As Roger and the Leopards complete their mission on Haikk One, Prince Edmund deals with the Administratum and Munitorum. Thankfully, a visit from the Bishop of Chelmster, along with news from home, lifts his mood at least for a short while.
Meanwhile, Robert D'Uxford has an unexpected meeting with an unwelcome visitor. The resulting conversation, however, is nothing what he expected...
"B-but, Your Highness, the cost of importing beef to your armies would be larger than just relying on Grox-"
"Who, may I ask, is paying for this?"
"W-well the Imperium is, but they do not like spending money that isn't necessary-"
"So, making sure our men are happy and fed isn't worth the Thrones?"
"W-well, give your troops Grox and tell them it is beef. They cannot tell the difference."
The Prince turned from his office window, his face blank. Somehow, it was more terrifying than him showing anger as he slowly walked towards the clerk. Each armored boot sounded like the Bell of Lost Souls as it echoed through the massive room, sending the already frightened man into near apoplexy.
"Pardon?"
"Y-Your Highness, Grox is cheaper, e-easier for ration production-"
"Have you ever eaten beef, my friend?"
"N-no, but I assume it tastes like Grox."
One of Edmunds massive hands took his shirt collar before lifting the hapless desk warrior a foot off the ground. Before he could protest, the Prince had moved him to the door, not letting him down. Using his free hand to open it, Edmund held him outside as Sister Antonia, one of the two Sororitas who rotated the role of his secretary between each other, looked at the two in slight disappointment.
"There is no price for ensuring the glory and service of the Imperial Guard."
"You-you mean the Astra Militarum?" he squeaked before feeling the grip on his collar tighten.
"Shut up. Now tell your bosses that we'll ship the damn cows ourselves and butcher our own food. If they want to argue that… come back and we'll discuss it."
"Y-yes, Your Highness."
Edmund dropped the poor man, who adjusted his collar and rushed through the cathedral vaulted hall where the Haikk Crusades intelligence apparatus functioned.
"The man wanted me to serve my lads bloody Grox!" he complained to Antonia.
"Your Highness, do you realize that most of the Imperium relies on foods like corpse starch?"
"And they look down on us feudal planets as uncivilized-" he grumbled. "Now, who's going to bother me next?"
"The Bishop of Chelmster."
Edmund's anger, palpable even to the analysts at the end of the hall, cooled instantly as his face broke into a smile.
"His Grace? I mean, I'll be happy to talk to him, but was he scheduled-"
"He asked to see you while you were… discussing matters with Clerk Argonus."
"Well, I appreciate it. Where is he anyways?"
"Right behind you, Your Highness."
He turned to see the Bishop in his red, white, and gold vestments with the tall mitre hat that completed his attire.
"Your Grace," Edmund said with a bow.
There were few men that Edmund respected, especially from the ranks of the Ecclesiarchy. Of course, the Prince was faithful, his mother was once a Sister of Battle after all, but where faith was faultless, he had found too many in the churches ranks below the standard set by no less than the God-Emperor himself. Chelmster however, being a warrior-bishop from the hardy and cold north of Avalon, took little to impress and earn a spot as the personal confessor and spiritual advisor to the Prince.
"My son," he said with his thick northern accent, "I know you have a busy schedule of frightening bureaucrats and harassing my Sororitas, but I need your attention for a little bit."
Edmund barked a laugh, startling all those around him.
"Your Grace, you know me too well. Come into my office, I'll pour you a drink."
"Wine, as usual."
"It is the proper drink of churchmen," Edmund said, closing the door behind him.
"True, but it's more that even when I was a young man, I could barely hold my drink."
"Ha! Well, I assure you, you can handle it better than most. Remember the party we had before our forces departed Lundun?"
The Bishop nodded as he took off his mitre, letting his thinning gray hair breathe.
"I can remember a few. Your brother, certainly."
"Which one?"
"The Duke of Bestor."
"Ah, Dick. Well, he rarely gets a chance to enjoy himself, I mean, what happens out there in the southwest anyways?"
Richard, Duke of Bestor, was the third son of King Edward XVII of Anglerre, a rather boring, uninteresting man who was more interested in creating new breeds of livestock and horse racing. His brother poured the Bishop a glass of wine and handed it to him.
