comrades knew who they were shooting at； that they wouldn’t mistake him and Palinev for their
targets。
Most of their fire； in fact； was directed at Mangellan — but he was well…protected； by the Traitor
Guardsmen around him； bustling him away down the dais steps。 Furst scurried along behind them；
keeping close； benefiting from their armour； although Grayle couldn’t tell if the traitors had even
seen him in their wake。
And then there was the Chaos Space Marine。
He leapt from the dais； reaching the edge of the courtyard with one powerful spring。 He smacked
into the palace wall； punching through the ice to make handholds for himself； started to haul himself
upwards。 Grayle saw Blonsky’s face in a window； paling as a gauntleted hand clamped onto the sill
in front of him。 He drove his gun butt into the Chaos Space Marine’s fingers； but couldn’t dislodge
them。 He turned and ran； disappearing from Grayle’s vieassive form
through the small window after him。
In the confusion； no one had thought to secure the would…be sacrifices。 Perhaps Mangellan
thought them secure enough； hadn’t realised that his enemies had already got to them。 Grayle’s
lasgun burnt through Wollkenden’s chains at last； and the confessor fell into his arms。
“Is it my turn to speak？” he asked weakly。 “I must say； I expected a little more discipline from
the troops。 Obviously； I’ve been gone too long。 That’s the trouble these days； no leadership。”
“Please； confessor；” said Grayle； “I’m trying to rescue you。 Just… just hold still… sir； please… I
need to get this cloak over your head。”
“Take your hands off me！” bellowed Wollkenden — and he pushed Grayle aside； took his own
weight unsteadily； and looked around like a startled rabbit about to bolt…
…as Steele； having been freed and disguised by Palinev； strode up beside him and； without
breaking his step； threw a punch to Wollkenden’s head that knocked him spark out。 Grayle and
Palinev watched in abject astonishment as the colonel hoisted the confessor’s limp body over his
shoulders。
“Well？” he barked at them。 “Are we getting out of here or what？”
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Barreski could hardly breathe。
The explosions had kicked up twin plumes of smoke； which were settling now upon the
occupants of the courtyard。 The Chaos worshippers were packed too tightly around him； restricting
his movement； their elbows digging into his ribs and his stomach。 He braced himself against them；
knowing that if he let his guard down for an instant he would be crushed between them or just
overrun。
He had one advantage； though； over the heretics。 He knew where the bombs were — or rather；
where they had been； because Mikhaelev had only had two demolition charges left and they had
both blown。 Barreski had placed one himself； and was proud of his handiwork； the carnage he had
caused。
A hapless cultist lost his footing and fell coughing against the disguised Ice Warrior。 Barreski
took the opportunity to slip his knife into the man’s heart； let him slide to the floor。 Another one less
to worry about； he thought。
His quarter of the crowd appeared to have reached an unspoken consensus。 They had chosen an
archway； an escape route； through which to evacuate； had started to move together instead of
fighting each other。 Barreski hoisted himself onto the shoulders of a protesting cultist in front of
him； and he screamed out； “Another bomb！ Look！ There it is！ Can’t you see it？ In the branches of
that tree！”
No one could see the bomb； because it didn’t exist。 Still； Barreski’s words were enough to make
a significant number of the heretics turn back； to fight once more against the tide of their fellows； to
spread more panic。
He glanced up at the dais； and saw that it was empty。 Grayle and Palinev would be heading for
their preselected exit； taking Steele and Wollkenden with them。 He muttered a quick prayer for their
safety。 It was time for him to get out of here himself。
Palinev had chosen a different way out for Barreski； a closer one to his position。 He had scouted
a route for him back to the sewer tunnel； made sure that he had memorised the directions。 Barreski
pressed his elbows into service； and started to force his way across the yard。
And that was when he saw Mangellan； his traitor escort clearing a path for him； using their
lasguns when they had to。 And he was just a few metres away…
He couldn’t resist it。 He knew it meant giving himself away； but he snuck his lasgun out from
beneath his robes； flicked its power pack to full auto and squeezed off ten las…beams in the high
priest’s direction。
The traitors reacted quickly； putting themselves in the line of fire； deflecting most of it with their
armour… most of it… Barreski gave a triumphant cry as one of his beams glanced across
Mangellan’s face； causing him to scream out； to clap his hands to his eyes。 But now he had his own
safety to worry about。
Already； the traitors were starting to move towards him。 He had to lose himself again。 He put his
head down； tried to slip away amid the other black cloaks； but he was brought up short by a brawny
cultist with a knife。
“Did you see him？” bluffed Barreski； pointing wildly。 “He had a bomb； and he was coming up
behind the high priest。 He would have killed him if I hadn’t… Look； you need to defend yourself！”
He thrust his lasgun into the cultist’s hands while he was still gaping； trying to work out what it was
he had seen。
Then Barreski was gone； leaving the brawny cultist with the weapon。 Which was how the
Traitor Guardsmen found him； a second later。
“Space Marines！ Coming up the passageway！” Pozhar hated this。
