Roger informs the Eldar of the perilous situation they find themselves in as a new Inquisitor comes to the Starfort. An interrupted lunch bears bad news not only for Prince Edmund, but for reasons unknown, his spymaster as well.
But news from Haikk Three means Roger and what's left of the Leopards will be thrown into combat once again...
"Well, my suggestion is that you all go back to Ducaish for a while, wait until we can actually do something, then come back and we do what we need to do."
Roger Wessyng sat in the middle of the group of Eldar, eight in total and divided into three different sets of armor styles and colors.
"We have dealt with the ilk of this Inquisitor before," Moire said dismissively. "Why should we leave now? In fact, we should stay nearby lest whoever arrives decides to eliminate you for the crime of showing anything but blind hatred for our kind."
Roger sighed and rubbed his temples.
"I understand your concerns, but believe me, the less problems we cause ourselves, the better we all will be."
"Why exactly should we be concerned about this? The last of these Inquisitors took no issue with us."
"Well Kallen, he died before telling his replacement that we exist. Either they'll accept us like the last one, or be a Puritan who thinks that anything that walks on two legs and isn't human is an abomination that needs immediate purging. And before you say anything to the contrary, we all have heard the stories, and we all don't need to take the chance."
To the knight's surprise, the group became sullen at his news. He had a feeling it was as much information as it was where they were located, deep inside the Starfort, far away from prying eyes or the zealous and ignorant masses that populated the station. But for a race as spiritual, thoughtful, and calm as the Eldar, being stuck in the dark, damp, industrially noisy area had to be akin to torture. But the sacrifices they made so that the Leopards would continue had to be made, and if it truly bothered them, they could do what they always did: use the Webway gate that had been constructed in secret nearby to disappear and go where they wished. Still, he sympathized.
"I know that it's not the kindest or best news, but I would prefer it if you all just… went into hiding for a bit. We'll stay in touch, get some rest and relax a bit, then I'm certain we'll be thrown into stupid nonsense as usual again. Actually, I'm not certain, at this rate, it's a bloody promise."
"Are we blowing up any more bridges?" Perin asked to the amusement of his comrades.
Eldar warriors were known for their dour professionalism, but the Avenger had quickly realized the fact that being around Imperials allowed for more humor than usual. Some took advantage of it, others continued in their old ways.
"No, my Avenger friend, if I get my way, we'll be doing actual missions, not running around for some governor we never heard of or don't care about."
"Sounds excellent," Kallen said. "Anya, I suggest you stay here."
The group looked at the Striking Scorpion, Anya as surprised as Roger at the statement.
"And why is that fellow warrior?" the Ranger asked, the twinges of suspicion in her vastly superior mind already starting to roil.
"With your skill set as a Ranger, you are more adept at watching and sneaking. Well, not as good as a Scorpion as we will all agree, but enough that you will be able to conduct yourself with no issue. Additionally, from a political standpoint, having a representative of our people, a daughter of the very Farseer that allows us to be here and has such close relations with the Prince… there is no better candidate as an ambassador, or whatever you wish to call it. Would you agree Roger?"
The knight was snapped out of his thoughts, wondering if the smarmy and surprisingly cordial warrior knew something that he really should not have.
"I have no arguments," he said flatly. "And I think your reasoning is sound Kallen. Unless anyone else wants to volunteer to stay here with us?"
The stillness and silence of the others answered that question.
"Very well. For the moment, I suggest you all stay here, but the moment I find out any further information, I will let you know so you can get out of here. Any questions? No? Then I have nothing else. Dismissed."
Six of the warriors moved off, either to their makeshift quarters, still comfortable by human standards, but knowing the Eldar it was their equivalent of roughing it. However, two stayed nearby.
"Moire, Kallen, I wanted to ask-"
"No."
"Oh Throne, you can read my thoughts Moire?"
"Hardly. That is a skill that must be honed or earned through blood, and I have neither. Though I believe it would be helpful, I must accept my failings."
Moire Cyriou was a dual threat: the viciousness of an Aspect Warrior who followed the revered and equally feared path of war, with the biting wit and intellect so common in the females of her species. Though not as open and approachable as Kallen was, Roger could trust and rely on her, and frankly that made up for whatever fault he saw in her, few anyway.
"But you do know I'm asking about Cruniach?"
