Armorum Fidei Chapter 48

The cold sun glared into Toran's organic eye as he stepped down the ramp of Pride of Lujan but he endured as he cast his gaze over the encircled Train-cities. It had been a hectic two weeks since the battle was won, spent chasing down the dregs of the Psybrid army as they scattered across the barren algal fields. There had been no strategy to their flight, mere instinct driving the multitudes of aliens to flee. Without their Psybrid Masters to hold the leash their slave army descended into mindless creatures, unable to think for themselves. Putting them down had been an inglorious task but one the Storm Heralds dutifully undertook, while the mortals cleaned up the battlefield itself.

Toran noted several more Train-cities had joined the three survivors of the battle, late but welcome in restoration efforts. The Ecclesiarchy's mobile chapel remained where Toran had last seen it, leaning forlornly in the distance. It had limped in a five-kilometre circle for several hours after the battle until its mechanisms finally seized and it ground to a halt. Toran didn't know if it could be restored but that was not his concern, the disposition of his Marines was.

He strode on and spied Sergeant Lorath lurking near an idling Rhino. The Assault-sergeant seemed inordinately pleased with himself and called, "Brother-Captain, good to see you back, at last."

"Am I the last to return?" Toran enquired.

"By several hours," Lorath sniffed, "I trust the hunting was good."

"Not really, just some Vespid, we had to pick them off one by one."

Lorath grinned as he boasted, "I claimed another Psybrid head!"

Toran raised an eyebrow and mused, "What's that, four?"

"Five!" Lorath crowed, "Orath will eat his heart out."

"Give my regards to the Terminator-Sergeant when you see him."

"So... we're headed home?"

"That is what we will soon find out."

With that Toran left, seeking his fellow leaders. He passed gangs of mortal labouring to drag black girders into heaps, where they would be shattered into dust by tracked vehicles driving over them. Nobody understood what function they served but the Ecclesiarchy had declared them Heretical by nature and Toran wasn't inclined to argue. Elsewhere preachers stood over crowds of attentive men and women, teaching the eager masses about the God-Emperor. The victory over the Psybrids had cemented the supremacy of the Imperial Creed in their hearts and the old ways were dropped like rotten ration bars. Toran didn't doubt soon every Train-city on the planet would join them in taking up the ways of the faith, a prospect as worrying as it was heartening, but that was beyond his remit.

He soon found who he was looking for, Raynek and Furion. The Sixth Captain was standing by Triumph of Progress, oddly protective over the forlorn tank. The crew had died in glory but the Machine endured, Toran expected a new crew would take it to war soon, if they could prise Raynek off its bow. Furion stood proud beside him, the Chaplain had been among the handful of survivors who emerged from the ruin of Currens Ecclesia, having fought their way out through feral swarms of rabid aliens. He had told them of Polarus' death, surprisingly noble for the bitter cur but then Furion had a way of bringing out the best in people.

There was one other present, Justini, minus her Paragon Warsuit. The potent war machine lay in state, awaiting sanctifications and repairs. Without it she seemed lesser, not only in stature but in persona, her anger banked like a cooling fire, but her fierce will remained iron. Toran judged her zealotry had only increased with the victory, now if she could only get some training in how to swing an axe properly, she would become something truly dangerous.

Furion saw him coming and called, "Brother-Captain, we are heartened to have you join us!"

"Brother-Chaplain, Captain... honoured Sister. I am glad to have made it in time."

"You haven't missed anything," Raynek snorted, "They are still circling, looking for a landing zone."

Justini seemed concerned as she asked, "So who exactly is coming down from orbit?"

Toran sighed, "Vox-missives were vague. We heard an Imperial Fleet exiting the Warp three days after the battle and have exchanged numerous reports, but they refuse to name their commander."

"Probably Inquisition," Furion snorted, "They love to play in the shadows."