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He was stationed in one of the arched doorways into the palace proper； his job to keep it as clear
as he could for Steele and Wollkenden’s escape。 This meant pretending to be one of the heretics —
almost as bad； pretending to be afraid — but Gavotski had given him no say in the matter。
Few of the cultists were coming this way； anyway。 Mikhaelev and Barreski had placed their
charges carefully； herding them in the opposite direction — and of those who did try to pass Pozhar；
about half were turned back by his feigned panic。 Still； there were some who didn’t seem to hear
him； or were so eager to get out of the courtyard that they took their chances。 As one of them
bumped into him； it was all he could do not to draw his lasgun and start shooting。
“They… they’ve got chainswords！” he shouted desperately after the escapees。 “And guns！ Big
guns！”
“Pozhar！”
He turned at the sound of his name； couldn’t see who had called it at first。 In a yard full of robed
figures； it was near impossible to tell which ones were his comrades。 Then he recognised the slight
form of Palinev — and there； beside him； that had to be Grayle。 And between them…
Pozhar raced forward； dived into the crowd； helped Palinev to lift the unconscious Wollkenden。
He had discarded his sling； declaring himself healed； still； this exercise of his muscles sent a lance
of pain down his right arm。
“What happened？” he cried。 “What went wrong？”
“It’s okay； trooper；” said Steele breathlessly； picking himself up； leaning on Palinev。 “I just…
overestimated my strength； that’s all。 Still tired… Perhaps you and Grayle could… could look after
Confessor Wollkenden for me？”
Pozhar would have accepted that burden gladly。 But at that moment； he heard gunfire from
somewhere close by； and he turned to see a squad of Traitor Guardsmen pushing their way towards
the Ice Warriors。 They were brandishing lasguns； firing into the air so that the heretics parted before
them。
Pozhar drew his gun； shouting to Grayle and Palinev； “Go！ Get the confessor and the colonel out
of here。 I’ll hold them off！”
And he started firing — not upwards； but straight into the bodies in front of him。
The cultists were taken unawares。 They fell like dominoes； each hit felling three or more of them
— and the ripple effect spread back to the Traitor Guardsmen； blocking their path； threatening to
knock them down too。 They tried to fire back； but the seething mass of people between them and
Pozhar made it an impossible shot； and they only succeeded in taking out a few more of their own。
He could have gone after the others； then； could have taken the chance that he had delayed their
pursuers long enough for them all to escape。 Yes； he could have done that…
The cultists between Pozhar and the Traitor Guardsmen had begun to rally； identified the threat
in their midst and； unable to flee； swarmed him instead。 Few of them were trained fighters — half of
them were women — but they had overwhelming numbers on their side。 They punched the Ice
Warrior； clawed at him； dragged him down。 He saw the glint of a knife blade； too late to avoid its
swipe； felt it breaking the synth…skin on his stomach where the sewer creature had holed him with its
spines。 His lasgun was snatched from him。 He took blow after blow to his head。 He wasn’t quite
sure what kept him from falling down — but as long as he was standing； he would fight。
Pozhar was a whirlwind of limbs； punching； kicking； scratching； defying any of his foes to get a
firm hold on him。
And clutched in his left fist； he held his ultimate weapon： the primed frag grenade that would
collapse the archway behind Steele and the others； slow down anyone who tried to follow them —
and also ensure that the heretics that killed him would die by his side。 Just as he had planned would
happen outside Alpha Hive two mornings ago。
He wondered if this； then； was what the Emperor had spared him for on that occasion。 He
wanted to believe this。 But the itchy grey fur was all over his chest； spreading down his back； and he
could no longer open his right hand fully。 His fingers had hunched over and he thought his
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fingernails had grown longer； and Pozhar knew in his heart that his god could have played no part in
any of that。
He hadn’t come into this battle with the intention of dying in it。 At least； he didn’t think he had。
But the only thing keeping his secret now； he was sure； was the black cloak he was wearing； and he
couldn’t bear to see the expressions of his comrades； didn’t want to have to face their judgement；
when that cloak came off。
The Traitor Guardsmen were almost upon him。 Another few seconds； and they would have a
clear shot； would be able to finish him。 He activated the grenade； on a short fuse； and he lured them
back towards the archway。
It was better this way； he thought。
Better that his body be blown apart； and then liquefied by the virus bombs before any piece of
him could suffer the ignominy of being flung into a Chaos burial pit。 Better that no one should have
the chance to inspect his remains； that his comrades； let alone his commanders； should never learn
of his shame。
Better to let them all believe that Trooper Pozhar died a hero。
Mangellan was blind。
He hadn’t seen the las…beam that had hit him； his eyes already teary with smoke。 There had just
been a flash； and a searing pain。 He felt as if his face was on fire。 He couldn’t see where he was
going； didn’t know what was happening； he had to trust to his escorts to guide him to safety。
He stumbled into the cooling embrace of his palace； his magnificent