The Skeins of Fate

by Aphrael1742

The tales of the eldar tell of the Rhana Dandra, the final battle when eldar and Chaos will meet on the field of battle and where both will perish. But all stories must come to an end. Some of the eldar, however, would much rather write the concluding pages than read it as it unfolds.

35. Chapter 34

CHAPTER 34

The troupe took their time to leave. The Rhana Dandra was fast approaching, and perhaps their time should be better spent elsewhere, and yet they still lingered, as though reluctant to take their leave. Illiawe spent the time getting used to her memories. The coming together of so many vastly different lives was jarring. Her time as a warrior of Khaine was particularly problematic. The bloodlust of battle had always been kept behind her war mask, and now the memories came flooding back to Illiawe, tainting the peace and beauty of her other memories with an insistence for killing and maiming and demands for slights to be paid for in blood.

"Having trouble?" It was Taeryn. The shadowseer sat cross-legged on the grass next to Illiawe.

"The bloodlust of Khaine does not fit well with the purpose of the other Paths," Illiawe murmured.

"I've never had that problem," Taeryn admitted. "Of course, war had a very different meaning for me than it had for you. Perhaps that's what you should try. The harlequins view war and a performance as one and the same. War isn't something that should be separated from the healer or the emissary or the artist. It is something that is part of all lives, and do not really have to be shunned by all eldar not on the Warrior Paths."

"The bloodlust of Khaine is dangerous, though," Illiawe reminded her. "Violence is inherently excessive, and attracts the attention of Slaanesh."

"Yes, but you have Cegorach to shield you from that now, so you can let go of your war mask."

It became easier after that. She was going to have to get used to her singular memory, Illiawe knew, but it was a start.

They stayed a while more after the troupe had departed, and when the sun was going down, they remounted and went out of that grove.

The world around Illiawe now seemed suddenly alive, vibrant even, more than it used to be. In an epiphany, she realized that the restraint that those of the craftworld placed upon themselves had limited not only their emotions but their senses as well. Furthermore, the restraint that had been so fundamental to the craftworld method of avoiding the attention of Slaanesh in some measure limited the senses of the eldar. The restraint was no longer needed, however, and, slowly, gradually, Illiawe began to experience the world as only an eldar could. Even more than her ride with Taeryn before had, when they pushed their lizards into brief sprints, the wind sweeping at Illiawe was liberating, the rush that ran through Illiawe more thrilling each time.

This was not to say that Illiawe grew to lose herself in abandon. Some small part of her doubted the absoluteness of Cegorach's protection, and so she kept some semblance of restraint upon herself. She decided that it was probably better this way anyway. While Cegorach might be able to protect her from the gaze of Slaanesh, there was little that He could do to keep her from the paths of the Commorrites and the eldar of the old empire before them, the gradual malicious indulgence that leads only to ruination.

When they reached the gates of Mar-Kenaleith, however, Illiawe was in high spirits. Somewhat regretfully, she reined Maer in. "This was an awfully good idea, Taeryn."

"I know," Taeryn replied with a flippant toss of her head. "My ideas are always good ones."

"I don't know if I will go quite that far."

"I would," Taeryn grinned.

The psychic presence of the Troupe of the Darkened Moon was a familiar one. Always before, however, it had lain in the back of her mind. Illiawe was sure that the harlequins were more aware of their link than she had been, but Illiawe had never given it much thought. Now that she was officially part of the troupe, the emotions and thoughts of the other harlequins nagged at her, and memories that were not her own came floating to the surface of her mind. In the days that followed, Illiawe grew to rely greatly upon all the psychic training that she had accumulated throughout her life to keep some semblance of control over the swelter of thoughts. Taeryn watched her closely, but she did not intervene.