"It was because he cared about you, Your Highness. I can tell you that it broke your family's hearts that you had to leave."
"My sisters I understand, maybe Richard and Jean, but I am fairly certain my other brothers were happy to see me go."
"Don't say that, you know they care about you."
"Eddie and Al…they always considered me the favorite. Ridiculous, considering I'm dead last in line for the crown."
Prince Edward, heir to the throne, and Albert, Duke of Beauford, were the first and second sons of the King and Queen, and while not as violent as some familial rivalries that had affected Anglois history, they had a certain dislike of Edmund.
"Well, you never know…"
Edmunds jovial mood ceased, his face turning stony as he put down his half empty wine glass.
"Do not jest about such things," he warned in a deep, anger-filled tone.
"History is history," the Bishop said, realizing that even with his long relationship with the Prince, there were still lines to be crossed. "Your father was last in line, and he had three brothers."
"Who all were imbeciles that got themselves killed in accidents and health issues that were perfectly avoidable. I don't want the damn crown anyway, let Ed have it. Let me spend my days trying to keep the damn Gasc's in line."
"I never asked you, how do you feel about being Prince?"
Edmund shrugged.
"You and I both know the nobility there would have torn each other apart to gain the coronet. I'm a choice of convenience and peace, nothing more, and I'm satisfied with that."
"I see. Well, enough talk of things back home. I'm here about a certain knight in your retinue and what he's been doing lately."
"Oh no, Tancred's been pinching the lady officers' arses again?"
"No, Your Highness. Well, maybe, but I am not aware of any new transgressions. I was speaking about Sir Roger Wessyng."
"Ah."
The Prince tapped his fingers on his glass before speaking again.
"He's not harassing women on the station too, is he?"
"No, Your Highness," the Bishop chuckled. "But he has been doing some jobs for me."
"I would like to know where he is, and what you're doing with him. He's a bit important and an essential part of our… unspoken alliance."
"Of course, and the fact you have been left out of the loop is entirely to protect you and the Crusade. All I can say is that it involves the Sororitas, the Inquisition, and myself. No specifics, but Roger is an essential part of our plans. Should you need him for an operation, he is your man, but if we need-"
"No explanation required, Your Grace. If this is for the betterment of the Imperium, I'm all for it."
Chelmster nodded, having known full well that Edmund would understand. Such was their relationship that even the mention of the Eldar, even through shadowy verbiage, was ignored. He was willing to let some things that the Ecclesiarchy would see as criminal slide, if Anglerre and the House of Planjou won glory. Selfish, maybe, but through decades of reading the Lectitio Divinitatus, he had determined that the Emperor was not as definitive or certain in some respects as the faithful hoped to believe.
"One problem though."
"Oh?" the Bishop said, snapping out of his theological opinions.
"He is my knight, but he's not my man. He's under Duck, technically."
"Yes, we know. And he is being informed the same way."
"Who's telling him?"
Chelmster clicked his tongue and looked out the office's massive window, adjusting his sleeves.
"Your Grace, are you trying to get that woman killed?"
"No. She's a fine asset and I would not think of such a thing. Well, most days. She's his mother, so even with his personal issues with the Inquisitor, it's a better choice."
"You should have sent me, he won't argue."
"They have a way of speaking with one another, I bet. Besides, she wanted to speak to him anyway."
Now it was Edmunds' turn to be surprised. He offered to pour wine into the Bishop's empty glass but was politely refused.
"Really?"
"She asked specifically to come here. I have a feeling it has less to do with our problem Rogers trying to solve than being near Robert."
"She isn't trying to kill him, is she?"
"I hope not. You two have a good thing going, as it were, and if an Anglois kills an Inquisitor…"
He did not even finish the thought, something too dreadful to think of. Edmund had already been threatened with it once by Borricelli, and Duck, even in his most volatile moment, certainly knew the risks.
"I just remembered, I have to lead prayer in a quarter of an hour. Forgive me for making this conversation short, but I believed it best to speak with you personally about this matter."
"Of course, and my answer's the same: if you need Roger and the Leopards, they're yours."
"Bless you, my son."
The Bishop stood up and picked up his mitre before stopping.
"Oh! Good heavens, I nearly forgot."
He fumbled around his clothes and pulled out two pieces of parchment, handing the two to the Prince.
