It really was too bad that we couldn't fully exterminate those Drukhari from Vheabos VI, but we still killed enough to handsomely avenge the dead. They may have been criminals — mostly the petty kind as others are either servitorised or executed — but, as Her Ladyship would put it, they were still people. A radical notion, to be sure. And people, when subjected to the brutality of a Drukhari kabal, deserve avenging. But it appears we are not done with those foul xenos.

We were on our way back to Dargonus, cargo holds full of the spoils of our fight, when the Astropathic Choir picked up a call from Master Scalander about Grantis — a garden world, small, sparsely populated, that answers to none of the major Rogue Trader Houses. I believe it is a remnant of the fallen Dewain protectorate. They were, or were about to be, under attack by the Drukhari; the lord-captain lost no time in changing our heading towards them. We arrived yesterday — we arrived too late. The shuttle put us down near a group of life signs that showed on the auspex, a few miles away for security, and as soon as we stepped out we understood.

Vheabos VI had suffered, yes. But Grantis… Throne help me, Grantis. The depraved brutality that was written in blood there? I have never seen its like. We found a village, a hamlet, where every inhabitant, adult or child, had been flayed alive, and kept alive by unholy means, and then carefully dissected while alive. Bones broken, one by one, so the victim went limp as a doll. Some had their entrails sprawled out in patterns — small intestine cut so it would bleed out its acidic content, and then shoved in places it had no right to be. Genitals burnt and cut and forcefully penetrated with blades. Her Ladyship tried to shield Lady Cassia from the worst of it, sending her a little way off with Mistress Heydari for company when the scale of the atrocities became obvious.

'Yrliet,' she said, 'your cousins are a nasty bunch.'

Mistress Lanaevyss didn't answer right away; she has grown more sullen of late, as we fail to find trace of her kin. 'The debasement of their ways indeed brings new shame every day to our ancestors, elantach,' gravely replied our aeldari.

'I wasn't aware your common ancestors had any glory left,' sneered Master van Calox. 'They who in their hubris awakened a Chaos god.'

The lord-captain cut the discussion with a raised hand. 'Peace, you two. We have a trail to follow.'

More than a trail, it was a small country road, a ribbon of beaten earth snaking in between lush glades and flower fields of the tropical kind. The air was warm, the sun shone bright… Soon, it lead us by the shore of a large lake, set like a clear sapphire in between low, rounded hills. Birds trilled in tall weeds, and the smell hit us.

Those had been dead for longer. They had been surprised in a small gazebo that overlooked a heavenly view. Their corpses were strewn all over the grass, where the remnants of a picnic still lay. Some sort of avian carrion eaters were busy feasting, tearing flesh from bone, rotten blood soiling their feathers. Sister Argenta signed herself and whispered a prayer for their souls. Her Ladyship pushed us forward.

We crept upon the Drukhari just where the auspex had put them from orbit — at the end of a spectacular gorge that, for being fairly shallow and narrow, was a wonder of natural beauty. There used to be a popular bivouac for those of the local nobility who wished to lose themselves in a tamed wilderness, now overrun with xenos. Not just Drukhari, but also a few Sslyth mercenaries, that we glimpsed from our binoculars.

'Scalander's intelligence was good,' said Master van Calox. 'Those Sslyth can only mean we have indeed found ourselves at least a Dracon, if not an Archon.'

To my unspoken interrogation, he added: 'A rank akin to a general's. An Archon would be a Lord Commander of the Guard. But since those carry the symbol of the Kabal of the Reaving Tempest we already met on Vheabos VI… I do not think their Archon Yremeryss would have had time to get here that long before us, except perhaps by leaving the instant we got to Vheabos.'

'There's not a regiment's worth of xenos,' wondered Her Ladyship. 'Not like on Vheabos VI. I'm counting, how many, ten individuals? Let's say there's a few hidden in those cabins, can't be more than fifteen, and I'm being generous.'

I voxed the Emperor's Mercy to be sure their auspex had found no other sign of xenos on the surface; our own portable ones are anyway useless in such life-rich environments. They hadn't.