Taeryn put off their trip to the heart of Commorragh while Illiawe adjusted to her role as a harlequin. Illiawe thought that it was rather nice of her to do so. They spent the days riding. The city of Mar-Kenaleith was surrounded by lush plains and gentle hills and white-topped mountains with sparkling rivers. Ferocious predators roamed the land, from shaggy beats that barely came up to Illiawe's knees to scaly winged birds as large as houses, and Illiawe soon learned how best to avoid them. Taeryn, however, appeared to prefer the solitude of the grove to riding out across the lands of Kenaleith, and more and more they gravitated toward the peaceful mountain valley where the grove lay hidden where they would lie down on the grass under the tree that grew in solitary splendor in the center of the grove where the sounds of the world around them became muffled and faint. And when the sun dipped low in the sky and painted it a fiery orange they would regretfully climb onto the backs of their mounts and turn back to face the city of Mar-Kenaleith and the calling of war that lay within.

He had tracked it to a desolate planet, where it had wandered around for a while before disappearing underground. Then the Gray Knights had arrived with the inquisitor. It had been obvious that the inquisitor had need of the witch, and so the Raziel of the Vindicare temple had waited. His sloop had been made for such tasks, and so he had not been as worried as he might have been. From Imperial world to Imperial world he had tracked them, waiting for the inquisitor to conclude his business. And now the inquisitor has.

He took a sphere from his hip. It was slightly larger than his fist, carved into the shape of a grinning skull. He pressed a button at its base and its empty eye sockets flickered once as the device came alive. He held it out and the skull went floating up into the air. With a thought Raziel changed the visual feed of his helmet and he was flying over the lush plains of the planet, heading toward the fairy-tale city a dozen miles from where he was. He turned the servitor around, circling the city, looking past its walls and scanning the many eldar that dwelt within. It was not going to be easy. The picture that he had been provided of his mark had been taken by the equipment of the Adeptus Astartes. If he had been so inclined, Raziel could see every individual strand of hair upon the xenos' head. The sensors of his servitor were varied and powerful enough that the thick foliage of the city's trees could not shield the eldar down below from scrutiny. But there were many eldar within the city. Raziel, however, was patient. He placed his rifle by his side, settled down against a tree, and waited as the servitor continued scanning the likeness of the unwitting eldar down below.

The feed from the servitor beeped once, a high-pitched urgent sound. Raziel sat up, looking through its eyes. The pic-feed drew closer to his target. A strobe of green flashed across his vision as the servitor verified the facial pattern, build, and gait of the xenos with those that he had been provided with. He tracked them as they went toward the west gate of the city. He was already moving, his rifle slung over his shoulder, making his way to the vintage point that he had previously marked out, all the while keeping a close watch on the feed from the machine as it followed his target. When the xenos came out of the gate, Raziel had long since settled himself behind the rise of a distant hill. His target was not alone. There was another with it, both riding swift reptilian beasts. Raziel shifted, taking into account the speed, gait, and movements of the mounts.

Time slowed for him and the riders grew still, seemingly frozen in place. On any other target, Raziel would have dialed the velocity of the shot down to subsonic levels. He did not for this target. Farseers were notoriously hard to kill, and it had to be done swiftly. There was a sharp crack, not from the rifle itself, but from the round as it crossed the intervening distance at near the speed of light.

The shot should have taken the xenos' head off. There was no factor that could have altered that. But the beast under his mark reared up just as Raziel pulled the trigger. He tried to adjust his aim even as the rifle kicked, but the shot went a fraction of an inch over the target's head. He fired again, the second crack of the rifle melding into the first. He tracked the projectile to his target, already picturing the path that it would take, burying into the brain of the witch as its lizard completed its rearing motion.

And then the round stopped moving. It hung there in the air, held impossibly aloft. There was neither a quickening of the breath nor the furrowing or raising of its brows that Raziel could see. But its lips did move, the subtlety of the eldar body language failing to contain the instinctive gasp that escaped its lips. His target's gaze shifted from the projectile before it, seeming to look directly at him. Its irises were dilated, its eyes widened just a fraction as it realized the situation that it was in. But it remained composed, its instincts leading it not into the fearful frenzy that others would have fallen into.

