Author's Note: A while ago I promised some Sisters of Battle. Here they are!


Delyria, 2.31 AVY:

Zara Kentarian paused in her writing, allowing the ink to dry before she turned the page. She held the fountain pen near her cheek as she composed her next thoughts. The air of her cell was choked with candle smoke, which did not aid concentration.

She was some thousands of words into describing the adventures of Saint Lorre Elisarus, the Redeemer, who had faced the heretical Dzhomite Cult and burnt one thousand nonbelievers on a makeshift pyre.

How best to describe the twisting flames, the screeching of a thousand pitiful wretches as they perished? Zara ought to know; she had been there. She had stood at Saint Elisarus' side during the executions, though Zara had ultimately returned from that cursed world, and Elisarus had not.

In a few chapters she would be writing about Elisarus' death at the hands of the dreaded Heretic Astartes. While she hadn't witnessed that particular event, the few Sororitas who'd survived it reported that the Saint had manifested a red-hot lance of the Emperor's wrath, with which she had slain three Astartes and pierced the armor of a Dreadnought before finally falling in His service. These were deeds of legend, and Zara owed it to her dead friend to write a proper account of her martyrdom.

But she was getting ahead of herself. She was still on the Burning of the Dzhomites. Confident that the ink was dry, she flipped over the page to its as-yet unmarked reverse side, and pressed pen to paper:

I stood on the Saint's left-hand side, looking out from the governor's balcony over the city square where we had built our pyre. It was thirty meters to a side, packed with heretics atop a bed of promethium-soaked planks, and at each corner stood a sister with a flamer. Devouring heat and untold misery awaited these wretched souls, both here and in the world beyond; the Emperor's wrath was soon to descend upon them with the force of a boot stamping on some pitiful insect.

She paused. She had used the insect metaphor a few pages before, when discussing the campaign against the Dzhomite fortress at Ghuzimir. There had to be some other way to—

There was a knock at the door, breaking her concentration. She looked over her shoulder, then set down the pen and stood. The joints of her armor whirred. She was not planning to fight today—this was a tranquil world, far removed from most of the galaxy's horrors—but it was all too easy to forget the subtleties of Sororitas power armor, and so she wore it like a second skin, removed only when she slept.

Her cell was not large. Within seconds she was across it, standing by the entrance, and she pressed a finger to the activation rune. The door slid away to reveal another woman in power armor waiting outside.

It was Canoness Commander Irene Rasczak, leader of the Sixth Commandery. Under her tutelage served the two hundred Battle-Sisters of the shrine-fortress at Delyria. Like Zara, she wore stark black cloth around the plates of her armor—mourning Katherine, the patron saint of the Order of Our Martyred Lady, who had perished fighting the Witch-cult of Mnestteus—and, also like Zara, she had bleached white hair down to her shoulders, commemorating another founding Sister, Alicia Dominica, whose hair had turned white upon meeting the Emperor Himself. There was a wealth of history in the Adepta Sororitas. Many heroes for today's warriors and martyrs to live up to.

"Sister Kentarian," Rasczak said. "Your writing goes well, I hope?"

"Well enough, Canoness," replied Zara. "We all know that the deeds of saints are not easily described."

"I am sure you can manage." The Canoness frowned. "Unfortunately, you will have to part with your work for the time being. There are ill tidings from elsewhere in the Scarus Sector."

There were always ill tidings from somewhere, in this age of trials and tribulations. Sometimes it seemed the whole galaxy was coming apart. "Is it greenskins? Another heretic incursion?"

"Come. Let us discuss." Rasczak stepped back, and beckoned for Zara to follow her into the corridor outside. Zara shut the cell door behind her. The two Sisters walked together down the empty hallway, between tall stone walls lit by flickering torchlight, while songs of prayer and penance echoed softly from a far-off chapel. This was a peaceful place; the last time anybody here had seen combat was more than a year before, when the First and Second Missions had been dispatched to deal with an uprising of iconoclasts on a nearby planet.

"We have a guest who brought us the news," Rasczak continued. "Inquisitor Miletus."

Zara raised an eyebrow. "Miletus? Here?"

"His ship pulled into orbit an hour ago. I only found out by the time he'd descended to the spaceport."

They entered a long gallery adjacent to the Sisters' dormitory, where display cases housed suits of power armor damaged in ancient battles. Here was a hole punched by a heretic bolter two thousand years ago; there, scorch marks sustained at the Assault on Lemas Prime.

"And why wasn't I informed earlier?"

The Canoness shot her an unforgiving look. "Know your place, Palatine. I was busy hearing what the Inquisitor had to say."

Zara was technically Rasczak's second-in-command, though one wouldn't be able to tell that just by eavesdropping on them. A Palatine deserved more respect than she generally got.

The cruel thing was, Zara had nearly gotten a command of her own. She had been on the shortlist for a post leading the Seventh Commandery, until she was undercut by what reeked of favoritism by the Canoness Preceptor. The Preceptor's closest protegé—and, as the most scandalous rumors had it, lover—had received the command instead, her general lack of experience notwithstanding, while Zara had ended up relegated to a supporting role in the Sixth Commandery.

She would prove herself, one of these days. The Canoness Preceptor would regret sidelining her. For now, though, she deferred to her superior through gritted teeth.

"I apologize, Canoness. I was impudent."

"You were. But I digress; there is work we must attend to."

They left the gallery behind, passing onto a walkway running along the outside of the building. There was a strong and salty ocean breeze. To the left were the walls and Gothic arches of the convent, towering far overhead, and to the left, beyond a balustrade, was a wide and tranquil harbor, where the spires of Delyria's third-largest city met the indigo waves. Watercraft ventured into and out of the docks, some carrying a handful of passengers, while others were full-fledged ships bound for destinations far across the sea. Aside from the Sororitas convent here and a perpetually bored PDF garrison, this world bore few signs of war. How long would that last?

