Roger speaks to D'Uxford, who confirms the surprising news he received from the new Inquisitor. In the chapels below, two members of the Ecclesiarchy and said Inquisitor have their worst fears confirmed by information from his last mission. As haunting as a certain recurring nightmare is to him, when he is taken before these three, he learns of an ancient organization that has equally haunted the Imperium for a time longer than he could imagine...
"...and then we left through the Webway. I got back here as soon as I could, tried to find the Prince, and arrived just as the Inquisitor did."
"Yes, I'm unfortunately aware of that Roger. Anyways, I wish to first do something that is quite rare."
"Oh?"
Roger Wessyng was sitting in the smaller office dedicated to Lord D'Uxford, in the same cloister of the Starfort that was dedicated to Edmund and the intelligence office supposedly under his command. Compared to the previous one the spymaster had, in the undercroft of the cathedral serving as former headquarters of the Prince and his beloved Third Corps on Haikk Four, it was quite spacious. Of course, he had failed to decorate or make it seem pleasant, not that he seemed to notice having kept his head down in his paperwork.
"I would like to apologize."
"My Lord?"
"Sending you out on that mission was an entirely unforgivable misstep on my part. I was in no mental state to send you out, and I nearly rushed you and your unit to their deaths. I should have gathered more intelligence, and I should have never sent you. You had not been gone an hour before I realized what trouble I threw you in."
Roger nervously swallowed, almost in disbelief at what he was hearing. That a noble, let alone one like D'Uxford was actually taking responsibility for a near failure to someone like Roger was almost impossible. Then he remembered: he was no longer just a yeoman's son, he was a knight now, even with his humble origins and recent rise to the ranks of the nobility, even if it was at a rather low level. Maybe it was merely an expectation of class or some other form of respect, or Robert D'Uxford genuinely felt that he nearly failed and got his best agent killed.
"Thank you, My Lord. With your permission, once our meeting is finished, I'll inform my troops of this. They had been confused and questioning the mission and the difficulties it ran into."
"Yes. As I said: the fault is mine."
"My Lord."
There was a long silence before D'Uxford surprised Roger again. Pausing his writing on a piece of parchment, he sat up in his chair, let out a deep breath and looked at Roger.
"I know what you want to ask."
"My Lord?"
"Inquisitor Beauchamp."
"Is… she really your mother?"
The Lord of Clavham stared back, hiding the surprise at the question before righting himself.
"So, she told you, didn't she? Well, leave it to that woman to never keep a damn secret," he grumbled before sighing, rubbing his forehead.
"Yes, it is true. My father is still Duke Ralph D'Uxford, Justiciar of the Western Islands, but the woman that I consider my true mother is the one who birthed my brothers and sisters, Duchess Ann D'Uxford, formerly of the Fitz Lacy family. But my birth mother is Katherine Beauchamp."
"Forgive me, My Lord, I would think you would be more open to speaking or taking advantage of such a prestigious person in your family."
D'Uxford simply looked at Roger, straight into his eyes while saying nothing for a few moments. The knight believed he may have overstepped in speaking that way to the man whose family ranked amongst the most powerful in Anglerre, but said nothing further. Then the spymaster sniffed and wrinkled his nose.
"You would think. But other than letters and the occasional message through the Astronomican… we have not interacted much. And I preferred it that way. I won't go into details, but as a recompense, you and your unit will stand down for a few days. I got the evidence that you killed that general, so you have my thanks for a job well done. Is there anything else you need Roger?"
"No, My Lord."
"Very well. Dismissed."
Roger stood and bowed before moving to the door.
"Oh, Sir Roger?"
He turned back to the Lord of Clavham.
"If my mother wishes to speak with you or make use of any services that you may provide for her, let me know first. I don't like the idea of her doing what she wants with people in my employment."
"Of course, My Lord."
"Good day. Or night. Whatever it is on this bloody coffin."
