I'd like to apologize for accidentally uploading this chapter yesterday and then deleting it. I'm trying to keep up with a regular schedule of a new chapter every Tuesday and that was a fat finger on my end. Sorry for any confusion.

XXXXXX

Roger and the Leopards are thrown into a tougher fight than they were expecting. However, the battles aftermath reveals something beyond their understanding, and possibly could be a new problem the already embattled Haikk Crusade will have to face. But just as the knight tries to warn Prince Edmund, he finally meets the new Inquisitor attached to the campaign to retake the system. Even more surprising, he finally discovers the truth of the relationship between her and Lord D'Uxford...

"Bloody hell," Roger rasped as he leapt through a doorway.

No sooner had he entered than the roar of a Punisher gatling cannon followed, obliterating the front of the ruined house, Davie and Hawke huddled in a corner as a last-ditch effort to find cover.

"I'm going to kill him," the knight hissed. "When we get back to the Starfort, I'm going to goddamn kill him!"

"Well, the intel wasn't good, I can agree with you on that Rog," the serjeant said, pouring some scavenged water from the kitchen to cool down the cherry red Hellguns barrel.

"What did he tell you, barely defended?" Hawke spluttered. "There's a fucking armored division here!"

"I'm aware, and I'm not happy about it!"

The Punisher gun attached to a Leman Russ roared again, trying to finish off what was left of the building the desperate Imperials were hiding in. Roger gritted his teeth and cursed himself for believing the spymaster. What was supposed to be a simple assassination mission had turned into a complete disaster, with ambush and attack being constant the moment the Leopards stepped out of the Webway.

"Roger? Can you hear me?" a voice echoed over the Eldari comms device in his ear.

"Kallen?"

"I have a plan to remove that tank. Are you willing to assist me?"

"Of course."

"Your species turrets are far too ungainly and slow to follow a creature as limber and quick as myself, so I shall distract them. You will then approach and destroy."

"Alright, but what about the hull guns?"

"Refrain from being killed by them."

Roger grinned, trying to take offense to the statement but finding humor there.

"Right. Work your magic."

"Gladly."

The gatling fire ended, the mechanical whine of the turret the only sound filling the air. Despite his personal reservations about the plan, Roger Wessyng was willing to take a chance and get everyone home, even if it was ridiculous. Leaning out slightly, to his relief the Punishers barrels had turned completely away from him, but the plasma cannon in the hull's portside was still a threat. Even with decent powered armor like himself, those were a terror to anyone, even the best equipped. Kallen and his species were able to move faster than plasma or the one aiming it, but him? He could barely move quick outside the armor, and as much of a help it could be…

"Bugger," he spat before running out into the street.

The Gatling tore up again, but not his way. He hoped Kallen was all right, but knowing the Scorpion, he was fine. An Eldar of rare quality who was as smug as one could be, but skilled and expert enough to be fully deserving of doing so. But as Roger closed in, the plasma cannon found him, a blue streak flying a mere foot away from him, unbearable heat pricking through his armor and visored helmet. But now he had time, for only an idiot or suicidal maniac would fire a weapon that was fickle even at the best of times more than once. He continued rushing forward, baffled that the Leman was dead still. Maybe the driver had been killed earlier, or the crew was hoping that the weapons would find their mark and did not wish to ruin their crewmates aim, or it could have been plain incompetence. He rolled behind some rubble as the plasma cooldown period ended and hoped that the gunner would make the mistake to fire again. His mind raced about what he could do. Another shot and cooldown could buy him time, but he was closer than before, meaning an easier target.

"Kallen, are you doing alright?"

"This weapon is something approaching a challenge."

"Be safe."

"I said "approaching," not an actual challenge. Are you close to it?"

"Close enough that I can get there, but the plasma gun in the hull is holding me down."

"Unfortunately, I can not help you with that."

It was no surprise, but he had to think of something. He peered up at the cannon, seeing it pointing damn near at him. He tried to think of something, looking up at a brick warehouse across the street. Little help it was to him, but-

He stopped and saw a faint light flicker on it. At first, he thought he blundered into a sniper's ambush zone, but the light came from the corner of the building, not in a window. And the light looked unfamiliar, almost… inhuman. Then, just as his mind realized what it was, a flash hit the spot that was briefly lit up and the sound of a ricochet filled his ears. It ended with the clang of a round hitting metal, then the blast of a plasma cannon that sent a flash of blue flame into the brick corner. He grinned and stood up to rush the Leman.