"One is for you, the other for Roger. Direct from Anglerre."
"Understood. Thank you, Your Grace."
"Walk with faith, my son."
The Bishop made the sign of the Aquila, bowed, and exited the office. Edmund sat back down and looked at the parchments. He gently put Rogers on the side, recognizing the wax sealed crest of the Moressley family, which made sense given that Roger was technically a knight of that lord. The other one was wider and thicker, and he turned it over to see a familiar seal. In the center of it, a knight on a horse, a crown on its helmet with a shield showing a single leopard rampant. Circling around the figure were words in High Gothic:
EDWARDVS DEI IMPERIO GRACIA REX ANGLERRE ET DOMINUS KALIS
Edmund smiled at the wax marked by the Great Seal of Anglerre, only used by the King himself. Edward, by the Glory of the God-Emperor, King of Anglerre and Lord of Kalis. The last title was a small holding in the system right next to the one Anglerre resided in, a small chunk of land on planet Pasaute III, gifted after Edward IX sent an army to save them from a heretic rebellion. The area had become a massive trade hub in the millennia or two since, making up ten percent of Anglerre's domestic revenue, viciously defended by Anglois troops rotated every five Terran years to defend it from the local government who had come to rue the deal ever since. They even had the gall to ask his father to return it due to lost trade, to which Edward XVII replied, "Lower your taxes to our rates and maybe folks shall trade with you." He cut the parchment open and started to read.
"Our dear son," it began.
Edmund smiled at his father's handwriting, the greetings and updates on the family. Eddie and his wife were expecting their third child, Arlette, his youngest sister, on holiday in the Fens. The harvest was bountiful, the mines bringing up coal and gold at regular rates...all seemed well. Mother wished him good health, as did his brothers and sisters. With Anglerre in good spirits, he had little to worry about-
Then he read about the rumors from Terra, his face and heart sinking as he read on.
XXXXXX
The small office was rather cool, but Robert D'Uxford preferred it that way. He had grown up on the Western Isles, a group of isolated, fiercely independent, and hard to control lordship of Anglerre. He hated the excessive heat and found any dry climate unpleasant, preferring places where wind howled at the windows, rain would be constant, and staying inside for most of the day was the norm. He knew that one's surroundings affected their upbringing and moods, so he was cold and melancholic. A rap at the door stopped him from finishing a report, much to his annoyance.
"Who is it? You better have a good reason to disturb me."
"Sir Colbert, milord."
It was one of the knightly guards from the family holdings back home, one of the few men D'Uxford trusted. Like most of those protecting the nobility of the Isles, he was a descendant of the Avalonian knights that conquered the strange, Fae-revering locals. Of course, they all had a twinge of local blood in them, maybe the Lord of Clavham did too.
"Yes Colbert?"
"You have a visitor."
"I did not have anyone scheduled tonight," he said with irritation. "Tell them to come tomorrow, preferably in the evening."
"Erm, milord, I can't exactly get them to leave. I've tried, but I can only push back so hard before it becomes a matter of life or death."
D'Uxford looked up at the knight from across the room.
"Unless it's Edmund or the Emperor himself, who could be that important?"
"It's… an Inquisitor. You know which one."
The spymaster sat up in his chair, gritting his teeth and swallowing hard.
"She won't leave?"
"No, milord."
"What does she want?"
"She won't tell any of us. It's your ears only."
"Bloody woman-make her wait for a minute or two, then… send her in."
"Are you sure milord?"
He opened a drawer in his desk and shoved the half-finished parchment inside, grumbling as he did so.
"Yes. Do as I ask."
He stood from his chair and walked over to the small, decorative fireplace. He never understood why Edmund insisted on having them placed in many of the offices owned by Anglois officers and commanders, but at least it looked nice. He threw a few logs in, tossed a firestarter, and pulled the two nicer chairs in his decently sized office towards the flames. He turned the two to face the fire, not towards each other, and he wanted to keep it that way. He started to think that his mother had left without speaking to him, as surely the amount of time that had passed to get the room ready was more than a few minutes. Three raps at the door proved him unfortunately wrong.
"Who is it?"
"Inquisitor Beauchamp," a feminine voice answered.
D'Uxford sank into one of the chairs and sighed.