Roger bowed again and exited, satisfied that the meeting had gone better than he expected. He had no reason to doubt what the Inquisitor said, but hearing it from D'Uxford himself was confirmation he somehow needed. After all, why would she lie to him about something so easily proven wrong? He walked out of the cloister that led to the prince's office and shrugged. One mission survived, another day closer to ending this campaign and heading home to Anglerre. With another system under the Imperium's control and less pressure on the professional guard regiments, those raised for emergency service like the entirety of Anglerre's offering would be no longer needed, shipped home, and hopefully not called again in many of the Guardsman's lifetimes. Whether the Munitorum would do that was up for debate, but Roger had a feeling that all would end well. Somehow, it had to eventually.
XXXXXX
Kneeling before the altar in the largest of the many chapels and other places of worship on the Starfort Langriano, Walter de Burle, Bishop of Chelmster, was deep in prayer. The personal priest of Prince Edmund, the warrior-bishop had brought salvation to tens of thousands of souls and sent hundreds of heretics screaming to hell. Most of the latter met such a fate with a wicked blow from the Ecclesiarchal mace he preferred. But in this solemn and quiet moment, he enjoyed the gentle hum of the Starforts life support systems, the flickering of the candles around him, and the quiet whispers in prayer.
"Canoness, " it is "Perpetua luceat," not "Perpetuo." Common mistake, but a mistake nonetheless."
"Thank you, Your Grace. My High Gothic instruction is unfortunately lacking compared to others of my rank."
Canoness Preceptor Izabel, bearing the green and silver colored armor of the Order of Sacred Avis, tried to hide her shame and embarrassment for such a mistake, but knew that if she attempted to punish herself for it, the Bishop would disapprove.
"Yet you are still blessed, and I have faith not only in your mission, but your ability to do so."
"As trying as my mission is Your Grace, it is preferable to cleansing the lower hives of Nosaolo."
"Esperanz is quite a planet, from what your fellow Sisters have told me. But it is a test of not just your faith, but your abilities to live and thrive there. It was an excellent decision to choose your Order as our official Ecclesiarchy detachment."
"Despite your personal preference for those of the Martyred Lady-"
Most bishops would have taken offense or tried to silence such a comment, but Chelmster kept his eyes closed and smiled slightly.
"My personal retinue is an essential part of this most arduous mission."
It was true that he had kept a small group of Sisters from the famous order, but he would never look down on the official Preceptory that the Sacred Avis provided. To their credit, they had proven to be more than worthy to fight alongside the Militarum in the Crusade to retake the Haikk system. They were a rather small order compared to the main six that represented the military might of the Imperial Cult, but what they lacked in numbers and recognition they made up for in experience. Few places would forge such soldiers of the faith as Esperanz, whose two Hive cities were riddled with crime, corruption, and a divide between the elite and the other classes that made feudal Anglerre look like a humanitarian republic. What distinguished them, other than their armor colors and the ancient symbol of a green, dagger-like cross that was as old as the planet itself, was their hair. Instead of taking the silver or pitch black that so many Sororitas chose, their uniform bob cuts were golden blond. The Bishop had never seen it before, and he personally admitted that it was a wonderfully unique choice.
"In nomine immortalis Imperatoris et Spiritus Sancti" he said quietly, forming his hands into an Aquila and bowing his head to the altar.
He heard Izabel do the same and stood.
"Canoness," he said politely.
"Your Grace," she responded kindly.
The two exited the chapel and entered his personal office. Decorated with icons, trophies, and personal notes of prayer and support, he took great pride in showing his victories, not only on the field of battle, but the fight for the souls of wayward men and women. He sat behind the hand carved desk, offered the Canoness the seat in front of it, and smiled.
"You seem troubled, Sister."
"I am, Your Grace. And it is not without reason."
"What seems to be the issue?"
"Attacks on my fellow Sisters. They have risen."
Chelmster's gentle face, fatherly and kind to any who looked upon it, turned thoughtful.
"Heretics?"
"No, Your Grace. Attacks in churches. Men who townsfolk say were faithful attack, but not Guardsmen, women who curse us but not the Arbites that police them, priests who even strike at us!"