Raziel was already on the move, sprinting back toward his shuttle. The improbability of what he had just witnessed nagged at him, but he pushed it out of his thoughts. The witch was aware of his presence now. He would just have to come up with a better plan for the next time. He scrambled into the pilot's seat of his shuttle, placing his rifle by his side, igniting the engines and settling down while the cockpit hissed shut over his head. He aimed the shuttle upward and shot off into the sky, the craft trembling all around him as he left the xenos planet behind, heading for the stealth ship at the edge of the system. His mind raced. How best to tell those who awaited aboard the ship that he had failed? He ran through the failed assassination again and again in his head, and each time he thought he detected a factor that contributed to his failure. When he reached the ship, he had a response prepared for any of the questions that he might be asked. But he would leave his handler with the answer that she would want to hear. He was going to wait once more for the witch, and he was going to complete his mission.

Lord High Inquisitor Arvor of the Ordo Xenos was an ancient man. He carried his age in his deeply lined face and snowy hair, a heavy squint, and an angry purple scar that ran from his left jaw down the side of his neck. His posture and attire, however, belied his seeming age. His back was straight, his eyes piercing, and his face stern and proud. At some point in the past he had lost his left arm and replaced it with a powerful looking cybernetic limb. A heavy ornate bolter hung from his belt and the gold bound pommel of a power sword peeked out from under his inquisitorial coat, the Imperial Aquila glinting in the light whenever he moved. He clutched a sheaf of documents in his hand, his lips twitching as he read through them. There was an air of enormous dignity about the man that was not lost even in the simple act. Volorus found that he was rather filled with awe at the mere presence of the other inquisitor, and so, while Arvor had taken a good part of an hour perusing the documents, Volorus did not interrupt him. Instead he slouched in a chair in a corner of his office with a glass of wine in his hand and a decanter on a low table nearby, watching the other inquisitor quietly, waiting for him to speak.

Finally, Arvor grunted and delicately placed the documents back on Volorus' desk. "I believe that the contents of these documents fall more within the area of expertise of the Ordo Malleus, my lord Volorus." His voice was low, his words slow, clear, and impeccably enunciated.

"Indeed they do, my lord," Volorus returned, refilling his glass. "I figured, however, that you should have an understanding of the crisis that we are all about to face."

"Then you have succeeded, Volorus. The matter of the thirteenth Black Crusade, however, is the responsibility of the inquisitors of the Ordo Malleus, as is all things Chaos."

"You are right, Arvor, but that is not the aid that I am requesting for. The information contained within those documents have already been presented to the High Lords of Terra themselves." He scratched his cheek. "I have recently had an encounter with a few xenos, my lord. A couple of eldar. We worked together for a while toward a common goal, and I must say that I rather liked her when we parted ways."

"I am in no position to give you a pardon, Volorus," Arvor said with a perfectly straight face.

"No, Arvor. I learned much in those few weeks. The eldar are working toward the same goal that we are, my lord. The destruction of Chaos."

"Ah," Arvor said delicately. "You want to work together with them."

"I do. And so do the High Lords of Terra. You and I both know that Chaos is the greater enemy of the two."

"Now I understand. You want the inquisitors of the Ordo Xenos to cease the hunt of eldar."

"And not only cessation, Arvor. Cooperation."

"You overestimate the influence that I have over my colleagues, Volorus. What makes you think that I can control their actions?"

"Uriel assured me that you hold enormous authority among the Ordo Xenos, my lord."

Arvor's lips twitched. "I would not be so quick to take Uriel's word for it, however. He sometimes overstate things."

"I have never noticed that."

"No, I don't think that you might have." He leaned back in his seat. "Assume that the inquisitors agree to cooperate with the eldar, Volorus. How far should they take things?"

"That is their prerogative. All I am looking for is a situation where we aren't fighting each other. The war with Chaos is likely to be difficult enough without that getting in our way."

"Old grudges and slights do not go away overnight, Volorus."

"No, but we can at least try. My most recent encounter with an Ordo Xenos inquisitor wasn't exactly pleasant. He bordered on the fanatic. Reigning these individuals in would go a long way to fighting this war."

"Of course. What will you be doing, then?"

Volorus smiled. "I think that I would like to make more eldar friends. Make sure that no inquisitor of the Ordo Xenos tries to stop me, will you?"