"Nice shot Anya," he said into his helmet.

"Thank you, Roger," she responded.

She had fired a round to ricochet perfectly into the tank or near the plasma cannon, causing the gunner to panic and try to fire wherever he had been attacked from. No damage to the plating, but the psychological effect had been proven. While the damage to the local architecture was regrettable, it gave him a chance with no risk of death or injury. He took advantage of it, rushing towards the cooling hull weapon and getting within close range to climb onto the left tread. He pulled out a Melta charge, one of the few he had brought just in case, not enough to make a difference in the fight, but when the opportunity arose, the best thing he had. The turret was still away from him, and it whirred to prepare to fire again. He pulled the pin and rolled it under the back of the gun mount, taking no joy in his victory to rush off the tank and get to safety. Even a badly placed Melta would wreak havoc on a vehicle and being on top of it when the charge went off… best not to think about that. He dove behind some rubble and got as low as he could, the dull thump of the charge going off as a hot wind blew over his cover. He peered up in satisfaction as the hull burned like a candle. Dusting his armor off, he walked around the wreck and lifted his helmet visor to get a better look. The heat stung his face, but he could confirm with his own eyes that all had gone well.

"That gunner nearly found me," a voice said from his left.

"You do move damnably quick Kallen, I doubt you were in any trouble."

"Well, I feel that I am getting slower in my age."

"Yeah, I'll believe it when I see it."

The cacophony of war had dulled around them, and Roger believed the battle, as much of a disaster as it had become, had finally ended. He placed the blade of his Eldari sword on the ground, resting his hands on the hilt as the two watched the vehicle continue to burn.

"That shot by Anya was quite something. For all my personal qualms with Outcasts, I will never speak ill of their marksmanship."

"As you should, you never know when one of them is aiming at you."

The Scorpion smirked slightly before he remembered something.

"Did you know her mother was trying to arrange a courtship for her last time I was on Ducaish?"

"No," Roger said with suspicion.

It was not the information that bothered him, but the fact that Kallen had brought it up at all. Was there something he knew that he should not have?

"Yes, the Farseer attempted to pair her with a singer. Most of our population is musically inclined, it is the quirk, as you say, of our Craftworld."

"And how did she respond?"

"I do not know. She has not told any of us much about it. I will go with not well knowing her. And her mother."

"I've always wondered if the Farseer was a bit of a battleaxe."

Kallen scoffed at the comment.

"Roger Wessyng, she treats you positively gentle compared to some. Our dear Rangers father, who I met, he was about my age, was inexplicably tolerated by her. She does not suffer me or those like me for exceptionally long. I am a bit envious of your treatment in all honesty."

A gaggle of feet behind them stopped the conversation, Roger turning to see Davie, Hawke, Parky, and the massive frame of Sister Evita.

"You all still alive?" he asked.

"Unfortunately," Davie said before scratching his chin before turning to the Sororitas and her young assistant. "What about you two? I heard that Bolter non-bloody-stop for the last hour or so."

"Parky and I were able to stop a counterattack on our own. Their infantry was of little use against the faith and weapons of those true to the Imperium."

"We did a good job, but I think my hands got blisters from feeding all those Bolter rounds."

"I told you to bring gloves-"

"I know Eve."

The knight saw the amused expression on Kallens face and cleared his throat.

"Hawke, you got the proof we killed this bastard?"

"Aye boss. Locks of hair, and his shoulder boards with rank on 'em."

"Well, we didn't get killed and we got our guy. That's a win in my book."

The others looked at Roger grimly.

"I didn't say it wasn't a mess."

"How did D'Uxford get this one wrong?" Parky asked. "He's normally good about these things."

"He probably rushed to get this done, take a chance when we could and all that. He wouldn't have sent us into a situation like this on purpose. Accidentally? Maybe."

"Forgive my predilections towards an unpleasant answer," another figure in armor similar in color and design to Kallens added as he approached, "But is it not possible that your commander sent us here purposefully to be killed?"