Kallen quietly sighed and nodded.
"We are both as concerned about him as you are. But you must remember that he is a Pathfinder, such disappearances happen. He has no loyalty to Ducaish, and we do not expect him to have that."
Roger looked at him in confusion.
"What do you mean he isn't loyal to Ducaish? Isn't it his home?"
"Pathfinders have traveled the path of the Outcast for centuries of your time," Moire said quietly. "He is not even from Ducaish, he merely joined us to assist and train the fresh Rangers that joined our forces. And besides, all Craftworlds are homes of their path."
"Where's he from?"
The two Eldar looked at one another before turning back to him.
"We do not know," she answered.
"I have heard stories, but none seem to be factual or correlate. I have heard he was from Lugganath, another Craftworld far from here. Another story is that he was a Corsair once, but I do not believe that from experience. I have even heard he was born to our dark kin and left them. That is a bit too outlandish though."
Kallen seemed confident in his non-answers, leaving Roger more curious than ever. Who was the Eldar he had trusted for so long, saved his life and others while leading the Rangers? More importantly, what lessons had he imparted to Anya that could have given evidence to his past? He thought to ask her but refocused his thoughts on the present.
"Well, wherever he is, I hope he's alive and well."
"Agreed," she answered.
"And as I said, just lay low, don't cause problems… and just wait for this mess to clean itself up."
The two stalked off as he headed back to the entrance that led to his room. As he moved away, he felt a presence at his side, not even bothering to see who it was. After all, she was the only one who ever did that.
"I will speak to mother."
"I would appreciate that, Anya. And it is a good idea for you to stay and help us."
He looked up at her to see her response, somehow feeling slightly intimidated despite their relationship and all they had been through recently. Thin and lanky, the height of the Eldar as a species was enough to cause most humans to pause and feel uneasy. This was even worse for him, being only about 5 foot 7 inches, with Anya being nearly a foot and a half taller than him. His eye level was at her chest, something she reveled in to his deep embarrassment. Not that she would ever admit it.
"I agree. But do you agree for… personal reasons?"
"I'm a professional Anya. But-" he looked back at the group of warriors milling about the Webway gate. "It certainly doesn't hurt."
"I am glad you think so."
"And I'm glad you've stuck with me, though I'll probably never understand why."
"And neither will I, but we'll continue as we have, provided you and I stay discreet."
"Says the Eldar who held my hand standing next to her mother. How did she not notice that?"
The Rangers mind flickered back to the day of Edmund's victory speech, moments before Roger knelt before the Prince and was knighted, an honor that was without measure and respected, even among the Eldar. They had their own traditions and understanding of such things, and even if they did look down on humans, respect for similar types could be appreciated by those with open enough minds.
"I have inherited some of my mothers skills and abilities. Even if it is dangerous to do so without following a path."
"How so?"
"It is best if you do not know. You would barely understand it, and… I do not wish to worry you too much."
"Well aren't you nice," he said, moving into the barely lit tunnel that led to his quarters.
He had only been about twenty or so of the few hundred steps before he felt a hand on his shoulder. He stopped and slowly turned, Anya enough steps below him that they were eye level. She leaned in and kissed him quickly before placing her forehead on his.
"I will not leave for some time yet, but I do not know when I will return. It could be tomorrow; it could be many days. Mother is fickle, and with this Inquisitor situation…"
"Don't worry about me. I'll still be here. I promise."
She pulled away and slightly smiled, Rogers' heart fluttering much to his personal frustration. He did not hate her, in fact, he loved her in a way a Guardsman could love an Eldar. But that she could so easily control him emotionally bothered him. He wondered if she was using some powers inherited from her mother.
"No, I am not."
"For Thrones sake Anya-"
"It takes much personal control to not listen to your thoughts, I apologize that I can not do so."
"Well, I need to get back. Something dumb will probably happen soon, and I'll get involved in some way. You know how my life is."
"All too well. Stay safe Roger."
He took her gloved hand and kissed it before looking back up at her. He felt her hand tremble slightly, only for a moment, but enough to make a mental note to do it more often. Her face was slightly red, and he could see her try not to look away in slight embarrassment.
"You as well, Anya Syneoch."
He gently let go of her hand and waved slightly, moving back up the steps. There was a part of him that wondered if she really would be gone that long, or if he had to stay away from her for an unknown period of time.