Mistress Heydari was the next one to speak. 'Could it be,' she asked, 'and, by the Exalted One that idea is repellent, that this is a pleasure outing? The main force was doing well on Vheabos before we arrived. A powerful and restless Dracon decides they can have more fun elsewhere… and they chose a garden planet for a Drukhari vacation, just them and a few select guests. Enjoy the sun, torture a few people in particularly sadistic ways. A good time.'

Her Ladyship frowned. 'I've once had to fetch a general from a bordello while the rest of the high command tried to lead a crusade. You may have found the answer, Jae.'

'What happened to the general?' asked Mistress Heydari with great innocent eyes.

'Let's just say he lost the means to return there afterwards.'

Mistress Heydari beamed and gently hit Her Ladyship's shoulder with her fist. 'Shereen, you truly are a woman after my own heart.'

'I don't understand,' said our dear, young, lady Cassia.

Clearing my throat, I asked how Her Ladyship wished to proceed. I, for myself, believed we could take on them. We had, after all, the advantage of surprise, not to mention a probably superior armament. They only had the advantage of high ground.

'I shot him in the groin and, as far as I know, he pees through an augmetic to this day,' mused Her Ladyship as if I hadn't interrupted. 'The only thing I wonder about — and I'm talking about the Drukhari now — is who Scalander's source is. It feels like we're doing someone's dirty work by taking out an unreliable Dracon fallen out of favour.'

Master van Calox said that he didn't know but that, even if he did, he wouldn't say. 'Xeno informants are not uncommon, in this you are right, Katov, and each has their own agenda. But if we can use their internal wars to further our cause…' He shrugged.

'Look,' said lady Cassia. 'They are dragging a prisoner out in the open.'

Through the binoculars, I saw indeed a man, well dressed, be flung on the ground. Many superficial cuts on his face and forearms had already stained him with blood, and the wounds reopened with this forced movement. Pure terror was on his face.

'That settles it, then,' concluded the lord-captain. 'We're going in.'

A particularly tall and lanky Drukhari, his unnaturally pale skin painted with blood-red tattoos, his black armour a forest of ornate spikes, casually walked to the prisoner, readying his knife. I don't know what the xenos did, because I had put down the binoculars, but the man's scream, Emperor, his scream!

Her Ladyship rushed us into position; soul-rending sobs and cries echoed against the rock, pressing us forward with the urgency of impending death. Before the first shot flew from Mistress Lanaevyss's sniper gun, however — before van Calox or I could charge to the unwary guards — before lady Cassia readied herself to tear the Veil and drown the xenos in the Sea of Souls — a booming voice resonated in our ears, amplified by the gorges we found ourselves in. What a voice! Mellow and cold, dripping with contempt, heavy with menace, rich of a repellent attempt at seduction! And he spoke in Gothic, too, not in those unholy languages that butcher the ears of the listener — he spoke without an accent, like a noble corrupted beyond belief or a soul lost to some infinite evil.

'Mon-keigh! You have answered my invitation! Show yourself instead of crawling in the shadows like the worm you are!'

And then, the rough human voice of a man in more pain than can be. 'Do as he says,' he sobbed from afar, weak, barely audible. 'Whoever you are, or he will flay my hands, I beg you!'

Her Ladyship signalled for us to hold still. After less than a minute, new screams tore through the air, and Her Ladyship bit her lip. 'Mon-keigh, you are taking your sweet time,' cooed the voice. 'I know you are there; the stench of your presence and of your fear is unmistakable. Shall I pull his nails next, mon-keigh? Gouge out his eyes? You have obeyed me so far, why stop now?'

I couldn't help it. I broke discipline and shouted: 'Hold your tongue, blasted fiend! No xenos dares use such a tone with the Emperor's chosen!'

The xenos laughed, the foul sound blending with the wails of the tortured man. 'Why? I sent an invitation, through the means of the cattle that dwelt on this world, and the chosen have come so obediently. How are my words anything but the truth? Allow me to get a good look at you.'

In my comm-bead, I heard the lord-captain order Yrliet and Argenta to cover her. She ran out of the underbush and unto the beaten track, saying nothing, just standing. The rest of us scrambled to get closer without betraying our position.

