floor of the valley。
Much of the remainder of the fortress was concealed from his vision by the angle of the ground and the cunning of its builders； but
in the centre of the northernmost face of the valley； Honsou could see a diamond…shaped blockhouse built high on the slopes； its
upper walkways bristling with guns。 Its positioning could only mean one thing： that it was protecting something below and out of
sight； possibly an entrance to the underground defences within the mountainside。
Graham McNeill ？Storm of Iron？
Positioned on higher ground； nearly a kilometre to the west of this blockhouse sat an ornate tower； crowned with winged angels
and carved from a smooth black stone。 Even from here； Honsou could see that it was not constructed from local materials； but
ones brought from off…world。 A statue lined walkway sloped down from this tower； vanishing from sight as it travelled below the
horizon of the bastion tops。
What its purpose was； or how such an exquisite piece of delicate architecture had come to be built in such a desolate place； was a
mystery； but Honsou paid it no heed。 Its strategic importance in any plan to attack this fortress was negligible； and thus it was
irrelevant to him。
Whoever had designed this citadel was a master of the art indeed and Honsou felt a fierce stirring in his belly as he imagined this
place churning with men and machines； blood and death； the thunder of artillery rumbling from the valleysides； blinding clouds of
choking； acrid smoke and the screams of men as they drowned in thick； sucking mud； crushed underfoot by the tread of mighty
Titans。
What secrets did this citadel hold？ What mighty weapon or unknown treasure was concealed within its walls？ In truth； Honsou did
not care； the chance to assault a place of such majesty would be honour enough。 That the Warsmith desired to unlock its mysteries
was sufficient for Honsou； and he vowed that whatever it took； whatever acts he had to commit； he would be the first across the
shattered rabble of this citadel's walls。
A hollow boom echoed from the sides of the valley and Honsou saw a puff of dirty smoke blossom from behind the walls of the
promontory fort。 Even as the shell arced through the orange sky； Honsou could see it would land short。 Sure enough； the shell
impacted over half a kilometre before their position on the ridge； throwing up great chunks of earth and a long plume of smoke。
The Warsmith stared in the direction the shot had come from and said； 'The battle has begun and it is time we learned more of our
foes' capabilities。'
He turned to his champions； nodding to Kroeger。
'Bring up the prisoners…'
FIVE
THE COMMANDER OF the 383rd Jouran Dragoons regiment； Prestre Vauban； took a lungful of tobacco from his cigar and closed his
eyes； allowing the acrid blue smoke to swirl in his mouth before exhaling slowly。 The thick cigar was a gift from Adept Naicin
and； while he normally preferred a milder cheroot； there was something strangely satisfying about the powerful taste of this
monstrous； hand…rolled cigar。
Naicin smoked them constantly and swore blind that a day would come when the Imperial apothecaries would finally admit that
cigars were a healthy pastime for a man to indulge in。
Vauban somehow doubted it； but it was hard to put a dent in Naicin's conviction once he had an idea in his head。 Vauban rested
his arms on the iron guard…rail and surveyed the landscape before him。
The view from the briefing chamber's south balcony was spectacular； to say the least。 The blazing orange sky had awed him with
its primal fire when he had first come to this world； but now its radiance simply nauseated him。 Much like everything else on this
Emperor…forsaken rock。 Ash covered mountaintops stretched as far as the eye could see； and were it not for his cold fury and the
thick pillars of black smoke burning far to the south…east； he might have been able to enjoy the rugged beauty of the scene。
Vauban would never forget the horror of the images of Jericho Falls he'd seen on the remote pict…viewers for as long as he lived：
the spaceport had burned red with the blood of his regiment。 That he could not have prevented it did nothing to ease the burden of
his soldiers' deaths。 They were his men and had a right to expect their commanding officer not to put them into harm's way
without good reason。 He had failed in his duty to his men and the pain of that failure was a splinter in his heart。
Jericho Falls in enemy hands； and so many dead it was inconceivable to the soldier in him。
Vauban caught himself staring at the magnificent panorama of steep…sided mountains before him； thinking about the battles to
