The Eisenhorn TrilogyXenos(科幻战争)-第2章

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！


'If　it　does；　then　it　is　time　for　Gregor　Eisenhorn　to　die。'
Bequin　looked　across　the　gloomy；　candlelit　room　at　Aemos；　but　he　simply　shook　his　ancient；　augmented　skull　sadly。　There　were
times；　he　knew；　when　there　was　simply　no　reasoning　with　me。
I　went　down　into　the　street；　where　canister　fires　blazed　and　masked　revellers　capered　and　caroused。　I　was　dressed　all　in　black；　with　a
floor　length　coat　of　heavy　black　leather。
Despite　that；　despite　the　flames　around　me；　I　was　cold。　Fatigue；　and　the　lack　of　nourishment；　were　eating　into　my　bones。
I　looked　at　the　moon。　Threads　of　heat　around　a　cold；　black　heart。　Like　me；　I　thought；　like　me。
A　carriage　had　been　called　for。　Six　painted　hippines；　snorting　and　bridled；　teamed　to　a　stately　landau。　Several　members　of　my　staff
waited　nearby；　and　hurried　forward　when　they　saw　me　emerge　onto　the　street。
I　assessed　them　quickly。　Good　people　all；　or　they　wouldn't　have　made　the　cut　to　be　here。　With　a　few　wordless　gestures　I　pulled　out
four　to　accompany　me　and　then　sent　the　rest　back　to　other　duties。
The　four　chosen　mounted　the　carriage　perial　Guardsman　from　Vladislav；　Arianrhod　Esw　Sweydyr；
the　swordswoman　from　Carthae；　and　Beronice　and　Zu　Zeng；　two　females　from　Bequin's　Distaff。

At　the　last　moment；　Beronice　was　ordered　out　of　the　carriage　and　Alizebeth　Bequin　took　her　place。　Bequin　had　quit　active　service　with
me　sixty…eight　standard　years　before　in　order　to　develop　and　run　her　Distaff；　but　there　were　still　times　she　didn't　trust　her　people　and
insisted　on　accompanying　me　herself。
I　realised　this　was　just　such　a　time　because　Bequin　didn't　expect　me　to　survive　and　wanted　to　be　with　me　to　the　end。　In　truth；　I　didn't
expect　to　survive　either。
The　carriage　started　off　with　a　whipcrack；　and　we　rambled　through　the　streets；　skirting　around　ceremonial　fires　and　torchlit
processions。
None　of　us　spoke。　Qus　checked　and　loaded　his　autocannon　and　adjusted　his　body　armour。　Arianrhod　drew　her　sabre　and　tested　the
cutting　edge　with　one　of　her　own　head　hairs。　Zu　Zeng；　a　native　of　Vitria；　sat　with　her　head　down；　her　long　glass　robes　clinking　with
the　carriage's　motion。
Bequin　stared　at　me。
'What？'　I　asked　eventually。
She　shook　her　head　and　looked　away。
The　church　of　Saint　Kiodrus　lay　in　the　waterfowlers'　district；　close　to　the　edge　of　the　city　and　the　vast；　lizard…haunted　salt…licks。　The
darkness　throbbed　with　insect　rhythms。
The　carriage　stopped　in　a　street　of　blackly　rotting　stone　pilings；　two　hundred　metres　short　of　the　church's　wrecked　silhouette。　The　sky
was　amber　darkness。　Behind　us；　the　city　was　alive　with　bright　points　of　fire。　The　neighbourhood　around　us　was　a　dead　ruin；　slowly
submitting　to　the　salty　hunger　of　the　marshes。
'Talon　wishes　Thorn；　rapturous　beasts　within；'　Ravenor　said　over　the　vox…link。
'Thorn　impinging　multifarious；　the　blades　of　disguise；'　I　responded。　My　throat　was　dry　and　hoarse。
'Talon　observes　moment。　Torus　pathway　requested；　pattern　ebony。'
'Pattern　denied。　Pattern　crucible。　Rose　thorn　wishes　hiatus。'
'Confirm。'
We　spoke　using　Glossia；　an　informal　verbal　code　known　only　to　my　staff。　Even　on　an　open　vox…channel；　our　communications　would
be　impenetrable　to　the　foe。
I　adjusted　my　vox…unit's　channel。
'Thorn　wishes　aegis；　to　me；　pattern　crucible。'
'Aegis　arising；'　Betancore；　my　pilot；　responded　from　far　away。　'Pattern　confirmed。'