Roger shook his head.

"We're one of his best units and a good bridge between your kind and mine from a military standpoint."

"Which I would understand, but you must think of the political situation at the moment."

"Explain."

Gwyndair Kyell, former second in command for the Striking Scorpions and trusted confidant of Kallen, was polite, but more rigid in his feelings towards humanity. If Kallen was brilliant and aloof, he was methodical and firm. And now, that mind was concluding to an unhappy answer.

"Forgive my brash assessment Roger, but do think about it for a moment. Our unit is unique, almost too much for Imperial toleration. There is a new Inquisitor, a man or woman who can decide the fate of entire planets and their populace on a whim. Would D'Uxford and the Prince not have, even if you firmly do not believe it, a more than minimal interest in seeing our destruction? Eliminating an unfortunate truth to their success while accomplishing another operation?"

Roger crooked an eyebrow before a hum of thought came from his human allies.

"He's… not entirely crazy sir," Parky stated.

"Aye. It does make sense Rog."

"I would like to think in my heart of hearts that he would not easily try to kill us, knowing we've all gotten through worse. But you do make a valid, and rather upsetting point Gwyndair."

The group went silent, mulling over the hypothesis. Roger was disturbed not by the suggestion, but that he could feasibly see it being true. Inquisitors were always unwelcome news, and to admit to a unit made of Xenos… that would be tantamount to heresy. It would be an effortless way to take care of the problem that they posed. It made sense. And that was terrifying to him.

"Roger," a female voice filled his ear.

"Anya, any threats?"

"No."

"We're heading out soon. Down two though. See them anywhere?"

"I do not."

Roger sniffed with minor irritation.

"Thank you."

"Of course."

He turned back to the group and sighed.

"Where's Perin? Better yet, which one of you lost track of Bob?"

XXXXXX

Cautiously moving through the ruins of the village, Perin Canyll kept his Shuriken Catapult at the ready, despite sensing that the threat had been eliminated. Under the blue face plate connected to his white, high crested helmet, he wore an expression of calm firmness. His mind was filled with memories of his life back on the Craftworld, fuzzy but clear enough that instead of falling into the split personality that bedeviled his Aspect Warrior comrades from places like Ulthwe or Biel-Tan, he could feel a sense of self that would mercifully never remember the horrors he would do or see in the armor. He did not know why he was alone and looking through the rubble. Maybe he was trying to find meaning somewhere, to understand what had happened. He stopped at a corner and leaned over, seeing a figure knelt over another. He recognized the one above, wearing a bowl-shaped helmet with a red and blue uniform. He quietly moved towards the man, his wrinkled face and tufts of white hair stretching behind the metal head covering.

"Water," the human on the ground rasped.

The former enemy had lost her legs, one arm badly mangled, with a stain of red across her stomach. Perin frowned. Even with his rudimentary knowledge, it was easy to determine this one was not much longer for living. The older man, Robert, or Bob as the other humans called him, took out his canteen and pulled the cork out of the top. He gently put it to the dying females' lips, who took a gentle, barely fulfilling sip.

"Emperor bless you," she whispered.

Then she laid her head back and went still. Perin, like all Eldar, had a heightened attention to emotion, and could feel sadness, even a bit of grief, emanating from the older human.

"Why do you grieve?" the Avenger asked simply.

The old man got off his knee, never breaking sight with the now dead woman.

"Young. Too young to die," he replied simply.

"But did this one not know that death was a risk?"

"Still a shame."

Perin tried to make a rational point about service and duty, but Bob intrigued him. For most warriors, to kill or be killed was an unpleasant fact, and to kill first meant you were the better one. Yet despite not even being involved in her death, this one showed sorrow for what had happened. Whatever he thought he understood about humans, his brief time with the Leopards had taught otherwise. It had not been his first choice of warriors, but to be requested by Moire Cyriou, the she-devil of the Ducaish Avengers, killer of Syrgar the Terrible and his entourage of five Astartes under the influence of the Dark Powers single-handedly… one did not exactly refuse a female like that.

"We should return to our forces."

"Aye."

