on the bridge of the nose. Everything of Imperial Tactician Wheyland above the sternum explosively evaporated in a mist of blood and bone chips.
Larkin howled as he fell, shot through the forearm by a las-round from one of the elite troopers flanking the tactician.
Caffran and Mkoll, both sprawling, whipped around to return fire with their lasguns, toppling one of the bodyguards with a double hit neither could truly claim.
Gaunt rolled as he dived, pulling out his laspistol and bellowing curses as he swung and fired. Another of Fereyd’s troopers fell, blasted backwards by a trio of shots to his chest. He jerked back, arms and legs extended, and died.
Gaunt squeezed the trigger again, but his lasgun just retched and fizzed. The energy draining effect of the catacombs, which had sapped their lamp packs, had wasted ammo charges too. His weapon was spent.
The remaining bodyguard lurched forward to blast Gaunt, helpless on the floor – and dropped with a laser-blasted hole burnt clean through his skull. His body smashed back hard against the side of the STC machine and slid down, leaving a streak of blood down the chased silver facing. Gaunt scrambled around to look.
Clutching the bawling Domor to him, Dorden sat half-raised with Domor’s laspistol in his hand.
‘Needs must,’ the doctor said quietly, suddenly tossing the weapon aside like it was an insect which had stung him.
‘Only said I wouldn’t shoot, not that I couldn’t,’ Dorden said.
The Ghosts got back to their feet. Dorden hurried to treat the wounds Bragg and Larkin had received.
‘What’s that sound?’ Domor asked sharply. They all froze.
Gaunt looked at the great machine. Amber lights were flicking to life on a panel on its flank. In death, the last Crusader had been blown back against the main activation grid. Old technologies were grinding into life. Smoke, steam perhaps, vented from cowlings near the floor. Processes moved and turned and murmured in the device.
There was another noise too. A shuffling.
Gaunt turned slowly. Behind the dark grilles in the alcoves, metal limbs were beginning to flex and uncurl. As he watched, eyes lit up in dead sockets. Blue. Their light was blue, cold, eternal. Somehow, it was the most appalling colour Gaunt had ever seen. They were waking. As their creator awoke, they awoke too.
Gaunt stared at them for a long, breathless moment, his heart pounding. He looked at them until he had lost count of the igniting blue eyes. Some began to jerk forward and slam against the grilles, rattling and shaking them. Metal hands clawed at metal bars. There were voices now too. Chattering, just at the edge of hearing. Codes and protocols and streams of binary numbers. The Iron Men hummed as they woke.
Gaunt looked back at the STC. ‘Rawne!’
‘Sir?’
‘Destroy it! Now!’
Rawne looked at him, wiping the blood from his lip.
‘With respect, colonel-commissar… is this right? I mean – this thing could change the course of everything.’
Gaunt turned to look at Major Rawne, his eyes fiercely dark, his brow furrowed. ‘Do you want to see another world die, Rawne?’
The major shook his head.
‘Neither do I. This is the right thing to do. I… I have my reasons. And are you blind? Do you want to greet these sleepers as they awake?’
Rawne looked round. The cold blue stares seemed to stab into him too. He shuddered.
‘I’m on it!’ he said with sudden decisiveness and moved off, calling to Mkoll and Caffran to bring up the explosives.
Gaunt yelled after him. ‘These things are heresies, Rawne! Foul heresies! And if that wasn’t enough, they’ve been sleeping here on a Chaos-polluted world for thousands of years! Do any of us really want to find out how that’s altered their thinking?’
‘Feth!’ Dorden said, from nearby. ‘You mean this whole thing could be corrupted?’
‘You’d have to be the blindest fool in creation to want to find out, wouldn’t you?’ Gaunt replied.
He stared down at the remains of his friend Fereyd. ‘It wasn’t me who changed, was it?’ he murmured.
Twenty-Six
HELDANE WAS totally unprepared for the death of his pawn. It had been such a victory to identify and capture Mac-aroth’s little spy, and then such a privilege to work on him. It had taken a long time to turn Fereyd, a long time and lot of painful cutting. But the conceit had been so delicious: to take the greatest of the warmaster’s agents and turn him into a tool. Heldane had learned so much more through Fereyd than he would have