The Eisenhorn TrilogyXenos(科幻战争)-第30部分

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weapon　to　destroy　the　warp！　A　weapon　to　collapse　the　Eye　of　Terror　in　upon　itself！
He　was　raving；　insane。　What　patches　of　truth　or　sane　notions　might　lurk　in　his　words；　I　had　no　idea。　There　was　no　way　to　distinguish
them　from　his　lunatic　fancy。　All　I　knew　was　that　a　pylon；　psychically　super…charged；　might　do　all　manner　of　things；　but　its　side…effects
would　be　catastrophic。　It　could　lay　waste　to　the　continent；　the　planet。
I　think；　and　here　lay　the　true　horror　of　it；　I　think　Quixos　knew　that。　I　think　he　considered　that　to　be　an　acceptable　price　to　pay；　just　as
he　had　considered　the　atrocity　on　Thracian　a　necessary　cost　to　obtain　a　psyker　of　such　peerless　quality　as　Esarhaddon。　What　other
abominations　had　he　caused　in　acquiring　the　others？
As　Grumman　had　said；　just　before　his　death；　this　simply　had　to　be　stopped。
I　looked　at　his　face。
This　was　where　radicalism　led。　This　was　the　true　face　of　one　who　had　reached　the　place　and　crossed　the　line。　This　was　the　obscene
reality　behind　Pontius　Glaw's　jaunty　glorifications　of　Chaos。
We　rained　blows　at　each　other；　drawing　sparks　and　little　curls　of　vapour　from　the　blade　edges。　I　tried　a　low　swing；　but　he　leapt　over　it；
and　alternated　a　series　of　scissoring　blows　that　drove　me　backwards　across　the　dusty　ground。　I　thought　my　feet　would　slip。　He　was　a
whirlwind。
I　saw　my　moment。　Barbarisater　saw　it　too。　A　slight　underswing　on　his　blade　return　that　opened　a　gap　for　a　sar　aht　uht；　a　slice　to　the
heart；　just　for　a　microsecond。
I　thrust　in；　putting　all　my　will　into　the　blade。　Somehow；　dazzlingly；　he　still　managed　to　turn　Kharnager　and　block　me。
Barbarisater　struck　the　daemonsword　and　broke　in　half。
And　it　was　the　ultimate　failure　of　the　ancient　Carthaen　blade　that　gave　me　victory。　If　it　had　stayed　intact；　the　block　would　have　stopped
it　and　the　fight　would　have　continued。
Breaking　around　Quixos's　sword…edge；　the　truncated　half　of　Barbarisater　in　my　hand　continued　on；　with　all　my　mustered　force　behind
it；　until　the　broken　end　plunged　through　his　cloak；　his　body　armour；　his　augmetic　implants　and　ran　him　through　the　torso。
The　ewl　caer。
It　took　almost　equal　force　to　break　the　suction　of　his　flesh　around　the　blade　and　rip　it　out。
Quixos　staggered　backwards；　polluted　blood　spurting　from　the　wound；　his　augmetics　shorting　out　and　exploding。
Then　he　fell　to　the　dusty　floor　of　the　undervault；　and　became　dust　himself；　until　there　was　nothing　left　but　rotting　augmetic　devices
and　empty　armour　twisted　under　his　lank　cape。
Heretic！　his　mind　screeched　out　as　he　died。
Coming　from　him；　the　word　felt　like　a　compliment。
SITE　A　WAS　dismantled　and　destroyed　by　the　taskforce；　and　the　faux　pylon　smashed　by　sustained　orbital　fire。　Quixos's　psykers；　and　his
surviving　servants；　were　imprisoned；　and　then　turned　over　to　the　Black　Ships　of　the　Inquisition；　six　of　which　arrived　a　few　days　later；
once　we　had　published　news　of　our　achievement。　Most　of　the　captives　were　deemed　too　dangerous　or　too　tainted　to　keep；　even　under
the　closest　guard；　and　were　executed。　Esarhaddon　was　one　of　those。
Many　precious　texts　and　artifacts　were　recovered　from　Site　A；　and　many　more　that　were　diabolic　and　abominable。　He　had
