He drank the fiery spirit and briefly considered pouring another. He decided against it, knowing he had much to organise before
morning. He rubbed a calloused hand through his hair when a knock came at his door.
'Come in.'
Brother-Captain Eshara ducked his head as he entered the room, pulling up a sturdy chair from beside Leonid's desk and sitting
opposite the citadel's castellan.
The pair sat in a companionable silence before Eshara said, 'Your men fought bravely today. They are a credit to Joura, and your
kin would be proud of you all.'
Seeing Leonid's sadness, he added, 'I was grieved to hear of Major Anders's death.'
Leonid nodded, remembering the awful sight of an Iron Warrior casually butchering his brave friend in the Primus Ravelin.
'As did yours, captain. We all feel Brother Corwin's loss.'
Eshara's face was lined with sorrow, 'I do not pretend to understand what happened in that bastion, but I believe he gave his life to
save us all.'
'As do I,' replied Leonid.
Reports of the battle in the Mori bastion were confused to say the least. The infirmary building was awash with soldier's ravings,
telling of a giant warrior killing everything in the bastion by his voice alone and a whirlwind that fed on blood. Luckily, Leonid
had been able to scotch these wild tales before they had reached the remainder of the garrison.
'Tomorrow will be the last day will it not?' asked Leonid.
Eshara didn't answer and Leonid thought he was avoiding the question, but the Space Marine had merely been considering his
answer.
'If we do not pull back to the citadel's inner wall, then, yes, it will be. We have less than four thousand men, virtually no heavy
guns and three breaches. The wall is too long and we cannot hold everywhere at once. We will make it a thankless, bloody battle
for our enemies, but, ultimately, the citadel will fall.'
'Then we will give up the outer wall and fall back to the inner citadel. The wall there is unbroken and, despite its irregular
coverage, we still have the protection of the energy shield.'
Eshara nodded. 'Aye. The sacrifice made by Princeps Daekian has bought us some time to regroup, and it would be best if we
begin now.'
'I will issue the orders immediately,' stated Leonid pouring himself a last glass of amasec and taking out his vial of detox pills.
He swallowed one and shook his head at the dreadful taste, placing the vial on the desk.
'I have observed your men taking these pills as well,' noted Eshara. 'Might I enquire as to what they are?'
'What, the detox pills? Oh, of course, you do not need these do you? Well, I don't suppose any of us will need them any more
really.'
Eshara looked puzzled and said, 'Need them for what?'
'Well, it's the air here,' explained Leonid, waving his hand around him, 'It's poisonous. The Magos Biologis of the Adeptus
Graham McNeill ?Storm of Iron?
Mechanicus provide these pills to keep the men from getting sick from the toxins in the air.'
Eshara leaned closer and lifted the vial. He shook out a handful of pills and took what seemed, to Leonid, an unnecessarily deep
breath.
'Castellan Leonid, are you aware of an organ unique to the physiology of the Space Marines known as the neuroglottis?'
Leonid shook his head as Eshara continued. 'It is situated at the back of the throat and is capable of analysing the chemical content
of anything we ingest or breathe. If need be, it can shift the pattern of my breathing to divert my trachea to a genetically altered
lung better able to process the toxins in any given atmosphere.'
Eshara replaced the vial on Leonid's desk and said, 'I am afraid you have been misled, my friend, because I can assure you that the
air on this planet is quite harmless. Unpleasant to breathe, yes, but poisonous? Most definitely not.'
LEONID LET HIS anger grow with each step that took him towards the Machine Temple, situated deep beneath the citadel. He
clutched the vial of detox pills in his left hand, his laspistol in his right, as he made his way along the antiseptic corridors that led
to the lair of Arch Magos Amaethon. Captain Eshara was beside him and his honour guard of carapace-armoured Guardsmen
marched in step behind him.
Now he knew why Hawke had not sickened and died on the mountains. Now he knew why the men stationed here were afflicted
with headaches and constant nausea.
Now he knew why there were so many flags and regimental plaques around the briefing chamber. With these ''detox'' pills, it was
only a matter of time until the citadel would need another garrison.
Eshara had sampled one of the pills, allowing the chemicals to swill around his mouth before spitting them into an empty water
jug.
