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“No； you won’t take me through that door； you won’t put me in chains again！”
Steele tried to hush him； made to put his hand over the confessor’s mouth again； but it was
already far； far too late。
Wollkenden wriggled out of his grip； tried to stand； but fell to his knees； and crawled up to an
ice statue of a leering； gargoyle…like figure。 “Help me；” he beseeched it； extending his clasped hands
towards as it as if in prayer。 “It is your duty to help me； for the Emperor； for the score of worlds I
liberated from—”
There was more； much more。 But Steele heard none of it — because Traitor Guardsmen were
streaming in from all directions； even through the door that he had hoped would be his escape route。
And even if he had been in any condition to fight them； he could never have won。 Even if he could
have run； there was nowhere he could have run to。
They were dragged along endless passageways； Steele and Wollkenden； by cultists and traitors —
their numbers growing as more of their kind rushed out of their rooms or abandoned patrols to join
the throng； until the two prisoners were all but borne aloft on a fast…moving river of bodies。
Steele said nothing； bearing his fate stoically； but Wollkenden was delirious。 He was waving to
the crowd； thanking them； assuring them that a parade was not necessary； that he had only done
what any man of his considerable talents would do。
They emerged； at last； into a large courtyard； bordered by four sheer walls； overlooked by
hundreds of windows。 Ice trees grew around its edges； reaching sizes of a hundred storeys tall； their
branches spreading across the yard to intertwine with each other。 Moonlight streamed in through
this intricate frozen web； and bathed the courtyard in a cool shade of blue。
Overlooked amid the crowd； one cultist watched all this； and tried his best not to rub shoulders
with those around him。 He kept his hood pulled over his head； concealing his face； and was careful
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； th