"Damn," he grumbled.
It was not because he was angry she was leaving. It was because he was worried how much he would miss her.
XXXXXX
"Bloody Inquisition. Never any good news."
"To hate them is heresy. To fear them is understandable. So fear them, don't hate them Davie."
The Leopards, or the members of it that were not Eldar, all sat in one of the Starforts cafeteria, eating what would laughably be called a decent meal.
"Sir Roger is correct," a female voice added from the end of the table. "The Inquisition does work necessary and healthy for the Imperium."
"Well I've never had to deal with them," Hawke said, watching in mild disgust as whatever meat they had served slid off his fork to land in a puddle of "gravy".
"And thank the Emperor you haven't," Roger said grimly.
He had been dragged before one of their kind who specialized in Xenos. Thankfully, it was quite amicable, but seeing the late Inquisitor Von Kam in action made him dread whoever would replace him.
"Parky. What would you do if you were faced with an Inquisitor?"
The boy turned to speak, stopping to swallow before he would answer with his mouth full. Roger grinned at the action, thinking the boy was too good for his comrades.
"Be honest and true to the Emperor."
"Amen," Sister Evita, who predictably sat next to him, said before forming her hands into an Aquila.
"Well, I'm glad one of us has the decency to do the right thing. Pass the pepper, would you? Good lad."
As he tried to add some flavor to the slop the poor foot soldiers were served, Roger suddenly realized that he was technically not supposed to be here, eating with his troops. He was an officer now, supposed to be eating with the high and mighty of the crusade. But he never gave it thought, and no one ever corrected him, so why would he ever stop now? He shrugged to the notice of no one and tried to stomach what passed for food.
"At least we aren't being fed corpse starch," Hawke added. "Helene tells me that stuff tastes terrible."
"How is she, by the way?"
"Fine boss. She's got a cushy position in the comms center and the less she has to deal with our nonsense, the better."
"Kallen misses her."
"Really?"
"Well, he misses that he can't call her fat anymore."
The group smirked or laughed at the comment. Guardswoman Helene Parell, formerly of the Cadian 353rd Artillery Regiment before a "misunderstanding" of orders between her charge and a Krieg commander, had been adopted by the Leopards shortly after their formation. She and Hawke had become quite close, and despite her leaving the unit on orders of the Prince, she had landed on her feet. Compared to what should have become of her, it was a happy ending.
"She throw you out on your arse again, Hawke?" Davie asked.
"No, we made up again last week. Emperor knows how long the peace'll last knowing her."
"Yet you go back to her and she comes back to you. Curious."
Evita's analysis of their relationship was simply stating what the rest of his comrades thought. To call their pairing tumultuous was an understatement. One week it would be a storybook romance with never ending love. The next it was Roger nearly having to charge in between them, sword and shield the only thing keeping them separated and not killing each other.
"I hope when I find a woman for myself, I never have to fight her," Parky added.
Evitas eyes dashed over to him briefly before looking down at her food. Her knightly commander rolled his eyes, wondering why she had not just admitted what was obvious and-
"Pardon me, are you Roger Wessyng?"
The entire table looked at the newcomer, trying to figure out who or what it was.
"That's Sir, Roger Wessyng…"
"Er, apologies Sir Roger. I work at one of the Munitorum offices on the station. I have a message for Prince Edmund, but I can't find anyone to deliver it that I can trust and I'm damned busy. That and he hates paper pushers like myself. I've heard that you have good relations with him?"
"I… do. But I don't understand why it can't just be delivered to him by the usual way."
"It's a bit of an important but confidential message. Can I trust you?"
Roger looked into the bureaucrats eyes, trying to see if there was a trap or some sort of trick that he was being dragged into.
"Yes. I'll take care of it."
"Grand! Here. I entrust it with you. Failure to deliver or opening it before it reaches the Prince's eyes, for him only, will be met with fitting prejudice. Enjoy your meal sir."
A single envelope was handed to the knight, who nodded as the man walked off.
"Well that was bloody odd," Hawke said.
"Aye. I have to wonder what-"
His blood froze as he looked at the wax seal on the back.
"Guess I'm not eating anymore. I need to go. Davie, you're in charge, get them back and get them practicing. Anything, doesn't matter."