"Come in."
The door opened, but he kept his eyes on the now roaring fire.
"Hello Robert."
"Inquisitor."
There was an awkward silence as Katherine Beauchamp stood at his door. After a few moments, he grunted and lifted his hand to offer her a seat.
"You are too kind."
"May I ask what brings you to my office?"
"Well," she whispered before sitting down, "Maybe I simply wish to speak with my son."
"I somewhat doubt that."
"And why is that?"
"Because I was not even sure you were alive until a year ago. You simply vanished, my correspondence unanswered, no news for-"
He clenched his teeth and finally looked at her.
"I thought you were dead. And then you suddenly answer me after two years. Two years!"
"Which is why I am here."
"To tell me some story of your glorious exploits in the name of the Holy Inquisition?"
"To apologize for not writing back sooner."
He had prepared a long speech to criticize and express his disappointment and anger with his mother, but the fact she was giving an apology… that was beyond unusual.
"Ah."
"Also, I understand you were angry that I took your agent. Sir Wessyng, I mean."
"Edmund told me that you are also working with the Bishop and the Sororitas in whatever involves that poor knight."
"I understand you are very protective of your people, which I understand. I am glad you did not take much offense."
Of course, Roger had quickly informed him what was going on, as much as he could of course. D'Uxford was initially worried he was being lined up for execution, Xenophilia of any stripe was not exactly popular, especially with Inquisitors.
"Actually Robert, I came here to apologize for many things. I was already in a nearby system when Von Kam had his, erm, accident."
"Speaking of which-"
"We will never get a definitive answer. Psykers are terribly unpredictable and explosive for all the wrong reasons."
"From what the cleanup crews told me, that seems accurate."
They both stared at the fire for a few moments before the Inquisitor spoke.
"Robert, I am here for a reason you will most likely not believe or understand. You have every right to be hostile and angry with me for a variety of reasons, but you cannot lie and say you do not care about me in some way. You wouldn't have stayed in touch otherwise."
"Father wanted me to do so. I at least respect him, unlike my other parent."
"Ralph always was a romantic at heart."
"Why are you here?"
"As in the Starfort, your room-"
"In general."
Katherine stared at the fire for a moment or two before she closed her eyes.
"That absence was for a reason I never explained in writing. We had been sent to a Hive World, in this Segmentum but on the other side of it. I had been following leads of a cult involving dark powers, infesting not just the local populations on one of the Hives, but the ruling class as well. My retinue and I, some of the finest warriors and spies ever mustered gathered information. When we realized that the planetary governor was compromised… I acted."
"Exterminatus?"
Robert said the word with slight disgust. It was a well-known punishment across the Imperium, dreaded as much as a Xenos invasion or the arrival of dark forces, something only whispered about by the lower classes. Those who knew better dreaded the final option even more.
"No. The rot was not all encompassing. All my agents, allies, and even a few Sororitas waited for my command to strike. When the time came, I led my retinue and PDF forces straight into the governor's complex, near the top of the Hive."
Her eyes seemed firm, but there was a hint of sullen grief.
"We had expected anything. But what the governor turned himself into… we were not prepared."
She did not speak for a good minute, the events flashing through her mind. Her motley crew of assassins, a Rogue Trader, tech-priests, and multiple stormtroopers who had fought through danger repeatedly being easily cut to pieces and tossed like ragdolls. The massive, unspeakable horror of the pink beast that had burst from the traitorous governor would haunt her until the day she died.
"My retinue was slaughtered. Had it not been for the timely arrival of local Sororitas forces, I would have joined them. I nearly did."
She lifted her fine dress, D'Uxford turning his eyes in slight discomfort. He glanced over to see a massive, hideous patchwork of scarred flesh stretching from above her left hip to below her breast.
"Throne! What happened to you?" he spluttered.
Even for all his angst towards her, to see such a wound bothered him immensely.
"The Hospitallers said I was clinging to life when they arrived. A few of my retinue were also wounded, not as seriously as me. And yet, they all perished. I was the only survivor of my ten agents."
"I'm...sorry to hear that."
"They died serving the God-Emperor. One could not ask for a better death. But something bothered me as I spent those long months on a Shrine World was-"
She blankly stared at the fire for a few moments, seemingly lost in her thoughts.
