Ice Guard(科幻战争)-第17部分

快捷操作: 按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页 按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页 按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！


door；　standing　half…open　—　and　behind　that　door；　the　base　of　a　winding　staircase。
He　would　have　to　rely　on　his　enhanced　ear　to　alert　him　to　approaching　patrols　—　and　on　the
Emperor’s　grace；　to　ensure　that　the　guards　at　the　entrance　wouldn’t　turn　and　see　him　and
Wollkenden　while　they　were　exposed。　But　Steele　thought　that　they　could　reach　that　door。　And　from
there…
The　palace　was　an　enormous　building。　There　had　to　be　places　in　which　they　could　hide。　And
maybe　they　could　find　weapons；　and　robes　to　disguise　themselves。　Maybe　they　could　find　an
unguarded　bridge。　Anything　was　possible…　if　they　could　just　reach　that　door。
Steele　crouched　beside　Wollkenden；　told　him　what　he　had　planned；　asked　him　if　he　felt　up　to　it。
Wollkenden　stared　through　him；　and　he　said；　“It　looks　majestic　out　there；　doesn’t　it？　All　that　ice…　It
reminds　me　of　the　victory　celebrations　on　Artemis　Major；　of　the　crystal　statues　they　erected　in
Imperial　Square。”
94
Steele　explained　the　plan　again；　patiently。　Then　he　helped　Wollkenden　up　to　the　doorway　and
waited。
They　crept　out　behind　the　next　two…man　patrol；　Steele　praying　that　neither　of　the　traitors　would
look　over　their　shoulders。　He　could　already　hear　the　next　pair；　tramping　towards　them。　They　had…
his　processors　quickly　worked　out　the　figure…　eleven　seconds　before　they　came　into　view　around
the　grand　staircase。　He　tried　to　pick　up　the　pace；　but　Wollkenden　chose　that　moment　to　apparently
lose　all　strength　in　his　legs。　He　let　out　a　grunt　as　Steele　caught　him；　and　the　colonel　felt　his　heart
freeze；　expecting　the　sound　to　reveal　them。
Five　seconds…　and　the　door；　that　inviting　door；　was　still　an　unattainable　four　metres　away。
Wollkenden’s　chin　sagged　onto　his　chest。　He　was　losing　consciousness；　but　they　had　come　too
far　to　turn　back　now。　Steele　bundled　the　confessor’s　limp　body　into　his　arms；　almost　staggered　by
the　weight。　He　would　have　to　run；　have　to　sacrifice　silence　for　speed。
He　had　made　it　all　of　three　paces　when　Wollkenden　began　to　struggle　violently。　“No！”　he　yelled。
“No；　you　won’t　take　me　through　that　door；　you　won’t　put　me　in　chains　again！”
Steele　tried　to　hush　him；　made　to　put　his　hand　over　the　confessor’s　mouth　again；　but　it　was
already　far；　far　too　late。
Wollkenden　wriggled　out　of　his　grip；　tried　to　stand；　but　fell　to　his　knees；　and　crawled　up　to　an
ice　statue　of　a　leering；　gargoyle…like　figure。　“Help　me；”　he　beseeched　it；　extending　his　clasped　hands
towards　as　it　as　if　in　prayer。　“It　is　your　duty　to　help　me；　for　the　Emperor；　for　the　score　of　worlds　I
liberated　from—”
There　was　more；　much　more。　But　Steele　heard　none　of　it　—　because　Traitor　Guardsmen　were
streaming　in　from　all　directions；　even　through　the　door　that　he　had　hoped　would　be　his　escape　route。
And　even　if　he　had　been　in　any　condition　to　fight　them；　he　could　never　have　won。　Even　if　he　could
have　run；　there　was　nowhere　he　could　have　run　to。
They　were　dragged　along　endless　passageways；　Steele　and　Wollkenden；　by　cultists　and　traitors　—
their　numbers　growing　as　more　of　their　kind　rushed　out　of　their　rooms　or　abandoned　patrols　to　join
the　throng；　until　the　two　prisoners　were　all　but　borne　aloft　on　a　fast…moving　river　of　bodies。
Steele　said　nothing；　bearing　his　fate　stoically；　but　Wollkenden　was　delirious。　He　was　waving　to
the　crowd；　thanking　them；　assuring　them　that　a　parade　was　not　necessary；　that　he　had　only　done
what　any　man　of　his　considerable　talents　would　do。
They　emerged；　at　last；　into　a　large　courtyard；　bordered　by　four　sheer　walls；　overlooked　by
hundreds　of　windows。　Ice　trees　grew　around　its　edges；　reaching　sizes　of　a　hundred　storeys　tall；　their
branches　spreading　across　the　yard　to　intertwine　with　each　other。　Moonlight　streamed　in　through
this　intricate　frozen　web；　and　bathed　the　courtyard　in　a　cool　shade　of　blue。
Overlooked　amid　the　crowd；　one　cultist　watched　all　this；　and　tried　his　best　not　to　rub　shoulders
with　those　around　him。　He　kept　his　hood　pulled　over　his　head；　concealing　his　face；　and　was　careful
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
95
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