Estoris did not much like the forgemaster of Karis. He was a stuffy man with what some would call an attention to detail. Estoris thought it just made him picky to the point of being obtrusive. Estoris did not like such people. They got in the way of things and usually let minute details cloud their good judgement. Normally, Estoris would leave the task of procurement to the non-militant branches of the Adepta Sororitas. The matter that was at hand, however, was one of certain delicacy.

The forgemaster lived on the moon of Karis III. It was a barren rock, the thrum of the atmospheric generators all throughout the moon the only sound that there was. There was only a single building on the moon, a large structure that was almost a palace. Its lord was the forgemaster, its servants the many great machines that whirred and groaned in construction of various tools. Its knights and guards were legions of automatons and servitors and turrets that tracked her as she moved, and its wings were not long empty halls but shipyards that stretched out all over the planet and orbited the space around the moon, some with ships that were ready to sail the stars and others with nothing more than their ribs laid down.

Through the front gates of the palace the battle sister went, where she was met immediately by chittering robots that scurried upon four heavy legs and trained upon her each with the barrels of a dozen different guns. Estoris took her Sororitas rosary from under a red sash tied around her hip and held it out. The servitors took a moment to scan the rosary and finally stepped aside, their weapons breaking their lock upon her. Estoris tucked the seal back under the sash and went through the ranks of the servitor guards, heading directly for the office of the forgemaster.

She found him hunched behind a bench prodding at a machine of some kind and jotting in a tightly rolled scroll. He scowled when he saw her and put his pen and scroll down, grumbling under his breath.

"Am I disturbing you?" Estoris asked politely.

"No," the forgemaster replied with obviously feigned enthusiasm. "I am always eager to be given the honor of serving a member of the clergy."

"Good," Estoris said briskly, ignoring the sarcasm in his voice. "I am here to talk to you about the procurement of certain resources for the order."

The forgemaster's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "The ammunition and bolters of the last shipment have been properly blessed and the machine spirits of the vehicles were content when they were sent to your order. I checked all of it myself, so any problems has to do with the lack of care from your order's tech-priests."

"It's not about the last shipment," Estoris said quickly. "The order has need of more ships."

"More?" the forgemaster echoed, his expression incredulous. "Forgive me, my lady, but the Order of the Martyred Saints has already too many naval assets."

"'Naval assets'? The order does not own any naval assets, forgemaster, only space-borne chapels. As a loyal and faithful servant of the Holy Emperor, you would not deny the construction of more chapels, would you?"

"I am a devout man, my lady, but I have trouble believing that any single order of the ecclesiarch requires so many chapels. The militant branch of your order alone already owns more ships than some sector fleets."

"My sisters are very devoted, forgemaster. Apparently, the same could not be said for you."

The forgemaster's lips thinned. "I know full well what your so-called chapels are, Estoris. They are warships, with the armaments and defenses of warships. You know as well as I do that the Adepta Sororitas is not allowed to possess ships of war."

"But they are not ships of war, forgemaster. They are chapels that sail the stars so that the Adepta Sororitas may give prayers up to the Emperor even when away from their monasteries. I am sure that you understand that."

"And the weapons and void shields and combat-grade hulls?"

"Simple protection, forgemaster. The journeys through space and the Warp are filled with danger. Surely you would agree that we need to defend ourselves in these circumstances. Surely a pious servant of the Emperor such as yourself would not wish to see any of His chapels destroyed."

"You could make all the excuses you want, my lady, but the purpose of the ships are very clear."

"Forgemaster," Estoris said in a formal tone, drawing her sword and leaning upon it, "are you attempting to prevent the construction of the Emperor's chapels? That is the work of heretics, and heretics are judged most harshly."

"Are you threatening me?" the forgemaster asked, his eyes bulging.

"No, good forgemaster," Estoris replied pleasantly, "only describing what I see."

The forgemaster spluttered in outrage, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly a few times. Estoris let him do so for a while, then hefted her sword meaningfully.

"Well?" she asked.

"You will have two dozen space-borne chapels by the end of the week," he said shortly.

"Don't forget the defenses, forgemaster," Estoris said sweetly. "We would not want to see His holy sanctuaries destroyed, would we?"

"No," came the grudging reply. "Of course not."

"It is always good to see one repent and return to the holy fold of the Emperor."

