Dark Apostle

'The construction of the Gehemehnet is all but complete and that is where my strength is needed. The Daemonschage is to be transported to the top of the tower. You will complete the summoning there, Marduk, and then the Daemonschage will sound and this world will be ripped asunder.'

The thunder of ordnance was constant. The lines of artillery and siege tanks boomed one after another, billowing smoke covering their positions. The shells had been hurled relentlessly towards the traitor lines for almost three hours and the salt plains and earthworks were pockmarked with craters. It was impossible to gauge enemy casualties, though Laron guessed they were few. The armour of the enemy, together with the defensive bulwarks and bunkers, would most likely ensure protection against most of the incoming fire.

He was pleased however that the brigadier-general was pushing for the war to come to a head. A long, drawn out siege was not a war for an Elysian. Surgical strikes, lightning raids and daring attacks deep into enemy territory: that was how the warriors of Elysia were meant to fight and it seemed that at last they would have the chance.

Still, it would not be easy and the loss of the Imperial cruiser had been a shock, its destruction testament to the unholy power of the enemy.

'Looks like the brigadier-general has had a change of heart,' said Captain Elias. Laron had promoted the man from sergeant when the brigadier-general had given him the mammoth task of becoming acting colonel. He nodded his head.

'Shinar's air defences are famed throughout the sector,' said Elias. 'You were the one that reminded me of that, sir. Won't we be blown out of the air on the approach?'

'It is going to be bloody, no two ways around it, Elias, but the brigadier-general feels that such a risk is necessary. The threat the enemy poses is far greater than was first understood. It is not going to be pretty, but this is war and it is what the Emperor demands of us.'

That suits me fine, thought Laron. The frustrations and stresses of the previous week had built up, and he longed for the simplicity of leading his men into battle once again.

Elias was right though, they would be at the mercy of the enemy guns until those emplacements were silenced. He prayed that their objective was achievable, else the 72nd and the 133rd would be slaughtered.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The Gehemehnet rose almost fifty kilometres into the atmosphere. Black, oily clouds circling the tower far below hid the land from Varnus's eyes, making him feel dizzy and disoriented. The giant, red planet Korsis dominated the sky above. It hung so close that it was an intimidating, looming presence.

Hot vapours rose from the hollow shaft of the Gehemehnet in long, steaming exhalations. The breath of the gods themselves, the Discord had told him, and its touch was intoxicating. It came from deep within the planet, for Varnus knew that the shaft plunged far beneath the earth, into the fiery heart of Tanakreg.

He noticed that there were fewer than a hundred slaves atop the tower: those that had proven to have the strength and will to survive its completion. Each man was crouching on his haunches, accompanied by an overseer who stood just behind him. Looking around at them, Varnus felt sickened. They all looked like worshippers of the Chaos gods, far from the industrious servants of the Emperor that they had once been. Varnus knew that he too must look like one of the cursed, blessed, followers of the ruinous powers and he seethed.

He knew that he had changed. Outwardly, the change was obvious, but the most damaging changes had occurred within him. His blood ran thick with serums concocted by chirurgeons and his mind was filled with hateful visions of darkness and death. Voices spoke within him constantly, chattering maddeningly, and heretical thoughts plagued him. He wanted to embrace the gods of the Ether, to allow himself to succumb utterly to their will, and he knew that the last barriers of resistance were being eaten away.

The tower spoke to him, its voice soothing him.

A massive, black-girded construction was brought over the lip of the tower, held aloft by a trio of spider-legged cranes, and Varnus stared at it in wonder. Its shape was bewitching to the eye and it was swung over his head to hang over the top of the open shaft. It had eight black, iron legs, the first of them touching down on the stone only metres to Varnus's left.

It was an eight-legged armature that rose to a point, like the frame of a giant, triangular tent. That point was embossed with beaten metal the colour of blood, and thick, spiked chains swung from the legs, hanging down into the vast emptiness of the shaft within the tower. Seeing the chains made Varnus put a hand to his neck, feeling around the circumference of his collar. He realised that he no longer wore a chain around his neck, though he had no recollection of the overseers having removed it.