come。
What would it matter if they lived or died here； he wondered？ Would the mountains crumble to dust； the wind blow any less
fiercely or the sun grow dimmer？ Of course not； but then he thought of the vile images he'd seen at Jericho Falls。 The evil they
promised was unlike anything Vauban had experienced before； and every nerve in his body recoiled at the thought of such forces。
They had no right to exist in the universe。
Beings who would wreak such carnage were； by their very nature evil and must be opposed。
It might not matter to the rocks and the sun whether they died here； but Vauban knew that such evil had to be opposed wherever it
appeared。
'Sir？' said a voice； rousing him from his grim thoughts。
A staff officer stood at the armoured door that led to the briefing chamber； coughing in the stagnant air。 He held a thick sheaf of
folders and papers clutched close to his chest。
'Are they all here？' asked Vauban。
'Yes； sir。 Everyone has arrived；' replied the officer。
Vauban nodded his acknowledgement as the staff officer gratefully retreated within。 He took a last look at the soaring peaks and
breathed deeply； drawing his sky blue uniform jacket tighter and buttoning his collar。
They might be at war； but appearances had to be maintained。
Vauban shivered； telling himself it was the crisp mountain air； but he only half believed it。 An enemy more evil that he could
possibly have imagined had come to this world。
Now they would plan how to fight it。
Graham McNeill ？Storm of Iron？
THE BRIEFING CHAMBER felt uncomfortably warm to Vauban； but he ignored the sweat prickling on his brow and made his way to
his chair at the head of the meeting table。 Regimental colours and plaques of all the regiments that had garrisoned this citadel over
the centuries lined the walls and Vauban nodded respectfully to the ghosts of his predecessors。
Every seat was taken。 The senior commanders from his battalions and heads of station were gathered around the long； oval table。
The commanders of his regiment sat along one side： Mikhail Leonid； his second…in…command； and the three battalion commanders
Piet Anders； Gunnar Tedeski and Morgan Kristan。 Along the other side of the table sat the representatives of the Adeptus
Mechanicus。 Adept Naicin sat with his gloved hands laced before him； smoking a long cigar； his artificial lungs purging the
smoke from exhaust ports along his flexing； silver spine。 A retinue of blind scriveners and auto…recorders stood behind him；
meticulously noting down their master's every movement and utterance。
Beside Adept Naicin； a brass…rimmed； holo…slate displayed a flickering image of an ashen face； haloed by wires and gurgling
tubing。 The face twitched as half…remembered muscle memories flickered across its features； their organic nature now subservient
to the pulse of the machines around them。 Arch Magos Caer Amaethon； Master of the Citadel of Hydra Cordatus； frowned from
the depths of his machine…temple where he was forever linked to the beating； mechanical heart of the citadel； interfaced with every
facet of its operation。 So immersed in the internal matrix of the citadel； the scant remnants of Amaethon's body could never leave
his mechanised womb buried deep in the heart of the fortress。
Junior officers circled the table pouring caffeine and handing out briefing notes packed with columns of numbers listing
operational strengths of units and supply readiness。
Vauban grunted with distaste。 'There's three kinds of lies' he said； quickly scanning the document； 'lies； damn lies and statistics！'
Behind the table； tonsured technicians prepared the view…slate for the graphics Vauban had ordered and a gunmetal grey lectern
was set up slightly to the side。
As the last of the techs and aides left the room； Vauban rose from his seat and moved to stand behind the lectern。 The brusque
commander exhaled a prodigious cloud of smoke and addressed the council of war。
'Well； gentlemen； we've been hit badly and the situation's probably only going to get worse before it gets better。'
A few scowls crossed the faces of his junior officers at this apparently defeatist statement。 Vauban ignored them and continued。
'We don't have a lot of time； so I want to keep this as brief as possible。 Then we can start getting even。 We've taken a hit； and a
damn bad one at that； but if we act now； I think we've got a good chance of kicking the enemy right in the teeth。
'First； I'm going to give you all a rundown on what we've been seeing from here。 Now； I'll be fast； so keep up； and if I ask a
question you'd better ans