The shuttle carrying Inquisitor Uriel swooped down onto Cephanos V like a hawk that had caught sight of its prey. At least, that was how Uriel envisioned it. In truth, that was probably a reasonably accurate assessment of the situation. Governor Sagard's message had been rather urgent. Uriel did not normally take the request of governors for his services whenever they were called for. Indeed, he quite frequently preferred to show up unannounced and do the Emperor's work, usually to the unanimous and short-lived protests of any locals who might be present. In this instance, however, he felt that his intervention was really quite necessary.

His pilot put the shuttle down on the landing pad at the top of the main building. The governor was waiting for him. The young man had changed quite a bit since the last time Uriel had seen him. His shoulders were straighter, his countenance less unsure, and there was just a hint of sternness on his boyish face.

"My lord," he called as Uriel stepped out of the shuttle with his guard forming up behind him. "I am honored that you have taken the time to aid me."

"Save that for the Imperium's officials, governor," Uriel said briskly. "Let's get down to business. What's the problem here, exactly? Your message wasn't very detailed."

"I was a little pressed for time," the young governor replied, abashed. "I am having some trouble with the local nobility."

"I gathered that much." Uriel cast his eyes meaningfully around them. "I think that this conversation might be better held someplace else, though, wouldn't you agree?"

"Of course, my lord. I should've thought of that myself."

"Let's not waste any time then."

They went to Sagard's sparse office. Uriel's guards checked the room for threats and devices that should not be there. They carefully inspected its walls for spies. They checked the furniture for hidden dangers. They looked out its windows at length for signs of potential threats. When they were finally satisfied, they withdrew to stand guard outside the door of the office. Without invitation, Uriel drew up a chair and sat himself.

"All right," he said when he had made himself comfortable, "why don't you start your account?"

Sagard nodded. "Well, my lord, when you left, I began changing a few policies. I started small, like you suggested – rebuilding the palace, strengthening its defenses, that sort of thing. The nobles weren't too happy about it, but they weren't too vocal at first. I guess your last visit was still fresh on their minds."

"I think I see where this is going," Uriel sighed. "When did the open protests start, and what was the catalyst?"

"It's not quite that bad yet, my lord," Sagard responded quickly, flushing. "I thought that my position is secure enough, so about a week ago I introduced a tax increase. As it turns out, the nobility, traders, and assorted wealthy families weren't too happy about it. A couple of days ago I discovered that a few of the most powerful families are plotting a coup."

"A coup?" Uriel straightened. He pushed himself to his feet. "Excuse me for one moment, governor." He moved some way off, pulling his vox unit from under his coat. It crackled for an instant, then the voice of the admiral of his fleet in orbit came over the line.

"My lord?" she asked crisply.

"Sephon, the nobles are not revolting. They are plotting a coup."

"That doesn't sound good. I take it that you'll want me to halt the armored drops, then?"

"Actually, I was thinking of the exact opposite. I think that we should create an impression in the nobles. I wouldn't want to have to come back again a few months from now."

"Understood, my lord. Would you want to deploy all battlegroups, then?"

"That's what I had in mind."

"I'll pass word to the captains. Do you need the vehicles urgently? I could send in the vehicles that are already ready to be deployed."

"No, I can wait. We want to make a show of force, and dribbling in our forces a few dozen at a time doesn't make for a very impressive showing."

"Understood. Is there anything else that you'll need?"

"Send Noshan and his entourage down. Volorus would probably be insulted if we don't make use of their talents, wouldn't you say?"

"Would you like me to send the rest of your honor guard down as well?"

Uriel pursed his lips. "I don't see why not. Let me know when the tanks are on their way."

"I know what to do, my lord."

"I knew I could count on you."

Noshan arrived fifteen minutes later, and with him were his psyker entourage and a score of red-liveried soldiers in heavy carapace armor. The psykers were all robed and hooded, and the soldiers kept a wary distance between themselves and the cowled figures. The psykers moved in a strange swaying, stately walk, their arms clasped before them, buried in the wide sleeves of their garments. The psykers chanted as they marched, not in High nor Low Gothic, but in a meaningless tongue that was designed with the sole purpose of sounding impressive. The soldiers, unused to the antics of Volorus' psykers, cast frequent uncomfortable glances at them as they walked.

