Dark Disciple(科幻战争)-第27部分

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neck　to　toe　in　tight　fitting　segmented　armour；　like　the　scaled　skin　of　a　serpent；　glossy　and　black。　A
mask　covered　the　left　half　of　his　face；　its　barbed　blades；　like　the　legs　of　spiders；　pressing　against　his
flesh。　A　pair　of　blood…red　tattoos　extended　down　his　pale　cheeks　from　his　eyelids；　like　bloody　tears。
“How　many？”　Dracon　Alith　Drazjaer　said；　his　voice　a　soft　purr。
The　sybarite　supplicant；　Keelan；　paled　and　licked　his　thin　lips。　Unable　to　hold　his　master’s　gaze；
his　eyes　moved　to　the　figures　behind　the　throne。　A　pair　of　the　dracon’s　incubi　guards　stood　there；　but
there　was　no　hope　of　support　from　them。　They　were　as　still　as　statues；　their　faces　hidden　beneath　tall
helmets；　and　they　held　curving　halberds　in　their　gauntleted　hands。　Keelan’s　eyes　flicked　to　the　other
two　figures　standing　by　the　dracon’s　side。
On　the　left　stood　the　firebrand；　Atherak；　her　tautly　muscled　body　covered　in　swirling　tattoos　and
wych　cult　markings。　The　sides　of　her　head　were　shaved　to　the　scalp　and　tattooed；　and　a　ridge　of
back…swept　hair　ran　along　her　crown　like　a　crest；　falling　down　her　back　past　her　slim　waist。　A
myriad　of　weapons　were　strapped　to　her　limbs；　and　she　sneered　at　Keelan。
On　the　right　was　the　haemonculus；　Rhakaeth；　unnaturally　tall　and　thin　even　by　eldar　standards；
his　cheeks　sunken。　He　looked　like　nothing　more　than　a　walking　corpse；　and　his　eyes　burnt　feverishly
hot　with　the　soul…hunger。　Keelan　quickly　averted　his　gaze；　looking　at　the　floor。
“How　many？”　Drazjaer　asked　again；　a　subtle　change　in　his　inflection　registering　his　displeasure；
and　the　sybarite　knew　that　he　would　not　escape　without　punishment。　Dracon　Alith　Drazjaer　of　the
Black　Heart　Kabal　was　not　a　forgiving　master。　Doubtless　he　would　experience　torment　beyond
imagining　at　the　hands　of　the　haemonculus；　Rhakaeth；　but　not　death。　No；　he　would　not　be　allowed
death。
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“We　lost　twelve　of　our　number；　my　lord；”　Keelan　said　finally。
“Twelve；”　repeated　his　master；　his　voice　expressionless。
“It　was　not　the　regular　mon…keigh　forces　that　we　faced；　my　lord；”　said　the　sybarite；　desperation
in　his　voice。　“The…　augmented　ones　were　there。”
A　line　furrowed　the　dracon’s　brow　for　a　second；　and　the　haemonculus；　Rhakaeth；　leant　forwards
hungrily。
“You　are　sure？”　asked　the　dracon。
“Yes；　my　lord；”　said　Keelan。　“It　was　not　my　fault；　it　was　Ja’harael。　He　is　to　blame。　He　drew　us
in；　and　we　had　no　warning　that　we　faced　anything　but　the　regular　mon…keigh　forces。”
“We　should　not　have　sought　the　service　of　the　half…breed　and　its　kin　in　the　first　place；”　spat
Atherak；　her　cruel　features　sharpening。　Her　muscles　tightened；　her　hands　clenching　and　unclenching
into　fists；　and　beads　of　sweat　ran　down　her　long　limbs。
“The　mandrake　half…breeds　serve　us　well；”　said　Drazjaer　evenly；　dismissing　the　wych’s　words。
“How　many　slaves　did　you　take；　sybarite？”
Keelan　licked　his　lips　again。　The　dracon　doubtless　already　knew　the　answer　to　his　question。　He
looked　up；　feeling　eyes　upon　him。　The　haemonculus；　Rhakaeth；　was　staring　at　him　hungrily；　a　slight
smile　upon　his　lips。　He　looked　like　a　grinning　corpse；　and　Keelan　swallowed　thickly。
“None；　my　lord；”　he　said；　his　voice　little　more　than　a　whisper。
“None；”　said　Drazjaer　flatly；　“for　the　loss　of　twelve　of　my　warriors。”
“Ja’harael　is　to　blame；　my　lord；”　protested　Keelan。　“If　anyone　is　to　be　punished；　it　should　be
him。”
“What　have　you　to　say　on　the　matter；　mandrake？”　asked　the　dracon；　and　Keelan　stiffened。
Ja’harael　materialised　out　of　the　shadows　next　to　him；　darkness　clinging　to　him　like　a　shroud。　His
milky　eyes　stared　into　Keelan’s　for　a　moment；　and　the　sybarite　recoiled　at　the　half…breed’s　presence。