"What do you think is the issue, Canoness?"
She looked around the room, nervous despite her many years of combat and experience.
"I think the problem is not the Dark Powers. Something has infected the Church in this system. Something that… is more dangerous than any cult."
"Have you informed the Inquisitor of your suspicions?"
"Of course, but it will take time. I know the Cardinal is technically in command of us, but you have the ear of the Prince. He has the intelligence apparatus and…"
She shivered in her robes.
"Your Grace, I am frightened. There is a force targeting us, and they hide amongst the very organization my Sisters and I have given everything to. What could be the reason behind this persecution?"
"Canoness," the Bishop said as he clasped his hands together, almost in prayer. "I have dealt with many cults, enemies in our midst… I have reason to believe that there is a culprit for all that ails your Order in this system. But I need definitive proof. All I have are whispers and legends."
"What do you think it is?"
"There is a possible group that has taken hold here. I remember reading of whispered exiles and ways they supported each other. But I don't have proof of it."
"What if I told you of a church laden with gold, platinum and diamonds?"
The two turned to find a figure in fine clothes, holding a folder. The rosette around her neck quickly identified her.
"Inquisitor Beauchamp. So soon after we had tea together? Forgive for saying this, but I believe you enjoy my company more than I imagined."
"I've always enjoyed your company Walter, even before you were informed of my true identity."
"Ah, yes. Madam Alexis Roye. The poor exile from Marnais who found a lover in Ralph D'Uxford."
"Simpler times. My apologies, Canoness. It is good to see you as well."
"Madame Inquisitor," Izabel responded, confused at their conversation.
"Your Grace, I overheard your suspicions. I am here to report... they are unfortunately true."
She placed the folder on the desk and opened it.
"Do you remember Sir Roger Wessyng?"
Izabel had no idea who the knight was, but the Bishop's smile returned instantly.
"Wessyng! Of course. Good chap, interesting choice of friends, but I cannot criticize. I was friends with a missionary who tore out his own eyes to see the Emperor before him."
"And I have good friends who are Redemptionists," the Canoness added. "Their hearts are in the right place, but it does get tiring having to clean up their messes. Especially ones involving napalm."
Katherine smirked in amusement before handing a few picts to the Bishop.
"These were taken yesterday by his unit. Look at the extravagance."
"The vanity," Izabel hissed.
"Emperor protect us," he simply said.
"What does it mean Your Grace?"
"It means…" he swallowed and made a shuddering sigh. "I was right in my suspicions."
The Inquisitor nodded.
"I like this one. A monument with a horse made of marble."
The Bishop of Chelmster stared at the pict and leaned back in his chair, looking at both of them.
"And behold a pale horse-" he said flatly.
"And he who sat on him was death," Katherine added.
The two looked at Izabel, the light brown skin of her Sud Merican ancestors and the kiss of Esperanz's sun somehow turning pale. She swallowed and finished the verse, a quote from the earliest days of the Lectitio Divinitatus.
"And Hell followed with him."
XXXXXX
He dreaded sleeping. It had started after Acra, but it was never memories of the battle, or the battles before it. It was never anything he could understand, but he had a feeling it was sometime in the future, even if it made no sense in being so. But almost every week, or every other week, he would be dragged into a living nightmare: the same corpse-filled Starfort, the same mysterious figure watching him as he fumbled his way desperately to figure out where he was and why. The same malevolent force that tore at his very soul before he would wake in absolute terror. This time was no different.
"Damn it all," he hissed as he stood on the station's bridge, surrounded by untouched bodies, all gaping in terror.
Whatever killed them had to be what he felt before he would wake up, he was certain of that. Sitting on a nearby table, dressed in perfect white robes and silvery hair, was the mysterious woman who had visited his dreams even before this set of nightmares.
"Why don't you help me? You're always here, always watching, and if you think it is so important-"
"I wish I could Roger," she replied in a whisper, but it somehow echoed in his head. "I am just as desperate for answers as you."