'Ah,' sighed the voice, like a man dying of thirst who has found water. 'The very same mon-keigh who interrupted our festival earlier. There is so little to distinguish you from the rest of your dull-witted species. And yet, mon-keigh, you are from the caste of their rulers, are you not? Rogue Trader — that is what they call you? Well, then, Rogue Trader, since you deigned to come to this meeting, tell me your little secret. Usually, your worthless kind is so slow and sluggish that my kin always have enough time to leave before aid arrives. How were you able to stand in the Kabal's way then, and how were you able to interrupt my revels now?'

'We're smarter than we look.'

'You think too highly of your pitiful kind,' spat the Drukhari. 'A traitor, surely, has guided your hand. Who?'

'Don't know what you're talking about,' cheerfully said the lord-captain.

From my new position, I could see the both of them: the lord-captain, calm and collected while too many xenos held her in their sights and, a little way off and above, the Drukhari commander, towering like a maleficent reed. His presence was a forbidding one: a shadow of vicious intent clung to his every move. His eyes were a dark, unnatural green; he squinted, looking at Her Ladyship, and reminded me of a fell beast stalking his prey. The tortured man at his feet writhed when the Drukhari's heel crushed his windpipe, slowly, as the xenos mulled over something.

'You are lying,' he said. 'Lies, lies, but you cannot deceive me! Or you might be unaware of who is guiding your hand. But it matters not. Let us put an end to this. My forces against yours — once and for all. You wander among the stars; you must know of an ancient reach where the echo of stellar agony rings still. A place that serves as a graveyard for old stars, still filled with residual emissions and glittering dust; the threshold of our domain. Your kind call it the Cinerus Maleficum. This is where our disputes will be settled. The Kabal of the Reaving Tempest will be waiting for you there, mon-keigh; do not come unarmed. Marazhai, Trueborn Dracon of the Kabal, beckons you and, once again, you shall obey.'

Several things then happened almost simultaneously. With a sickening crunch, the man's neck gave way under the Drukhari's boot. The Drukhari turned, walking away with insolent insouciance, ordering his troops to shoot. But Her Ladyship had already ducked behind a rock, and Mistress Lanaevyss's gun had already cracked, sending an arrow of searing black light that nearly singed the Dracon's ponytail. Alas, it was a long shot against a moving target!

All hell broke loose. The Dracon's troops covered his retreat on an airbike of sorts; I heard Her Ladyship, through the comm-bead, order our shuttle to engage in pursuit and bring him down. Excellent as her pilot is, though, there was too much distance to close and that was a failure. Sister Argenta's bolter roared with the unmatched wrath of one of the Emperor's Daughters who faces her foe of choice. She revelled in the slaughter of the enemies of Humanity, and I didn't begrudge her this pleasure! Purging those Drukhari from the face of the world, after the horrors we had discovered along our way, felt right the way few things do.

Today, we held another long meeting in the War Room. We all agreed that the Dracon Marazhai wanted revenge for the failed Vheabos VI raid, that much was evident, after having had such glaring confirmation of our ability to be told in advance of their moves.

'So why would he bother telling us where we can find him next,' wondered Her Ladyship. 'The Drukhari don't seem to be the kind to play fair and, let's be honest, who gives their enemy a battle appointment?'

'Someone arrogant as a desert lord and utterly convinced of their own superiority?' hazarded Mistress Heydari.

Mistress Lanaevyss, curt as ever, agreed. 'My bloodthirsty cousins, elantach, always have plans within their plans, but they are also quite certain of their ability to crush you mon-keigh like beetles when the need arises. Besides, is their attitude not supported by the fact their raids are, more often than not, successful? Marazhai has a right to be boastful. He does not know you yet.'

The War Room is one of those place encumbered by the spoils of many victories: half-burnt flags, shapeless shrapnel that once belonged to enemy armour, trophies of every kind, the embalmed head of an Ork chief… Her Ladyship walked lazily around the room while we all pondered on the offer made to us, and she stopped by a particularly ugly chainsword bearing the Chorda insignia. Her eyes glazed over it; she was lost in thought.