'Poison,' he declared at last. 'Slow-acting to be sure, and subtle in its effects, but poison nonetheless. There are many chemicals
present in this tablet I know to be highly carcinogenic. It is my guess that after a few years of taking these, the victim would be
suffering from one or more highly virulent cancers.'
Leonid was horrified and stared in revulsion at the vial of pills before the cold realisation of how long he had been taking them
struck him. 'How virulent?' he whispered.
Eshara frowned. 'Debilitating after maybe six or seven years and fatal soon after that.'
Leonid was speechless with rage. The magnitude of the betrayal was unbelievable. That the Adeptus Mechanicus could have
perpetuated such a lie upon their own people was staggering. Thinking of the hundreds of regimental flags in the briefing
chamber, he tried to calculate how many men the Adeptus Mechanicus had murdered, but gave up, appalled, as the numbers
spiralled into the millions.
'Why would they do such a thing?'
'I do not know. What is it that this citadel defends? Is it so valuable that not even its defenders can be allowed to tell what they
know?'
Leonid shook his head. 'No, well, maybe, I don't know for sure. As far as I know, this place is some sort of way-station for xeno
artefacts discovered in the sector. I was told that the facility was built upon a ruin from the Dark Age of Technology—'
'Again, I feel you have been misled. I do not believe the Adeptus Mechanicus would stoop to such base behaviour simply to
protect recovered xeno artefacts. There is a secret hidden within this citadel that is worth the life of every man who serves here.'
Leonid vowed he would find out what that secret was, even if he had to wring Naicin's neck or threaten to put a las-bolt through
whatever machine kept the remains of Amaethon alive. It might already be too late for the 383rd Jouran Dragoons, but Leonid
would make damn sure the Adeptus Mechanicus were made to pay for their crimes.
Several corridors branched off the main one, but Leonid unerringly followed the path towards the Machine Temple.
'Someone is ahead of us,' whispered Eshara, drawing and cocking his bolt pistol.
Leonid followed suit as his honour guard raised their rifles and moved to surround him.
The armed party rounded a bend in the corridor as it widened into a vaulted chamber, with latticed iron girders lacing above them
to form a web-like dome. Glow-globes floated in suspensor fields, the walls were inscribed with cog symbols and all manner of
metal crates and bulky machines lay scattered around the room. Worker servitors and indentured labourers moved mechanically
around the wide room, oblivious to the goings on around them.
At the far end of the chamber, a wide, semicircular cog-toothed door sat half open, a small group of people clustered around it.
Leonid immediately recognised Magos Naicin and the ungainly form of two Praetorian battle-servitors. Servitors were surgically
altered slaves utilised by the Adeptus Mechanicus for a variety of manual tasks. Praetorians fulfilled the adepts need for heavy
defence, featuring an augmented slave body atop a mechanised track unit, with a variety of lethal weapon combinations implanted
in the servitors' arms.
The last figure was unknown to Leonid, but he was astonished at the hideous bulk of the man that not even his shapeless robes
could conceal. His skin was the colour of black steel, his face more dead than alive.
Naicin saw them coming and darted through the door, dragging the enormous robed figure after him.
Leonid growled in anger and set off towards the closing door as the two battle-servitors rumbled forwards. Leonid was too intent
on the door to pay them any heed. Nothing would prevent him from reaching Naicin and killing him.
The first Praetorian raised its weapon arms as Leonid's honour guard rushed after him, realising his danger. The fastest man of the
team dived for his commander, knocking him to the ground as the Praetorian opened fire, the rhythmic thumping of a massive
bolter filling the chamber as it hosed the chamber with shells.
The shells passed over Leonid, but the men behind were not so lucky. Three were thrown back, huge holes blasted in their chests.
Leonid and his rescuer rolled into the cover offered by a huge tracked drilling rig as more shots filled the chamber, heavier auto
cannon shells blasting metal chunks from the machine.
A flurry of las-blasts struck the Praetorian, which rocked back, bloody craters torn across its body. The battle-servitor didn't slow,
Graham McNeill ?Storm of Iron?
it merely adjusted its aim and ripped apart yet more of Leonid's guard with deadly accurate gunfire, bullets spewing from the gun
at a furious rate.
