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！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
it and chanting a prayer of forgiveness to the Omnissiah。 He climbed onto the central dais and rotated several cogged dials。
Tedeski fought for calm as the first brass column rose from the floor； steam hissing from the newly revealed metal。 Warning
klaxons blared and a stream of words； meaningless to Tedeski； issued from a pair of speakers mounted on the dais。
'Can't you do this any faster？' hissed Tedeski urgently as the door buckled inwards again。
'I am going as fast as I can。 Without the proper ministrations to appease the machine spirits that invest the reactor； I will not be
able to persuade them to aid us。'
'Then don't waste time talking to me；' snapped Tedeski as another hammer…blow slammed into the door。
FORRIX SMASHED HIS power fist into the door； feeling the layered metal starting to give。 He knew he did not have much time。 The
Warsmith's captured magos had told them of the capacity of Tor Christo's commander to destroy the fortress and Forrix was under
no illusions as to what the two men within this chamber were attempting to do。
His warriors gathered behind him； impatient to kill their prey and begin refortifying this place。 He slammed his fist against the
door again； feeling the metal crumple beneath his assault。 He gripped the twisted metal and pulled； tearing the door from its
mounting with a roar of triumph。 Forrix pushed through the doorway to see a magos in white robes ministering to a machine in the
centre of the chamber； and a one…armed Imperial Guard officer standing beside him。 The man fired his bolt pistol and Forrix
grinned as he felt the ringing impacts against his thick armour。 He felt a sensation he had not known in many centuries； but
recognised as pain。
He raised his own weapon and squeezed off a short burst； the shells taking the magos between the shoulders； disintegrating his
torso and blasting him clear of the dais in a welter of blood and bone。
The Guard officer turned and leapt towards the dais； fumbling with the brass columns； vainly attempting to complete what the
magos had begun。 Forrix laughed at the man's efforts and shot him in the leg； toppling him to the floor with a scream of pain。 He
deactivated the energy field surrounding his power fist and lifted the howling officer from the ground； hurling him to a waiting
Terminator。
Forrix mounted the dais and saw that they had cut it close； a few more minutes and Tor Christo would have been reduced to a
useless molten ruin。 He put a bolt through each of the wall…mounted speakers and the screaming klaxons were silenced。
'Replace the rods。 It will prevent the reactor blowing；' he said to another of his Terminators and strode from the room。
Tor Christo had fallen。
Graham McNeill ？Storm of Iron？
THE SECOND PARALLEL
ONE
As LIEUTENANT COLONEL Leonid entered the Sepulchre the flame at the end of the taper wavered in the draft that gusted in from
the open door。 Kneeling before a basalt statue of the Emperor in the chapel's ossuary； Castellan Vauban cupped the flame behind
his hand； shielding it from the wind and lit a candle for the men of Battalion A； as he had done every day for the last six days since
Tor Christo had fallen。
Leonid kept a respectful distance from his commanding officer； awaiting the completion of his ministrations to the dead； and
Vauban was grateful for his officer's understanding。
The grim tower known as the Sepulchre stood on the north…western slopes of the mountains； high above the citadel。 Constructed
of smooth； black marble； veined with threads of gold； it was a tall； hollow tube； some thirty metres in diameter and a hundred
high。 Its inner walls were studded with hundreds of ossuaries containing the bleached bones of every man who had borne the title
of castellan。 It had been a great comfort to Vauban to imagine that one day he too would have a place of honour amongst the
immortal dead； but he knew that was nothing but a dream。 In all likelihood； he would end his days as a desiccated corpse
somewhere below in the citadel； murdered by this infernal foe。 The thought of his bones scoured clean by the dust storms of this
planet filled him with great melancholy。
The entire floor was a polished disc of solid brass； its surface etched with intricate traceries and swirling lines that looped
gracefully across its surface； weaving and intersecting in a beguiling dance。 It looked like a puzzle where the solution； if there
even was one； was forever elusive。 Vauban knew it was possible to happily lose several hours trying to untangle the design with
your eyes； but he had long ago decided that it was a mystery he would never solve。
He rose from his knees； wincing as his joints cracked painfully。 War was a young man's game and he was too old to bear the
horrors being placed before him。 He bowed towards the Emperor's graven image and whispered； 'Lord Emperor； give me the
strength to do your bidding。 I am but a man； with a man's courage； and need your holy wisdom to guide me in this； our time of
need。'
The statue remained silent and the commander of Hydra Cordatus turned on his heel； marching towards the door to the outer
chambers of the Sepulchre。
Vauban thought he had known anguish as he had watched the scenes of destruction at Jericho Falls and on the plains when the
Iron Warriors had tricked the gunners at Tor Christo into shelling their own men。
But with the fall of Tor Christo and the death of nearly seven thousand men； he knew the true depths of misery。 So many dead；
and the battle not yet over。
He nodded to Leonid as he passed； his second…in…command closing the door to the candlelit house of the dead。 The outer
chambers of the Sepulchre were light and airily constructed； as though the architects had understood that the human mind could
absorb only so much grief； and that there were times when it was good to rejoice in the immortality of the spirit。
Bright glow…globes； set behind arched windows of stained glass； threw gold and azure light across the marble…flagged floor。
Vauban paused to admire the handiwork of artists dead these last ten millennia。 Scenes of battle were played out above him
alongside images of the Emperor ascending to his throne and feats of bravery of long…dead Space Marine heroes。
'Beautiful； aren't they？' whispered Vauban。
'Yes； sir； they are；' affirmed Leonid。
'Sad then； that they will be destroyed。'
'Sir？'
Vauban returned his gaze to his second…in…command with a sad smile。 'I think our enemies would as soon see this place reduced to
dust； don't you； Mikhail？'
'Possibly；' conceded Leonid； bitterly。 'But as long as we are not betrayed by one man's lust for glory； or anomer's cowardice； we
shall make them pay for every metre they advance。'
Vauban could understand Leonid's venom。 Princeps Fierach had doomed nearly two thousand men to death when his Titans had
abandoned the Jourans to hunt the corrupted Imperator Titan。 Those Titans that had survived the battle had wisely retreated to
their armoured hangars for repairs； their crews confined to barracks while the Legio's judiciary sought to apportion blame for the
debacle。 Fierach's death made it that much easier for them； giving them a conveniently dead scapegoat。 Princeps Daekian；
commander of the Warlord Titan Honoris Causa had come before the senior officers of the Jouran Dragoons in full dress uniform；
offering his sorrow and a formal apology on behalf of the Legio Ignatum。
For the sake of unity； Vauban had accepted the apology； but the words tasted bitter。 Leonid had shown no such restraint； walking
up and striking Daekian。 Vauban had been ready for the worst kind of reaction； but Princeps Daekian had merely nodded and said；
'That is your right and privilege； Lieutenant Colonel Leonid； and I bear you no ill…will。'
Princeps Daekian had then drawn his curved sabre； stepping forward to offer it； hilt first； to Leonid。
'But know this： the Legio Ignatum stands ready to fight at your side and we will not fail you again。 I swear by my blade that it
shall be so。'
Vauban had been stunned。 For an officer of the Legio to offer his sword to another was a declaration that should he fail in his
sworn duty； he was willing to be killed by his own blade； and have the gods of battle mock him for all eterni