第 51 页

was wrapped around his neck and mouth. A specially modified Nocturnean hunting rifle was slung across

his back — for he had given up the right to wield the holy bolter — and he carried a machete-knife strapped

to his forearm and scant supplies of water. They wouldn’t last long. After that, he’d have to find his own

way to survive in the desert.

His natural successor was nearby, standing alone upon an adjacent outcrop of rock, head bowed and eyes

closed in silent contemplation. Brother Emek had been saddened to leave his squad brothers, but the needs of

the company outweighed sentiment and the Master Apothecary of the Chapter was to train him in the healing

arts. One half of Emek’s battle-helm was painted white to reflect his status.

A last plateau, the farthest distant of the three, held Agatone. He acknowledged the pair with a slight tilt of

his head. As the soon-to-be captain of 3rd Company, his was a legacy of blood and a heavy burden. It

showed in the weight of his downcast eyes.

Soon Fugis had gone from sight, just a shimmer on the hazy desert horizon. “A long deserved honour,”

uttered Dak’ir after a long silence.

It took a moment for Ba’ken to realise he was referring to him and the sergeant’s rank sigil freshly worked

upon his armour by the Chapter artisans. By contrast, Dak’ir’s battle-plate was unadorned, stripped

completely of its previous honours — a sergeant no longer.

“I can think of no one better to lead the squad than you, Ba’ken,” he added, clapping a comradely hand upon

the hulking Salamander’s pauldron.

“Aye, it’s true,” Ba’ken replied.

They both laughed out loud at his mock arrogance, but their moment of levity was short-lived and eventually

painful as it reminded them both of all they had lost and would never regain.

“The company is breaking,” muttered Ba’ken, giving in to melancholy. “You bound to Pyriel’s service.

Emek joined to the Apothecarion. My brothers, ash in the pyreum,” he sighed, “Even Tsu’gan—”

“Agatone will restore its strength,” counselled Dak’ir. “He builds upon a solid foundation. Both Kadai and

N’keln have a worthy successor.”

A shadow fell across them, interrupting the former sergeant.

“Brother Dak’ir.” It was Pyriel.

Ba’ken knew this was coming and bowed curtly to the Librarian before leaving them.

“I sensed the power in you long ago, Hazon,” Pyriel confessed, walking up to the edge of the plateau and

staring towards the seemingly endless desert. Behind him, the dull and faraway sound of the volcanoes

boomed across the sun-scorched heavens.

“What you did against Nihilan’s sorcery…” he began, mastering his exasperation before he turned back

around. “It was nothing short of miraculous. It should not be. You should not be,” he said, drawing closer.

“Over four decades a Space Marine and your latent potential has only just surfaced.” He left a short pause.

“You are unique, Dak’ir. An enigma.” Pyriel turned away again, finding regarding the hellish sun easier.

“Chaplain Elysius wanted you conditioned, even branded and censured — I opposed it.”

“So what happens now?”

“You are to accompany me.”

“You don’t need them for me to do that,” Dak’ir replied, indicating the pair of hulking Terminators that had

just lumbered into view at the Librarian’s bidding.

“Don’t I?” Pyriel asked, facing him. “You are a mystery, and like all mysteries a shadow of suspicion hangs

over you, but I will lift it if you prove worthy.”

“And how will you know that?” Dak’ir’s tone betrayed his impatience.

The Librarian’s response was pragmatic. “After your trials, if you live, you will be deemed worthy.”

“Worthy for what?”

The cerulean flash returned to Pyriel’s eyes by way of dramatic gesture. “To be trained by me,” he said.

Dak’ir heard the engines of a ship growl into life. A dust cloud was billowing from below, where the landed

vessel awaited them.

“Where are you taking me, Pyriel?”

The Librarian smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. “To the Librarius on Prometheus, and an audience with

Master Vel’cona.”

Tsu’gan followed a long and rocky path of darkened coals towards a great gate. From high above, swept up

in the shadows of a mountain cave, sat Iagon, watching him.

Bitterness filled the Salamander’s heart. He clenched his fists tightly. “I killed for you…” he hissed.

Iagon’s dreams and plans were in tatters. He had been left behind by his would-be patron, even after the way

was open for Tsu’gan’s ascension. Except, he had ascended, but to the vaunted ranks of the Firedrakes and

not the captaincy of the 3rd Company, Iagon his chief aide. Brother Praetor — Iagon resisted a pang of

jealous anger — had petitioned for his promotion, impressed by Tsu’gan’s actions on Scoria: his courage

and battle-ethic, his leadership and prowess. The sergeant of the Firedrakes did not know the brittle tool he

had inducted into his ranks. Iagon had been tempted to inform him of Tsu’gan’s penchant for masochism, his

destructive inner guilt, but that would be all too easy.

Hero worship had turned to hatred in Iagon’s heart. He wanted Tsu’gan to pay the dearest price for betraying

him.

Ascending a rocky stair, Tsu’gan entered a small amphitheatre. It was meant to be a sacred place; only the

Firedrakes or those destined to become one were allowed to set foot on this part of Nocturne. Iagon cared

not. He was not followed, nor seen. He had to see this.

Ominous thunder shook the open structure into which Tsu’gan had disappeared and a flash of light blazed

out from it and then died as the teleporter was activated and Tsu’gan was on Nocturne no longer.

Iagon sat for a while, allowing the after-flare to fade from his vision, when he heard a pattering on the

ground and thought it was rain. When he saw the pool of redness at his feet, he realised it was blood,

dripping onto the ground from his clenched gauntlets. He’d seized his fists so tightly that he’d pierced them

and dug into flesh.

He blinked, not seeing his own blood there for a moment, but the blood of others… Iagon tried to wipe it

clean but it clung to him and spread instead.

Frantic now, slowly coming unhinged, a plaintive wail emitted from his mouth and he fled. Only one thing

would calm his dark soul. It yearned within him. A single thought.

Vengeance.

(The End)

小说下载尽在http://www.txtnovel.net---书香门第【gzbysh】整理

附：【本作品来自互联网,本人不做任何负责】内容版权归作者所有!