Uriel was notified of the psykers' arrival by one of the guards stationed at the door to Sagard's office. For some reason, the man seemed a little nervous. Governor Sagard was in no better condition when the soldier left the room.

"They're not going to be too much of a danger, are they?" he asked as they sat waiting.

"Of course not. Why would you ask that?"

"I've heard some strange things about psykers," Sagard said defensively. "They're all supposed to be crazy or something, and blast apart anything around them if they get too excited."

"Do you really think that I would have someone like that in my entourage?" Uriel asked, amused.

"I don't know, my lord. I heard there are machines that sort of keep that all locked up until they are needed in combat, then…" He clasped his hands together, then pulled them apart in a quick gesture.

"You might want to read up on the subject, Sagard. Sanctioned psykers are a lot more reliable, and I only hire the best."

"That's a relief." A small frown creased his brow. "They are going to be wearing cowls, aren't they? I've heard that psykers are all incredibly ugly and deformed."

"Don't let them hear you say that, Sagard." Uriel tapped his fingers on the governor's desk. "You've met Noshan before, and a couple of eldar – they're psykers too, you know. You should know that the deformity's not synonymous with psychic power."

"Oh. I guess I never thought of that."

"It's the unsanctioned psykers that you have to watch out for," Uriel said solemnly. "Those have trouble controlling their psychic power, which tends to overflow if they aren't in a specific emotional balance, which is where the rumors of psykers creating earthquakes and firestorms when they get angry come from. Unfortunately, the psychic power dribbles out of their ears if they don't let it out once in a while, so their faces start getting blotted and splotchy, and since all that psychic power gets very heavy, they are all horribly hunched and need walking sticks."

"Is that what those are?" Sagard exclaimed. "I'd always thought they were magic staffs."

Uriel sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose. "You really have to get a few books on psykers, Sagard. There are a lot of things that you don't seem to know. For example, do you know why psykers squint so much?"

"That's because a lot of them are really old, isn't it?"

"Well, yes, but they can cure their poor eyesight anytime they want. No, the real reason is because, if they open their eyes too wide, their psychic power will come flowing out in the form of lasers and obliterate anything they look at."

Sagard grew pale, then his eyes narrowed. "Hang it all, my lord. If they can cure their eyesight, why can't they cure their bodies?"

"Who knows why psykers do anything, Sagard? Half of them are crazy, the other half have their brains squashed so much by the psychic power in their head they can't think straight."

Then the door opened and Noshan strode into the room. Behind him came his entourage. They had not lowered their hoods and were still assuming their strange swaying gait, and Sagard visibly shrank back in his seat.

"Shut the door," Uriel instructed the psykers, beckoning them to seat themselves.

"Your admiral told me that the governor here's staring in the face of a coup?" Noshan asked, lowering his cowl and sitting himself on the seat next to Uriel.

"That's right. How is the deployment of the vehicles coming along?"

"It seems to be going quite well, as closely as I can determine. Your admiral and captains seem to know what they're doing. I'd say that they should be done in a couple of hours."

Uriel rubbed at his chin. "That'll make it about noon." He turned to Sagard. "Give me a map of Cephanos V, and point out where all the ringleaders of the pro-coup faction are."

"You're not going to attack them, are you?" Sagard asked, aghast.

"Of course not. I'm just going to invite them all to the palace. I figured that I'll parade a few tanks in front of their mansions, though, sort of to help them decide if they are going to come along to the party. We want all of our guests to be here, after all."

Noshan nodded. "What do you want us to do, then?" he asked, gesturing at the robed and hooded figures around him.

Uriel smiled slyly. "I'm sure you'll figure it out when the time comes."

Sagard placed a cogitator on his desk. Above it hovered a holographic projection of Cephanos V. A dozen estates, scattered all around the planet, had been highlighted in red. Uriel absently noted that they all appeared to be disproportionally large compared to the structures and compounds around them.

"Are these all the ringleaders, then?" Uriel asked, studying the hologram.