"Why did I survive? Why was I left alone, despite receiving a near-fatal wound while my comrades were less injured than me and perished? I visited chapels and cathedrals every day, asking the Emperor and myself why such a thing would happen. At first, I thought it was because there was a reason. There had to be."
"Especially given your position."
"Of course you would understand. Anyways, as my condition improved, I was not convinced that was the answer, so I began to speak with bishops, priests, anyone who wore the cloth."
"I could not think of a group less able to give a straight answer than members of the Ecclesiarchy," D'Uxford said with amusement.
"You always had your father's irreverence, but you also possess my wit. What a terrible combination. I finally realized what I was trying to find, what the Emperor wanted and kept me alive for."
"And that was?"
"I believe that I cannot join the Emperor's side until I have left my guilt behind and completed all my unresolved actions."
He looked at her in slight confusion.
"I… don't get it."
She sighed and shook her head.
"Robert, I have condemned friends to their deaths without a twinge of regret. Ended noble bloodlines stretching all the way back to our God-Emperors crusades. Damned planets that had populations in the billions without mercy."
"A typical Inquisitor."
"Hilarious. But after I discovered this, I prayed and prayed for an answer to what I did that bothered me to the point I was unworthy of leaving my flesh and freeing my soul to serve the Emperor eternally. All that I did, I had justification, reasons, maybe not the most intelligent or well argued, but they were there. Then, I figured out what it was. The one thing I still felt guilt over, what would bother my conscience every day."
"Which was?"
She turned to face him, the blue irises exactly the same hue as D'Uxfords.
"I feel guilty that I was not a good mother to you. That I abandoned you and your father."
He stared at her in utter bewilderment. She was not sentimental or humble, he remembered that as a child and inferred it from her letters, but here she was, an Inquisitor of the Holy Imperium, a law unto herself with powers beyond imagination, apologizing to him and admitting error.
"I… did not expect you to say that."
"I know."
She looked to the floor for a moment with much on her mind, slightly relieved about the burden she had been carrying for years lifting off her shoulders.
"So you're here to soothe your soul? Make me forgive you so that you can save yourself and join the Emperor? Quite typical."
"You have every reason to not believe me, but it is true. When the position here for Inquisitor opened, and I was so close-" she blinked at the fire. "I had to believe there was a reason behind that."
D'Uxford said nothing, also staring at the fire.
"You're angry with me. I understand it, and maybe it will be a wound that will never heal. But I want to try. I'm not asking you to love and adore me, but if you would feel something other than hatred-"
"Inquisitor-" he interrupted. "I have plenty of questions and bitterness that you'll have to break through."
"Questions like what?"
He slammed his right fist on the armrest, turning his upper body towards her.
"What? What? Why did you leave me and father? Why did you avoid speaking or even goddamn visiting, just saying hello? Why did you just give up on us, just sending me letters, two a year at most! And even then, you waited until I was a teenager!"
She was not intimidated by this rare display of anger from Robert D'Uxford, but she did feel sadness. Sad that she could never explain her actions, or the possible reality of never making amends with him.
"Robbie," she replied softly.
He twitched at the nickname. Only a few ever called him that, and she had been the first to do so. That made it both something very precious and close to his heart but stung with the feelings of betrayal that always followed the memory of his mother.
"I am an Inquisitor. I could not have stayed forever. I swore myself to the Emperor and Imperium, and as much as I genuinely cared for your father, there were new threats, new missions-"
"You cared for father, but what about me?"
She stared at him in disbelief, like one who had been asked what color the sky was, or what water tasted like. A question so obvious that asking it was near insanity.
"Robbie, I love you."
He stared blankly at her, not saying anything or even moving.
"You were the handsomest child at Clavham Manor, and everyone knew it. The moment the pain stopped and I could finally look at you was one of the happiest in my life. Inquisitors are known to have children during undercover operations like the one I was on, but they abandon or neglect their child as soon as they can. I stayed for four years before confessing what I really was and leaving you and your father!"
"Why did you leave us then?" he hissed.
She stared at him and shook her head.
"I cannot tell you, obviously. But I did not do so lightly, and I had no option. And I stayed in contact, if I truly did not care, would I have gone through that?"
"No."
