would fire perpendicular to the face of the bastion and break it open efficiently。 Once the walls had been breached with direct
firing guns； howitzers would send screaming shells into the gap to sweep it clear of enemy infantry before the main attack went in。
Even so； it was sure to be a bloody enterprise。
There was a pleasing inevitability to the mechanics of a siege thought Honsou； as he watched dying slaves digging the gun
battery。 He had heard tales that in ages past there was a prescribed series of stages an attacker would be forced to go through
before it was deemed that he had done enough to earn the surrender of a garrison。 Once it had been decreed that both forces had
done all that honour demanded； the defenders would surrender and be allowed to quit the fortress carrying their weapons with
their colours raised high。 Such a notion was clearly ludicrous； and Honsou could not imagine a time when he would accept an
enemy's surrender。
Once the Iron Warriors began a siege； there was no way to stop it。
When the great Perturabo had still led his warriors in battle； he offered his foes one chance to surrender before he had even
planted a single shovel in the ground。 Should that offer be refused； there would be no others； and such a siege could end only one
way： in blood and death。
'You have sited your batteries well； Forrix；' noted Honsou。
Forrix nodded briefly； accepting the compliment。 'I do not believe we need to dig any further。 To do so is pointless … we would
expose ourselves needlessly to airbursting shells and the slope of the promontory will obscure the walls of the fortress should we
press forward。'
Honsou saw that Forrix was correct。 'What about the batteries at the foot of the mountain？ This will be well within their ideal
range and the guns here will undoubtedly be targeted。'
'I realise that； Honsou； but when our guns are in place I will lead warriors from my company to take the enemy gun positions by
storm。'
Honsou narrowed his eyes； aware that Forrix had called him by his name for the first time。 Then the notion that he would be
denied the chance to capture the guns he had discovered hit him and he snarled； You will capture the lower guns？ I discovered
them； the honour of their capture should be mine！'
'No； Honsou； I have another task for you。'
'Oh； and what would that be？ Keeping the guns fed with shells？ Guarding slaves？'
Forrix said nothing and pointed to a gap in the trench wall that was filled with sandbags and defended by a full squad of Iron
Warriors。
'When the time is right； you will lead the storming parties from this point and take the breach。 You will hold it until the human
Graham McNeill ？Storm of Iron？
soldiers are able to scale the rock face and escalade the walls with ladders and grapples。'
Honsou opened his mouth to retort； then snapped it shut as he realised the honour of the task he was being given。 His chest
swelled with pride before his natural cynicism and suspicion came to the fore。
'Why； Forrix？ Why do you do me this honour？ You have done nothing before now but deride me and keep me in my place as a
mongrel； a half…breed。'
Forrix was silent for long seconds； as though he himself did not know exactly why he had made such an offer。 He turned from the
mountain and faced Honsou。
'There was a time I thought like you do； Honsou。 A time when I believed we fought for something more important than simple
revenge； but as the millennia of battle ground on； I came to realise that there was no point to what we did。 Nothing ever changed
and nothing brought us closer to victory。 I have been too long from the field of battle； Honsou； and as I watched you fight the
Imperials； I knew that in your heart； you are an Iron Warrior。 You still believe in the dream of Horus； I lost my hold on it many
centuries ago。'
Forrix grinned suddenly。 'And the fact that it will send Kroeger into a towering rage。'
Honsou laughed； feeling uncharacteristically charitable towards the venerable Forrix。
'That it will； Forrix； but he will be shamed by your decision。 Are you sure you are wise to antagonise Kroeger in this way？ He
descends further into the grasp of the Blood God with each passing day。'
'The young…blood is nothing to me。 I see nothing for him beyond mindless slaughter； but you… for you I see great things。 The
Warsmith does too； I see it every time he speaks to you。'
Honsou said； 'In that I think you are mistaken。 He hates me。'
'True； and yet you lead one of his grand companies' pointed out Forrix。
'Only because Borak died at Magnot Four…Zero and the Warsmith has not yet named his successor。'
'Again true； but ask yourself this： how long ago was the Battle at Magnot Four…Zero？'
'Nearly two hundred years。'
'Aye； and do you think that in all that time the Warsmith could not have found someone to lead the company？'
'Obviously not； or he would have done so。'
Forrix sighed and snapped； 'Perhaps that tainted blood of yours has made you as slow…witted as Dorn's lap…dogs from whence it
comes！ Think； Honsou。 Had the Warsmith named you Borak's successor there and then； would any of his warriors have accepted
you？ No； of course not； and nor should they have； because to them you were just a despised half…breed。'
'Not a lot has changed； Forrix。'
'Then you are more foolish than I took you to be；' snarled Forrix； marching back along the trench to the supply depots and leaving
Honsou confused and alone in the half…finished battery。
FIVE
THE MACHINE TEMPLE at the heart of the citadel pulsed with barely contained power as though the very walls themselves breathed