"Well, this place isn't the Langriano, and it's not the Haikk system, I'm certain of that. Despite being here so many times, that's all I have so far."
"A beginning, no matter how small, is a beginning. The first step is as important as the last to your goal."
"I thank you for your philosophical ramblings, ma'am, but I need answers, and every bit of technology on this bloody station is broken or damaged. I have figured out something though."
"Oh?"
"It was not here when it took all this damage. It must have made an emergency jump before it got to wherever it is now, because the Warp-drive and Gellar devices are damaged beyond repair, and the audio log of my jailer that I found in the brig."
"I see."
"If those two systems had failed earlier, they wouldn't have jumped. Far too risky."
She nodded before looking into his eyes. They were pitch black, but the Irises were bone white. Despite all that happened in these dreams, it was the first time he was surprised. He would even admit being a bit frightened by them.
"Roger Wessyng, fate is about to take you on the path that can lead us to avoid this. I will try to help you, but I can only promise so much. I ask you to protect yourself and stay vigilant. You will be tested in ways you never imagined. Be aware, but do not lose hope."
"Thank you for warning me."
"It is one of the few advantages you and I have."
The metal-piercing groan returned as he felt the surge in his chest.
"Bloody hell, it's coming back."
She raised her arm to him, and just as he felt the end approach-
He awoke with a start, shooting up in his bed. He was breathing heavily, sweat dripping down his face. He swallowed and rubbed his forehead, wiping some of it away before looking to his side. Anya was sleeping undisturbed next to him, her fiery red hair down and wearing a thin green nightgown. Despite her species proclivities for needing less sleep and being easier to alert, she was quite a deep sleeper. He thanked whatever Eldari Gods allowed her to be so before gently sliding out of bed to get some water. He poured himself a glass and took a sip, his throat scratchy and dry. He walked back to the bed but stopped before going under the covers, circling around to Anya's side and looking out the small window to the stars. He stared for a few moments before he heard the sheets rustle, turning to find the Ranger sitting up and looking at him.
"Are you alright, fin naryad?"
It was a strange term she referred to him by, never explained, but it certainly had a nice ring to it.
"Just a bad dream Anya."
"You have had them more lately. Are you sure you are alright?"
"I dunno. Maybe it's the stress. I've just had things to deal with. It's strange."
She stood up, her height and thin features on full display despite her somewhat modest night clothes. She stood at his side and gently took his hand.
"If something is troubling you Roger, please tell me."
"When isn't something troubling me? Either it's being sent into danger, trying to keep you and I a secret, handling the Imperium, your mother, her council… and with this Inquisitor, as if we didn't have enough bloody issues."
She nodded before sitting on the bed, pulling him to do the same. She rested her head on top of his and stroked his hand.
"And you will find success and thrive, as you always have, Roger."
"I guess I have to, don't I? Got too many responsibilities, too many things to do, see, all that nonsense."
"I have faith in you."
He put his arm around her back and stroked her shoulder.
"At least someone does."
They sat at the window in silence for a few more minutes before they climbed back into his bed. For once, he was able to get back to sleep shortly thereafter.
XXXXXX
The rap at the door woke him, the automatic lighting system that attempted to simulate the circadian rhythm so essential to human life seeming to fail at its job.
"What?"
The rapping continued, much to Rogers' annoyance.
"What the hell-for Throne's sake," he grumbled, swinging out of the empty bed and rubbing his eyes.
He pulled on a bed robe, another of the small pleasantries he took for himself since his knighting. Stomping over, he swung open the door.
"Piss off," he groaned, before he felt his heart hit his throat at who was trying to get his attention.
"Ha! Told you Sister, he's as irreverent but hard charging as I am! Good morning, Sir Roger, I envy your ability to sleep well."
"Y-your Highness! Forgive me, I did not-Sister, my appearance is-"
Prince Edmund, flanked by a pair of Sororitas from the Sacred Avis, barked out in laughter.