The clock in his room tolled its bell eleven times, Katherine signaling that she needed to leave soon.
"I have an appointment in a quarter of an hour. I believed if we only talked once, it would be to let you know why I'm here."
D'Uxford stared at the fire and nodded.
"Very well."
"I wish we could speak more, but only with your approval."
She stood up and headed to the door, ready to knock on it to alert the guards outside.
"Katherine?"
She stopped and turned back to him, still in the chair and watching the fire.
"If you wish to speak with me, let my seneschal know."
"And who is that?"
"Sir Brian Cusack."
She started in amusement.
"The Cusacks? I thought the D'Uxfords hated them."
"Only decent pick of a bad harvest. Couldn't send a regiment of Western Islanders without them, their pride would never allow it."
"Ah, well… I am glad you are least willing to talk."
"The next time we speak, I want an answer to something."
"Oh?"
D'Uxford took a deep breath, his eyes burning from the roaring flames in front of him.
"Father never said how you two met. I would like an explanation."
Katherine Beauchamp, for the first time in many years, smiled without malice.
"Of course. Good night, Robert."
"As an aside-" he said, finally standing and facing her. "Whatever I may have said, or what you heard... I never truly hated you."
She looked back at him and nodded.
"I am very glad to hear that."
"I'm still angry at you. One nice talk will not mean that everything is settled.
The door opened after she knocked, and within a few moments, the Lord of Clavham was alone in his office. He turned back to the fire, mulling over his thoughts. For once, he was truly in a state of unanswerable confusion. He did not know what to expect from his mother, but their conversation was both enlightening and entirely outside his suspicions. He went to the sand bucket next to the fireplace and snuffed it out, trying to decide if he wanted to finish his report or just retire to his room. The answer arrived a minute or two later in the form of a call on his desk's communication handset.
"Lord D'Uxford."
"My lord, it is Sister Riella of the Hospitallers."
"Yes, is something wrong Sister?"
The line went quiet for a moment or two, making him cautious.
"Er… your appointment?"
"What appointment?"
"I am looking at my cogitator, you put in a notice to Sister Isabel for an appointment in half an hour? We called your personal quarters to remind you and there was no answer."
"What? I think that-"
He thought it over and realized what was going on: Isabel had an excuse to leave the Hospitallers clinic and spend hours focused entirely on him.
"Right, right. Bloody ankles acting up again. Tell her I will be waiting for her in my room. Late night working."
"Yes, my lord."
He hung up the handset and almost smiled. That report could wait.
XXXXXX
He was amongst his armored fellows watching as the trebuchets let loose, their flaming ammunition lighting the sky as if they were comets. After a few moments, the dull thud of the rounds hitting the stone walls ahead echoed down the valley. Cheers from the men at arms followed moments later.
"Damned greenskins," one of the knights spat. "They chose a marvelous time to threaten the duchy. These men should be out harvesting in the fields."
"Aye," another agreed.
Looking across the colorful heraldry shown in the banners and uniforms of the infantry below the hill they stood on, he felt something pulling at his thoughts. Who was he? Where was he? He looked down at his hands, feeling his fingers-there! His right hand index finger. It was still entirely intact. He knew that was not true, he remembered the pain of losing it.
"Sir Roger?"
"Yes, Sir Marcel?" he said.
The voice was his, but at the same time it was not. It was accented, almost parody in its tone.
"I hear you are about to find Her. When do you begin your quest?"
"After this battle."
The answers came seamlessly, but he had no idea what he was talking about or what it meant.
"Any advice?" he asked one of the knights nearby, taller, almost silent, and wearing a great helm with antlers.
The knight was silent, and he turned away, not expecting an answer.
"You may spend your whole life looking for Her," his voice boomed from under the helmet. "But She will find you when you are ready."
The other knights murmured amongst themselves, voices of reverence and surprise all around. He was silent, taking every word to heart. He would find Her, he would join the other knights' ranks, and he would serve his duke, his king, and Her without fail. What did that mean? Who was he talking about? Suddenly, a man at arms rushed towards them.
"Milords!" he rasped in an accent that reminded him of the soldiers he served with. "Greenskins are attempting a breakout on the western path! Our spears and swords are holding them, but they need help!"
"Ah! Action! To arms my friends! Where is the duke?"