My　gun…cutter；　with　its　fabulous　firepower；　was　now　inbound。　I　looked　to　the　others　in　the　shadows　as　I　drew　my　weapon。
'Now　is　the　time；'　I　told　them。
WE　EDGED　INTO　the　gloomy；　slime…swathed　ruins　of　the　church。　There　was　a　heady　stink　of　wet　corruption　in　the　air　and　sheens　of　salt
clung　to　every　surface。　Clusters　of　maggot…like　worms　ate　into　the　stones；　and　flinched　back　as　the　fierce　beams　of　our　flashlights
found　them。
Qus　ran　point；　his　autocannon　swinging　from　side　to　side；　hunting　targets　with　the　red　laser　rangefinder　that　projected　from　the　corner
of　his　bionically　enhanced　left　eye。　He　was　a　stocky　man；　rippling　with　muscle　under　his　harness　of　ceramite　armour。　He　had　painted
his　blunt　face　in　the　colours　of　his　old　regiment；　the　90th　Vladislavan。
Arianrhod　and　I　tailed　him。　She'd　dulled　her　sabre's　blade　with　brick　dust　but　still　it　hooked　the　light　as　she　turned　it　in　her　hands。
Arianrhod　Esw　Sweydyr　was　well　over　tan　woman　I　have　ever　met；　though　such　stature　is
common　amongst　the　people　of　far　away　Carthae。　Her　long…boned　frame　was　clad　in　a　leather　bodysuit　embossed　with　bronze　studs；
over　which　she　wore　a　long；　tasselled　cloak　of　patchwork　hide。　Her　silver　hair　was　plaited　with　beads。　The　sabre　was　called
Barbarisater　and　had　been　carried　by　women　of　the　Esw　Sweydyr　tribe　for　nineteen　generations。　From　the　braided　grip　to　the　tip　of　the
curved；　engraved　blade；　it　measured　almost　a　metre　and　a　half。　Long；　lean；　slender；　like　the　woman　who　wielded　it。　Already　I　could
sense　the　vibration　of　the　psychic　energies　she　was　feeding　into　it。　Woman　and　blade　had　become　one　living　thing。
Arianrhod　had　served　with　my　staff　for　five　years；　and　I　was　still　learning　the　intricacies　of　her　martial　prowess。　Ordinarily　I'd　be
noting　every　detail　of　her　combat　trance　methods；　but　I　was　too　fatigued；　too　drawn　out　with　hunger　and　thirst。
Bequin　and　Zu　Zeng　brought　up　the　rear；　side　by　side；　Bequin　in　a　long　black　gown　with　a　ruff　of　black　feathers　around　the　shoulders；
and　Zu　Zeng　in　her　unreflective　robes　of　Vitrian　glass。　They　stayed　back　far　enough　so　the　aura　of　their　psychic　blankness　would　not
conflict　with　the　abilities　of　Arianrhod　or　myself；　yet　close　enough　to　move　forward　in　defence　if　the　time　came。
The　Inquisition　…　and　many　other　institutions；　august　or　otherwise　…　has　long　been　aware　of　the　usefulness　of　untouchables；　those　rare
human　souls　who　simply　have　no　psionic　signature　whatsoever　and　thus　disrupt　or　negate　even　the　most　strenuous　psychic　attack。
When　I　met　her　on　Hubris；　a　century　before；　Alizebeth　Bequin　had　been　the　first　untouchable　I　had　ever　encountered。　Despite　her
unnerving　presence　…　even　non…psykers　find　untouchables　difficult　to　be　around　…　I　had　added　her　to　my　staff　and　she　had　proved　to　be
invaluable。　After　many　years　of　service；　she　had　retired　to　form　the　Distaff；　a　cadre　of　untouchables　recruited　from　all　across　the
Imperium。　The　Distaff　was　my　own　private　resource；　although　I　often　loaned　their　services　to　others　of　my　order。　They　numbered
around　forty　members　now；　trained　and　managed　by　Bequin。　It　is　my　belief　that　the　Distaff　was　collectively　one　of　the　most　potent
anti…psyker　weapons　in　the　Emperor's　domain。
THE　RUINS　WERE　festering　with　shadows　and　dank　salt。　Rot…beetles　scurried　over　the　flaking　mosaic　portraits　of　long…dead　worthies
that　stared　out　of　alcoves。　Worms　crawled　everywhere。　The　steady　chirrup　of　insects　from　the　salt…licks　was　like　someone　shaking　a

