Storm Of Iron(科幻战争)-第51章

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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　doggerel　and　they　would　believe　you　were　one　of　their　own。　It
was　galling　to　think　that　an　organisation　that　could　be　so　easily　deceived　was　one　of　the　foundations　the　cursed　Imperium　rested
upon。　The　sooner　his　master　destroyed　it　the　better。　United　under　the　yoke　of　Chaos；　humanity　would　be　the　stronger　for　its
absence。
Naicin　reached　the　top　of　the　slope　and　looked　back　upon　the　wasteland　of　Hydra　Cordatus。　The　Iron　Warriors'　attack　would　come
with　the　dawn；　and　a　storm　of　iron　would　engulf　the　citadel；　against　whose　wrath　none　could　stand。　The　men　struggling　on　the
walls　below　were　fighting　bravely；　but　he　wondered　if　they　would　fight　as　hard　knowing　the　truth　of　what　had　happened　to　this
world；　why　it　was　such　a　desolate　wilderness。　Or；　indeed；　what　was　happening　to　their　own　bodies　even　now。
He　raised　his　eyes　to　the　opposite　flank　of　the　valley；　wondering　again　where　the　body　of　that　troublesome　soldier　Hawke　lay。　His
survival　had　almost　alerted　Leonid　to　the　truth　of　how　the　Adeptus　Mechanicus　had　deceived　them　all；　but　Naicin　had　briefed　his
underlings　well　and　the　colonel　had　emerged　from　the　Biologis　infirmary　none　the　wiser。
He　strode　towards　the　doors　of　the　Sepulchre；　sputtering　torches　guttering　in　their　sconces　either　side　of　the　portal；　and　pulled
them　open；　smelling　the　distinctive　tang　of　blood　and　death　the　instant　he　opened　the　door。　This　place　was　a　tomb；　and　thus　he　was
not　surprised　at　the　latter　stench；　but　the　former　was　a　newcomer　to　the　Sepulchre。
Naicin　stepped　into　the　well…lit　outer　chambers；　marvelling　at　the　images　on　the　stained　glass　windows　above　him。
Depicting　anonymous　Space　Marines　in　battle；　the　utter　ruthlessness　they　displayed　was　out　of　all　proportion　to　their　enemies；　the
savagery　frightening　in　its　intensity。　No　loyalist　Space　Marines　these；　but　a　tangible　warning　of　how　easy　it　was　for　even　those
raised　above　all　others　to　fall　from　grace。
The　irony　of　the　windows'　subject　matter　was　not　lost　on　Naicin；　given　that　he　knew　the　truth　of　this　place　and　the　true　identity　of
its　architects；　but　he　was　not　here　to　admire　the　aesthetics　of　the　Sepulchre；　he　had　a　more　vital　errand。
Thin　slivers　of　red　light　were　making　their　way　across　the　floor　as　night　released　its　grip　on　the　valley　and　the　dawn　of　the　Iron
Warriors　began。　It　was　time。
Gripping　the　handles　of　the　Ossuary's　door；　Naicin　took　a　moment　to　savour　the　significance　of　this　moment；　etching　the
sensations　of　each　second　on　his　memory　before　pulling　wide　the　inner　doors。
A　tall；　weirdly　baroque　leviathan　stood　on　the　other　side；　thick；　cable…like　arms　hanging　by　its　side　and　clad　in　robes　that　rippled
with　barely　concealed　motion。　Naicin　could　see　the　face　of　the　corrupted　Adept　Cycerin　below　its　hood；　the　skin　of　his　face　alive
with　writhing　mecha…organic　circuitry　as　it　wove　into　new　and　more　evolved　patterns　in　his　subcutaneous　layer。　The　colour　had
drained　from　Cycerin's　face　and　his　skin　was　a　flat；　metallic　white　with　crawling　mercurial　veins。　A　terrible　power　radiated　from
the　former　machine　priest　and　Naicin　felt　a　suffocating　fear　rise　in　his　chest　at　the　monstrous　creature　before　him。　He　stepped　back
in　awe。
Cycerin's　arms　raised；　fluidly　morphing　into　wide　barrelled；　biomechanical　weapons　as　his　eyes　tracked　Naicin's　movements。　For
a　second；　Naicin　was　sure　Cycerin　was　about　to　destroy　him；　but　some　unknown　algorithm　in　the　adept's　altered　brain　must　have
identified　that　he　was　not　a　threat；　and　the　weapon　arms　lowered。
Naicin　gulped　away　his　fear　and　indicated　the　doors　that　led　down　the　mountainside　towards　the　citadel。
He　said；　'Adept　Cycerin；　I　have　come　to　take　you　home。'
FOUR
DAWN　WAS　AN　hour　old　as　Honsou　watched　spears　of　light　break　over　the　top　of　the　earthworks。　His　sense　of　urgency　mounted
with　the　sun　as　the　red　sunlight　spilled　over　the　valley；　throwing　the　shadow　of　the　citadel　out　across　the　ditch　and　making　his
gunmetal　armour　shine　like　bloodstained　silver。　An　artillery　duel　was　underway　between　the　Imperial　gunners　and　the　siege　tanks
of　the　Iron　Warriors；　throwing　up　plum