"You still haven't told me who the enemy is," Zara said.

"That's because nobody is entirely sure." Rasczak proceeded at a swift pace, amplified by the motorized joints of her power armor. Zara kept up easily. "Here's what we know: around thirty-five days ago, an unknown fleet attacked several of our worlds, bombarding them from orbit until there was nothing left but slag. Only at Graval Prime did the Imperial Navy force a battle and drive the enemy away."

Zara frowned. "How many planets did we lose?"

"Unknown. News travels slowly. But Miletus believes the number is at least eight, distributed more or less randomly across the sector."

"When did he hear of it?"

"The cruiser he's been traveling aboard, the Absolution, picked up an astropathic communication some time ago. The message was fragmented and disjointed, as they tend to be, but it communicated the basics. Apparently the enemy vessels were of a type never seen before."

"Curious."

"That's not the half of it."

Seagulls squawked out in the harbor, while waves lapped against the quays and jetties and short stretches of stony beach. Zara and Rasczak turned a corner, bringing them onto the side of the hexagonal convent which faced the open ocean, and just a few paces away stood three people, by the balustrade—Inquisitor Miletus and his small retinue.

Besides Miletus, Zara recognized Orana Pellas, a Guard veteran who often accompanied him on his adventures. She was from the world of Pirea, some planet on the Eastern Fringe that had recently resisted a tyranid invasion and accumulated many experienced soldiers as a result. Her armor, moulded on the Cadian pattern, was green with splashes of brown paint, and the barrel of a lasgun jutted from behind her shoulder.

The other agent was a techpriest Zara had never seen before. He wore the standard Mechanicum garb—red robe and hood fluttering in the sea breeze, glowing green eyepiece—though he had fewer cybernetic modifications than most of his fellows, remaining recognizably human.

Miletus himself was as impressive as he had been the last time she'd seen him, during the campaign against the heretical Dzhomites, though he had put on a little weight since then. He wore a thick green jacket and cape, adorned with all the accoutrements of an esteemed servant of the God-Emperor: aiguillettes, gold ribbons, plus more practical additions such as a sword, a carrying pouch, and Krak grenades. His hair was short, a buzz cut. There was a long scar across his brow and cheek—inflicted, it was rumored, by a possessed Space Marine of the Word Bearers Legion. Twin servo-skulls hovered over either shoulder, watching.

"Canoness Commander. Palatine." Miletus said, as the Sisters approached. "It is good to see you again, Palatine Kentarian. You will have previously met Orana Pellas, my combat specialist, but let me introduce Zoron Tacytalis, of the Adeptus Mechanicus." He gestured towards the tech-priest. "Has your commander already filled you in on the new developments?"

"Only the basics," Rasczak said, before Zara could reply for herself.

"No worries. We will have ample time to discuss the situation on our voyage out, not that we know too much at this point."

Zara raised an eyebrow. "We are leaving Delyria?"

"You are leaving Delyria," Rasczak told her. "You will take the Third Mission and assist the Inquisitor in securing whatever objectives he may require. I would prefer to go myself—frankly, I don't think you're really up to the task—but there are complications that keep me here."

"I see." Zara knew better than to ask about the "complications." "And what are these new developments, Inquisitor? My Canoness only told me that an unknown fleet struck several of our worlds."

Miletus nodded. "They came completely without warning. Twenty grey, wedge-shaped vessels, never before seen, appeared near Graval Prime and started bombarding the planet below, then engaged a Navy flotilla that happened to be refueling there. We lost one ship; they lost three. The battered carcass of one of them remains in orbit, I am told."

"I take it we are heading to Graval Prime?"

"Yes. We will be able to gather more information at the site of the battle, instead of waiting for reports to trickle through astropaths and passing freighters."

"Are they xenos or heretics?"

The Inquisitor smirked, an expression that looked uncanny on his scarred face. "Now, there's the question. Last I heard, local authorities were planning to board the crippled ship to find out, but I have heard nothing of the results." He raised a finger. "The Ordo Xenos will be on the case, too. It is imperative that we get there first and dictate terms, even if these new enemies really are xenos—I know that the other Inquisitors will take every opportunity to steal what should be our department."

Not all Imperial organizations got along perfectly. The Ordo Xenos and the Ordo Hereticus were no exception, and that wasn't even getting into the disputes between the Radicals and the Puritans within the Inquisition. Zara knew that Miletus had his fair share of rivals.

"I see," Zara said. She glanced at the Canoness. "And when will we leave?"

"As soon as your command is ready. Make it a matter of hours."

"Understood. I will alert the other Sisters, then. Canoness, can you arrange for a civilian shuttle to the Absolution?"

Rasczak nodded. Zara fought to repress a smile. This was it, an independent command away from the overbearing rule of the Canoness. A Mission was not a large force-about five squads, or fifty Sisters—but attached to an Inquisitorial retinue it could make quite the difference. With Miletus they would end up right where they were most critical, that was for sure. And that would bring plenty of opportunities to prove her skill...

She might yet get a Commandery of her own, sooner than expected. Zara looked out across the ocean, where the sun had descended halfway behind a bank of clouds, and realized she had been waiting for a chance to leave this all-too-peaceful world behind. Glory was out there.

"Canoness, Inquisitor—if you will excuse me, I have preparations to make."

"Walk in the Emperor's light, Kentarian," Miletus said.

She made the sign of the Aquila, then turned and walked back the way she'd come.


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