“None of you；” Steele ordered； “are to leave this ship under any circumstances。 Give me as
much time as you can — but as soon as it looks as if the heretics might board； you get up to that
cockpit and you tell Grayle to lift off； whether Wollkenden and I have returned or not。 Is that
understood； sergeant？”
He didn’t wait for an answer。
He was out in the open again； cursing himself for not having foreseen this； for not having
detailed more men to watch Wollkenden — for not having heard as the confessor had knocked out
Palinev and escaped behind his back。 It must have happened； he thought； while he was underneath
the ship； occupied with the mutant。
The heretics were just realising that the lander was no longer defended； just starting to close in。
They reacted to Steele’s sudden reappearance — too slowly。 Steele reasoned that Wollkenden would
have made for the nearest cover。 He saw a line of man…sized； metal…framed packing crates； and he
leapt behind them as the first las…beams stabbed out behind him。
His acoustic enhancers led him straight to the confessor； who was sitting behind the crates；
whimpering into his hands。 He seized Wollkenden by the front of his robes； hauled him to his feet。
“I’m sorry I don’t have time to show you all due respect； sir； but this is the situation： you are
boarding that ship with me — and I would rather you did so willingly； because if I have to carry you
it will probably get us both killed； but I will knock you out again if I have to。 Which is it to be？”
ed out of his grasp and ran for it。 Steele caught him before he could take two
steps； and slammed him into a crate hard enough to splinter one of its wooden panels。 “Get your
hands off me！” Wollkenden gasped； winded。 “You’re just like the rest of them； telling me what to
do。 He was right all along； with his words… Let me go； I want to go to him！”
“You’re confused；” said Steele。 “You don’t know what you’re saying。 I need you to trust me；
confessor。 I need you to do as I say； just for a few—”
A Traitor Guardsman； bolder than Steele had expected； stepped into view。 His lasgun was
readied； but he didn’t fire。 Perhaps he was out of power； or the gun had simply jammed。 Steele
didn’t stop to question his good fortune。 He bundled Wollkenden into the narrow space between two
crates and started firing himself。 The traitor leapt back into cover； but Steele could hear footsteps
running to join him。
He cursed under his breath。 Wollkenden had delayed him too long。 Their way back to the lander
was blocked； and the heretics were moving to surround them。 They couldn’t stay where they were。
But there was nowhere to run； nowhere that didn’t involve breaking cover and making themselves
easy targets。
If Steele had been alone； he could have hauled himself up onto one of the crates； got the drop on
his foes from up there — but he doubted Wollkenden could make the climb even if he was willing
to try。
Wollkenden… Suddenly； it occurred to Steele that his presence might be his greatest asset； that
that traitor’s gun might not have jammed after all。
He turned on the confessor； spun him around。 He yanked his arm up behind his back； slipped his
arm around Wollkenden’s throat and pulled tight to choke his words of protest。 “Sorry about this；
sir；” he muttered； “but needs must； and this is the only way I can think of to keep you alive。”
He pushed Wollkenden ahead of him； stepped out from behind the crate； found himself facing a
score of armed traitors…
…and was relieved to find that his hunch had been right。 The traitors kept him covered with
their guns； but didn’t dare fire； couldn’t risk hitting his hostage。 Evidently； they had been ordered to
retake Wollkenden； their offering to their gods； alive。 It occurred to Steele that those same orders
might apply to him too — until Wollkenden’s legs gave way and he sagged in the colonel’s grip；
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and one of the traitors fired a las…beam； tried to hit Steele over the confessor’s head and only missed
him by a whisker。
“I wouldn’t try that again；” Steele snarled。 “Even if you could hit me； I could snap Wollkenden’s
neck as I went down。 And I swear this by the Emperor’s name； I will do it。 I will see him dead；
rather than let Mangellan have him。”
“Don’t speak that name；” spat one of the traitors。 “Mangellan is dead。 He failed our gods and has
paid the price for it。 Furst is our high priest now。”
“Then you’re in more trouble than I thought；” said Steele。
He was inching his way around them； keeping his back to the crates so that no one could come
up behind him — and he could see it now； the lander； his goal。 Its engines were still ticking over； ice
melting and dripping from its hull。
And it was under attack。
The ship had been rushed by mutants and spawn — and Steele could see Barreski and Anakora
in the hatchway； fighting to keep it clear； to keep the creatures away from it — a losing battle。
As he watched； one muscular mutant landed a blow to Barreski’s head； send him reeling back
into the ship； out of sight — and then it disappeared inside after him。 Anakora had to fall back as