accumulated　a　vast　resource　of　esoteric　material；　and　there　was　supposed　to　be　a　great　deal　more　at　his　fastness　on　distant　Maginor。　A
further　purge　would　reveal　the　truth　of　that。
As　the　report　has　it；　no　trace　was　ever　found　of　the　Malus　Codicium；　the　foul　grimoire　on　which　his　power　had　ultimately　been　based。
BY　THE　TIME　I　had　returned　to　Gudrun　with　my　followers　and　allies；　the　carta　issued　against　me　had　been　abolished。　None　of　Osma's
allegations　could　stand　up　in　the　face　of　the　evidence　gathered　at　Farness；　or　the　many　statements　collected　by　the　Inquisition；
statements　pleading　my　innocence　made　by　such　individuals　as　Lord　Procurator　Madorthene；　Inquisitor　General　Neve；　Interrogator
Inshabel　and；　God…Emperor　help　him；　Titus　Endor。
I　was　never　offered　any　sort　of　official　apology；　not　by　Grandmaster　Orsini；　or　by　Bezier；　and　certainly　not　by　Osma。　His　career　didn't
suffer　one　bit。　Twenty　years　later；　he　was　elected　Master　of　the　Ordo　Malleus　Helican　after　Bezier's　sudden；　unexpected　death。
Grumman's　remains；　and　the　remains　of　his　Kasrkin；　were　buried　in　one　of　the　lonely　field…grave　plots　on　Cadia；　to　be　remembered　as
long　as　the　Law　of　Decipherability　allowed。　Ricci　had　a　library　named　after　him　on　his　home　world　of　Hesperus。　Voke　was　buried
with　full　honours　at　the　Thorian　Sacristy　adjoining　the　Great　Cathedral　of　the　Ministorum　on　Thracian　Primaris。　A　small　brass　plaque
commemorating　the　achievements　of　his　long　and　dedicated　career　remains　on　the　sacristy　wall　to　this　day。
He　and　I　had　never　been　friends；　but　I　own　that　in　the　years　after　he　was　gone；　I　missed　his　caustic　manner　from　time　to　time。
EPILOGUE
WINTER；　345。M41。
THE　VOICE　WAS　like　the　sound　of　some　eternal　glacier　…　slow；　old；　cold；　heavy。
It　asked　simply；　'Why？'
'Because　I　can。'
The　silence　lasted　for　a　long　time。　The　thousand　candle　flames　flickered　and　rippled　the　carefully　inscribed　stone　walls　with　echoes　of
their　moving　glow。
'Why？　Why…　have　you　done　this…　this　wretched　thing　to　me？'
'Because　I　have　power　over　you　where　once　you　had　power　over　me。　You　used　me。　You　orchestrated　my　life。　You　moved　me　like　a
regicide　piece　to　the　place　where　I　best　served　your　desires。　Now；　that　is　reversed。'
It　thrashed　against　its　chains　and　shackles；　but　it　was　still　too　weak　from　the　ordeals　of　the　snaring；　the　entrapment。
'Damn　you…'　it　whispered；　falling　limp。
'Understand　me。　I　said　I　would　never　help　a　thing　like　you；　but　you　tricked　me　into　doing　so　and　almost　got　away　with　it。　That's　why　I
have　done　this。　That's　why　I　have　expended　the　considerable　time　and　effort　involved　in　raising　you；　snaring　you　and　binding　you。
This　is　a　lesson。　I　will　never；　ever　allow　my　actions　or　my　life　to　benefit　the　Archenemy。　You　said　that　from　the　outset；　you　knew　I
was　the　one　who　would　free　you　from　Quixos's　service。　It's　a　shame　for　you　that　you　failed　to　see　what　I　might　do　to　you　instead。'
'Damn　you！'　the　voice　was　louder。
'There　will　be　a　time；　Cherubael；　daemon…thing；　when　you　will　wish　with　all　your　putrid　soul　to　be　Quixos's　plaything　again。'
Cherubael　threw　itself　at　me　as　far　as　it　could　before　the　chains　went　taut　and　snapped　it　back。　Its　scream　of　rage　and　malice　shook　the
cell　and　blew　every　last　one　of　the　candles　out。