Bob had only taken a few steps when he stopped at a damaged house. Perin looked at the sign but could not understand it. Eldar were able to learn and easily know the clumsy, barbaric human tongues and written language, but some words and phrases would elude those less skilled in it like himself. Bob noticed the Avenger pause to read it and moved to his side.

"Manse. Priest house."

"Ah. Thank you."

"Aye."

They were about to head towards the lifting smoke from a nearby burning vehicle when Bob stopped in his tracks. He peered into a massive hole in the wall, from a stray tank shell that had crashed at street level and dug through the floors of the house. But that was not what caught the old man's attention. It was the glittering light he had seen, and the sense of something wrong. He always had it, hidden from others along with the other skills he had, and it was screaming at him in warning. He held up his hand to Perin, who dutifully stopped and looked to where the old man was staring. His helmet, far above even the best of human technology, scanned and revealed, despite the dark cavern-like situation ahead-

"Isha's tears," he whispered in Eldari.

He turned to Bob who, though he had not heard the comment, could tell what the Eldar was feeling.

"Bob! Perin! There you are."

The two turned to find the gathered forces of the Leopards moving towards them.

"Roger, look," the old man said as he pointed down the hole.

The knight stared at him in slight confusion before doing so, his eyes widening as his mind grasped what he was looking at.

"Bloody hell."

He rubbed his eyes, as if not believing what he saw.

"Bob, Gwyndair, stand guard out here. Everyone else follow me."

The ones he requested dutifully did so, gasps from each of them as they moved down into the newly created hole.

"Emperor protect me," the Sororitas muttered.

"I think of all the places on this benighted planet," Roger sniffed, "This is probably the closest you'll get to him Sister."

They had only seen a single wall, but that was more than enough to inspire interest. The rest of the structure was incredible, for there were no words accurate enough to summarize it. The walls were white marble, gold fixtures inlaid every inch. This lavishness stretched for hundreds of feet, the size of a decent church. Pews, just as ornate and exquisitely crafted as the pillars and walls, sat in perfect alignment.

"This isn't like any church I've bloody been in," Davie said.

"This is… extravagant," Evita said numbly. "But there is something wrong with it. I do not know how to explain it, but if I do not feel safe here-"

"Then none of us should. Everyone, be on your guard. Just because it's pretty doesn't mean it's friendly."

The others stayed on edge, Kallen and Perin the only exceptions. This was mildly annoying to Roger, but they had an advantage in many ways over their comrades. He held his sword and looked around. While it was gorgeous, the more he looked at it, the more disgusted he became. It was extravagant to the point of pure vanity, crystal chandeliers burning carved candles, murals painted with golden lilt. Excess. That was the word he was looking for. This was not an exercise in holiness or devotion, this was excess. Even the worst members of Ecclesiarchy knew there were limits, and this church did not get the memo.

"Kallen," he said to the nearby Scorpion. "Should we be concerned?"

"How so? From an artistic standpoint, it is well made but revolting to a trained eye-"

"I meant… in those powers I don't understand."

"Ah. Well, if we would have been in danger or found something to notice, I would have made you aware."

"I'm touched."

"No, this is… disturbingly vain. But it is not touched by the evil forces that so commonly pervade places like this. It is curious and leaves me with questions. Do you have an answer? After all, this is a human place of worship."

"It's not like anything I've ever-"

"Sir!"

Parky's voice echoed off the fine walls, coming from the front. There was a haze of incense and smoke that made an already foreboding atmosphere even more disturbing.

"Yes?"

"You should see this! Eve thinks so too!"

His sword still at the ready, Roger moved to the chancel. The smell of incense was burning his nose, but he realized there were more scents of burning, but not of anything pleasant. Scorched wood, and even more disturbing, charred flesh. What was this place? Was it truly a sacred one, or had they blundered into a dark worship area of a cult? Then he saw Parky standing nearby, helmet hanging off his belt and allowing his cropped golden hair to flow out. Sister Evita was standing a few yards away, looking at the end wall, her mouth agape.

"What is it Parky?"

"You need to see it for yourself sir. It's something else."

Roger stood alongside Evita and felt his jaw drop.