two more creatures forced their way on board。 And there were more of them； jostling each other；
knocking each other off the loading ramp in their haste to follow。 In a few seconds’ time； the Ice
Warriors would be overwhelmed； the ship taken。 Unless…
The pitch of the engines changed； the sound building to a deafening shriek； and the lander begin
to haul itself into the air。
For a moment； all eyes were off Steele and Wollkenden； but Steele couldn’t take advantage of
this distraction — because he was staring too； watching as his last hope of survival； of completing
his mission； rose out of his reach。
The lander rotated clumsily； orienting itself towards the exit hatches。 The few mutants that had
clung to its landing ramp were shaken free and dashed to the floor。 Another was wedged in the open
hatchway — but as Steele watched； this too was thrown clear by a volley of las…fire from inside the
ship。 It gave him some satisfaction to know that his squad was still fighting in there。
And then another hatchway slid open — in the belly of the lander； this time — and something
was tossed out： a coiled something that rolled and unfurled as it fell； something that told Steele that
his men were still fighting for more than themselves。
He raced around the still…gaping traitors； somehow finding the strength to lift Wollkenden off his
feet； to carry him。 He leapt for the trailing ladder； and caught it with his left hand。
That was when the firing started； the traitors no doubt reasoning that Furst would prefer
Wollkenden dead than escaped。 A las…beam glanced off Steele’s shoulder； only part of its force
absorbed by the ragged remains of his armoured greatcoat； and he clenched his teeth against the
searing pain and forced himself to hold on； although he couldn’t feel his fingers any longer。
The ship lined itself up with an exit hatch； shot forwards； and the sudden acceleration almost
yanked Steele’s numbed left arm out of its socket。 His right hand was still fastened around
Wollkenden’s arm； the confessor reaching but unable to establish a grip on the ladder for himself。
Then the lander’s hull scraped the hatchway； showering them both with sparks — a sign of Grayle’s
piloting inexperience — and the ground dropped away beneath them； and Wollkenden fell…
Steele caught his hand； felt the augmetics in his right shoulder whirring and straining to arrest
the confessor’s plunge。
They were soaring above fields of snow now； above glaciers； high enough to see the burning
spires of Alpha Hive towards the horizon； to trace the whole of the Ice Warriors’ journey from there
to here。 And Wollkenden’s legs were flailing； pedalling at the air； and his face was white； his eyes
bulging with fear。
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Five minutes。 That was all the time they had； according to Steele’s internal chrono。 Five minutes
before the virus bombs dropped。 Five minutes for Grayle to reach escape velocity and leave this
doomed world behind。 And before he could do so； Steele and Wollkenden had to climb that ladder。
Looking up； Steele could see Gavotski peering through the aperture in the lander’s belly； calling
to him； his words whipped away by a howling； freezing wind。
The ladder was buffeted in that wind； and it was all Steele could do to hang on to it。 He couldn’t
get his feet to it； couldn’t do anything without letting go of Wollkenden。
Maybe； just maybe； he thought； if he could persuade his passenger to hang on to him； to free up
his right arm； he could haul them both up。 He screamed instructions at the confessor； but they didn’t
seem to get through。
And Wollkenden was screaming back at him； and Steele tuned his enhanced ear in to his voice；
and he heard； “…me go； damn you。 I don’t want to go back to your shackles； be a slave to your
Emperor。 Mangellan promised me I could be free。 He promised me…”
And suddenly； it all made sense： why the Ecclesiarchy had appeared so keen to retrieve their
confessor； keen enough to have his would…be rescuers sanctified； and yet the virus bombing couldn’t
be delayed for him； why the fate of such a dignitary had been left in the hands of a mere ten men。
Not that Steele had ever questioned those orders； of course； but he had wondered…
“A virtual saint。” That was what he had been told about Wollkenden。 A man who； through
words and faith alone； had inspired great deeds。 A man who could turn the tides of war； whose name
was fast becoming legend。 So； the Ecclesiarchy could hardly have turned their backs on him； could
they？ Even if they had known…
Mangellan had known。 He had delighted in telling Steele； gloating about it； only Steele had
refused to listen。 He had no choice now。
The legend was a lie。 The man for whom he had come so far； risked so much； was just an
ordinary man after all： a man touched by Chaos。 Wollkenden had been tested； and he had failed that
test。 His mind had been forever warped。
Steele had never had a chance to succeed in his mission。 He had never been meant to succeed in
it。 Wollkenden could not be saved。
In the end； it was easier than he had expected。 He didn’t even have to t