"The ones that I have discovered, anyway. At least, the ones that are still alive. The Adeptus Arbites have recently established a Courthouse here, and they have sentenced a few of the nobles already."

Uriel nodded. "I sent a request to the Arbites after my last visit. I figured that this planet could do with some of the Imperium's enforcers. I am guessing that the Arbites do not yet have quite a large enough force to really make an impression on the nobility. My troops will round the nobility up. I want you to send your soldiers out to the districts closest to the palace in force. I think it's time to take power back from the nobles and merchants. A sufficient show of force should be enough to cow any troops in the employ of the nobility to give up. Volorus ran into some of them the last time he was here, and they appear to be nothing more than bully-boys. I don't expect that they would hold up under the threat of force very well." He sighed. "If the nobles put up any resistance, we might not be able to keep casualties down."

"Don't concern yourself so much with that," Noshan said. "The nobles might be reveling in their power just a little too much, but openly opposing the forces of an inquisitor is quite another matter."

"You would think that, but they don't appear to be taking the Adeptus Arbites very seriously."

"The Adeptus Arbites do not keep a force anywhere near the size of ours, my lord," one of Noshan's entourage, a woman named Sylana, noted.

"It is this that I'm worried about. When you get right down to it, there's not much difference between the Inquisition and the Adeptus Arbites except for our field of work. The nobles could very well have grown too confident of their own abilities, and these things have a tendency to get ugly. I'd rather not lose any troops if I can avoid it."

"We'll send word to the local Courthouse," Sylana suggested. "You could request the Arbites turn their police force out in full. If the nobles see an army of arbitrators and another belonging to an inquisitor marching through their streets, they might just be cowed into submission." Then she looked at Sagard in irritation. "Why do you keep staring at my ears?" she asked the governor crossly.

"Nothing," Sagard replied quickly, flushing and lowering his eyes.

"Are you telling stories about unsanctioned psykers again, my lord?" Noshan asked in an exasperated tone.

"We have more pressing matters to attend to, Noshan," Uriel replied quickly.

One of Noshan's eyebrows raised curiously, but he let the matter drop.

Uriel's forces started their drop only a little more than an hour later. Thousands upon thousands of gunships and interceptors came flying through the atmosphere like a million little comets. Behind them came the transports, filled with everything from squads of red-liveried soldiers to Baneblades and assorted other super-heavy tanks. The collective growling of their engines sent tremors through the ground and left a sense of elation and pride in Uriel's breast. With their customary efficiency soldiers of the Second Fleet spread out across the labyrinthine hive city. Tanks rumbled through its streets and soldiers marched in lockstep, loudly proclaiming the will of the Ordo Hereticus inquisitor. The common citizenry of Cephanos V took one look at the red-liveried troops which had only so recently visited and fled. Shutters and doors banged shut all up and down the hastily emptied streets, and there were few obstructions as Uriel's troops went by. Some few of the nobility and traders, unfortunately, attempted to do the same. The soldiers of the Second Fleet did not take too kindly to that. They turned the guns of their tanks upon the estates of those that sought to hide away. It was a crude method of persuasion, but one that has proven effective in the past.

Having thus secured the attention of the lords and ladies of Cephanos V, Uriel's invitations were personally delivered to each family. The elite of Cephanos V were told in no uncertain terms to make their way to the square before the governor's palace. Some few of the more obstinate individuals protested just a little too loudly, until Uriel's tanks drowned them out with cannon fire. One particular fellow, far gone in drink and assorted exotic substances, actually kept protesting even when three Leman Russes had reduced his beautiful manor to no more than rubble and dust. It was only when he was staring down the barrel of a Baneblade's main gun that the light of understanding dawned ever so slowly in his eyes and his screeching abruptly stopped. It is a little hard to keep objecting when one is staring down the barrel of a gun that could level entire city blocks. With the Baneblade rumbling ominously behind him, the noble was bundled up to join his friends before the palace. Grimly, Uriel's troops herded the nobles and merchants to the grounds before the palace gates.