"Roger Wessyng, if you had anything to apologize for, I'd tell you! Now get dressed, I have need of you for something."
"I-in my full armor, Your Highness?"
"Will it take long to do so?"
"Only a few, Your Highness."
"Well then goddamn do so-er, apologies Sisters."
Roger bowed slightly and rushed to throw his armor on, not bothering to fuss with his hair or make himself more presentable than usual, but he had little time to worry, and less to take care of it. It took about five minutes, but he felt no one was keeping count. At least he hoped so. Looking in the full-length mirror to inspect himself one last time, he took a breath, grabbed his sword belt and the steel blade that was personally crafted for him, but now rarely used in anything but official duties and ceremony, and slid it into the scabbard. He opened the door and bowed again.
"Your Highness."
"My word Roger, don't you look presentable. Come along now. You and I have things to do."
"Forgive me, Your Highness, but what exactly is going on?"
"Do you remember that church you found on Haikk Two?"
"Haikk Three Your-"
"Who gives a shit. Anyways, turns out that report and picts of yours has thrown the Ecclesiarchy into a tizzy. Chelmster and the Canoness wish to speak with you personally."
"Canoness?
"Of the Sacred Avis, whom these two, Sister Rosa here and Sister Irnette next to you are part of. Quite different from the Sororitas you've dealt with, eh?"
Roger looked at one of them, Rosa's skin charcoal black, a unique sight for anyone from Anglerre, while Irnette's was light brown. Their blonde hair was eye-catching, and Edmund noticed him inspecting the two before leaning over.
"Sight of them warms the blood, does it not? Bit more flavor than the pale features we're used to, aye?"
"Y-yes Your Highness."
He pulled away with a bark of laughter.
"Of course, they're here because of me."
"How so?"
"If I may, Your Highness," Irnette suddenly spoke.
The Prince grinned and nodded, the four still moving along through the Starfort. Her accent was unlike anything Roger had ever heard, a strange nasal and guttural sound that seemed almost sing-song.
"Our order was founded by the Holy and Ancient House of Avis, who have long been allies and friends of the House of Planjou. When the Haikk Crusade needed an official Sororitas detachment, we applied along with other orders, large and small, but were given royal support by the Prince's family."
"Are we not magnanimous?" Edmund chuckled. "Shame about that Ancient and Holy original house, but I've always enjoyed visits from envoys of the Brago-Avis. Unholy as they are, given their recent issues."
Irnette's stern face turned to a frown before she replied.
"Are the Planjous so lucky to avoid such a… disappointing generation?"
"Ha! If you think I'm attempting to gain a moral high ground, I take pride in being connected by blood to Henry IV, the Fornicator! You know his story, correct Roger?"
"Er, yes, Your Highness. It is said that he was… very libertine."
"What my dear knight means to say Sisters, is that my ancestor damn near slept with anything that moved, provided it was female of course, he did have standards. And he was "equipped"! With proof as well, documented and everything! Roger, do you know how large my dear ancestor was in the organ department?"
Roger looked at the two Sororitas, both uncomfortable and disappointed at the Prince.
"I… don't know. And I frankly am fine not knowing, Your-"
"Thirteen, inches!" Edmund roared, the measurement echoing off the vaulted metal walls of the Langriano.
"Man had a sword and no way to scabbard it! Legend says one of my ancestors was a horse, and for my great, great, great, however many great grandmother's sake, I hope the animal was on the female side. Not good for the bones. Or the muscles. Or the mind."
"Your Highness," Sister Rosa burst out, her accent even thicker than her comrades, "This conversation is beyond unpalatable and below your station!"
"Did they tell any of your order about me?"
"That you were a great commander," Irnette sighed. "And you took pleasure in agonizing any of the Adepta Sororitas, which given your mother is all the more curious."
"Incorrect on two counts, Sister Irnette. First off, I don't take pleasure in agonizing Sororitas, it is a God-Emperor given duty of mine. Second, it is exactly because of my mother that I do so."
