The interior of the Ice Palace was no less impressive than its exterior — and no less well…guarded。
Steele was guided through what seemed like legions of Traitor Guardsmen； across an enormous
hallway — formed from the ice； of course； but lushly appointed with velvet rugs and wall hangings。
The hall was festooned with elaborate ice sculptures； lent a certain beauty by soft and perhaps
sorcerous inner lights — until Steele drew close enough to make out their twisted； daemonic shapes。
A frozen staircase swept in an elegant curve upwards to the balconies and balustrades of the next
floor。 He was dragged past this； into a small； dark corner； and bundled through a nondescript
doorway。
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Behind this； steps — stone steps — stretched downwards into an oppressive gloom。 There was
scarcely room to descend in single file； so Steele was set on his feet and prodded in the back with a
lasgun muzzle； forced to walk with a traitor close in front of him and another close behind。
Rough…hewn stone walls opened up around them； lit only by the glows of the traitors’ lamppacks。
Steele could hear an insistent drip； echoing and re…echoing until even he could not have
pinpointed its source。 He felt as if he was sinking into the depths of the underhive； except that he
knew he was still high above ground level。 The cavern appeared natural enough — but Steele
suspected that； if he could have looked with his bionic eye； he would have found tell…tale signs that
it was man…made。
Mangellan had decided； it seemed； to complement the splendour of his castle above with the
traditional dungeons below。
The steps were streaked with ice fungus； some of them treacherously so。 Steele contrived to slip；
and to fall backwards； toppling the unprepared traitors that followed him like a row of dominoes。
Three of them fell； screaming； over the side； and were broken on the rock floor below。 It didn’t ease
the colonel’s predicament at all — the casualties were immediately replaced； new hands grasping
for him； forcing him to walk onwards — but it did make him smile。
Thick iron doors had been punched into the cavern walls。 They nestled in nooks； listing at odd
angles。 Steele felt his heart beating a little faster at the thought that Confessor Wollkenden might
have been behind one of them。 He resisted the urge to call out to him。 He didn’t want to tip his hand
just yet； thought it best to bide his time； to continue the pretence that he was a broken prisoner。 Not
that it was so hard to pretend。
A door was heaved open； and Steele was thrust through it。 His new quarters consisted of a
windowless stone box； extending no more than a metre and a half in any direction。 He had to stoop
to avoid knocking his head on the ceiling； nor was there enough space for him to lie comfortably。
A solid metal ring was set into one wall； a heap of chains draped across it。 Two of the traitors
placed their hands on Steele’s shoulders； pushed him down to the ground and wrapped him； quickly
and efficiently； in the chains； passing them four or five times through the ring and securing them at
last with a heavy padlock。 By the time they had finished； he was so tightly trussed that he could
neither sit nor stand； his body forced instead into an unnatural； painful hunch： the traitors’ revenge；
he supposed； for his trick on the steps。
They withdrew； and took their lamp…packs with them。 The slam of the cell door plunged Steele
into an impenetrable darkness。 He tried to switch to infrared vision； but his bionic eye still wasn’t
responding。 Its HUD reported that the self…repair cycle would be completed in thirty…five seconds’
time。
Ten minutes later； that countdown still stood at thirty…five seconds。
The Ice Warriors were back on the move； back in the sewers — and despite their odorous
surroundings； Pozhar was just grateful to be out of that chapel。 He had felt no trace of the Emperor’s
presence in there； not for him。 He had felt like an intruder。
His squad was eight…strong again。 Barreski； Mikhaelev and Palinev had been brought up through
the manhole together； and Gavotski had greeted them and explained the situation； explaining the
details of their unlikely alliance with the mutants。
Barreski had looked appalled； but he had kept his own counsel。 Mikhaelev； however； had been
surprisingly supportive。
“They can help us；” he had said to the others； when Blonsky was safely out of earshot； “or we
can kill them； and throw away any hope of succeeding in our mission for the sake of Imperial
dogma； rules written by men who have never set foot on a battlefield。 I ask you； why shouldn’t we
do this？”
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Pozhar had wanted to answer that question。 He had itched to tear open his greatcoat； to expose
the fur that was crawling across his chest； to yell out； “Because you don’t want to end up like me！”
But he had no wish to die like that。
“Once we have the confessor；” Barreski had said sullenly； “we can pump these abominations full
of las…fire。 We can do that； right？”
The sounds of combat from below had heralded Anakora’s approach。 She had been collected by
one of the more human…looking mutants； as had the others — but evidently she had seen through its
disguise。 Gavotski had sent Palinev down into the tunnels； to find her before she could flee； to
convince her that there was no threat here。
They had all listened with heavy hearts as Anakora had related the details of Steele’s last stand。
“I shouldn’t have left him；” she had sighed — to which Blonsky had retorted that of course she
should； she had been following orders。
They had all felt as uneasy as Pozhar had in the chapel — and so； although it might have been