XXXXXX

It was twenty feet tall, about ten wide. A mosaic of the emperor, made of various emeralds, jewels, and a set of diamonds, all surrounded by a suit of armor made entirely of crafted gold. Where the armor could not fit gold, something not bright like silver, but of a similar craft-

"Platinum," the knight said dumbly.

"Gold, platinum, and diamonds. This is beyond devotion Roger," the Sister said. "This is vanity, the type that the Church has spent so long to get away from."

There was no reverence or awe in her voice, but horror and disgust.

"I thought you would be happier with this. After all, what better way to show one's devotion to our eternal God-Emperor than something like this?"

"Because the type of worship like this was banned for a reason. Do you know anything about Imperial history? All places where the Imperial faith was convened were like this. Wasting resources, showing nothing but contempt for those not in the ranks of the faith."

"Maybe it's an old church that's been kept up."

"No, this place is kept well enough and treated that it had to have been used recently. Roger, something is wrong here. We must inform someone in the Ecclesiarchy about this place."

"I don't see why-"

"The faith was reformed because of places exactly like this. And men who believed that this was the true way to venerate our immortal Emperor."

He felt ashes in his mouth. Was this a small sect? Was it-

"Wait, remember that priest that attacked you on-"

"Precisely what I was thinking of."

He was about to say something about the attack that happened half a year ago in a small chapel on Haikk Four, when the sound of a wet thud and the pounding of armored boots filled his ears. He whirled around to find a man in ornate armor sliding on the ground towards him. He blinked and realized it was not a man, but half of one.

"What the hell?"

"Roger, are you and the others all right?"

"Kallen? What just-"

"Hostile was sneaking up on you three. Never expected an Eldar to be watching over all of you. I corrected him. Maybe a bit too much."

He stepped closer to the perfectly cut in half body and moved his sword under the corpses arm. The armor was unlike anything they had faced; the rebels mostly using inferior quality local equipment or knock off Cadian style gear. The body rolled over, revealing a plain, bald-headed man. His armor was as high quality as the rest of the building, and it took little to realize what he was.

"Some sort of church guard. Nothing like the average alms' collector or even a Sister of Battle."

Evita looked down at the body and looked it over. Then, as she stared at the dead man's neck, she gasped and made the sign of the Aquila.

"What's wrong?" Parky asked, not far behind her.

"Look at that scar. On his throat."

True to her word, a fine, thin white scar was etched on his lower neck. She had been trained as a Hospitaller once, a medical expert in the service of the Emperors most loyal daughters and knew the human body quite well.

"What is it?"

"Kallen," she said with slight distrust. "Did they make any noise?"

"No. Had I not noticed his movements, I would not have been able to eliminate him."

"Oh no."

Davie and Hawke rushed over to the body.

"Bloody 'ell Rog, what're you up to?"

"Davie, he's like the others we found!"

The rest of the Leopards quickly prepared for action.

"Bodies, boss, neat the hole we came in through. When the shell hit, it must've killed two of them. Same armor, and that weird scar on the neck."

"Vocal cords," Evita said grimly.

"What about them?"

"Whoever presided over this place had these men cut them. Unable to speak, but capable of doing most everything else."

"Why?"

"What better way to keep a secret?" Kallen suggested.

"I… think we just stepped into something much bigger than we were prepared for," Roger said.

The others looked at him, seeming to agree.

"Get some picts of all this, and we better get the hell out of here. This is way above all our paygrades."

"Roger," Anya cut in over the comms device. "Multiple units are within a mile or two of the village. Expedite."

"Got it. That's our overwatch telling us to leave. I'd listen to her."

The rest of the Leopards agreed, using whatever they could to document or keep evidence of the strange church. One of them took special interest in doing so.

"For Thrones sake Hawke, I guess old habits die hard."

"It's only a candlestick. Or three."

"Here's a question for you, and if you answer it, I'll let you keep your spoils: if this was all stripped bare and sold, how much would it all be worth?"

The former thief, still stuck in his ways, looked around and liked his teeth in thought.

"That Emperor mural alone?"

He whistled.

"More than most cities on Anglerre would make in a millennia. Easy."

Roger nodded. More reason to wonder about this place.