"Your Highness," Roger broke in. "I was not aware you had issues with your mother."
"Issues! Hell, no Roger, I love my mother! Love her more than any woman I've ever met! But if you think she has any love for the Sororitas… you are sadly mistaken."
"But she was-"
"Exactly. Ah! Here we are!"
The group had arrived at a non-descript, and rather dingy-looking area of the Starfort. Roger looked nervously at the other three before speaking.
"This isn't the Bishops' chambers."
"Your ability to tell the obvious never ceases to amaze Roger. But you are correct. He wanted to organize this little meeting away from the usual spots. Secrecy and all that. But you're where you need to be, and I have work to finish. Sister Rosa, Irnette. Best of luck Roger."
The Prince moved away quickly, disappearing down the maze-like halls in this section of the Langriano. Rogers already suspicious and nervous disposition worsened with every passing moment, starting to believe he had been led into a trap, or some other way to get him alone and with little help. He cursed silently as he realized that no one, Eldar or human, knew he was here, and if they were going to kill him, he would find no help anywhere. Sister Rosa stepped forward and pulled the door open as Irnette took guard at the other side.
"Sir Roger," she said.
Nodding, he swallowed and stepped in. His eyes adjusted to the dim light inside, and to his relief, he saw two figures seated behind a large table. One was a man wearing a large mitre hat, the other a woman in green and silver armor with blonde hair.
"Your Grace, Canoness."
"Ah," a familiar northern, yet noble, Avalon accent filled the room. "Sir Roger Wessyng. How long has it been?"
"A few months, Your Grace. I've seen you in a few places, but the last time we truly interacted must have been… when you confirmed my knighthood to the Ecclesiarchy."
"Has it been that long? My word, we must have been quite busy lately."
"That is one way of putting it, Your Grace."
"Yes, yes. Well, I think we should get introductions out of the way. Canoness Izabel of the Order of Sacred Avis."
"Canoness."
"Sir Roger. I have heard much about you from Edmund and His Grace."
"Nothing poor, I can assure you," the Bishop added. "And you have already met Inquisitor Beauchamp."
Roger turned to see the woman in question watching in the shadows.
"I have. Madame Inquisitor."
"Sir Roger."
What little relaxation he found at not feeling trapped went away instantly in her presence. What was she doing here?
"Please, take a seat," the Canoness offered.
"Thank you. May I ask why I'm here?"
"It's rather obvious, is it not?" the Bishop said politely. "Your recent mission on Haikk Three is of great interest not only to me, but the Canoness and the Inquisitor. If you would not mind, let's start with the church you found. Describe it."
The two high-ranking members of the Ecclesiarchy stared at him while he thought how to answer.
"Well Your Grace, it wasn't large. It was about… I'd say average. For Anglerre. But it was underground, I never thought about that until now, and that's very odd. One of my men found it. He was walking by and saw the glint of the walls, made of marble, gold in every inch. The chandeliers that kept it lit; they were made of crystal."
"All of them?" the Canoness asked.
"Yes ma'am. The pews were made of wood, but it was the finest crafted I've ever seen. It had to be expensive. All of it."
"Were there any guards at this church?" a voice asked from behind.
"Yes, Madame-Inquisitor. And the Sororita in my unit, she studied medicine before her move to the combat units, identified their vocal chords were cut. Surgically done for an unknown purpose."
The two at the desk looked at each other before the Bishop nodded at Izabel, who spoke next.
"Sir Roger, this Sororitas, a Sister Evita of the Order of the Martyred Lady, correct?"
"Yes."
"I read a report you and her contributed to. Is it correct that half a year ago on Haikk Four, she was attacked by a priest?"
"Yes."
"Do you find that strange?"
Roger blinked in slight confusion. What kind of question was that?
"Of course, Canoness. Sororitas are defenders and protectors of the very faith that he preached."
"What if I told that was not the first such attack by a member of the faith on a Sororitas in the Haikk System?"
"I… wouldn't believe you."