I　sealed　the　vacuum　hatch；　engaged　the　warp　dampers　and　the　void　shield；　and　turned　the　thirteen　locks　one　by　one。
From　far　away　in　the　house；　Jarat　was　ringing　the　bell　for　dinner。　I　was　bone…weary　from　my　exertions；　but　food　and　wine　and　good
company　would　refresh　me。
I　CLIMBED　THE　screwstair　from　the　deep　basement　stronghold；　code…locked　the　door　and　wandered　to　my　study。　Outside；　the　snows
had　come　early　to　Gudran。　Light　flakes　were　blowing　in　through　the　twilight；　across　the　woods　and　paddocks；　and　settling　across　the
lawns　of　my　estate。
In　the　study；　I　returned　the　items　I　had　been　carrying　to　their　places。　I　put　the　bottles　of　chrism　back　on　the　shelf；　and　the　ritual　athame；
mirror　and　lamens　in　the　casket。　The　Imperial　amulet　went　back　on　its　velvet　pad　in　the　locking　draw；　and　I　slid　the　tube…scrolls　back
into　their　catalogue　rack。
Then　I　placed　the　ranestaff　on　its　hooks　in　the　lit　alcove　above　the　glass　case　containing　the　broken　pieces　of　proud　Barbarisater。
Finally；　I　opened　the　void　safe　in　the　floor　behind　my　bureau；　and　gently　laid　the　Malus　Codicium　inside。
Jarat　was　ringing　the　bell　again。
I　sealed　the　safe　and　went　down　to　dinner。

BACKCLOTH　FOR　A　CROWN
ADDITIONAL
LORD　FROIGRE；　MUCH　to　everyone's　dismay　including；　I'm　sure；　his　own；　was　dead。
It　was　a　dry；　summer　morning　in　355。M41　and　I　was　taking　breakfast　with　Alizebeth　Bequin　on　the　terrace　of　Spaeton　House　when　I
received　the　news。　The　sky　was　a　blurry　blue；　the　colour　of　Sameterware　porcelain；　and　down　in　the　bay　the　water　was　a　pale　lilac；
shot　through　with　glittering　frills　of　silver。　Sand　doves　warbled　from　the　drowsy　shade　of　the　estate　orchards。
Jubal　Kircher；　my　craggy；　dependable　chief　of　household　security；　came　out　into　the　day's　heat　from　the　garden　room；　apologised
courteously　for　interrupting　our　private　meal；　and　handed　me　a　folded　square　of　thin　transmission　paper。
'Trouble？'　asked　Bequin；　pushing　aside　her　dish　of　ploin　crepes。
'Froigre's　dead；'　I　replied；　studying　the　missive。
'Froigre　who？'
'Lord　Froigre　of　House　Froigre。'
'You　knew　him？'
'Very　well。　I　would　count　him　as　a　friend。　Well；　how　very　miserable。　Dead　at　eighty…two。　That's　no　age。'
'Was　he　ill？'　Bequin　asked。
'No。　Aen　Froigre　was；　if　anything；　maddeningly　robust　and　healthy。　Not　a　scrap　of　augmetics　about　him。　You　know　the　sort。'　I　made
this　remark　pointedly。　My　career　had　not　been　kind　to　my　body。　I　had　been　repaired；　rebuilt；　augmented　and　generally　sewn　back
together　more　times　than　I　cared　to　remember。　I　was　a　walking　testimonial　to　Imperial　Medicae　reconstruction　surgery。　Alizebeth；　on
the　other　hand；　still　looked　like　a　woman　in　her　prime；　a　beautiful　woman　at　that；　and　only　the　barest　minimum　of　juvenat　work　had
preserved　her　so。
'According　to　this；　he　died　following　a　seizure　at　his　home　last　night。　His　family　are　conducting　thorough　investigations；　of　course；
but…'　I　drummed　my　fingers　on　the　table…top。
'Foul　play？'
'He　was　an　influential　man。'
'Such　men　have　enemies。'
'And　friends；'　I　said。　I　handed　her　the　communique。　'That's　y　assistance。'
But　for　my　friendship　with　Aen；　I'd　have　turned　the　matter　down。　Alizebeth　had　only　just　arrived　on　Gudrun　after　an　absence　of　almost