"With Crusade support elements, an entire Taskgroup" Raynek pointed out, "More than enough to scare off the Psybrid vessels. They hightailed it out of here the second our ships emerged, fleeing with their tails between their legs."

Justini frowned, "Wasn't that awfully quick?"

Toran explained, "Eleven days from the warp translation point to the habitable zone, hardly exceptional. As for their swift warp transit, we can only assume our Strike Cruiser got the word out. Tectum must have dispatched reinforcements as the highest priority to relieve us."

"So then, back to your Chapter?"

Raynek confirmed, "And the next war, such is our lives. Though I do wonder what to report of all this, especially Polarus. What will they say of us?"

"We tell the truth," Furion stated, "All the mistakes, all the great deeds, our actions will be judged on merit."

Toran mused "We defeated an alien incursion, and saved a world. Our Firstborn and Primaris brethren overcame their differences and united as one. The dubious actions of Polarus will fade into insignificance compared to that. A dead hero is better in the annals than a shamed fool."

Furion sighed, "Perhaps if he lived he may have learned to be a better Marine than he was... but we shall never know. Polarus died well, let that be an end to it."

Raynek looked up and said, "Hate to break up the self-congratulations but here they come." Toran squinted and saw a lone Aquilla shuttle descending, without escort or heraldry. Its hull was sleek and unadorned, left bare metal so none could identify it. Inquisition, Toran guessed, had to be. The Aquilla set down near them and the four strode over, eager to meet this elusive commander and get back to the stars.

Raynek quipped, "When we get back I'm personally escorting Triumph of Progress to the Forges for repairs."

"Get in line," Toran snorted, "I will not rest until the Sword of Thiel is consecrated by the finest Techmarine we have. I haven't dared draw it since the fight."

Justini sighed, "I pray will see a convent at all, there has been no word from the Cardinal as to the Sororitas'..."

She trailed off as the party ground to a halt in shock. Emerging from the Aquilla was no Inquisitor Lord, no shadowy agent of the Emperor's Left hand. Instead came a lithe woman in silver armour. Her plate was slimmer than even Justini's but masterfully wrought and engraved with heraldic icons Toran had only ever seen on the Adeptus Custodes, reserved exclusively for those closest to the Golden Throne. Her head was shaved bald, save for a single topknot and the lower half of her face was hidden by a grille shaped like a portcullis. On her back was a massive greatsword and yet her true threat lay in her mere presence. She oozed nothingness, a void of charisma or comradery. She was standing before them, yet absent in every way that counted. Even a non-psyker like Toran felt her sheer lack as a cold shiver down his spine and his hearts curdled in loathing.

Justini looked nauseous as she gasped, "What is she?!"

Furion growled, "Null Maiden, Daughter of the Anathema... A Sister of Silence."

"A Battle-Sister?!"

"Not of the Adepta Sororitas," Toran hissed, "She belongs to a far older and more select institution, one that bears the Emperor's personal seal and mandate. Speak warily, few have ever laid eyes on one, fewer still lived to tell of it."

From behind the woman stepped a smaller woman, equally loathsome but younger and unarmoured. The Sister of Silence's digits moved in a complicated swirl that Toran did not recognise and the young woman stated, "I am Luivra, Oblivion Knight, come to assess the taint upon these lands."

"You are?" Toran asked, "Then who is this?"

Raynek stepped in to explain, "The Silent Sisterhood is well... silent. They never speak, which can cause problems. The one speaking is an apprentice Interlocuter, she translates her mistresses' meaning. Her voice, but the Oblivion Knight's words."

Toran accepted this and declared, "You may inspect whatever you wish but you will find no taint upon these people."

"I require not your permission," Luivra coldly rebuked, "I go where I must and see the truth others wish buried. You should prepare your souls for death, should I find any trace the psychic Xenos have corrupted you or these people."

Toran refused to be browbeaten and declared, "I am confident you will find us pure and unsullied."

Luivra retorted, "Bold of you, since deceit means this world will join the rest in fire."