with an inner life or sentience。 Its structure was strangely organic； though the chamber was built in honour of exactly the opposite。
The mass of the chamber achinery that infested the space like a gigantic coral reef； steadily growing and
increasing its mass with every passing year。 A sickly amber glow permeated the chamber； alongside a low； throbbing hum； just at
the threshold of hearing。
Shaven…headed technicians and servitors in faded； yellow robes wandered like ghosts through the bewilderingly complex labyrinth
of machines； their ministrations to the holy technologies ritualised over thousands of years to the point that any true purpose had
long been forgotten。
Regardless of their function； the rituals and blessings applied to the machines served their purpose： keeping the chamber's sole
inhabitant alive。
Arch Magos Caer Amaethon； Keeper of the Sacred Light； Master of Hydra Cordatus。
Lodged atop a tapered rhomboid at the chamber's centre； the flesh of the arch magos's face … all that remained of his organic body
… was suspended in a gurgling vat of life…preserving fluids。 Ribbed copper wiring trailed from behind the skin； twitching wires
stimulated the atrophied muscles of his face。 Clear tubing pumped oxygen…rich nutrients through his ravaged capillaries and the
fragmentary scraps of cortex that were all that remained of his brain； the rest having been replaced and augmented with kilometres
of twisting corridors of logic stacks。
Amaethon's features creased as twitching electrical impulses awoke him to the fact that he was being addressed。
'Arch Magos Amaethon？' repeated Magos Naicin； taking a draw on a smoking cheroot。 The smoke gusted from his back； whipped
away as the recyc…units cleared the arch magos's chambers of their pollutants。
'Naicin？' asked Amaethon hesitantly； the fleshy lips having difficulty in forming the words。 'Why do you disturb my communing
with the holy Omnissiah？'
'I come to bring you news of the battle。'
'Battle？'
'Yes； master； the battle above on the surface。'
'Oh； yes； the battle；' stated the arch magos。 Naicin ignored Amaethon's lapse in memory。 For six centuries； Amaethon had been
linked to the beating heart of the citadel； monitoring every facet of its operation and that of the cavernous laboratorium hidden
beneath it。 For the last century of that service； he had been unable to leave this sanctuary； steadily becoming more a part of the
citadel as each portion of his body withered and died。 Soon the old man would be gone completely； his bio…engrams broken down
and reduced to nothing more than task instruction wafers to be fed into worker…servitors。
Graham McNeill ？Storm of Iron？
Naicin knew Amaethon's fragile grip on reality was slipping； and it was a rare moment when he was able to summon up enough
memory to interact with others。 The first flush of panic when the invaders had attacked had galvanised the arch magos into
remarkable lucidity； but even that was beginning to fade。
'The battle；' repeated Amaethon； a fragment of his crystal memory reacting to the word。 'Yes； I remember now。 They come for
what we protect here。 They must not have it； Naicin！'
'No； arch magos； they must not；' agreed Naicin。
'How could they even know of its existence？'
'I do not know； master。 But they do； and we must make plans in case the citadel's defences do not hold the invaders at bay。'
The flesh of Amaethon's face bobbed in its amniotic suspension。 'But they must； Naicin； this citadel was built by the finest
military architects of the day； there are none who can breach its fastness。'
'I am sure you are correct； arch magos； but nevertheless we should have a contingency plan。 The Guard are but men。 Flesh； blood
and bone。 Organic and therefore weak。 They cannot be relied upon。'
'Yes； yes； you are right；' agreed Amaethon dreamily。 'The flesh is weak； Naicin。 Only the machine is strong。 We must not allow
the laboratorium to fall into enemy hands。'
'As ever； your words are filled with wisdom； arch magos。 But even as we speak the enemy drive towards the fastness of Tor
Christo； and it is likely that it will fall within days。'
Amaethon's flaccid features twitched at this news； his eyes fluttering in sudden alarm。
'And the tunnel that links us to Tor Christo？ Do the enemy know of it？'
'I do not believe so； arch magos； but should the Christo fall； it is inevitable that they will discover it。'
'They must not be allowed to make use of it！' trilled Amaethon。
'I agree； that is why I have armed the demolition charges that will destroy it。'
'Have you made Vauban aware of this？'
'No； arch magos。'
'Good。 Vauban would not understand the necessity of such action。 His compassion for his men would be our undoing。'
Amaethon seemed to sigh and was silent for some minutes before saying； 'I am… not as strong as once I was； Naicin。 The burden
I carry here is great。'
Magos Naicin bowed。 'Then allow me to bear some of that burden； arch magos。 When the time comes that the enemy approach the
inner walls of the citadel； you will be under immense strain to hold the energy shield in place as well as maintaining the citadel in
working order。 Allow some of that burden to fall upon my shoulders。'
Amaethon's skin mask nodded and with an abrupt change of subject the arch magos whispered； 'And what of the astropaths？ Have
you been able to isolate the contagion that afflicts them and renders their mind…voices mute？'
Momentarily taken aback； Naicin paused before answering。 'Ah； regrettably； no； but I am confident the answer lies within your
logic stacks。 It is just a matter of time before I am able to restore their abilities and once again send messages off…world。'
'Very good。 It is imperative that we