not to catch anybody’s eye。 When the crowd yelled out anti…Imperium slogans； he pretended to join
in； although he couldn’t bring himself to give voice to the words。
A huge stone dais stood in the centre of the courtyard — and from this； there rose an ice column；
eight…pointed like the Chaos star； its sides engraved with sigils that hurt the naked eye to look at
them。 Steele and Wollkenden were thrust against two of the column’s points； secured to them with
chains。
That was when Mangellan appeared； with an imposing figure marching at his shoulder。 The lone
cultist recognised the Chaos Space Marine； and could tell that he had been in a fight since last he
had seen him。 His black power armour was damaged； his face bloodied。 Still； the crowd parted as he
moved through it； even the heretics keen to give this abomination a wide berth。
Shuffling at Mangellan’s heels was his disgusting； mutated little servant； his head bandaged。 The
lone cultist had heard that his name was Furst； that he was a man of scant intellect — but favoured
by Mangellan； perhaps for that very reason。 The rumours had been rife since the attempted escape of
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Steele and Wollkenden that it was Furst who had let them go。 It seemed that Mangellan either didn’t
believe those rumours or did not care。
As the high priest mounted the dais； Wollkenden seemed to recognise him； to realise where he
was at last； and he started to yell out； to struggle。 Mangellan ignored him； turning to his audience；
raising his hands for silence。 It took a moment for the clamour to subside； and then Mangellan
assembled a squad of Traitor Guardsmen and instructed them to patrol the courtyard for the rest of
the night； to keep a close eye on the prisoners。 The Chaos Space Marine had taken up a position at a
back corner of the dais； and it looked like he intended to stay put too。
“Our guests will not trouble us much longer；” Mangellan assured his flock。 “Our plans remain as
they were。 In four hours’ time； we will meet here to begin the ceremony。 As the first light of dawn
touches the courtyard； we will deliver not one but two noble souls to our gods。”
The lone cultist had heard enough。
The crowd was shouting； roaring its approval of Mangellan’s plan。 The cultist slipped with
surprising ease through the crush of bodies； heading for the archway through which most of them
had entered。 He didn’t want to be the first to leave； so he waited nervously for the crowd to begin to
disperse； to return to their rooms or their duties in twos and threes； chattering about the undoubted
spectacle to come。
He retraced his steps through the Ice Palace； trying not to appear too hurried。 As the other
cultists peeled off around him； streaming up staircases； he was left on his own for a moment。 He
ducked into a side passageway； narrow； dark； uncarpeted； its floor smooth and slippery in contrast to
the well…trodden paths elsewhere。
An iron door caught in its ice frame； and it took all the cultist’s strength to wrench it free。 He
stepped through onto a flight of stone steps； and produced a lamp…pack from beneath his robes to
light the way down into a dank cave。
This unnatural system extended； as far as he had been able to tell； beneath the whole of the Ice
Palace。 The dungeons； he had learned； were housed in a part of it — a part that； after much
searching； he had reluctantly accepted could not be reached except through the palace itself — as
were various wine cellars and treasure troves housing the spoils of the Chaos army’s recent victory。
This cave； however； had not found a use yet。 Indeed； the cultist had seen no sign that anyone had
passed this way before him。
It was with some relief； then； that he shucked off his purloined robes； and became Trooper
Palinev of the Imperial Guard again。
He squeezed through a niche in the rock wall into a tiny antechamber。 Lying there； where he
could not be seen from the steps； was the corpse of a defrocked cultist； his throat slit。 The man had
made the fatal error of passing the wrong door at the wrong moment。 And of being about Palinev’s
size。
A hole had been knocked through the wall of the small cave。 Palinev had to lie on his stomach in
order to squeeze through it。 He lowered himself feet first； and dropped the last half…metre into the
tunnel below。 He landed on a precarious ledge； its brickwork slimy with sewer water — and
immediately； dark shapes rose around him。
Raising his lamp…pack； he identified those shapes as his comrades。 Anakora and Mikhaelev
greeted the scout’s return with relief； and quickly woke Sergeant Gavotski as they had been
instructed。 The Ice Warriors had been taking the opportunity to catch up on their sleep； spread out
across the ledge； while they awaited the outcome of Palinev’s scouting mission — although of
course they had left two troopers on watch。
Everyone was cheered by the news that both Wollkenden and Steele were alive。 Beside that； the
matter of rescuing them seemed almost inconsequential。 Palinev had to remind himself that they still
had much to do。
“We could go in there now；” said Gavotski； “but it sounds as if the colonel and the confessor are
well…guarded； and we’re dog…tired。 We can’t take out two squads of traitors； not before they can
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raise the alarm and surround us。 I suggest we wait until this ceremony of theirs has started。 At least
then we’ll know where most of the heretics are； and that they’ll be distracted。 We should have the
run of the palace。”
“Until we reach that courtyard；” said Mikhaelev； as always sounding the first note of caution。
“Then we’ll have to fight our way through the heretics； and they’ll outnumber us by hundreds to