The rest of the Leopards watched in confusion as he walked off quickly.
"Wonder what that was about," Parky said.
"Nothing good," Bob said with ease.
The old man was right of course. After all, how would one react seeing the pronged "I" of the Inquisition on an important message?
XXXXXX
Roger stood outside the large doors of the Prince's office, trying to look firm and professional as his secretary, fittingly a member of the Sororitas by personal request, typed away at another parchment.
"How is he today, Sister Marie?"
The Sororitas sighed.
"The usual."
"How many times has he told you a dirty joke today?"
"Seven."
"That's less than usual."
"It should be zero. I'm a Sister of Battle."
"Yes, but you're a Dialogus. You don't threaten him as much as your normal comrades."
She sniffed dismissively.
"I could still kill without mercy."
"And I believe you."
A red light on her desk switched to green.
"He's ready for you."
"Thank you Sister. Hopefully it stays at seven."
She nodded without looking at him as she pressed a button below the desk, and the doors swung open. With his handcrafted metal sword on his belt and his jupon bearing his heraldry, he walked into the room.
"...no, I don't think that. Well she should know better!"
The voice echoed around the office, Prince Edmund of Anglerre behind his desk and speaking through a handset that connected to another office in the Starfort.
"Well I would hope a Hospitaller would know the goddamn difference between dysentery and food poisoning, medical matters are only the very thing they're fucking trained on their whole bloody lives!"
Edmund noticed Roger and waved him towards a pair of finely crafted armchairs.
"Yes, colonel, I'll try to figure that out. No, I can't fire a Sororitas. Because I'm not a fucking priest!"
He slammed the handset on its stand, sighing as he did so.
"Stupid cunt. Thinks because I have a Sororitas for a mother I know every-goddamn-thing about them. Anyways, how are you Roger? I only saw you yesterday."
"Er, fine, Your Highness. Actually, I'm here on a bit of an odd errand."
"Oh?"
"I was enjoying some lunch-well, given what they serve the Guardsmen that's a bit of a stretch, but I was asked by someone to deliver this message to you."
The Prince grinned slightly at Rogers' statement. Despite being leagues above his social status, Edmund had found the knight an amusing and rather humorous individual, worthy of ignoring his occasional faux pas' and what would be considered by some as disrespect. But he turned serious at the last bit of information.
"Do you think it's a trap? As in poisoned or other such things?"
"It might. But if you looked at the seal you'd either expect it or something worse."
He handed the letter to the Prince, who cautiously took it before looking at the wax in question. His eyes widened slightly before turning it over and looking at the perfect penmanship on the front, simply reading "Prince Edmund of Anglerre." He shrugged and grabbed a letter opener.
"I'd move a bit further away Roger, if it's some sort of poison, I'd like you to survive and be a witness to my death."
"Of course, Your Highness."
"You may think it's humorous, but Von Kam's death is looking more and more like an assassination. Everyone with a rank higher than major around here is getting a fair bit paranoid, and I can tell you it's bloody infectious."
"Somebody killed an Inquisitor?"
"It's looking that way. Now, be a good chap and stand back."
Roger needed little convincing to do so and moved a fair distance away from the Princes desk. With a quick slash, the letter was opened… and thankfully nothing flew out.
"Well, that's a good sign," Edmund chuckled. "Now, let's see what this is all about."
His eyes scanned the top of the letter and let out a bark of laughter.
"For Throne's sake, it's a notice that the new Inquisitor is arriving soon. Wishing me well of all things. Standard flowery nonsense about how they look forward to working with me… bloody hell this is almost boilerplate. Sorry for worrying so much Roger, but as I said, you can't be-"
His jovial and relaxed mood collapsed as he read the last line, revealing its author. He nearly leapt to his feet, reading it over again as his face turned slightly pale.
"Oh no."
"Y-your Highness?"
"Roger… did you deliver this message to anyone else? Anyone?"
"No Your Highness, I was merely given it to deliver to you alone."
"Good," Edmund said with slight relief. "That'll make it a bit easier to handle."
The knight crooked his head slightly.
"What do you mean?"
"Inquisitor Katherine Beauchamp. That's who sent this. That's who is going to be our new Inquisitorial overseer. She is no stranger to me, or Anglerre. And in fact, to say she was just a stranger is-"
"Your Highness?"