XXXXXX

Two standard Terran hours later, Roger was moving at a brisk pace to the Prince's office. He had quickly thrown his jupon over the battered and blood-stained armor, but he needed to see Edmund and D'Uxford now. He left his helmet behind, thinking that a grim and serious face would get more respect combined with the uniform as he stomped through the halls of the Langriano. He was halfway there when a familiar voice stopped him.

"Roger? Is that you?"

He stopped and turned to find the perplexed face of Sir Tristan Argenac, member of the Prince's personal bodyguard.

"Tristan. What are you doing here?"

The two shook hands in mutual respect, both knights who owed much to the Prince. Tristan had met Roger in odd circumstances but had become a good acquaintance of the man who he escorted from an executioner's pole to the ranks of the Anglois nobility.

"Been summoned to join Edmund and Black Bob in the hangar. Apparently that new Inquisitor arrived earlier than expected."

"I was just here yesterday; it seemed like they were a week off!"

"Well, the warp is a fickle bitch. Er, pardon my language."

"You and I both know that Edmund would say something worse. I need to speak to him anyway, maybe I can slip in."

"Of course! We may need all the men available to keep whoever the Holy Inquisition sent our way distant from the royal presence."

Roger chuckled as he followed Tristan towards the bay.

"By the way, what's the story between D'Uxford and the new Inquisitor?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Roger. Edmund complained about him being an insufferable little shit, which I think is hardly a way to speak about one's friend, especially one as important and intelligent as Black Bob."

"Well, Edmund does have a way of putting his foot in his mouth."

"More than a few Sororitas have learned that the hard way."

"And Emperor bless him, he'll continue to get their holy panties in a bunch."

The two laughed as they reached the massive doors that opened into the hangar. Despite the auspicious rank of the visitor, only an honor guard and a collection of a few high rankers, admittedly including the commander of the Haikk Crusade, Lord General Militant Paulus Borricelli, with Edmund and D'Uxford standing nearby.

"There. And the Inquisitors arrived judging by the symbols on that Valkyrie."

Roger nodded as the craft moved to land. The snap of a hundred or so boots moving to attention echoed through the hangar bay as Roger moved alongside Edmund and Tristan stood at the rear of the group.

"Roger! Good to see you survived," the Prince whispered. "I take it that whatever errand you ran for Duck is finished?"

"Yes, Your Highness, but there's something we have to discuss."

"Well, I'd love to, but we're in the middle of something important. And I don't know if you want to be here."

"Edmund is right Roger," D'Uxford said, his voice barely controlled anger. "The Inquisition does not exactly smile upon those with your diplomatic skills."

"Thank you, My Lord, but it is pressing. We found a church."

As the Valkyrie landed and opened its bay door, Edmund turned slightly to Roger in mild confusion.

"A church?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Roger, there are one hundred and forty-seven chapels on this station alone, I don't exactly see what one church-"

"One with guards that had vocal cords cut, and a mural of the Emperor, twenty feet high and made of gold, platinum, and diamonds."

Edmund and D'Uxford turned away from the pair of legs walking down the ramp to greet the Lord General Militant.

"Really?"

"Yes, Your Highness. Pon my soul."

"Hmm. That is intriguing. But that's not really our prerogative, is it? You know who would like to hear about that? Chelmster."

The Bishop of Chelmster, warrior, man of the faith, and personal confessor to Edmund, had followed him to the Starfort, believing that staying with the Prince mattered more than being stuck in a Cathedral in the middle of Haikk Four. Roger could not exactly blame him or say he was wrong in that assessment.

"I think that would be a promising idea Ed. We have enough problems to investigate and follow up on, handing one off to the Ecclesiarchy would make our lives easier."

"Maybe get the Inquisitor involved. I am sure she would be interested."

"Getting in others business is a trait of hers," D'Uxford growled.

"Shush, Duck. She is quite a formidable woman Roger, maybe you'll get to meet her. And it won't even be the result of an interrogation."

Roger nodded at the Prince, who bore a bright smile as the Lord of Clavham kept a visage as grim and dour as ever.

"I would hope that if I did meet her, it would be pleasant."

"I would like to think I am quite pleasant, but I have heard from others that it is not so."

