Storm Of Iron(科幻战争)-第50章

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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　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；