like　invisible　daggers　were　being　driven　through　his　bones。
Steele　rued　the　damage　done　to　his　greatcoat；　though　he　suspected　that　even　it　would　not　have
afforded　him　a　great　deal　of　protection。　He　knew　cold；　natural　cold；　and　he　knew　that　this　was
something　different。　The　traitors；　in　contrast；　seemed　perfectly　comfortable　in　their　flak　jackets。
They　were　taking　him　to　an　archway　in　the　base　of　the　palace’s　front　wall。　As　they　drew　closer
to　it；　the　white　surface　took　on　a　translucent　quality；　and　Steele　could　see　faint　veins　of　the　familiar
purple　fungus　crazing　through　it。
The　archway　was　protected　by　four　Traitor　Guardsmen　—　and　by　a　heavy　portcullis；　this　too
formed　from　the　ice。　Steele　remembered　Barreski’s　confident　words　in　the　forest：　“Just　give　me　a
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couple　of　flamers；　and　I　guarantee　you　there’ll　be　nothing　left　standing　here　in　ten　minutes。”　If　only
it　could　be　so　easy。
On　his　way　here；　Steele　had　seen　at　least　two　hundred　more　traitors；　many　of　them　attaching
themselves　to　his　entourage　as　it　passed；　basking　in　their　fellows’　victory。　His　comrades；　he
accepted　now；　hadn’t　a　hope　of　beating　those　odds；　of　making　it　here。　At　best；　they　could　keep　some
of　the　traitors　occupied　outside　the　palace。
The　rest；　he　feared；　was　up　to　him。
Pozhar　had　never　felt　less　comfortable。
The　mutants　had　offered　him　and　his　three　comrades　seats；　which　they　had　accepted；　and　food；
which　they　hadn’t。　Gavotski　had　suggested　that　Grayle　and　Pozhar　get　some　sleep　while　they　could；
while　he　and　Blonsky　kept　watch。　Grayle　had　nodded　off　with　his　chin　on　his　chest；　but　Pozhar
couldn’t　rest。
Most　of　the　mutants　stayed　well　away　from　their　guests；　in　deference　to　their　sensibilities；　or
perhaps　just　in　fear　of　arousing　their　wrath　again。　However；　the　most　mutated　of　them；　the　one　that
had　spoken　to　them　earlier；　now　shuffled　over　to　them；　and　announced　that　it　had　bad　news。
“Your　commander　has　been…　captured；”　it　wheezed。　“He　fought…　well；　but　was　outclassed　by
a…　a　Traitor　Space　Marine。　However；　we　have　found　your…　remaining　four　comrades…　bringing
them　here。”
Since　Tollenberg；　none　of　the　mutants　had　introduced　themselves　by　name。　Pozhar　wondered　if
they　had　names　any　more。　Perhaps　they　considered　themselves　unworthy；　had　come　to　think　of
themselves；　as　he　would　once　have　thought　of　them—as　he　still　thought　of　them—as　mere　monsters。
“Colonel　Steele　isn’t　dead？”　asked　Gavotski。
“They　are　taking　him　to…　the　Ice　Palace；”　said　the　mutant；　“to　Mangellan。”
“Then　we　can　still　save　him；”　said　Gavotski。　“If　you　can　do　as　you　said；　if　you　can　get　us　into
the　palace；　we　can　rescue　the　colonel　and　Confessor　Wollkenden。　But　we　have　to　make　our　plans
soon。　We　have　less　than　fourteen　hours。”
The　mutant　inclined　its　shaggy　head；　graciously；　and　withdrew。
Blonsky　watched　it　go　with　a　shudder。
“They’re　fooling　themselves；”　he　muttered；　“or　lying　to　us。　If　a　man’s　faith　is　strong；　he　can
resist　the　corruption　of　Chaos；　the　Emperor　has　taught　us　that。　To　have　been　mutated　as　these
wretches　have—”
“But　they’re　fighting　it！”　said　Pozhar。
“Too　late。”　Blonsky　turned　to　Gavotski。　“We　can’t　trust　them；　sergeant。　We　don’t　know　what
they　did　to　deserve　this；　don’t　know　if　they　are　cowards　or　traitors　or　just　weak　—　but　whichever　it
is；　they　are　already　lost。　Even　if　they　are　sincere　in　their　intentions；　they　cannot　be　cleansed　of　their
sins。　Sooner　or　later；　Chaos　will　take　their　minds　—　and　when　that　happens；　they　will　turn　on　us。”
Gavotski　just　nodded。　“I　know；”　he　said。
And　his　words　were　like　a　knife　blow　to　Pozhar’s　heart。
The　interior　of　the　Ice　Palace　was　no　less　impressive　than　its　exterior　—　and　no　less　well…guarded。
Steele　was　guided　through　what　seemed　like　legions　of　Traitor　Guardsmen；　across　an　enormous
hallway　—　formed　from　the　ice；　of　course；　but　lushly　appointed　with　velvet　rugs　and　wall　hangings。
The　hall　was　festooned　with　elaborate　ice　sculptures；　lent　a　certain　beauty　by　soft　and　perhaps
sorcerous　inner　lights　—　until　Steele　drew　close　enough　to　make　out　their　twisted；　daemonic　shapes。
A　frozen　staircase　swept　in　an　elegant　curve　upwards　to　the　balconies　and　balustrades　of　the　next
floor。　He　was　dragged　past　this；　into　a　small；　dark　corner；　and　bundled　through　a　nondescript
doorway。
82
Behind　this；　steps　—　stone　steps　—　stretched　downwards　into　an　oppressive　gloom。　There　was
scarcely　room　to　descend　in　single　file；　so　Steele　was　set　on　his　feet　and　prodded　in　the　back　with　a
lasgun　muzzle；　forced　to　walk　with　a　traitor　close　in　front　of　him　and　another　close　behind。
Rough…hewn　stone　walls　opened　up　around　them；　lit　only　by　the　glows　of　the　traitors’　lamppacks。
Steele　could　hear　an　insistent　drip；　echoing　and　re…echoing　until　even　he　could　not　have
pinpointed　its　source。　He　felt　as　if　he　was　sinking　into　the　depths　of　the　underhive；　except　that　he
knew　he　was　still　high　above　ground　level。　The　cavern　appeared　natural　enough　—　but　Steele
suspected　that；　if　he　could　have　looked　with　his　bionic　eye；　he　would　have　found　tell…tale　signs　that
it　was　man…made。
Mangellan　had　decided；　it　seemed；　to　complement　the　splendour　of　his　castle　above　with　the
traditional　dungeons　below。
The　steps　were　streaked　with　ice　fungus；　some　of　them　treacherously　so。　Steele　contrived　to　slip；
and　to　fall　backwards；　toppling　the　unprepared　traitors　that　followed　him　like　a　row　of　dominoes。
Three　of　them　fell；　screaming；　over　the　side；　and　were　broken　on　the　rock　floor　below。　It　didn’t　ease
the　colonel’s　predicament　at　all　—　the　casualties　were　immediately　replaced；　new　hands　grasping
for　him；　forcing　him　to　walk　onwards　—　but　it　did　make　him　smile。
Thick　iron　doors　had　been　punched　into　the　cavern　walls。　They　nest