Roger, the Prince, and D'Uxford turned to the voice, feminine and sultry. Before them, somehow unnoticed in their conversation, was a woman with dirty brown hair tied in a small bun, a pale young face, and hauntingly beautiful gray eyes. She wore a dress, plain and unremarkable, but hanging from her neck was a rosette that looped into a golden "I" with three prongs on both sides, a skull in the middle. Roger swallowed nervously, but the other two were non-plussed. Edmund continued to smile, while D'Uxfords mood seemed to turn fouler. She was, as the knight would admit, quite gorgeous. Deceptively so.

"My goodness, Inquisitor Beauchamp. How long has it been?"

She returned the smile warmly.

"Prince Edmund. You were but a boy, barely thirteen. That must make it… fourteen years since I last saw you?"

"Fifteen, actually. Not that anyone is counting," D'Uxford said flatly.

"Robert. I am happy to see you are in good health, and your wit has not abandoned you."

"As am I, Katherine. But I was hoping that we would keep our distance, as you seemed to prefer."

"We can continue this line of conversation in private, Robert."

"Very well. May I be dismissed? I have reports to finish."

"You did not have to come here and greet me, Robert. In fact, that you are even here is quite unusual."

Robert D'Uxford finally smiled for the first time since Roger arrived.

"Maybe I am sentimental. Prince Edmund will give any information you need should you require me. Good day. Welcome to the Starfort Langriano."

The Lord of Clavham walked off, an air of aggravation around him. The Inquisitor turned back to Edmund.

"I see he has not changed much."

"Forgive me for saying this, Madame Inquisitor, but given the fraught state of your relationship, that he kept in contact with you at all speaks to his sense of duty and honor."

"It reminds me of someone we both know," she said with a bit of sadness.

Prince Edmund became slightly uncomfortable before remembering Roger was there.

"Ah! May I introduce someone to you? He has been an immense help to not only myself, but to the Imperium at large. Sir Roger Wessyng, a knight in my service on loan from the Lord of Moressley."

Inquisitor Beauchamp turned her stone-gray eyes to him, and as they met, he felt a shiver in his spine. They were beautiful, but there was something under them. Predatory. Always seeking something. He bowed politely before her.

"Madame Inquisitor. It is an honor to meet you," he said nervously.

"Thank you, Sir Roger. I have heard about you as well. Somethings quite extraordinary."

"Nothing of ill-repute, I hope?"

She smiled slightly.

"Interesting things. But I also hear you work closely with Robert, so I think we will get to know each other quite well."

"I am honored."

"I would not say that yet," she said just as politely, but there was a hint of a threat there.

"Well, I see your belongings are being unloaded Madame Inquisitor. Do you need any help?"

"My retinue and Scions will take care of it. Thank you for the offer, Prince Edmund."

"Of course. Actually, I need to speak to that man over there. He owes me a few things. Roger, would you mind entertaining Madame Beauchamp? She does not bite. Well, far as I know."

"I will refrain from doing so, Edmund."

"Capital! Roger, Madame Inquisitor."

As the Prince stepped off, Roger felt like a man who had been thrown into a wolf cage wearing steaks on his neck. The two stood awkwardly for a few moments before he decided to speak.

"Madame Inquisitor, may I ask you something, if it does not offend you?"

"Within reason, Sir Roger."

"It's about… Lord D'Uxford."

"I am quite an expert on the subject."

"I do not wish to indict him, but I thought you would want to be aware of something."

She looked at him with interest.

"Oh?"

"He… does not seem to like you."

She stared at him for a few seconds before her face cracked into a smile, a gloved hand coming on top of it as she stifled a giggle.

"Sir Roger, that is an understatement. He loathes me."

"May I ask… why? He seems to know you quite well, and you seem to know him from a previous meeting."
"Correct on both counts, my dear knight. We know each other quite intimately, much to Robert's disdain and my concern."

"How does he know you?"

"That is a long story, Sir Roger, but I can assure you one thing: as much as he thinks he knows me, I know him much, much better."

Roger nodded politely.

"And why is that Madame Inquisitor?"

She turned to him and smiled.

"I have known him since his earliest days. His thoughts, his feelings, his moods, are quite familiar to me. Forgive me for saying this, but short of our Glorious God-Emperor, I know him better than anyone. After all-"

She made a slight chuckle in amusement.

"I am his mother."