eighteen　months；　and　would　be　gone　again　in　a　week；　so　I　had　resolved　to　spend　as　much　time　with　her　as　possible。　The　operational
demands　of　the　Distaff；　based　on　Messina；　kept　her　away　from　my　side　far　more　than　I　would　have　liked。
But　this　was　important；　and　Lady　Froigre's　plea　too　distraught　to　ignore。
'I'll　come　with　you；'　Alizebeth　suggested。　'I　feel　like　a　jaunt　in　the　country。'　She　called　for　a　staff　car　to　be　brought　round　from　the
stable　block　and　we　were　on　our　way　in　under　an　hour。
FELIPPE　GABON；　ONE　of　Kircher's　security　detail；　acted　as　our　driver。　He　guided　the　car　up　from　Spaeton　on　a　whisper　of　thrust　and
laid　in　a　course　for　Menizerre。　Soon　we　were　cruising　south…west　over　the　forest　tracts　and　the　verdant　cultivated　belt　outside　Dorsay
and　leaving　the　Insume　headland　behind。
In　the　comfortable；　climate…controlled　rear　cabin　of　the　staff　car；　I　told　Alizebeth　about　Froigre。
'There　have　been　Froigres　on　Gudrun　since　the　days　of　the　first　colonies。　Their　house　is　one　of　the　Twenty…Six　Venerables；　that　is　to
say　one　of　the　twenty…six　original　noble　fiefs；　and　as　such　has　an　hereditary　seat　in　the　Upper　Legislature　of　the　planetary　government。
Other；　newer　houses　have　considerably　more　power　and　land　these　days；　but　nothing　can　quite　eclipse　the　prestige　of　the　Venerables。
Houses　like　Froigre；　Sangral；　Meissian。　And　Glaw。'
She　smiled　impishly　at　my　inclusion　of　that　last　name。
'So…　power；　land；　prestige…　a　honeytrap　for　rivals　and　enemies。　Did　your　friend　have　any？'
I　shrugged。　I'd　brought　with　me　several　data…slates　Psullus　had　looked　out　for　me　from　the　library。　They　contained　heraldic　ledgers；
family　histories；　biographies　and　memoirs。　And　very　little　that　seemed　pertinent。
'House　Froigre　vied　with　House　Athensae　and　House　Brudish　in　the　early　years　of　Gudrun；　but　that's　literally　ancient　history。　Besides；
House　Brudish　became　extinct　after　another　feud　with　House　Pariti　eight　hundred　years　ago。　Aen's　grandfather　famously　clashed　with
Lord　Sangral　and　the　then　Governor　Lord　Dougray　over　the　introduction　of　Founding　Levy　in　the　one…nineties；　but　that　was　just
political；　though　Dougray　never　forgave　him　and　later　snubbed　him　by　making　Richtien　chancellor。　In　recent　times；　House　Froigre　has
been　very　much　a　quiet；　solid；　traditional　seat　in　the　Legislature。　No　feuds；　that　I　know　of。　In　fact；　there　hasn't　been　an　inter…house　war
on　Gudrun　for　seven　generations。
'They　all　play　nicely　together；　these　days；　do　they？'　she　asked。
'Pretty　much。　One　of　the　things　I　like　about　Gudrun　is　that　it　is　so　damned　civilised。'
'Too　damned　civilised；'　she　admonished。　'One　day；　Gregor；　one　day　this　place　will　lull　you　into　such　a　deep　sense　of　tranquil　seclusion
that　you'll　be　caught　with　your　pants　down。'

'I　hardly　think　so。　It's　not　complacency；　before　you　jump　down　my　throat。　Gudrun　…　Spaeton　House　itself　…　is　just　a　safe　place。　A
sanctuary；　given　my　line　of　work。'
'Your　friend's　still　dead；'　she　reminded　me。
I　sat　back。　'He　liked　to　live　well。　Good　food；　fine　wines。　He　could　drink　Nayl　under　the　table。'
'No！'
'I'm　not　joking。　Five　years　ago；　at　the　wedding　of　Aen's　daughter。　I　was　invited　and　I　took　Harlon　along　as…　as　I　don't　know　what；