He　was　an　abomination；　a　thing　that　should　not　be；　and　his　mouth　went　dry。
The　mandrake’s　skin　was　as　black　as　pitch；　and　sigils　were　cut　into　his　flesh；　marking　his
damnation。　The　mandrakes　were　shadow…creatures。　Once；　they　had　been　eldar；　but　they　had　long
ago　given　themselves　up　to　darkness；　inviting　the　foul　presence　of　others　into　their　souls。　Now　they
were　something　altogether　different；　living　apart　from　the　eldar　race；　preying　on　their　own　in　the
darkness　of　Commoragh　and　the　webway。　They　existed　in　three　planes—the　real；　the　webway；　and
the　warp—and　were　able　to　slip　between　the　realms　at　will。
“I　did　not　realise　that　I　was　employed　to　safeguard　your　warriors　from　harm；　Drazjaer；”　hissed
Ja’harael。
“You　are　not；”　said　the　dracon。　If　he　was　offended　by　the　casual　use　of　his　name；　he　gave　no
indication。
“Their　failure　shames　you；　Drazjaer；”　hissed　the　mandrake。　“They　make　you　look　weak。”
The　dracon　smiled　coldly。
“Do　not　seek　to　goad　me；　half…breed；”　said　the　dracon　stroking　his　chin　thoughtfully。　The
haemonculus　leant　over　the　dracon；　whispering。　Drazjaer　nodded；　and　leant　back　in　his　throne；
stretching　his　back　languidly。
“The　presence　of　the　mon…keigh　elite　intrigues　me；”　he　said　finally。　“Their　souls　are　much
sought　after　in　Commoragh；　and　will　garner　much　favour。”
“And　perhaps　offset　a　certain　amount　of　your　Lord　Vect’s　displeasure；”　hissed　Ja’harael。
Drazjaer’s　eyes　flashed　angrily；　but　the　mandrake　continued　regardless。
“Perhaps　you　see　your　time　running　out；　Drazjaer；　and　your　quota　not　yet　achieved。”
A　blade　appeared　to　materialise　in　Atherak’s　left　hand　so　fast　did　she　draw　it；　and　in　her　right
she　flicked　her　long　whip；　its　barbed　tips　writhing　like　serpents　across　the　floor　at　her　feet。　Her
muscles　quivered　with　anticipation；　and　Ja’harael　smiled　at　her；　exposing　his　array　of　teeth；　flexing
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his　fingers。　The　wych　cracked　her　whip　and　took　a　step　towards　the　mandrake；　but　was　halted　by　a
sharp　word　from　the　dracon。　Drazjaer’s　anger　was　gone；　and　he　smiled　coldly。
“It　seems　you　know　much；　half…breed；”　he　said；　“but　be　careful；　knowledge　can　be　dangerous；
and　my　patience　can　be　stretched　only　so　far。”
The　mandrake　spread　his　arms　wide　and　gave　a　mocking　bow。
“The　souls　of　the　enhanced　ones　will　offset　any　shortfall　in　the　quota；　it　is　true；　and　Rhakaeth
desires　to　work　upon　one　of　the　enhanced　mon…keigh　creatures；”　said　the　dracon；　indicating　the
haemonculus　with　one　languid　gesture；　“though　why　he　would　wish　to　perform　his　art　upon　their
brutish　forms　is　beyond　my　understanding。　However；　he　has　pleased　me　of　late；　and　I　shall　indulge
his　whim。　Bring　him　some　specimens；　Ja’harael。”
“You　would　honour　the　half…breed　abomination　with　this　hunt？”　sneered　Atherak。　“Let　me　lead
my　wyches　in。　You　owe　me　that　honour。”
“You　would　make　demands　of　me　now；　wych？”　asked　the　dracon。　He　did　not　look　at　Atherak；
and　the　words　were　said　casually；　but　Keelan　could　feel　the　underlying　threat　in　his　voice。
“I　make　no　demands；　lord；”　said　Atherak；　“merely　a　request。”
“Ah；　a　request；”　said　Drazjaer。　“I　refuse；　then。　Ja’harael　will　go。　He　and　his　kin　are　being　well
compensated　for　their　service；　and　it　is　high　time　that　they　began　earning　it。　We　shall　see　how　well
he　fares；　since　my　warriors　have　failed　me　so。　Go；　half…breed。　Get　out　of　my　sight；　for　your　presence
is　beginning　to　offend　me。”
The　mandrake　grinned　and　then　was　gone；　as　if　he　had　never　been　there　in　the　first　place。
“I’d　like　to　gut　the　filthy　creature；”　hissed　Atherak；　and　the　dracon　smiled。
“All　in　good　time；”　he　said；　stroking　his　chin。　Then　his　gaze　dropped　once　more　to　Keelan；　who
was　trying　to　remain　inconspicuous　on　his　knees；　praying　that　his　lord　and　master　might　have
forgotten　about　him。