one。”
“You’re right；” said Gavotski； ile。 “They won’t know what’s hit them。”
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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Time to Destruction of Cressida： 04。22。14
Steele wished he could close his senses to it all。
He wished he couldn’t hear the baying of the heretics — hundreds of them were packed into the
courtyard； standing in the arched doorways； even hanging out of the surrounding windows。 He
wished he couldn’t feel the touch of the cultists that had gathered around him； preparing him；
painting their vile symbols on his face and his exposed chest。 He wished he couldn’t smell the stink
of the incense burner that Furst carried； waving it under Steele’s nose as if it were some kind of a
trophy； or feel the evil presence of the Chaos Space Marine lurking behind his right shoulder。
And he wished he couldn’t hear Wollkenden； to his left； still chained to the eight…pointed ice
pillar as was Steele； but whimpering and pleading for mercy。 The so…called saviour of the Artemis
system； his demeanour shaming his legend。
Steele wasn’t afraid to die。 Even now； he would have given his life gladly in exchange for the
confessor’s freedom。 But he could think of nothing worse than this： to die a failure。
He closed his good eye； tried to blot it all out； tried to cast his mind back to a happier time； a
more serene time； a more welcome ceremony。 It seemed like months — although； in fact； little more
than a day and a half had passed — since he had stood beside the Termite borer； his head bowed； to
receive the blessing of an Imperial priest。
Had the Ecclesiarchy known； then； that this was to be his fate？ Had they sanctified his soul to
deny it to the Chaos gods？ He prayed that this might be the case。 He prayed as hard and as loud as
he could； tried to fill his own head with the uplifting sound。
“Your Emperor can’t save you now；” Furst hissed spitefully in Steele’s ear。
The mutant’s master； Mangellan； was on the dais too； strutting around； circling his captives；
waving his sceptre； playing to the crowd。 His voice rose and fell as he half…chanted； half…sang words
in some ancient； evil language — words that Steele didn’t understand； didn’t want to understand。 He
knew that his augmented brain wouldn’t let him forget those words； he couldn’t bear that they
would be captured inside him； a part of him。 They were dark words； cold words。 Words that seemed
to distort space itself； to punch open a channel to a more malignant realm。
But the words were； he sensed； coming to an end。 Mangellan had whipped his audience into a
frenzy。 He was gesturing at the pillar； at the readied sacrifices — the colonel and the confessor —
with the sceptre in one hand and a large； ornamental dagger clutched by the jewelled hilt in the
other。
And now he turned to Steele； rested the dagger’s point on his chest； traced the outlines of the
symbols that had been daubed onto his skin — and Mangellan sighed； and in his calm； honeyed
voice； he said； “You should have joined us when I gave you the chance。 A shame that such a spirit；
such an intellect； as yours should have been wasted on a lifetime of servitude to an ungrateful
master。 You could have been anything you wanted to be； Colonel Steele。”
Steele looked him in the eye； and he said； “I was。”
And at that moment； a ray of sunlight streamed into the courtyard； through the network of iceformed
branches above their heads； and glinted off the dagger as Mangellan drew it back； let the
crowd see its blade for a final time as he prepared to plunge it into its first victim。
“Do it； master；” breathed Furst eagerly。 “Do it now！ Cut out their hearts！”
That was when the first bomb went off。
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Grayle and Palinev had timed their ascent to the dais perfectly。
Cloaked in their purloined robes； they had given themselves enough time to reach Wollkenden
and Steele respectively — but not quite enough for the cultists to realise that their numbers had been
swelled by two； to start asking questions。
The explosion ripped through the courtyard； incinerating heretics by the score in a great blossom
of fire。 They hadn’t seen it coming； hadn’t spotted that their enemies were walking among them in
disguise。 And Mikhaelev had placed his demolition charge well。 It collapsed two huge ice trees；
their razor branches falling clear of the dais and into the crowd； where they sliced； dismembered and
decapitated。 Grayle just hoped that his comrade was not among the casualties； that he had had time
to get clear。 He concentrated on his own task； concealing his lasgun as best he could with his body
as he placed its muzzle to Wollkenden’s chains。
The heretics were screaming； surging away from the site of the first blast… to where the second
was waiting。
The courtyard became a seething mass of panic。 None of the heretics knew which way to run；
but they trampled each other in their haste to run somewhere。
A hand came down on Grayle’s shoulder； he was spun around to face a suspicious cultist； whose
eyes widened at the sight of a stranger’s features beneath the hood。 The cultist opened his mouth to
yell a warning that might have been heard by the augmented ears of the Chaos Space Marine even
over all the noise。 Two las…beams struck him in the head； one more in the shoulder； and he went
down。
More beams flashed from the surrounding windows； and the cultists on the dais cried out；
scattered； leapt into the turmoil around them rather than remain sitting ducks。 Grayle prayed that his
comrades knew who they were shooting at； that they wouldn’t mistake him and Palinev for their
t