actually。　You　weren't　around　and　I　didn't　want　to　go　alone。　Harlon　started　bending　his　lordship's　ear　with　tales　of　bounty　hunting　and
the　last　I　saw　of　them　they　were　sprinting　their　way　down　their　fourth　bottle　of　anise　at　five　in　the　morning。　Aen　was　up　at　nine　the
next　day　to　see　his　daughter　off。　Nayl　was　still　asleep　at　nine　the　following　day。'
She　grinned。　'So　a　life　of　great　appetites　may　have　just　caught　up　with　him？'
'Perhaps。　Though　you'd　think　that　would　have　shown　up　on　the　medicae　mortus's　report。'
'So　you　do　suspect　foul　play？'
'I　can't　shake　that　idea。'
I　was　silent　for　a　few　minutes；　and　Alizebeth　scrolled　her　way　through　several　of　the　slates。
'House　Froigre's　main　income　was　from　mercantile　dealings。　They　hold　a　twelve　point　stock　in　Brade　ent　Cie　and　a　fifteen　per　cent
share　in　Helican　SubSid　Shipping。　What　about　trade　rivals？'
'We'd　have　to　expand　our　scope　off…planet。　I　suppose　assassination　is　possible；　but　that's　a　strange　way　to　hit　back　at　a　trade　rival。　I'll
have　to　examine　their　records。　If　we　can　turn　up　signs　of　a　clandestine　trade　fight；　then　maybe　assassination　is　the　answer。'
'Your　friend　spoke　out　against　the　Ophidian　Campaign。'
'So　did　his　father。　Neither　believed　it　was　appropriate　to　divert　funds　and　manpower　into　a　war　of　reconquest　in　the　subsector　next
door　when　there　was　so　much　to　put　in　order　on　the　home　front。'
'I　was　just　wondering…'　she　said。
'Wonder　away；　but　I　think　that's　a　dead　end。　The　Ophidian　War's　long　since　over　and　done　with　and　I　don't　think　anyone　cares　what
Aen　thought　about　it。'
'So　have　you　got　a　theory？'
'Only　the　obvious　ones。　None　of　them　with　any　substantiating　data。　An　internecine　feud；　targeting　Aen　from　inside　the　family。　A
murder　driven　by　some　secret　affair　of　the　heart。　A　darker　conspiracy　that　remains　quite　invisible　for　now。　Or…'
'Or？'
'Too　much　good　living；　in　which　case　we'll　be　home　before　nightfall。'
FROIGRE　HALL；　THE　ancestral　pile　of　the　noble　House　Froigre；　was　a　splendid　stack　of　ivy…swathed　ouslite　and　copper　tiles
overlooking　the　Vale　of　Fiegg；　ten　kilometres　south　of　Menizerre。　Water　meadows　sloped　back　from　the　river；　becoming　wildflower
pastures　that　climbed　through　spinneys　of　larch　and　fintle　to　hem　the　magnificent　planned　gardens　of　the　house；　geometric　designs　of
box…hedge；　trim　lawn；　flowering　beds　and　symmetrical　ponds。　Beyond　the　sandy　drive；　darkened　woods　came　right　down　to　skirt　the
back　of　the　great　hall；　except　for　where　a　near…perfect　sulleq　lawn　had　been　laid。　Aen　and　I　had　spent　several　diverting　afternoons
there；　playing　against　each　other。　A　kilometre　north　of　the　house；　the　gnarled　stone　finger　of　the　Folly　rose　from　the　ascending　woods。
'Where　to　put　down；　sir？'　Gabon　asked　over　the　intercom。
'On　the　drive　in　front　of　the　portico；　if　you'd　be　so　kind。'
'What's　been　going　on　here？'　Alizebeth　asked　as　we　came　in　lower。　She　pointed。　The　lawn　areas　nearest　to　the　hall　were　littered　with
scraps　of　rubbish　…　paper　waste　and　glittery　bits　of　foil。　Some　sections　of　grass　were　flat　and　yellow　as　if　compressed　and　starved　of
light。
Tiny　stones；　whipped　up　by　our　downwash；　ticked　off　the　car's　bodywork　as　we　settled　in　to　land。
'OH；　MY　DEAR　Gregor！'　Lady　Freyl　Froigre　almost　fell　into　my　arms。　I　held　her　in　a　comforting　embrace　for　a　few　patient　moments　as