'So there are unknowns to Marazhai's motives,' said van Calox. 'Let me put a request to my agents. Knowing his endgame would make the whole expedition safer.'

'How long would that take?'

'Weeks… months, maybe. Probably.'

I frowned. 'We may not have that kind of time. What would happen, should we be prove tardy in reaching the Cinerus Maleficum?'

'Perhaps an attack upon a major von Valancius world, to teach us a lesson,' replied van Calox. 'The abduction and torture of someone Katov holds dear. Anything that would hurt — morally, more than physically.'

'But we do have some time,' said Her Ladyship. 'Marazhai gave us a place, but not a time. We can prepare. Waiting for us up there will tie some of his resources at least, which should dampen the raids; and we gave them enough of a bloody nose on Vheabos that they need to regroup. Heinrix, send your requests. We won't wait for their results, but if they yield something fast enough it will be useful. We don't even know how strong a force we shall face.'

'What do you want us to do, lord-captain?' I asked.

'Let's go to Footfall, to the dockyards. Improve our armament. And I'll call for the Navy's help; we trade enough with them. Hell, I even gave them mooring at Foulstone for next to nothing. That way, we keep our own fleet in defence of our own systems, and the Navy gets to blow up some xenos, which should be their favourite activity in this neighbourhood.'

Lady Cassia spoke just as I was readying my remarks, but I left her the floor. And she spoke quite justly, noting that waiting gave the Drukhari time to prepare further. Her Ladyship shook her head.

'Whatever they are, their plans are probably already set. This level of challenge can only come from someone who already knows how many ships they can commandeer. Rushing in blind and alone would be suicidal.'

So, the order was given. We broke orbit two hours ago and are currently en route to the Mandeville point. Lady Cassia thinks that, once at Warp, we should reach Footfall in about a week as the currents appear quite favourable, although she never ran that direct route before. She is already studying the best way to reach the Cinerus Maleficum directly from Dargonus. I asked her how she planned to do this and her answer unsettled me. Now, I do not pretend to know how Navigators are able to lead a ship through the Immaterium, but from my years in the Navy I have gathered a few things — that they interface with the ship's cogitators, and that the Astronomican, on faraway Terra, is their lighthouse through the Sea of Souls. House Orsellio, she explained, does not entirely rely upon the Astronomican. She confided in me, under the promise of absolute secrecy, that each and every one of the Orsellio Navigators carry what she called an Atlas of Stars, and that this Atlas makes their paths clearer. From what I understood, each Navigator seems to act as a small beacon themselves?

Oh, the woman who made the attempt on her life did spout some silliness about an Atlas and how it was somehow a bad thing, but at the time lady Cassia seemed more confused than angry at those accusations. The Atlas, she confirmed me today, has been created by her predecessor, the lady Tisiphone, and as for herself she sees nothing evil or untoward in it. They still keep the Astronomican as their golden compass, so there is no heresy.

I should ready a list of proposed improvements for when we reach the Footfall shipyards. Her Ladyship's standing with the Navy is good enough; we should be able to upgrade the dorsal cannons with something better. Perhaps a shadow lance, if they have one in stock. We won't have time to improve our hull plating — this is too extensive. But a new auspex array would be feasible. Its calibration could be done while we are one again en route to Dargonus, so we wouldn't lose much time. I would love to get my hands on a squad of Fury Interceptors, or even Starhawk bombers; lady Theodora never cared much for those, being instead a strong enthusiast of ramming her foes, but I feel they would rather fit lady Katov's style of command.

Well, I should it a night. After dinner, I played a few rounds of tarot against Mistress Heydari — with my own cards, so she couldn't cheat, and we had a grand old time. I had a little too much amasec to drink; we needed that after the horrors of Grantis. This morning, while we were busy planning our next move, Her Ladyship sent a few jaded lower deckers down there to bury the dead. The vox-master also made contact with a settlement a few hundreds of kilometers away to tell them the fate of their fellow compatriots; turns out the last prisoner to be tortured and slain by Marazhai was their governor. By the time the other inhabitants reach the site of the massacres, sweet rains will have, hopefully, washed away the blood, and they will find nothing but neat rows of tombs where they can lay wreaths in memory of their kin.