safer to sleep there and set out for the Ice Palace in the morning； Gavotski had declined this offer。
He had also stipulated that no more than two mutant guides should accompany the Ice Warriors —
and so； two had been detailed to the task； chosen once more it seemed for their near…human looks
and ease of speech。
Pozhar was wading behind one of them； wondering how misshapen it was beneath its blue
worker’s smock。
He would almost have preferred the company of an obvious monster。 At least that would have
been concealing nothing。 Not like me； he thought。
The mutants had built a fire on the chapel floor； in which all of the Ice Warriors had recharged
their las…guns’ power packs。 They had also provided a few scavenged frag grenades and knives； but
nothing more useful than that。
Pozhar was concerned that they seemed to have climbed a long way down； via various ladders
and sometimes short drops into underlying tunnels — but their guides had assured them that they
knew where they were going； that the best way to reach the Ice Palace was to come up from below
it。
They were sloshing their way along another stinking tunnel when Palinev brought them to a halt。
“Does anyone else hear that？” he asked。 “Something up ahead。”
They fell silent； still； listening； and they could all hear it now； could feel as well； the flow of the
usually stagnant sewer water about their shins。
Something was coming this way； swimming this way。
The mutants were the first to react； to turn； to look at each other in pale…faced horror… and to
run。 One of them slipped through Grayle’s fingers； but the other was caught by Barreski and pinned
against the wall。
“What is it？” the Ice Warrior yelled in the mutant’s face。 “What are you afraid of？”
“And did you bring us down here on purpose？” spat Blonsky。 “Were you leading us to it？” The
mutant couldn’t answer； could only stare and babble and whimper and kick in a futile attempt to
shake off Barreski’s grip。
And then a miniature tidal wave slapped out from the opening of a nearby side tunnel； to be
followed an instant later by a body： green； scaly； sinewy； bristling with eyes and teeth。 It leapt into
the tunnel； almost bounced off the wall； landed on its feet； and oriented itself with incredible speed
as it sighted its prey。
And then the monster was upon them。
Steele had been alone for almost an hour。
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He knew this because his internal chrono told him so； it had kept him horribly aware of every
second that had passed。 And because of that drip； that infernal drip； marking off the slow passage of
time； one beat every two point four seconds； a total of fourteen hundred and sixteen drips so far。
He half…stood； stooped； in his heavy chains； his spine aching fit to break； and he prayed to the
Emperor； and silently cajoled the machine…spirits in his bionic eye； but they were deaf to his pleas；
those same two digits frozen in the HUD。
Thirty…five seconds…
He heard footsteps on the steps outside； and he knew that his time was up。
A small； square panel in his cell door slid open； and light spilled in； almost blinding Steele after
so long in the dark。 A cultist peered in through the hole； satisfied himself that the prisoner was still
bound； and opened a heavy lock。
The door creaked open to reveal a tall； thin figure standing on the threshold。 Like Steele before
him； this new arrival had to stoop to enter the cell； there was hardly any space between the two of
them as he perched on a narrow ledge in the wall opposite the colonel； arms folded casually； a smug
smile twisting his lips。
He was no longer backlit now； and Steele saw him properly for the first time； could make out his
pinched features。 The newcomer’s eyes were like deep black holes； into which Steele felt he could
almost have fallen。 He sported no visible mutations； but he wore the black robes of a cultist。 His
hood was folded back； to show off an elaborate tattoo that spread like a spider’s web across his face；
over his shaved head； behind his ears and down his neck。 He also wore a golden sash； and a
general’s shoulder flash on his right shoulder only — and he carried an ornate sceptre with the most
vile obscenities carved into it： purloined and makeshift symbols of rank for a leader whose army
barely acknowledged the concept。
“Let me introduce myself；” he said in a voice as smooth as silk。 “I am the ruler of this hive by
right of conquest。 I am the favoured of the Chaos gods； a high priest in their service。 I am your
jailer； your interrogator； and perhaps in time your executioner。 I am all of these things and more —
but the one thing you need to know about me； the most important fact in your life right now； is that I
am your new； your only； master。”
“Oh； I know who you are；” said Steele； not bothering to disguise the contempt in his voice。
“You’re Mangellan。”
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CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Time to Destruction of Cressida： 12。12。08
The creature was moving so fast they barely had time to react。
It came surfing towards them on the shallow sewer water。 Then it flexed its stumpy legs and its
prehensile tail； and sprang into their midst； shrugging off Pozhar and Anakora’s las…fire。 The Ice
Warriors scattered as best they could； but the tunnel was narrow； confining。 The creature lashed out
at them with claws and fangs； its mouth was wide； incredibly wide； its teeth like chainsword blades。
It almost caught Gavotski’s arm in its jaws； but he pulled away in time。
The creature smacked back into the water on its stomach — its natural orientation； Barreski
realised。 It was like an alligator； its b