96
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。”
97
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。
98
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
targets。
Most　of　their　fire；　in　fact；　was　directed　at　Mangellan　—　but　he　was　well…protected；　by　the　Traitor
Guardsmen　around　him；　bustling　him　away　down　the　dais　steps。　Furst　scurried　along　behind　them；
keeping　close；　benefiting　from　their　armour；　although　Grayle　couldn’t　tell　if　the　traitors　had　even
seen　him　in　their　wake。
And　then　there　was　the　Chaos　Space　Marine。
He　leapt　from　the　dais；　reaching　the　edge　of　the　courtyard　with　one　powerful　spring。　He　smacked
into　the　palace　wall；　punching　through　the　ice　to　make　handholds　for　himself；　started　to　haul　himself
upwards。　Grayle　saw　Blonsky’s　face　in　a　window；　paling　as　a　gauntleted　hand　clamped　onto　the　sill
in　front　of　him。　He　drove　his　gun　butt　into　the　Chaos　Space　Marine’s　fingers；　but　couldn’t　dislodge
them。　He　turned　and　ran；　disappearing　from　Grayle’s　vieassive　form
through　the　small　window　after　him。
In　the　confusion；　no　one　had　thought　to　secure　the　would…be　sacrifices。　Perhaps　Mangellan
thought　them　secure　enough；　hadn’t　realised　that　his　enemies　had　already　got　to　them。　Grayle’s
lasgun　burnt　through　Wollkenden’s　chains　at　last；　and　the　confessor　fell　into　his　arms。
“Is　it　my　turn　to　speak？”　he　asked　weakly。　“I　must　say；　I　expected　a　little　more　discipline　from
the　troops。　Obviously；　I’ve　been　gone　too　long。　That’s　the　trouble　these　days；　no　leadership。”
“Please；　confessor；”　said　Grayle；　“I’m　trying　to　rescue　you。　Just…　just　hold　still…　sir；　please…　I
need　to　get　this　cloak　over　your　head。”
“Take　your　hands　off　me！”　bellowed　Wollkenden　—　and　he　pushed　Grayle　aside；　took　his　own
weight　unsteadily；　and　looked　around　like　a　startled　rabbit　about　to　bolt…
…as　Steele；　having　been　freed　and　disguised　by　Palinev；　strode　up　beside　him　and；　without
breaking　his　step；　threw　a　punch　to　Wollkenden’s　head　that　knocked　him　spark　out。　Grayle　and
Palinev　watched　in　abject　astonishment　as　the　colonel　hoisted　the　confessor’s　limp　body　over　his
shoulders。
“Well？”　he　barked　at　them。　“Are　we　getting　out　of　here　or　what？”
99
Barreski　could　hardly　breathe。
The　explosions　had　kicked　up　twin　plumes　of　smoke；　which　were　settling　now　upon　the
occupants　of　the　courtyard。　The　Chaos　worshippers　were　packed　too　tightly　around　him；　restricting
his　movement；　their　elbows　digging　into　his　ribs　and　his　stomach。　He　braced　himself　against　them；
knowing　that　if　he　let　his　guard　down　for　an　instant　he　would　be　crushed　between　them　or　just
overrun。
He　had　one　advantage；　though；　over　the　heretics。　He　knew　where　the　bombs　were　—　or　rather；
where　they　had　been；　because　Mikhaelev　had　only　had　two　demolition　charges　left　and　they　had
both　blown。　Barreski　had　placed　one　himself；　and　was　proud　of　his　handiwork；　the　carnage　he　had
caused。
A　hapless　cultist　lost　his　footing　and　fell　coughing　against　the　disguised　Ice　Warrior。　Barreski
took　the　opportunity　to　slip　his　knife　into　the　man’s　heart；　let　him　slide　to　the　floor。　Another　one　less
to　worry　about；　he　thought。
His　quarter　of　the　crowd　appeared　to　have　reached　an　unspoken　consensus。　They　had　chosen　an
archway；　an　escape　route；　through　which　to　evacuate；　had　started　to　move　together　instead　of
fighting　each　other。　Barreski　hoisted　himself　onto　the　shoulders　of　a　protesting　cultist　in　front　of
him；　and　he　screamed　out；　“Another　bomb！　Look！　There　it　is！　Can’t　you　see　it？　In　the　branches　of
that　tree！”
No　one　could　see　the　bomb；　because　it　didn’t　exist。　Still；　Barreski’s　words　were　enough　to　make
a　significant　number　of　the　heretics　turn　back；　to　fight　once　more　against　the　tide　of　their　fellows；　to
spread　more　panic。
He　glanced　up　at　the　dais；　and　saw　that　it　was　empty。　Grayle　and　Palinev　would　be　heading　for
their　preselected　exit；　taking　Steele　and　Wollkenden　with　them。　He　muttered　a　quick　prayer　for　their
safety。　It　was　time　for　him　to　get　out　of　here　himself。
Palinev　had　chosen　a　different　way　out　for　Barreski；　a　closer　one　to　his　position。　He　had　scouted
a　route　for　him　back　to　the　sewer　tunnel；　made　sure　that　he　had　memorised　the　directions。　Barreski
pressed　his　elbows　into　service；　and　started　to　force　his　way