The Canoness nodded slowly.
"As you should not. But it was in fact… the twenty-seventh such case since the crusade began here."
"Throne-er, apologies."
"Much as I loathe the blasphemy," the Bishop said, "It is accurate and warranted. But it is true."
"All on your order Canoness?"
"Mostly. None fatal, thankfully, but attempted stabbings, shootings, even one case of an explosive planted underneath one of our Rhinos. All perpetrated by priests or other ranking local church officials."
"Canoness, I would think that the Church being untouched by the rebels would indicate something. Maybe they supported the revolts? In exchange for protection, or maybe a few true believers?"
"We would believe that," Katherine Beauchamp said, walking towards the table. "But all these attacks were only on Sororitas. Not Guardsmen, not Administratum officials, only on the Sisters of Battle and their fellow offshoots."
Roger sat back in thought. It made no sense, why would they, and only they, be targeted? What was going on? What was his involvement in this, other than finding a church?
"Your Grace, what exactly is going on here?"
The Bishop smiled slightly.
"You have given us the last bit of evidence we need to prove that something is rotten in the Haikk System, not merely the rebellion. Something much deeper, and more dangerous than we could ever imagine. The very soul of the Imperium here has been corrupted by a force that wishes for our destruction."
"Our?"
"The Church as we know it," Izabel said.
"Emperor protect us," he whispered.
"He does, but this enemy of His faith, of His glory, is more dangerous than any of you have faced before," the Inquisitor quietly said. "This is not some cult of The Great Enemy that needs weeding out. This is something few have faced. True, honest, heresy."
"We have faced heresy before Inquisitor," the Canoness cut in.
Katherine Beauchamp made a slight laugh.
"You have faced nothing like this, my dear. Heresy as you know it, is any religion or faith that is not yours. A misnomer, a buzzword as the intellectuals call it. True heresy is much more dangerous. It is correct in its beliefs, but entirely anti-thetical to the rules, laws, and organization of the true Church."
Roger looked up at her.
"The enemy isn't against the Church; it is the Church?"
"Correct. A system and beliefs the Ecclesiarchy and its proponents thought long dead and rightfully forgotten. One that nearly destroyed the Imperium it served, and whose remnants, small and hard to find as they are, have connections in every organ and part of the Ecclesiarchy. It even, much to my shame, has a foothold in the Inquisition itself."
The Canoness and Bishop stared at Katherine in shock, disbelieving what they heard.
"Then we are in straits more dire than I believed," Izabel said quietly before going into prayer.
"I knew the rumors and the whispers of the Church being infected by this heresy, but I did not know about the Inquisition."
"Which makes his unit all the more useful to us."
"Agreed, Katherine."
Roger looked around, seeing the two in conversation, the Canoness still in prayer. He felt left in the dark, and it started to bother him to the point he-
"Who am I fighting?" he blurted out.
The three stopped to look at him, Izabel irritated at her halted prayers, Katherine amused at his insolence, and the Bishop sorry at forgetting him.
"I apologize, Roger, but they are extremely dangerous. All will be revealed here, but you must understand these are secrets known to few. If these enemies know that you are aware of them, they will chase you to the ends of the galaxy to either recruit or silence you. Nothing said here, or explained to you, leaves this room unless it's one of us three. Not even Edmund or Robert can know about it, even if they demand it from you."
He looked at the serious face under the mitre. The Bishop's face was also twinged with fear, even desperation. Thinking it over, he sighed and nodded.
"Very well. I will bear this burden and do as you ask."
The Bishop looked to the Inquisitor, who nodded before he continued.
"This force is the old Church. It used to be the true faith, but it was broken, corrupt. When it nearly destroyed humanity, it was brushed away, reformed out of existence. Or so it was hoped. It even has a name, now used as a warning to priests or those in the cloth who focus less on the soul, and more on worldly matters."
"And what is that?" Roger asked.
The Bishop's sighed and sat up, staring not just into Rogers eyes, but his very soul.
"The Temple Tendency."