The panicked voice of Sister Marie suddenly cut into the room from the intercom on his desk.
"Yes, Sister?"
"Lord D'Uxford is coming down the hall. He looks… furious."
"Bollocks, he did find out. Let him in."
The doors swung open, revealing the pale features and raven black hair of the Lord of Clavham. Roger turned to speak to his superior, but the words caught in his throat. He had personally known Robert D'Uxford for nearly a year now, and there was never a moment where he seemed anything but grim and serious. But this was different. His face was red, veins popping out of his throat and forehead, and one could sense the seething rage that emanated from him.
"Did you know?" he hissed.
"Duck, of course I didn't. I was hoping I was the only one who knew."
"So you did?"
"Sir Roger here literally just delivered the letter informing me a few moments ago. How did you find out?"
"She… wrote to me."
The calm that seemed to be a permanent part of the spymaster was nowhere to be seen, his body shuddering with emotion.
"She wrote you a letter?"
"Maybe out of obligation. That is all I can think of. God-Emperor knows why she bothered, I damn near threw it in the fire the moment it arrived."
"Duck-"
"Don't bother Ed. You know exactly why I'm acting like this, and you of all people on this damn station know I have more reason to act that way than you think!"
"Well, she's joining us. And you're going to act accordingly, and be respectful. I won't have you acting out and causing more problems than we need. The fact that I need to tell you this is more than enough of a warning. I don't give a damn if you're my best man and a good friend, you will act accordingly!"
Edmund spoke not in the friendly way he did towards those he liked, but in the barking demands that he used on the battlefield. D'Uxford cooled slightly, moving slightly back into his normal demeanor.
"You won't have any issues from me Ed. But if you think I'll be happy about this-"
"I don't give a shit about you being happy about it, you'll tolerate it. That's all I ask."
"And it will be so. I apologize for interrupting. Hello Roger."
"My Lord," he said respectfully before watching the spymaster leave the room.
"What the hell was that about?"
"It's a long… story," the Prince sighed. "Let me pour you a drink, unless you don't have time of course."
"No your highness, that's quite fine."
"Good! Now-"
He walked over to a crystal jug, pouring a brownish-red mix into two artfully crafted glasses before handing one to Roger.
"To His Majesty and our God-Emperor."
Roger agreed and repeated the toast before taking a sip. It was a hardy drink, and the burning in his throat gave little pleasure.
"Oh!"
"It's a tough vintage. Southern Gasc vineyard. Warms you though, I can say that. Saved my life when we were on that iceball Ix Seven. Were you with me on that campaign?"
"No, that was before my time, Your Highness. My serjeant was though, and he told me it wasn't a pleasant fight."
"No, it was not, I can tell you. Now… how are things between you and the Eldar?"
Leaving the Prince's quarters in rage, Robert D'Uxford stomped off back towards his quarters. Was it anger? Or was it realizing that he had to deal with her again? The crowds of crew and Guardsman made way for him, knowing that he was a superior even without his standard retinue of knightly guards. Twenty four of them normally around him at all times, but in his blind rage left them. As he reached his room, two of them snapped to attention before he waved them off and sat at his desk and private cogitator. He pressed a few buttons, trying to think of what to write. He shook his head as he figured out who to contact. The screen flickered as he connected.
RD: Are you busy tonight?
I: Unfortunately. Group of my Sisters were ambushed. I can come, but it will be late.
RD: Time is no matter. I need you.
I: Oh?
RD: Bad news. Very bad news.
I: Oh no. I shall try to get there ASAP.
RD: I just need you here. To talk to.
I: I will be there. I promise.
RD: I await your arrival.
The screen flickered again and it disconnected, but even that small conversation with Sister Isabel did nothing to lighten his mood. He tapped at his desk before he grabbed a ceramic mug, one of the many that were given out on the Starfort, and chucked it full force into the furnace like fire that warmed his room. He was angry. How could he not be? That woman… There was another name for her, but he refused to call her that. He had believed the disinterest between them was mutual, and now that was being turned on its head. But there was a bit of amusement behind that rage, and he could never deny it. Suddenly appearing and forcing herself into a situation for unknown reasons was a trait that… was far too familiar. He grit his teeth as he looked into the fire. Of course it was that way. After all, she was his-
The cogitator flicked to life again as a new message came in. He looked at the screen and read the words streaming in with slight confusion. As he read them again, he sat back in his chair and sniffed before wondering if Roger had sent the Eldar away already.