Uriel stood waiting for them on a platform that had been hastily erected. In a moment of inspiration, a podium had been placed prominently upon the stage, and displayed proudly at the front of the podium was the red, white, and black seal of the Holy Inquisition. Noshan and his psykers stood flanking Uriel, their heads bowed, cowls pulled low over their faces, chanting in their strange tongue.

As Uriel had anticipated, the carefully staged display greatly awed the elite of Cephanos V. They mingled around before the platform, warily eyeing te seal of the Inquisition. The tension was almost palpable. The ring of tanks that surrounded the area where the crowd was probably did little to help ease the mood. Uriel waited for a few minutes to allow the nobles before him grow apprehensive, then stepped up to the podium. Instantly the crowd grew still.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Uriel began, his voice artfully absent, almost bored, "only a couple of Terran months ago, I visited your city. What transpired should be still fresh in your minds, so I shall be brief. I had hoped that the incident would have placed the fear of the Inquisition and the seat of Terra within you. It appears now that I have been overly optimistic in my assumption. I believe, then, that further instruction is needed." He tilted his head slightly and, at the prearranged signal, a score of richly dressed men and women were escorted onto the platform by three squads of Uriel's grim faced soldiers. The gasp that rose from the watching crowd was plainly audible. The individuals were all of notable repute, and there were shackles around their wrists and ankles. Uriel carefully surveyed the crowd. They wore stricken expressions, and some few were outraged, but none of them dared to openly object. Uriel took that to be a good sign. He levelled his hand at the prisoners beside him. "You see before you traitors to the Imperium, guilty of plotting against the governor of Cephanos V without good cause. The Imperium does not tolerate he who seeks only to serve his own interests." Turning to the prisoners, he said, "with the power vested in me by the ancient and esteemed order of the Emperor's Holy Inquisition, I find you, one and all, guilty of the obstruction of the Emperor's will and the Imperium's purpose, and hereby charge and condemn you as traitors, your souls forfeit, your titles and assets revoked, and your minds no longer yours to claim." He waved an arm, and the soldiers standing by the prisoners levelled their lasguns. The condemned nobles barely had time to cry out before they were rather messily executed.

Uriel turned calmly back to the shocked crowd before him. "You forget that there is a government greater than yours, and titles far nobler and weightier than those that you hold. It is a greater throne that bestowed you your titles, and you serve at its pleasure. There are grander things afoot than the scheming of this world. You will turn your attention and your efforts to greater events, or you will be branded traitor also. My psykers shall look now into your minds. Any treachery that you have wrought or seek to wreak shall not go unpunished. Imperial justice shall account in all things, and not even you, great as you deem yourself to be, shall evade it." He turned on his heels then and walked away from the platform, leaving Noshan and his entourage to move among the crows and pronounce their judgement.

Sagard's expression was faintly elated as the two of them made their way back to his office. "That was great!" he exclaimed enthusiastically as soon as they were out of sight of the nobles, his young face coming alight.

"I know, Sagard," Uriel said absently. Then he grinned tightly. "If the Emperor wills it, the rest of the nobility will fall in line after this." Then his expression grew serious. "Listen closely, Sagard. You'll have a lot of work ahead of you. The families of those we killed are going to be very upset with you after this."

"You killed them," Sagard objected.

"Don't be naïve, governor. You are a much easier target than I am, and angry people aren't too rational. The Adeptus Arbites will probably help you with keeping order. The nobles are as unlikely to cross them as they are the Inquisition. The next thing that you'll need to do is to fill up the places within the nobility."

"How am I supposed to do that?"

"Give titles to a few sensible people from the lower class."

"I don't think the nobles will like that very much."

"That's just too bad for them, then, isn't it? If they have any objections, they could take that up with the Adeptus Arbites. I am sure their Judges could find precedent for this somewhere. Failing that, great troubles are upon us, and we cannot afford political unrest on even a single world. This I am sure the Judges can find precedent for. Now, this is the important part. As soon as the Arbitrators have beat some sense into the nobility, you have to raise taxes and increase training of your troops. I will ensure that you will have the full support of the Adeptus Arbites in getting your planet up to Imperial standards. Do this well, Sagard, and do it quickly. The Imperium would soon have need of every resource you could muster, so let none of it go to waste."