“Take　him；”　said　the　dracon；　banishing　any　hope　that　Keelan　had　of　escaping　punishment。
“Rhakaeth；　see　that　he　is　suitably　chastised　for　his　failure。　I　leave　the　level　of　his　punishment　to　your
discretion。”
Keelan　felt　his　heart　sink　as　he　saw　the　hungry　light　in　the　haemonculus’s　dead　eyes。
“Thank　you；　my　lord；”　said　the　haemonculus；　and　Keelan　was　dragged　away。
Marduk　stood　gazing　down　into　the　gaping　hexagonal　shaft　that　descended　into　darkness　below。
Yellow　and　black　hazard　stripes　lined　the　edge　of　the　impossibly　deep　drop…off；　and　a　steel　barrier
stood　along　its　rim　to　protect　the　unwary　or　the　clumsy　from　falling。
It　had　been　time…consuming　but　not　difficult　to　breach　the　guild　city；　nor　to　penetrate　to　its　heart。
Warning　lights　were　flashing；　and　the　immense　cable　that　descended　down　the　centre　of　the　shaft
vibrated　as　the　lift　rose　from　the　stygian　darkness。　The　cable　was　over　five　metres　in　diameter；　and
was　formed　of　thousands　of　tightly　bound　ropes　of　metal。　It　connected　the　guild　city　to　the　mining
facility　on　the　bottom　of　the　ocean　far　below；　and　it　shuddered　as　the　lift　ascended。
The　surrounding　loading　area　was　vast；　easily　the　size　of　one　of　the　embarkation　decks　of　the
Infidus　Diabolus。　Scores　of　loading　vehicles　lay　dormant　in　neat　rows；　as　if　in　readiness　to　unload
the　next　shipment　of　the　ore　transported　up　from　the　mining　facility　below。　Over　a　hundred　servitor
units　stood　immobile　within　the　arched　alcoves　lining　the　loading　dock　walls；　their　arms　replaced
with　immense　power　lifters。　Massive　hooks　and　clamp…mouthed　lifters　hung　from　thick　chains
linked　to　heavy　machines　overhead　that　would　come　to　life　to　lift　the　heavy　containers　of　mining　ore
onto　waiting　transport　pallets　when　a　fully　laden　lift　ascended　from　below。
The　lift　rose　from　the　shaft；　water　streaming　from　its　sloping　sides。　It　was　shaped　like　a
diamond；　with　powerful　engines　positioned　in　either　tip　that　hauled　it　up　the　thick　cable。　It　came　to　a
grinding　rest；　and　steam　and　smoke　spewed　from　the　engines　as　they　powered　down。　The　sides　of
the　pressurised；　octagonal　lift　hissed　as　they　slid　upwards；　exposing　the　expansive　interior。
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The　lift　was　spartan；　consisting　of　a　single　grilled；　open　floor…space　where　cargo　could　be
loaded；　with　a　barricaded　area　around　the　thick　cable　that　spooled　through　its　centre。　In　effect；　the
lift　was　like　a　massive　bead　through　which　the　thick　cable　was　threaded；　and　its　interior；　though　the
ceiling　was　low；　was　large　enough　to　house　half　a　tank　company。　Its　sides　were　thickly　armoured　to
withstand　the　intense　pressure　of　deep　sea。
“Sabtec；　Namar…sin；”　said　Marduk。　The　two　named　champions　snapped　to　attention。　“You　and
your　squads　are　to　stay　behind；　to　hold　this　position。　Khalaxis；　you　and　your　brethren　will　join　me；
Burias　and　the　Anointed　for　the　descent。”
“You　heard　the　First　Acolyte；”　barked　Kol　Badar。　“Let’s　get　this　done。　Move　out。”
The　chosen　warriors　stamped　forward　into　the　expansive　interior　of　the　lift。　Buzzing　strips　of
glow　lights　hung　from　the　roof　of　the　lift。　More　than　half　of　them　were　dark；　but　the　flickering
remainder　lit　the　space　with　a　dim；　unnatural　light。
“Darioq…Grendh’al；”　said　Marduk；　his　voice　commanding；　“come。”
Impelled　by　the　power　in　the　First　Acolyte’s　voice；　the　magos　stepped　forward　obediently。
Marduk　slammed　his　fist　down　onto　a　large　button　on　the　lift’s　command　console；　and　the　sides
of　the　lift　began　to　close；　venting　steam。
“May　the　gods　be　with　you；”　said　Sabtec；　bowing　his　head　as　the　doors　slid　shut。
“Oh；　but　they　are；”　said　Marduk。
Burias　tensed；　sniffing　the　air　as　an　unusual　scent　reached　his　nostrils。　It　was　the　same　odd　scent
that　he　had　registered　just　before　the　dark　eldar　attack　in　the　tunnels。　His　every　se