Furion interjected, "Others... you mean the Psybrid Nest?"

Luivra elaborated, "The Imperial Regent is offended by this insult to the sovereignty of the Imperium. The Psybrid race was a particular concern to him long ago but he judged their threat marginal in this age. He intended to pass by without expending Crusade resources over an insignificant nuisance... his judgement has proved mistaken and he did not take it well. His rage at this insult is remarkable and has provoked a dire response."

Toran guessed, "He sends counter-invasions into their space, to reclaim their worlds. That is... problematic. The Saint Karyl Trail has long deemed such an action unsustainable; they are too dug-in to ferret out. The Crusade will have to divert immense forces to achieve this objective."

Furion added, "You'll be tied up for years... decades."

Luivra replied, "There will be no invasion, no reclaiming of worlds. The Psybrid Nest has been deemed beyond salvaging, those planets have no special resources or industries to recover, no populations to liberate. The fleet despatched is ordered to save nothing and spare no one."

"Exterminatus," Toran breathed in awe and horror, "The Lord Guilliman intends to obliterate every single Psybrid planet from on high and leave only charred husks of worlds behind."

Raynek exclaimed, "You said he was pissed off, you didn't say he was genocidal."

"There is no humour in this matter," Luivra snapped, "His exact words were, 'They shall not escape me a second time'. Which is why you should tread cautiously, if my report to the Taskforce in orbit is not absolute in clearing you of Psybrid taint, this planet will burn."

Toran's spine crawled but he stepped aside and said, "Proceed as you will, you shall have our full cooperation in all matters. I would suggest starting with my Marines, once you deem them pure they shall escort you among the civilians. It would not do to have your... unique aura, start a riot. You might get hurt."

"If they threaten an Oblivion Knight, they die," Luivra stated icily as she moved off.

The four sagged as she left and Toran said, "Raynek, go with her just in case."

"I knew you'd say that," Raynek glumly muttered as he followed the woman.

Justini shivered as if feverish and said, "Can they really do it, annihilate the Psybrids?"

Furion sighed, "They face fleets and defence batteries and cityscapes of Xenos... but if they have more Nulls aboard their ships. Yes, they can do it. I cannot imagine anything more horrific for the Psybrids to face, the Sisters of Silence will be terror incarnate to a psychic race. The Xenos have no defence against what is coming for them."

Toran breathed, "As much as I'd like to watch them burn, my immediate concern is getting my Squads off this planet. Let us trust there is a ship fit to transport us home, else we will be waiting for the Chapter to send a Strike Cruiser to pick us up."

"We must also reclaim the Hundred Centuries," Furion mused, "Assuming she is drifting in deep space and remains salvageable."

Justini sighed, "It sounds like you will be busy. I will return to my Sisters and await word from our superiors."

Toran nodded as he said, "I wish you well, should we meet again know the Storm Heralds will stand with any who fight for mankind."

"Walk in the God-Emperor's light, as I do," Justini said as she made the sign of the Aquilla and departed.

They watched her go and Furion grunted, "There goes the next Samect in the making."

"You don't approve?" Toran asked.

"There are few things in the galaxy as dangerous as someone who thinks their personal mission is sanctioned by the Emperor."

Toran replied, "Don't we think that ourselves?"

"The difference is, our mission actually is," Furion snorted.

Toran shook his head and said, "So assuming Luivra doesn't blow us up, what next?"

Furion sniffed, "Back to the Fortress-Monastery and link up with our scattered Brothers. It will be good to see them again, even if it means enduring Novak's endless bragging about his glories."

"No fresh glories for you?" Toran probed.

"Throne no," Furion replied, "I look forward to returning to the simple wars of a Battle Company. The last year has been too glorious for my tastes, I long for things to return to normal. Simple, humble missions will do fine."

Toran lifted his eyes to the heavens and countered, "On that we must disagree, I think our greatest glories are yet to come. Wait and see, the Third has barely begun to make its mark on history."