she　sobbed　against　my　chest。
'Forgive　me！'　she　said　suddenly；　pulling　away　and　dabbing　her　eyes　with　a　black　lace　handkerchief。　'This　is　all　so　very　terrible。　So
very；　very　terrible。'
'My　deepest　sympathies　for　your　loss；　lady；'　I　said；　feeling　awkward。
A　houseman；　his　arm　banded　in　black；　had　led　us　into　a　stateroom　off　the　main　hall　where　Lady　Froigre　was　waiting。　The　blinds　were
drawn；　and　mourning　tapers　had　been　lit；　filling　the　air　with　a　feeble　light　and　a　sickly　perfume。　Freyl　Froigre　was　a　stunning　woman
in　her　late　sixties；　her　lush　red　hair；　almost　flame…pink　it　was　so　bright；　pulled　back　and　pinned　down　under　a　veil　coiff　of　jet
scamiscoire。　Her　grief…gown　was　slate　epinchire；　the　sleeves　ending　in　delicate　interwoven　gloves　so　that　not　one　speck　of　her　flesh
was　uncovered。
I　introduced　Alizebeth；　who　murmured　her　condolences；　and　Lady　Froigre　nodded。　Then　she　suddenly　looked　flustered。
'Oh；　my。　Where　are　my　manners？　I　should　have　the　staff　bring　refreshments　for　you　and—'
'Hush；　lady；'　I　said；　taking　her　arm　and　walking　her　down　the　long　room　into　the　soft　shade　of　the　shutters。　'You　have　enough　on　your
mind。　Grief　is　enough。　Tell　me　what　you　know　and　I　will　do　the　rest。'
'You're　a　good　man；　sir。　I　knew　I　could　trust　you。'　She　paused　and　waited　while　her　current　wracks　subsided。
'Aen　died　just　before　midnight　last　night。　A　seizure。　It　was　quick；　the　physician　said。'
'What　else　did　he　say；　lady？'

She　drew　a　data…wand　from　her　sleeve　and　handed　it　to　me。　'It's　all　here。'　I　plucked　out　my　slate　and　plugged　it　in。　The　display　lit　up
with　the　stored　files。
Death　by　tremorous　palpitations　of　the　heart　and　mind。　A　dysfunction　of　the　spirit。　According　the　the　medicae's　report；　Aen　Froigre
had　died　because　of　a　spasm　in　his　anima。
'This　means…'　I　paused；　'…nothing。　Who　is　your　physician？'
'Genorus　Notil　of　Menizerre。　He　has　been　the　family　medicae　since　the　time　of　Aen's　grandfather。'
'His　report　is　rather…　non…specific；　lady。　Could　I　present　the　body　for　a　further　examination？'
'I've　already　done　that；'　she　said　softly。　'The　surgeon　at　Menizerre　General　who　attended　said　the　same。　My　husband　died　of　terror。'
'Terror？'
'Yes；　inquisitor。　Now　tell　me　that　isn't　the　work　of　the　infernal　powers？'
There　had；　she　told　me；　been　a　celebration。　A　Grand　Fete。　Aen's　eldest　son；　Rinton；　had　returned　home　two　weeks　before；　having
mustered　out　of　his　service　in　the　Imperial　Guard。　Rinton　Froigre　had　been　a　captain　in　the　Fiftieth　Gudrunite　and　seen　six　years'
service　in　the　Ophidean　subsector。　Such　was　his　father's　delight　on　his　return；　a　fete　was　called。　A　carnival　feast。　Travelling　players
from　all　around　the　canton　had　attended；　along　with　troupes　of　musicians；　acrobats；　armies　of　stall　holders；　entertainers；　and　hundreds
of　folk　from　the　town。　That　explained　the　litter　and　faded　patches　on　the　lawn。　Tent　pitches。　The　scars　of　marques。
'Had　he　any　enemies？'　I　asked；　pacing　the　shuttered　room。
'None　that　I　know　of。'
'I　would　like　to　review　his　correspondence。　Diaries　too；　if　he　kept　them。'
'I'll　see。　I　don't　believe　he　kept　a　diary；　but　our　rubricator　will　have　a　list　of　correspondence。'
On　the　top　of　the　harpsichord　was　a　framed　portrait；　a　hololith　of　Aen　Froigre；　smiling。