The man who'd saved Leonid's life spun from the cover of the drilling rig, taking careful aim at the Praetorian's head. He dropped
as he was struck in the head and chest, blown apart by the mass reactive bolter shells as they detonated within his flesh.
Leonid scrambled away as the heavy bolter and auto cannon began tearing up the chamber. Glass, plastic and blood erupted all
around, showering them with sparks as soldiers and worker-servitors went down, panels and glow-globes shattering.
The lobotomised worker-servitors were not programmed to react to such external stimuli and continued working at their posts.
They died silently as the Praetorians walked the shells into them, raking their fire left and right, servo assisted muscles easily
absorbing their guns' huge recoil.
Emergency lights flickered on as fluorescent panels were shot out and Leonid slithered towards Eshara, who had drawn his
crackling power sword.
Human workers scrambled to disconnect themselves from their stations and seek shelter as the battle-servitors slowly advanced
towards them. One dropped to his knees, begging for mercy.
The Praetorian shot him in the face.
The rest died in three controlled bursts of fire.
Leonid surged from behind the drilling rig as the wounded Praetorian finished the slaughter of the technicians. He squeezed off
two rounds and the servitor staggered, two massive holes blasted in its skull. It raised the heavy bolter and fired as Leonid's third
shot took it in the throat, blowing its head clean off.
It fell backwards, firing the gun as it toppled, stitching a line of bullets towards Leonid and clipping his shoulder. He yelled in
pain, the impact spinning him to the floor.
The second Praetorian trained its auto cannons on Leonid, the firing mechanisms whining as they built up speed to fire.
Before it could shoot, Eshara leapt from the cover of the crate and slashed his sword through the barrels in a bright explosion of
sparks. He spun on his heel, hammering his elbow into the battle-servitor's face and smashing its skull from its shoulders in a
welter of blood. His reverse stroke hacked the organic top half of the Praetorian's body from the track unit. The whine of its
weapons motor sputtered and died.
Leonid picked himself up from the ground, clutching his wounded shoulder, and nodded his thanks to Eshara before turning the
closed door behind which Naicin and his unknown accomplice had vanished.
'Damn!' he swore. 'How in the name of Joura are we going to get through that?'
Eshara looked over Leonid's shoulder and indicated something behind him.
Leonid frowned and turned to see what the Space Marine was pointing at. And grinned.
THE DOOR TO the Machine Temple was thirty centimetres thick and composed of solid steel, but it crumpled like tinfoil when the
eighty-tonne drilling rig slammed into it. The roof section was torn free by the low clearance of the door as it came screeching
through, spewing torn scraps of steel and sparks all across the inner sanctum of the Machine Temple. The giant tracked machine
slewed around as Eshara lost control for a second, the enormous rig smashing into a bank of monitors and control panels. The
amber-lit chamber was filled with pulsating machinery and barely had the drilling rig skidded to a squealing halt than Leonid,
Eshara and the four surviving members of his honour guard leapt from the rambling machine.
Leonid grunted in pain as he landed, trying to make sense of the scene before him.
Magos Naicin stood with his head bowed beside a squat, rhomboid structure topped with a shattered vat of draining fluid. In one
gloved hand he held his bronze facemask and, in the other, what looked like a glistening slab of wet meat. He tossed it aside and
Leonid was horrified to see the slack features of Arch Magos Amaethon staring up at him from the floor. After centuries of
service, the organic remains of the arch magos were finally dead.
The bulky figure that had accompanied Naicin stood atop the rhomboid, its wide, misshapen arms spread wide. Bulging motion
undulated beneath its robes as though a collection of snakes writhed beneath them. Even as he watched, the robes split and fell
from its body, revealing a massive, iron-black musculature that rippled in a horrific amalgamation of organic and biomechanical
components. Was this creature machine or man, or some horrific symbiosis of the two?
'Naicin!' shouted Leonid. 'What have you done?'
The magos lifted his face and Leonid gasped in horror as he saw Naicin's true features, a swirling mass of thin, wormlike tentacles
that glistened and writhed together to form the mass of his head. A cluster of milky and distended eyes bulged in the centre of his