A gale hit his back, turning to find something almost unbelievable: a white horse ridden by a man in black and gold armor. But the horse… it had wings that stretched out in a glorious sight.
"Brave knights! Follow me!" the man on the back of the strange mount roared.
The others cheered, himself included. He joined them in rushing to his own mount, a gorgeous looking black charger wrapped in a heraldry of blue and white. Leaping onto the saddle and being handed a lance by his squire-he had a squire? Shaking his head, he formed with his squadron as the clarions echoed through the valley in the cool night. They rode forward, the pounding of the hooves rapping like a fist on wood. It got louder and louder, impossible to ignore… wait, that sounded like someone knocking!
XXXXXX
Rogers' eyes opened, sweat on his forehead. True to his nightmare, there was somebody at the door.
"Who is it?"
"Sir Roger? Are you all right?"
"Yes, long day, I needed some sleep. Who goes there?"
"Prince Edmund has a message for you."
He blinked, noticing the empty divot on the other side of his bed. He wondered if Anya was not a morning person, but neither was he.
"Give me a minute."
He threw some clothes on and walked to the door. Opening it revealed a herald in the royal colors, a blue field with three golden aquilas quartered by red with a single golden leopard.
"Sir," he said dutifully, handing him a parchment roll.
There was a note tied to it, a strange formality that made no sense. Either way, he took the roll and nodded at the herald, unsure whether to give the man a tip for the delivery. Before he could find a few pence to hand him, the herald vanished. Obviously, he was paid well enough not to ask. Closing the door, he pulled the string and looked at the note.
Roger, the Bishop of Chelmster gave me this. Consider it touched by the hands of royalty. Welcome back-E.
He shook his head at the notice and looked at the seal, recognizing it as the sign of Lord Moressley. He quickly cut it open with his dagger, which Anya had taken a sudden interest in lately. He unrolled the parchment and started to read.
Hello son!
Nothing warmed his heart than seeing a message from his father. Anglerre was only a few systems away, but communication with those back home in a stable and timely manner was only available to the knights and nobility. Roger had heard of goings on back home from reinforcements coming into the Fourth, and men sent home for wounds or other reasons were laden down with messages and well wishes from the Guardsmen to send back, his own included. His siblings were all married now, his eldest brother George having a son and daughter, Michael having a son as well, and Matilda… poor Matilda. Easy to turn ill, gentle, and fragile. She married a son of the High Sheriff of Susich, and from what he heard and read, they were happy together, but her bearing no children would not create a happy situation.
Word is that you and the rest of the Prince's army may be coming home soon! Of course, they've said that before, so you never know. Still, it's good to hope, eh? As you know, being a knight of the shire under Lord Moressley means you have a seat in Parliament, but since you're out fighting, guess who has to stand in your stead? Of course, the House of Commons has plenty of bailiffs and men of wealth but no noble blood, so I won't look too out of place. Lord Roland is giving me some pointers and will help me through it, don't worry.
Dad in Parliament, he thought. Now that would be a sight to see. The rest of the letter was harmless, talking about the bailiff's grandchildren, his work, and the harvest in the villages, nothing too serious. But he was happy about that, no or little serious news being great news after all. He reached the end and teared up slightly.
I love you and am damned proud, Sir Roger. Try to stay safe and come home in one piece. Me and the rest of the family would love to see you in that armor. And make you explain what that squiggle at the bottom of our new family heraldry is.
Sincerely, Jack Wessyng, Bailiff of Moressley Manor
He rolled the parchment up carefully and wiped the tears away. Of course, explaining the Eldari symbol on their heraldry would be a tough sell, thinking what he could make up as an answer. There were some knights whose heraldry was a piece of clothing; he could think of something to hide its true meaning. The exhaustion and fears that had filled him after he woke up dissipated as he put the letter on his desk, walking past it and looking out his window. He had a long day of debriefings, giving answers, and informing a Prince, a spymaster, an Inquisitor, a Bishop, and even a Canoness. With luck, he would have to talk to Alwyn before the day ended. He chuckled to himself at the thought but was filled with vigor and a near unbreakable firmness. He was going to get through this, and whatever came next, for himself, his family, and for honor.
He had a home to get back to and heaven help anyone, or anything, that stood in his way.