rattle。　As　we　probed　deeper；　we　came　upon　inner　yards　and　grave…squares　where　neglect　had　shaken　free　places…tones　and　revealed　the
smeared　bones　of　the　long　interred　in　the　loamy　earth　below。　In　places；　rot…browned　skulls　had　been　dug　out　and　piled　in　loose
pyramids。
It　saddened　me　to　see　this　holy　place　so　befouled　and　dreary。　Kiodrus　had　been　a　great　man；　had　stood　and　fought　at　the　right　hand　of
the　sacred　Beati　Sabbat　during　her　mighty　crusade。　But　that　had　been　a　long　time　ago　and　far　away；　and　his　cult　of　worship　had　faded。
It　would　take　another　crusade　into　the　distant　Sabbat　Worlds　to　rekindle　interest　in　him　and　his　forgotten　deeds。
Qus　called　a　halt　and　pointed　towards　the　steps　of　an　undercroft　that　led　away　below　ground。　I　waved　him　back；　indicating　the　tiny
strip　of　red　ribbon　placed　under　a　stone　on　the　top　step。　A　marker；　left　by　Ravenor；　indicating　this　was　not　a　suitable　entry　point。
Peering　into　the　staircase　gloom；　I　saw　what　he　had　seen：　the　half　buried　cables　of　a　tremor…detector　and　what　looked　like　bundles　of
tube　charges。
We　found　three　more　entrances　like　it；　all　marked　by　Ravenor。　The　Beldame　had　secured　her　fastness　well。
'Through　there；　do　you　think；　sir？'　Qus　whispered；　pointing　towards　the　columns　of　a　roofless　cloister。
I　was　about　to　agree　when　Arianrhod　hissed；　'Barbarisater　thirsts…'
I　looked　at　her。　She　was　prowling　to　the　left；　towards　an　archway　in　the　base　of　the　main　bell…tower。　She　moved　silently；　the　sabre　held
upright　in　a　two…handed　grip；　her　tasselled　cloak　floating　out　behind　her　like　angelic　wings。
I　gestured　to　Qus　and　the　women　and　we　formed　in　behind　her。　I　drew　my　prized　boltpistol；　given　to　me　by　Librarian　Brytnoth　of　the
Adeptus　Astartes　Deathwatch　Chapter　on　the　eve　of　the　Purge　of　Izar；　almost　a　century　before。　It　had　never　failed　me。
The　Beldame's　minions　came　out　of　the　night。　Eight　of　them；　just　shadows　that　disengaged　themselves　from　the　surrounding　darkness。
Qus　began　to　fire；　blasting　back　a　shadow　that　pounced　at　him。　I　fired　too；　raking　bolt　rounds　into　the　ghostly　opposition。
Beldame　Sadia　was　a　heretic　witch　and　consorted　with　xenos　breeds。　She　had　a　particular　fascination　with　the　beliefs　and
necromancies　of　the　dark　eldar；　and　had　made　it　her　life…cause　to　tap　that　foul　alien　heritage　for　power　and　lore。　She　was　one　of　the
only　humans　I　knew　of　who　had　struck　collaborative　pacts　with　their　wretched　kabals。　Rumour　had　it　she　had　been　recently　initiated
into　the　cult　of　Kaela　Mensha　Khaine；　in　his　aspect　as　the　Murder…God　beloved　of　the　eldar　renegades。
As　befitted　such　a　loyalty；　she　recruited　only　convicted　murderers　for　her　minions。　The　men　who　attacked　us　in　that　blighted　yard　were
base　killers；　shrouded　in　shadow　fields　she　had　bought；　borrowed　or　stolen　from　her　inhuman　allies。
One　swung　at　me　with　a　long…bladed　halberd　and　I　blew　off　his　head。　Just。　My　body　was　tired　and　my　reactions　were　damnably　slow。
I　saw　Arianrhod。　She　was　a　balletic　blur；　her　beaded　hair　streaming　out　above　her　flying　cloak。　Barbarisater　purred　in　her　hands。
She　severed　the　neck　of　one　shadow　with　a　backward　slash；　then　pirouetted　around　and　chopped　another　in　two　from　neck　to　pelvis。
The　sabre　was　moving　so　fast　I　could　barely　see　it。　She　stamped　hard　and　reversed　her　direction　of　movement；　causing　a　third　shadow
to　sprawl　as　he　overshot　her。　His　head　flew　off；　and　the　sabre　swept　on　to　impale　a　fourth　without　breaking　its　fluid　motio