XXXXXX
"What do you mean we're down to four!"
"Roger, you informed us that we were to hide. "Lay low" I think you said."
"I didn't think half of our force would literally vanish in a few hours. Bloody hell, who do we still have?"
He was once again in the lower levels of the Starfort, the glow and hum of the Webway Gate that connected the Eldar with a limitless number of destinations, at least as far as he was told, trying to scramble what few forces he had. Standing nearby and prepared to leave were all the human Leopards, with Kallen thankfully still there.
"Gwyndair and I, Perin from the Avengers, and Anya of course."
"That's it?"
"Yes."
Roger cursed under his breath before turning back to the Scorpion.
"We'll take them. It's a bit of a rush job, but we need to move. Get them and I'll brief the unit."
"Understood."
Kallen waved his arms and got the attention of his kin as Roger did the same for Davie and the others. Seeing what passed for the Leopards gathered around him, he began to speak.
"Right, we're going to Haikk Three. Rebel leader that went underground after we beat them into the dirt just showed his face. Guard forces can't move in without taking heavy losses and starting the rebellion all over again, but we can do it, and do it quickly. Small village whose location is near a gate. We go in there, kill the bastard, come home and grab a drink. Should be easy."
"Which means it certainly will not be," Gwyndair said flatly.
"Yeah, but orders are orders. This time, we mere humans will be pulling the weight for once, so all of you better not disappoint."
"Tragic," Evita scoffed.
"Oi, show respect for them," Davie chided. "We're only surviving most of our scrapes thanks to them."
"Always a charmer, are you not Sister?" Kallen asked, the sarcasm dripping from his voice to a point the Sororitas became instantly irritated.
"Watch your tongue-"
"Both of you shut it before it becomes a problem I have to be involved with."
The two promptly did so, much to Rogers' relief.
"Get the gate ready, I have the coordinates. You know how to figure this out, Emperor knows I couldn't."
Anya took the parchment gently and moved away. Mysteriously, even to her peers, she had the ability to use the mysterious gate better than any of her fellows. Kallen had told him that it was probably something to do with her Farseer heritage, but even he was not sure. As she did so, Roger turned back to the rest of his squad.
"Hawke, bring your bow, we might need to be quiet. Parky, you and Evita are ready to set up if we need it for an ambush?"
The young man nodded before looking up at the Sororitas, towering over the others in her standard issued power armor, holding her Heavy Bolter as easily as Davie with his Hellgun. She nodded as well in agreement.
"Bob, you got meds?"
"Course."
"Davie?"
"Aye Rog?"
"Make sure these morons don't get themselves killed. Far as I'm concerned, they're the only decent people on this bloody station."
"Aye sir."
The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he felt a force, unexplainable but perfectly obvious hit his back. He turned to see what was once the bone white claw shape of the gate now flickering with light.
"We are ready," the Ranger said.
"Right. Kallen, you and the others go first. See you on the other side."
"Understood."
As the two Scorpions and Avengers disappeared, Anya followed. For a brief moment her eyes met his, sending a chill up his spine. He sometimes wondered if she really put him under a spell.
"Right, who goes first?"
Bob shrugged and took the lead, followed by Hawke, Davie, Parky and Evita.
"Remember lads, and lass, my apologies," the serjeant barked. "Take a breath before you go in, lest you feel sick when we arrive."
One by one, the humans entered the ancient Eldari Webways, connecting a long dead empire to various endpoints. The old man and former poacher did so with acceptance, finally getting used to it. Parky swallowed deeply before walking in, as Evita prayed not only that she and her comrades would arrive safely, but that using the Xenos technology would not poison her soul. As they vanished into the light, Davie cracked his neck and readied his Hellgun before turning to Roger.
"Ever think this'll spit us out somewhere nice?"
"Who knows Davie?"
The serjeant hocked and spat on the ground before stepping in. Roger wondered how all of them still thought the Eldar were abhumans, having used some of their most arcane and mysterious technology… but was ignorance not bliss? He slammed the visor on his helmet and took a deep breath before following the rest of his unit.
He had a bad feeling it was going to be a lot harder than Lord D'Uxford tried to make it sound.